between sleep and life

imagine with me that merchants in the future will sell genetic material, pimping personal self-improvements.

the bright sky burned his eyes and into his brain from the cornea to the cortex. this reminded him of his childhood in majorca. he never learned the language, but understood the people. but he never understood himself. there was always another thought that remained ever-elusive in the still of the night. he never knew his mother.

as he sat awake at night, he considered what the lives of merchants from antiquity must have neen like. they were likely full of strife like his own.

he thought about the rush of selling his first. the promise of a repaired liver. what could be better for an alcoholic client. and from this he recalled the first child's genetic material -- a 13-yr-old saved from lukemia. what could be better. not only did he sell life, he set the price of life.

but he was never more scared. he would not live forever, no matter what deals he could swing, no matter what insider trading he could arrange. and he was alone. the high stress of the job of selling life meant he never had the time for a wife. and now he lie awake in the never still night.

coffee, his morning pill, what kept him going. but it never tasted right. nothing ever did. that made him wonder if he was once his own customer. the first rule of selling -- never sell what you'd rather keep yourself. he went from a luxury high-rise apartment downtown to a rural trailer, where he lived out his days under cover of darkness, unable to ever look the sun in the eyes. heh. that sounds like his father. ah, his father must've arranged his genes. realizing this, he took his life.