'It is a BUSINESS TRIP!', Nick wailed to no avail as the steel-eyed woman stamped his application. The red ink stained the crisp white paper, and Nick's gorge rose in anger as if in answer to the angry colour.
Yet, despite his ire, he managed to hold his composure until he reached his car, and he vented that rage into the newly installed driver interlock--a scream contained by the machine that held him hostage. As he pulled out of the car park and onto the road, he thought bitterly that it was quite symbolic and perhaps poetic in a way. He had not been *that* drunk when he was pulled over last week, but they used any excuse to cage him, trap him, and enslave him. They never let him forget that he was their lackey.
Disgusted, he looked back over to the crimson-stained sheet on his passenger seat, the glanced quickly away. Averting not only his gaze by his mind as well, he cast his thoughts into the future. He sought for a day when 'that word' no longer held power over him; no longer menaced his dreams. Crushed by the State, there was little to be done, but what little there was, he would do to show his defiance.
Pulling off to the shoulder of the lane, he put the car in park and snatched up the paper, gripping it so tight that it bent creases that broke its previous uniform flatness. Staring defiantly at the sheet, he let all of the vitriol stored within him flood into his eyes as he faced the thing that symbolised his bondage. He could never let this side of him show--even for a second--except in what few private moments he could steal from his busy day. The freedom was heady and intoxicating, and he began to feel powerful, righteous, and invincible!
Sadly, he could not remain here nor dwell on those feelings. He was about to set the crumpled paper back down again, but then he froze. An idea flashed into his mind as a grin stole its way across his face. Heedless of the pouring rain outside, he rolled down the window, and in a furtive motion he HURLED the paper into the deluge.
Water caught the paper, and ran across its surface, mingling with the not-yet-dry ink added minutes before. Nick watched it for a few moments; runnels of red slid across it's surface like heartsblood. The borders of the icon that had been cruelly affixed to the paper softened, then broke. In minutes more, it would be unrecognisable. Those kids needed to get to their fifth piano lesson of the day, and he'd catch hell if he was late again.
Speeding off, his mind still lingered on the page he left behind even as his body left it behind. One day the chains that bound him would wash away too. Like a filthy stain, it would be made clean by the passage of time. All Nick need do is to pretend--he did not have to truly comply. Merely convincing them that he had would suffice. Then when he was finally liberated and could breath as a free man, then he could tell them what he REALLY thought. It would be glorious!
One day he would be free. One day he would be his own master. And when Nick was in charge again he would never be haunted again by anything.
He would no longer be 'DENIED!'
