4vA]^#PG#IN-6#ST-6#SP-5#DR-6#EP-6#FS-3#AD
Post by Iron Man on Feb 28, 2007 20:28:26 GMT -5
The scorching Moroccan sun beat down upon the tourist’s beige canvas tent with unforgiving ferocity as the limited grouping of international travelers did their utmost to enjoy their temporary luncheon. Older, retired couples comprised the majority of the troupe while a seemingly disillusioned middle-aged pair occupied the outermost portion of the makeshift dining area. The warm desert terrain beneath their feet consisted of heat charred dirt and pebble strewn soil; encompassing the landscape for miles in every direction beyond the surrounding and infinite horizon.
The man sat with a passive, slumped, and careless posture atop an overturned and empty medical crate; facing his wife of eight interrupted years as he stared wearily at the worn and tattered, unclean plate before him. The table, separating the black haired and blue-eyed husband from his pale hued spouse was in fact a Coca-Cola crate that had been upended and sheathed with a brown wool tablecloth; as though to provide the illusion of a civilized dining experience amongst the badlands of Morocco.
The man gazed tiredly, almost dreamily, out into the barren and heat stricken landscape without care as his wife continued to stare across the meal-less table setting at his worn and aging features. His once black and thick mane of hair now donned thin strands of gray and silver near his close cropped temples. His normally blue and radiant eyes remained soulless and gray, as though reflecting the presence of a rising storm; deep within himself and his disillusioned spouse. The corners of his eyes formed sharply defined creases as he squinted against the afternoon sun’s inescapable and persistent glare. His collared shirt and cargo pants were the same hue as the well-kept beard he wore below his feathered and unkempt hair; providing a unique and seamless aesthetic appearance that proved original, yet forgettable. After all, he had made the journey for a purpose in direct opposition to the sort of highly sought after notoriety that plagued his every footstep in the free and civilized world.
A gentle, Arab looking man sporting Moroccan garments and a maroon hued turban spooned from a hand-held ceramic pot what appeared to be a meat and rice delicacy onto the couples opposite end plates; shortly before retreating from them as swiftly as he approached. The somber man's pale and slender wife had shifted focus from her seemingly lost in thought husband to the steaming and piled excrement of a meal before her as disdain and resentment slowly crept their way across her features. Her vivid blue eyes found their way over to her husband's already half eaten plate shortly before she let out a barely audible sigh of disappointment; running her left hand through her rich and voluminously blond hair.
The same kind looking Arab who had first brought their meals returned with two noticeably stained plastic cups; filled to the brim with ice and joined by two Moroccan labeled cans of Coca-Cola. Following the beverage’s placement upon the table, the husband raised his attention from his nearly finished meal to bow his head in generosity before uttering a brief tribal sentence; reflecting his temporary gratitude in local Moroccan. The woman's mildly disgusted gaze fell from the ragged Arab to the two Filthy mugs he had left on the table before them. Her displeasure was projected through the stern and noticeably uncomfortable look that played across her face as she removed a set of prepackaged silverware from her purse before speaking to her still-dining husband.
[glow=red,2,300]“Throw out the ice.”[/glow]
The man briefly locked eyes wearily with his wife before replying in a soft-spoken tone of voice,
[glow=red,2,300]“The coke’s hot.”[/glow]
[glow=red,2,300]“Yeah but you don't know what kind of water is in there.”[/glow]
Without so much as an acknowledgment that he had heard her, the man began to open his beverage and reach for the stained and tattered mug.
Before the lip of the Coca-Cola can had the opportunity to meet the rim of the tainted mug, she quickly leaned forward, grasped the stained utensil and cast the ice forth onto the harsh terrain at their feet with a simple flick of her pale and elegant wrist. He leaned his head backward with an expression of disappointment, masking his underlying exasperation towards the woman's behavior. Glancing at her carelessly before he did so, the man proceeded to choke down a fourth of the overly warm and syrup-textured beverage before taking a breath and returning the can to its resting place beside his now empty and finished luncheon plate.
She stared at him with a paraplegic sense of hopelessness as he slumped his shoulders and continued to survey the empty Desert abound. She carefully brushed a loose strand of hair away from her eyes as she began to take in her surroundings with a new level of sorrow and resentment. Old people ate quietly in between standing and pacing beneath what shelter the canvas tent offered from the devastatingly arid afternoon sun. Arab servers moved from crate to crate, ensuring the tourist’s luncheon was as pleasant and culturally enlightening as possible. She took a deep and elongated breath as quietly and unnoticeably as possible before finally reaching the staggering epiphany that had been eating away at her conscience since their departure from New York.
[glow=red,2,300]“Howard, why did we come here?”[/glow]
He had been staring at the barren horizon to her left before she made her inquiry; causing for his gray eyes to adjust and focus on her disillusioned and sincerity ridden expression. The weightless words carelessly escaped his dry and parted lips as he casually shrugged his slumped-forward shoulders with his head tilted backwards and his hands folded carefully in his lap.
[glow=red,2,300]“…Be alone?”[/glow]
She pressed her tongue gently into the corner of her mouth as she managed a sarcastic and bitter smirk and tone.
[glow=red,2,300]“…‘Alone’…”[/glow]
Her gaze leapt from person-to-person within the tent as she mocked her husband’s suggestive reply.
His eyes remained tranquil and fixed upon her as he failed to react to her morbid response.
Looking off into the distance once more, he sighed with an air of carelessness as she huffed a breath of mild amusement, resentfulness, and disappointment; shortly before shaking her head with exasperation and reaching for her flat and warm Coca-Cola.
As he began to lean backward and close his eyes in an upright position atop the crate upon which he had been resting, the sound of the carbonated soft drink hitting the rocky terrain and bursting open was followed by the unmistakable gasp of a woman in shock.
His stormy eyes shot open and began searching his wife's panic stricken features for answers. As his gaze fell lower, his posture began to stiffen, bringing him to his feet as his ashen lips slowly parted in a breathless plea to the heavens.
The traveler's guide approached their table wide-eyed and quick footed before speaking anxiously.
[glow=red,2,300]
“What's wrong? What’s happened? Mr. Stark?”[/glow]
[glow=red,2,300]“…I think her water just broke.”[/glow]
A world away, many years past, a young boy donning his father's midnight, feathered hair and his mother's radiant blue eyes listened attentively and dreamily to the story of his birth. Tucked firmly beneath a priceless quilt atop a bed-set fit for royalty, Anthony Edward Stark’s ears perked with interest as his patient and tranquil father continued to explain the innermost feelings that had begun to close around his heart and mind upon realizing that his son would be coming into the world.
All sound had ceased to exist for Howard Stark, leaving him in an empty vacuum of deafening silence and surreal emotions; a noiseless void through which not even the quickened pace of his breathing or heart rate could audibly penetrate. Taking his frightened and pregnant wife up into his arms, he began frantically searching his way past the travelers towards the center of the tent.
[glow=red,2,300]“My wife's pregnant! Is anybody a doctor?! Is there a doctor!?”[/glow]
His own words radiating forth from the pit forming in his stomach and the ache closing in around his heart were received as though they had never been spoken to begin with. A firm grasp caught a handful of his hair and snapped his head to the right; bringing him face-to-face with his wide-eyed and terrified spouse.
[glow=red,2,300]“I know, I know, is there a doctor!?”[/glow]
Her pale and slender fingers began to loosen their hold on his hair as her deep blue eyes slowly rolled back into her head; moments before her entire body fell limp with his arms. A barrage of voices erupted within the stirring canvas interior, voices that fell on all but one pair of tentative ears.
As grit and sand began gently blowing in from the east, Howard Stark made his way towards the center of the open-sided tent before carefully setting her down atop a cleared off, wool covered table-crate. Moving with fear and purpose, the two bleeding into one another within his heart and mind, Stark quickly ran his hand through his wife's hair before checking her pulse and rushing to the side of the head traveler’s assistant.
[glow=red,2,300]“I need to use the Sat. Phone, RIGHT NOW.”[/glow]
Exactly 17 minutes passed between the phone call’s end and the Starks's emergency deportation. The canvas tent began to sway within what was at first mistaken as a gentle breeze shortly before the sound of helicopter rotors could be distinctly heard in the distance. The tent began to whip and fray as grain ridden dust and sand particles rolled outward in a wave-like cloud, shortly following the MedEvac’s touchdown not 300 yards from the travelers interrupted luncheon.
Still unable to hear himself or others, unable to escape the anxiety driven, soundless void his mind had retreated into, Howard noticed his company's logo on the jumpsuits of four men approaching him; each bearing a corner of the olive green stretcher they began to load Maria Stark across and atop before hurrying back towards the idling transport. Another man bearing aviators and a combat pilot’s helmet approached and began to lead Stark towards the aerial vehicle; all the while explaining precisely how long it would take to get them to the nearest and the most qualified medical facility.
The group of onlookers, tourists and travelers, Arabs and Moroccans, Americans and English, all stared with fascination as the couple was finally loaded into the helicopter and the doors were sealed.
Mere moments passed before the sand and dust up-draft began to increase with every turn of the vehicle's rotors. A large blinding cloud radiated forth from beneath the transport as its landing struts abandoned the terrain shortly following its quick yet steady ascent into the arid and harsh Moroccan sky above.
Tony Stark’s eyes were wide with fascination as he gripped the quilts upper ridges with both hands in anticipation; hanging on his father's every word as though his future memory depended on it.
[glow=red,2,300]“Your mother's water broke, but you weren’t ready to come out…”[/glow]
Howard Stark took a moment to pause and sigh as his mind began to conjure the emotions he had experienced throughout the event he found himself recanting to his 12 year old son.
[glow=red,2,300]“…I was terrified. Your mother and I always said you were gonna’ be born here, in America. In those days, all we did was travel; trying to take in ‘the diversity of the world’ as she used to call it… I was always in the office or the shop, tinkering away on something or other…”[/glow]
Tony peeked his head out further from under the quilt and made a calm inquisition towards his father; who at the moment, seemed to be profoundly lost in thought and allowing a hint of melancholy to radiate forth from his gray and stormy gaze..
[glow=red,2,300]“So what happened? What was wrong with Mom? Was I born on the plane?”[/glow]
Howard was shaken from his trance by his son's inquiry before he made one of his own.
[glow=red,2,300]“How do you know we got on a plane?”[/glow]
Tony sat upright against the Oak paneled headboard as he spoke.
[glow=red,2,300]“Mom said something about rushing back from Morocco on a plane so she could have me here.”[/glow]
Howard rubbed his clean-shaven chin before continuing.
[glow=red,2,300]“The helicopter ended up taking us to an airfield not far from the tour, where we hopped on one of the company's jets…was supposed to get us on the ground at JFK in just under four hours.”[/glow]
[glow=red,2,300]“FOUR HOURS!? It takes a McDonald 5 1/2 without cargo! What kind of jet was it!? Did YOU build it!?” [/glow]
Tony became excited, as he always did, by the prospect and mention of advanced technology; his father's dedicated line of work.
Howard lowered his head wearily and smiled before continuing.
[glow=red,2,300]“You wanna’ hear the rest are not?”[/glow]
Tony's eyes became less wide as he readjusted his posture and awaited his father's continuation.
[glow=red,2,300]“So your mother was slipping in and out of consciousness throughout the trip, and with about 12 minutes to go, the contractions started... Heh, I was so nervous I could barely keep my hands from shaking while I held her hand… So, the pilot called in, and the second we landed, the doors flew open, and in came the runway meds and nurses… and about 30 minutes later…there you were. Our baby boy.”[/glow]
The young boy beamed with pride as his father looked down upon him with admiration and content.
[glow=red,2,300]“Satisfied, kiddo?”[/glow]
Tony nodded while rolling onto his side and pulling the covers closer to his chin as his father bent downward and kissed his forehead before speaking.
[glow=red,2,300]
“Sleep well, my little prince…”[/glow]
Standing in the doorway, Maria Stark smiled warmly as she viewed the exchange; having already said goodnight to her son before preparing her evening gown. As she turned and began heading towards the front door to meet their limousine driver, Howard was cut short of following her by his son’s call while exiting the doorway.
[glow=red,2,300]“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t Mom want to be with you?”
“What?”
“In Morocco, in the tent, you said you and her weren't getting along, that you did something you wish you hadn't done and she was still angry… What did you do? Why was Mom mad?”[/glow]
Howard Stark’s gaze remained motionless as he spoke softly before turning out the light and exiting the room for the last time.
[glow=red,2,300]“When you're older, Tony… when you're older. Goodnight, son.”
“Goodnight, Dad.”[/glow]
As Anthony Edward Stark closed his young blue eyes, Howard and Maria Stark unknowingly began what would later become their last and final trip along the sleek and icy winter roads of upstate New York.
The man sat with a passive, slumped, and careless posture atop an overturned and empty medical crate; facing his wife of eight interrupted years as he stared wearily at the worn and tattered, unclean plate before him. The table, separating the black haired and blue-eyed husband from his pale hued spouse was in fact a Coca-Cola crate that had been upended and sheathed with a brown wool tablecloth; as though to provide the illusion of a civilized dining experience amongst the badlands of Morocco.
The man gazed tiredly, almost dreamily, out into the barren and heat stricken landscape without care as his wife continued to stare across the meal-less table setting at his worn and aging features. His once black and thick mane of hair now donned thin strands of gray and silver near his close cropped temples. His normally blue and radiant eyes remained soulless and gray, as though reflecting the presence of a rising storm; deep within himself and his disillusioned spouse. The corners of his eyes formed sharply defined creases as he squinted against the afternoon sun’s inescapable and persistent glare. His collared shirt and cargo pants were the same hue as the well-kept beard he wore below his feathered and unkempt hair; providing a unique and seamless aesthetic appearance that proved original, yet forgettable. After all, he had made the journey for a purpose in direct opposition to the sort of highly sought after notoriety that plagued his every footstep in the free and civilized world.
A gentle, Arab looking man sporting Moroccan garments and a maroon hued turban spooned from a hand-held ceramic pot what appeared to be a meat and rice delicacy onto the couples opposite end plates; shortly before retreating from them as swiftly as he approached. The somber man's pale and slender wife had shifted focus from her seemingly lost in thought husband to the steaming and piled excrement of a meal before her as disdain and resentment slowly crept their way across her features. Her vivid blue eyes found their way over to her husband's already half eaten plate shortly before she let out a barely audible sigh of disappointment; running her left hand through her rich and voluminously blond hair.
The same kind looking Arab who had first brought their meals returned with two noticeably stained plastic cups; filled to the brim with ice and joined by two Moroccan labeled cans of Coca-Cola. Following the beverage’s placement upon the table, the husband raised his attention from his nearly finished meal to bow his head in generosity before uttering a brief tribal sentence; reflecting his temporary gratitude in local Moroccan. The woman's mildly disgusted gaze fell from the ragged Arab to the two Filthy mugs he had left on the table before them. Her displeasure was projected through the stern and noticeably uncomfortable look that played across her face as she removed a set of prepackaged silverware from her purse before speaking to her still-dining husband.
[glow=red,2,300]“Throw out the ice.”[/glow]
The man briefly locked eyes wearily with his wife before replying in a soft-spoken tone of voice,
[glow=red,2,300]“The coke’s hot.”[/glow]
[glow=red,2,300]“Yeah but you don't know what kind of water is in there.”[/glow]
Without so much as an acknowledgment that he had heard her, the man began to open his beverage and reach for the stained and tattered mug.
Before the lip of the Coca-Cola can had the opportunity to meet the rim of the tainted mug, she quickly leaned forward, grasped the stained utensil and cast the ice forth onto the harsh terrain at their feet with a simple flick of her pale and elegant wrist. He leaned his head backward with an expression of disappointment, masking his underlying exasperation towards the woman's behavior. Glancing at her carelessly before he did so, the man proceeded to choke down a fourth of the overly warm and syrup-textured beverage before taking a breath and returning the can to its resting place beside his now empty and finished luncheon plate.
She stared at him with a paraplegic sense of hopelessness as he slumped his shoulders and continued to survey the empty Desert abound. She carefully brushed a loose strand of hair away from her eyes as she began to take in her surroundings with a new level of sorrow and resentment. Old people ate quietly in between standing and pacing beneath what shelter the canvas tent offered from the devastatingly arid afternoon sun. Arab servers moved from crate to crate, ensuring the tourist’s luncheon was as pleasant and culturally enlightening as possible. She took a deep and elongated breath as quietly and unnoticeably as possible before finally reaching the staggering epiphany that had been eating away at her conscience since their departure from New York.
[glow=red,2,300]“Howard, why did we come here?”[/glow]
He had been staring at the barren horizon to her left before she made her inquiry; causing for his gray eyes to adjust and focus on her disillusioned and sincerity ridden expression. The weightless words carelessly escaped his dry and parted lips as he casually shrugged his slumped-forward shoulders with his head tilted backwards and his hands folded carefully in his lap.
[glow=red,2,300]“…Be alone?”[/glow]
She pressed her tongue gently into the corner of her mouth as she managed a sarcastic and bitter smirk and tone.
[glow=red,2,300]“…‘Alone’…”[/glow]
Her gaze leapt from person-to-person within the tent as she mocked her husband’s suggestive reply.
His eyes remained tranquil and fixed upon her as he failed to react to her morbid response.
Looking off into the distance once more, he sighed with an air of carelessness as she huffed a breath of mild amusement, resentfulness, and disappointment; shortly before shaking her head with exasperation and reaching for her flat and warm Coca-Cola.
As he began to lean backward and close his eyes in an upright position atop the crate upon which he had been resting, the sound of the carbonated soft drink hitting the rocky terrain and bursting open was followed by the unmistakable gasp of a woman in shock.
His stormy eyes shot open and began searching his wife's panic stricken features for answers. As his gaze fell lower, his posture began to stiffen, bringing him to his feet as his ashen lips slowly parted in a breathless plea to the heavens.
The traveler's guide approached their table wide-eyed and quick footed before speaking anxiously.
[glow=red,2,300]
“What's wrong? What’s happened? Mr. Stark?”[/glow]
[glow=red,2,300]“…I think her water just broke.”[/glow]
A world away, many years past, a young boy donning his father's midnight, feathered hair and his mother's radiant blue eyes listened attentively and dreamily to the story of his birth. Tucked firmly beneath a priceless quilt atop a bed-set fit for royalty, Anthony Edward Stark’s ears perked with interest as his patient and tranquil father continued to explain the innermost feelings that had begun to close around his heart and mind upon realizing that his son would be coming into the world.
All sound had ceased to exist for Howard Stark, leaving him in an empty vacuum of deafening silence and surreal emotions; a noiseless void through which not even the quickened pace of his breathing or heart rate could audibly penetrate. Taking his frightened and pregnant wife up into his arms, he began frantically searching his way past the travelers towards the center of the tent.
[glow=red,2,300]“My wife's pregnant! Is anybody a doctor?! Is there a doctor!?”[/glow]
His own words radiating forth from the pit forming in his stomach and the ache closing in around his heart were received as though they had never been spoken to begin with. A firm grasp caught a handful of his hair and snapped his head to the right; bringing him face-to-face with his wide-eyed and terrified spouse.
[glow=red,2,300]“I know, I know, is there a doctor!?”[/glow]
Her pale and slender fingers began to loosen their hold on his hair as her deep blue eyes slowly rolled back into her head; moments before her entire body fell limp with his arms. A barrage of voices erupted within the stirring canvas interior, voices that fell on all but one pair of tentative ears.
As grit and sand began gently blowing in from the east, Howard Stark made his way towards the center of the open-sided tent before carefully setting her down atop a cleared off, wool covered table-crate. Moving with fear and purpose, the two bleeding into one another within his heart and mind, Stark quickly ran his hand through his wife's hair before checking her pulse and rushing to the side of the head traveler’s assistant.
[glow=red,2,300]“I need to use the Sat. Phone, RIGHT NOW.”[/glow]
Exactly 17 minutes passed between the phone call’s end and the Starks's emergency deportation. The canvas tent began to sway within what was at first mistaken as a gentle breeze shortly before the sound of helicopter rotors could be distinctly heard in the distance. The tent began to whip and fray as grain ridden dust and sand particles rolled outward in a wave-like cloud, shortly following the MedEvac’s touchdown not 300 yards from the travelers interrupted luncheon.
Still unable to hear himself or others, unable to escape the anxiety driven, soundless void his mind had retreated into, Howard noticed his company's logo on the jumpsuits of four men approaching him; each bearing a corner of the olive green stretcher they began to load Maria Stark across and atop before hurrying back towards the idling transport. Another man bearing aviators and a combat pilot’s helmet approached and began to lead Stark towards the aerial vehicle; all the while explaining precisely how long it would take to get them to the nearest and the most qualified medical facility.
The group of onlookers, tourists and travelers, Arabs and Moroccans, Americans and English, all stared with fascination as the couple was finally loaded into the helicopter and the doors were sealed.
Mere moments passed before the sand and dust up-draft began to increase with every turn of the vehicle's rotors. A large blinding cloud radiated forth from beneath the transport as its landing struts abandoned the terrain shortly following its quick yet steady ascent into the arid and harsh Moroccan sky above.
Tony Stark’s eyes were wide with fascination as he gripped the quilts upper ridges with both hands in anticipation; hanging on his father's every word as though his future memory depended on it.
[glow=red,2,300]“Your mother's water broke, but you weren’t ready to come out…”[/glow]
Howard Stark took a moment to pause and sigh as his mind began to conjure the emotions he had experienced throughout the event he found himself recanting to his 12 year old son.
[glow=red,2,300]“…I was terrified. Your mother and I always said you were gonna’ be born here, in America. In those days, all we did was travel; trying to take in ‘the diversity of the world’ as she used to call it… I was always in the office or the shop, tinkering away on something or other…”[/glow]
Tony peeked his head out further from under the quilt and made a calm inquisition towards his father; who at the moment, seemed to be profoundly lost in thought and allowing a hint of melancholy to radiate forth from his gray and stormy gaze..
[glow=red,2,300]“So what happened? What was wrong with Mom? Was I born on the plane?”[/glow]
Howard was shaken from his trance by his son's inquiry before he made one of his own.
[glow=red,2,300]“How do you know we got on a plane?”[/glow]
Tony sat upright against the Oak paneled headboard as he spoke.
[glow=red,2,300]“Mom said something about rushing back from Morocco on a plane so she could have me here.”[/glow]
Howard rubbed his clean-shaven chin before continuing.
[glow=red,2,300]“The helicopter ended up taking us to an airfield not far from the tour, where we hopped on one of the company's jets…was supposed to get us on the ground at JFK in just under four hours.”[/glow]
[glow=red,2,300]“FOUR HOURS!? It takes a McDonald 5 1/2 without cargo! What kind of jet was it!? Did YOU build it!?” [/glow]
Tony became excited, as he always did, by the prospect and mention of advanced technology; his father's dedicated line of work.
Howard lowered his head wearily and smiled before continuing.
[glow=red,2,300]“You wanna’ hear the rest are not?”[/glow]
Tony's eyes became less wide as he readjusted his posture and awaited his father's continuation.
[glow=red,2,300]“So your mother was slipping in and out of consciousness throughout the trip, and with about 12 minutes to go, the contractions started... Heh, I was so nervous I could barely keep my hands from shaking while I held her hand… So, the pilot called in, and the second we landed, the doors flew open, and in came the runway meds and nurses… and about 30 minutes later…there you were. Our baby boy.”[/glow]
The young boy beamed with pride as his father looked down upon him with admiration and content.
[glow=red,2,300]“Satisfied, kiddo?”[/glow]
Tony nodded while rolling onto his side and pulling the covers closer to his chin as his father bent downward and kissed his forehead before speaking.
[glow=red,2,300]
“Sleep well, my little prince…”[/glow]
Standing in the doorway, Maria Stark smiled warmly as she viewed the exchange; having already said goodnight to her son before preparing her evening gown. As she turned and began heading towards the front door to meet their limousine driver, Howard was cut short of following her by his son’s call while exiting the doorway.
[glow=red,2,300]“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t Mom want to be with you?”
“What?”
“In Morocco, in the tent, you said you and her weren't getting along, that you did something you wish you hadn't done and she was still angry… What did you do? Why was Mom mad?”[/glow]
Howard Stark’s gaze remained motionless as he spoke softly before turning out the light and exiting the room for the last time.
[glow=red,2,300]“When you're older, Tony… when you're older. Goodnight, son.”
“Goodnight, Dad.”[/glow]
As Anthony Edward Stark closed his young blue eyes, Howard and Maria Stark unknowingly began what would later become their last and final trip along the sleek and icy winter roads of upstate New York.
4vA]^#PG#IN-7#ST-7#SP-7#DR-7#EP-7#FS-1