Untitled

Ari Anthony 
4/27/07 
English Comp 
Ms. Migdall

Divine Intervention

It was his passion. A deep love, one would say. With ability to work, he fulfilled himself as a human being. Day in and day out, 7 years of Albert’s life had passed by. His conscious endeavor to succeed in his corporate life turned sour on the day of the depression. He yearned to please after first stepping foot into the vinyl covered, cubicle laden working space. His world, his life, his passion. Disconnected. Out of work and out of phase, a blind concealing the world from his eyes, emotions ran rampant. This was synonymous with all during the depression. Being a religious man, faith based initiative reconnected him to society, restored his faith in human kind. In this faith, a beacon of light transcended darkness. A friend. Albert had not seen the man before, but living in the abandoned subways and sewers of New York, one doesn’t see much of men. He offered to help Albert, to guide him. “To whom do I owe this pleasure?” Was he a middle or upper class man? He seemed educated… but the depression had taken its toll on most everyone within these once United States of America. Now only a fragment of civilization, people went around their lives organizing in clans – to conspire, to hoard, to hunt, and defeat. 
	“I want nothing from you, friend. Leave me now lest you cause trouble,” Albert’s speech wavered, unsure. The educated man knew nothing about Albert, yet in times of great need, certain senses are heightened.
“You’re scared, I see this. I don’t mean to intrude, good sir, but I came from the upper city. I’m in need of food and water.” This man, this…gentleman, asking so politely couldn’t possibly survive in the rough world out there. Albert’s thoughts trailed, extending and flourishing as he attempted to assess the sincerity this man possessed. 
	“Good sir, if you are in such desperate need, why travel the upper city? It’s a waste land – Unless, you’re part of the clan?” To this, Albert referred to the Consortium. A group of old world criminals free from the Super Max Prison Systems, the Consortium had founded the name upon a raid of a former publishing house in upstate New York. They committed heinous crimes, terrorizing and pillaging whatever was left after the economy was devastated from the loss of any central infrastructure.
“Friend, I would in no terms place myself in their service. I’ve traveled here from the lower Southern border. My name is Peter, and I am hungry, tired, and thirsty.” Worn out and tired, Peter’s eye lids dropped and sagged, giving the appearance of a man much older than what stood before Albert. The Consortium had only ventured into the sewer system once, to Albert’s knowledge. He only knew of this instance because he was one of the victims of the second raid. The first had been a quarter mile down the main corridor of the dried up sewage pipe, the same pipe of which screams still echo.
“Have you ever encountered them?” Albert inquired, starring at the raggedy man before him.
“I have not.”
“Any interaction at’ol?”
“A cousin of mine, down south. He was hung from a tree, veiled in a white robe and mask.” Peter trailed off, looking behind him as if searching for someone who was not there. Albert continued to stare, piecing together this man’s story. He lay down, resting his head on a sack full of rice, pulling up his woven blanket he had found in the dried up sewer corridor. Peter stood there for awhile longer, making Albert fairly uncomfortable. Was this how it was to always have someone watching over you? Divine intervention, Albert thought.
	And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. The waters – where in slumber, Albert lay.
	Startled, disturbed, he awoke. Bolting upright, Albert looked around his makeshift living area, deep under the earth. He remembered a man, a man from last night. Peter, he called himself. This man was no longer here, absent like a morning’s breeze on a warm summer’s day. 
	Walking over to the edge of the sewer basin, Albert stared into the water. Looking back at him was a face. One not his own.