Gold Love

Contributor: Shihab Noor and Dekript Pakpoom-Shihai

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This last golden day, of this golden week, begun like gold. Not quite shimmering exactly, not gold dust to be sure, but the homogenous dulled gold that marks the mornings of my life. Was it this morning, I asked myself? The answer repeated itself a million times over in my hollowed-out skull.

Not yet.

My feet touched the floor, and I placed my hands on my knees tentatively. They still ached from the previous days labor. A golden, fruitful labor it was. The gold coins I left on the dresser still shone with their hard-day’s satisfaction. Of what more could I ask?

The day’s golden moon lights streets and falls golden in through windows upon hands touched with gold rings, embossed with golden rubies. It’s time for work! Excitedly I snatch my golden jumpsuit out of the dresser drawer and fumble with the zipper as I pull it up over my shoulders. The words “factory man” embossed in gold varsity lettering shine on the front of the jacket, broadcasting my profession to the golden streets ahead of me. This was gonna be a good day…

I step out the door, a golden smile on my face. From across the street I see “bag woman,” in her wonderful jumpsuit. She grins, “Hello!” Yes, she is my favorite neighbor. It is written in the book! Out onto the golden streets I go, and into the golden light I grow, and onto the golden bus, whose golden driver, “driver man,” I know. Today is a golden day, I know.

Gold bus skips down the street, stopping to pick up such friends as “birdtender woman” “Grave man” “Scholar man” and “Old mann.” A quick glance out the window reveals fields of gold boys and gold girls twirling and shouting in a golden meadow. The future! The bus drives through Bisch district, the last stop before the “FACTORY” and as I stare out the glass of the window I see something different. At the exit point of the Bisch district sewer was a man standing. He stood, his eyes wide, his arms stretched, and his teeth bore. This man was known only in the golden tales. Silver man. Shining with the sheen of a thousand sons, “Silver man” bellowed at my bus. “Old man” seemed startled, but “driver man,” well he’s a good man, and he kept on driving to the factory! It looked like “Silver man” saw me through the window, but what do I know!

The golden bus pulled up at the “FACTORY” and let all of its remaining passengers out. I gave “driver man” a kiss and stepped off the bus and into the “FACTORY” parking lot. I saw my friend “Assembly line man” and I waved to him; a friendly wave, with no animosity intended or received. We went on our ways, I into “gold door A,” he into “gold door B.”

Today’s a good day. I see “factory man” on the factory floor, his hands grabbing at a golden box moving along a curving, gold conveyor belt. And there, at the other end, is “factory man,” one of my closest friends at the “FACTORY.” It is written in the book!

Now I standing next to “factory man,” doing the work! I move this box to this belt, and that tube to that slot! My hands move quickly! I like to think that I am the fastest “factory man” there is, but what do I know! I am a “factory man,” and I move golden boxes!

The factory is hot. I perspire and gold sweat begins to drip off of my face and fall in small puddles on the golden floor. Now I am next to “factory woman”. She is not a pleasant woman and she is of the texture of golden eggs. It is written in the book! I notice a golden pustule on her forehead. To her, I turn, and I shout, “factory woman, this is not part of protocol.” She makes a quizzical sound, but before she can do anything I reach for her head and squeeze. The pustule pops, golden pus oozes down her face. Her tongue flashes out, hoping to lap up the golden nectar before it evaporates in the sticky factory air. Golden youth returns to her countenance.

We work on silently. No one speaks on what just happens. All the better for little old golden me! Ears perk up, ring of the bell,


I wait patiently in line for my Texas Toast Grilled Cheese Sandwich and Chips Lunch. Everyone murmurs to each other about this and that. My shoulder is tapped. I turn and find myself looking at “boss man”, a fat old gold man wearing shining gold robes emblazoned with gold birds.

“factory man, you made a big mistake. There’s a seat in my orifice office for you, go now and you may be speared.” My eyes widened, a darker shade of gold cast a pall over my face. Uh-oh, spaghetti-o’s.

“boss man’s” orifice office was small damp and wet. It’s shade of gold was not pleasant to the eyes or nose. As I sat in my chair I recalled my sins. They shone golden in the dark recesses of my mind.

A window appeared above the office door. I saw “boss man” appear and smile a wide toothy grin. He held up four fingers and said “four days, bad boy, you got a lot of work to do.” His laugh echoed through the office. I shivered. The laugh continued, and only now did I realize it was not “boss man” laughing at all. Out of the shadows in the corner of the room stepped a sculpted, looming, nude, figure.

Silver man.

His smile widened in conjunction with his eyes as he strode towards me, making a cyclical motion with his hands directed at my junktrunk.


To this day if anyone tells you Silver Man does not exist, say “no” he touched factory man. Who am I now?

“Ya Johnny!”

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We are two twins from, but not in blood, though we love each other. We are from Kulu, but frequent the towns of Baltimore and Philadelphia. America is like a second home to us! Our friction and pottery has been published in such places as “Seafood Dinner Surprise”, “Cook’s Cutlery”, and “Chief Fundamentals”. We find history a very interesting thing. Enjoy our readings and books! This one’s for you!
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