Dust - Day 15

Part IV: Donny coins a phrase

Donny whirred and hummed like a machine. Or, as Donny thought, a mechanized orangutan. Donny beat his chest. Feeling the pressure, he paused, wheezed, and erased his mind. Still whirring, he fancied he was whirring like a machine. Or perhaps a mechanized orangutan. He endeavored to beat his chest, but missed. He then pondered why he was whirring. A sign high above offered no clues. It read, "Donny Sign." Donny liked the sign, but he was still whirring. He then happened to peer down at his feet, in his anxiety. There he stood on a heap of dense gravel, which was vibrating, and vibrating Donny by proxy. Donny understood.

Wavering as he whirred, Donny was unable to step off the mound. All around him were steely walls that grasped Donny's ambient perceptions tightly. Below was a rectangular beam of light. Donny rolled, as he couldn't walk, and tumbled off the heap. He gathered speed and went sputtering like a vintage motorcoach out of the opening that was creating the beam of light. Donny, nauseated, braced himself for the end. He met a dusty brick wall that was warm from the afternoon sun. Neither party could parry. Donny felt slight pains, but managed them. He got up. There was also dust in the air.

Windowman's fan kept the dust off of parts of his domain. Not others. Donny realized he was no longer whirring. He imagined an orangutan going limp. Donny blinked from the dust and the sunlight. His eyes were having trouble with aperture. Windowman stood his ground. Donny reached into his pockets and felt something cool and metallic. Donny imagined discs deftly carved out of an iron door using some cylindrical device. He emptied his pockets and it was nothing but quarters. Windowman took notice, radiated a brief excitement. He quickly reverted, but not before Donny had noticed.

Donny eyed Windowman, who stood his ground. Donny felt of the quarters, heaved them. This time, Windowman did not flinch. Miffed, Donny leaned over to pick up the quarters, but the dust had obscured them. Donny imagined a world in which the resident sapient beings breathed dust instead of air. Donny wished he were one of them, as the disturbed dust flew into his face, brushing by him like a flounder on the ocean floor whose stakeout has been ruined. "I am so much surely sick of this air-tainted dust!" Donny imagined a dust-breather might say in a situation similar by inversion to Donny's.