The municipality was awed and impressed, they were going Hollywood as it is said, as the famed Orca Ms. Orca herself was going to breach just off the coast posing for photos after 1pm, and her entourage, a pod of glitzy pearl encrusted orcas were going to be a sight to behold.
At 11am Orca Ms. Orca gave a speech announcing, “you’re lucky! My multi-billion dollar corporation has decided to invest in infrastructure right here in Dysmal Nitch!” Her big black eyes looked around thoughtfully, not all impressed to be completely honest.
The Elk herd figured the Department of Nuance had approved the project, the Department of Nuance figured that the Mayor had the approval of the board but the Mayor was actually away on a fishing trip out on the ocean in his vessel — so all in all nobody had officially discussed anything including what the Orcas had in mind. But if Orca Ms. Orca was behind it, there was no way this wasn’t the absolute best thing that had ever happened in Dysmal Nitch.
Ms. Orca continued in her stunning and brave way, “starting tomorrow there will be an unshielded open power line conduit running a circuitous route along the floor and at times along the wall through the entirety of the historic wooden pier. The power line will run past each shop and eventually emerge out the back onto the dock to vanish under the deep water of the river heading toward the ocean, where of course it will be shielded and properly maintained as to not endanger any sea life! This power line will be immensely dangerous! Death to any who touch it. 6,000 live volts! Amperage hasn’t been calculated, but I can only use the word insane to describe it! You’re fair little municipality will be the first to host such a quantum leap breakthrough!”
There were obvious questions.
The department of Nuance stepped up to the plate, but right away that was a problem. Department of Nuance had never ever tackled an obvious question, they stuck to their expertise, minutiae details that wouldn’t make a difference in the end but which they could hang their hats on, later comments such as, “oh, I spent hours on the Red Line project!” would be the first thing you would hear from anyone in the department.
Nuance Department meeting minutes:
Safety. We need to paint the power line for safety! Orange? Yellow? Red? Department of nuance began to argue. Neon pink was recommended, many applauded the idea. One senior nuance member suggested that maybe the high-voltage death dealing cable laying on the wooden floor snaking past businesses and pedestrians should be striped,”you know like a snake – warning colors!”. But if you do stripes, why not glitter? Why has the world not really embraced glitter? Neon pink and glitter anyone? Sure beats Ms. Orca’s power line being painted like a snake! *hiss* said a member in the back. The Department of Nuance are still in discussion, meanwhile….
Mrs. Mcknicols was quoted as saying, “you know, this doesn’t seem like a good idea.” After such a negative disheartening comment she has been temporarily suspended from the ladies Friday Kanasta group. “Nobody needs your hostility! Your negativity is useless and simple.” Said Sally Majors currently the head of the Friday Kanasta group, “we have never had a celebrity of this caliber even swim by! Don’t ruin this for us.”
The Department of Nuance need not have worried. The power cable appeared the very next morning and was painted bold dark crimson red. (Despite none of their ideas being used or even discussed outside the group, the Department celebrated their best work yet…)
Orca Ms. Orca had chosen the Maroon crimson color because it was already part of her logo and brand. On all her products, planes, movies and merchandise the dark red framed her white O. Signage with her face and logo appeared every twelve feet along the power line. Spray painted on the historic weathered wood along the power line route was, “6,000 VOLTS!” Orca Ms. Orca insisted on the exclamation mark. She was very involved with every decision in her corporate empire.
In town.
Mrs. Mcknicols was quoted as saying, “this really makes no sense. What about the nine months of torrential rains and the large puddles it will be sitting in? What about all that water? My uncle is an electrician and there is no way…” Shut up Mrs.Mcknicols you nosy killjoy!
At certain points on the pier that were high-traffic, safety cones were set up to prompt people to move along and definitely not touch the 6,000 Volt power cable. Absolutely everyone came from far and wide to look at it. To have their photo taken with it. To stare at it mesmerized.
Morten’s corner shop had postcards printed with the fairly blurry photo he had taken of Orca Ms. Orca in the corner and the rest of the postcard devoted to “The Red Line” or the “Orca Red Line” as it was being called. Morten made $30 the first week in sales. The municipality was finally going somewhere.
“Stay back, do not touch it. It’s right there, right at your feet, now snaking up the wall at arm level, but definitely do not touch it. 6,000 VOLTS! It says it right there….and there it is, how did you get so close? Why are you staring at the Red Line anyway?”
When the Mayor, elected on the Natural Selection ticket, finally arrived home the first thing he did was, well to announce his fishing catch and let me tell you it was fantastic! He pulled in a record Ophidon elongatus aka Lingcod a beautiful shade of phthalo blue and several rockfish. Everyone wanted to know about the Mayoral catch.
Fighting through the crowd around the Red Line the Mayor had a few words to say, words he knew might make no sense to the citizens milling around, the sightseers and basically no one was listening to him at the time, being that it was straight up noon and everyone was hustling to get lunch and get back to work, a few had been out fishing and were running on no sleep in 48 hours, however a speech had to be made. The point of his party (which we won’t blame you for forgetting, the Natural Selection Party) needed to be bolstered.
The Mayor is around 2’ tall and the top of his head didn’t quite reach the start of the Orca Ms. Orca poster behind him. He was tall and stately in the gnome community. His beard was epic.
“Look Here!” He bellowed, but really not even Millin’s toddler paid him much mind. The toddler was nearing the Red Line slowly and surely as Mother Millin was preoccupied with a store window while waiting in line to order from a food stall. The toddler was reaching out its hand…
Just then the exhaust fan for the Crab & Fry Shack clicked on with a deafening yet melodic ‘zuuuuuuuuuummmmm’ and the Mayor struggled to be heard over it.
“You know how each storm season a tourist or two climbs down the cliff at the Lighthouse bluff? Then perches on a tiny ledge of Ghost Rock to try to photograph the epic wave storm surge? Those massive waves arrive 30 and 40ft with the power of a wrecking ball and these tiny humans scuttle down with their cell phones and insta-cameras trying to take a photo only never to be seen again. Rope hasn’t stopped them. Signs don’t stop them. Fences don’t stop them. They’re just darn set of their own demise.”
The fan kept thrumming, the mayor was feeling hoarse from shouting, most in attendance knew where the mayor was going: People are stupid.
“You know how our neighbor Weggins left a candle burning outside a mere five foot from the forest that had not seen rain in THREE MONTHS despite ash falling from the sky, a red-flag warning, and multiple people dying from surrounding wilderness forest fires? Remember what he said? Recall Weggins famous last words, ‘we’ll be just fine as long as nobody does anything stupid.’”
Now a few people were nodding, they recalled the horrific fire season and how many neighbors inexplicably felt the urge to start a fire, set off roman candle fireworks and cook out. The line for the Crab and Fry advanced and many left hearing range of the Mayor.
“And all of you have stood on our cliff faces, or on the edge of the lighthouse and felt it. ‘The pull of the void’ they call it. The urge to jump.” The mayor reached out and pushed the toddler back toward its mother dodging a meaty toddler fist. The noise of the fan and the distraction of the toddler was throwing him off the Mayoral speaking game.
“My fellow travelers on this sphere, as a scientist representing the Natural Selection Party, I assure you that this indelible urge to self-destruct is not, as some have said, a reinforcement of the urge to live. Nor is this simply stupidity or a lack of sensibility. This is part of the brain that because of hard and troubled times becomes separate from the rhythm of nature and deep connection and meaning and now flounders detached following the sirens call for hysteria, chaos, war – every action without moral boundary, to give way to the frothy white water and to be swept up and swept away. It is hypnotic and arises in tough times when leadership is off fishing and Reason has gone missing, it becomes a sinister poison jumping from person to person without finding resistance and gaining momentum. We must step up steady leadership, purpose paired with wisdom and reason, and to follow our better instincts even when the way is unclear and decline temptation, reinforce morality as we would shore up our own boats, offer good will, and to stand strong so our neighbors can stand strong too.”
By this time people were actively avoiding the mayor speaking all those words and hard to grasp concepts and refusing to make eye contact and only Dr. Catropatric remained listening. He nodded his whiskers wisely agreeing with the mayor. It was time however to go get coffee, and for Dr. Catropatric a gravy packet – so a wrap up was in order. The food smell from the Crab & Fry really was amazing.
“Each of us on an individual level must call for the cecastion of the red-line, we cannot leave this here.” The fan whir of the greasy food stall abruptly stopped creating a lull and utterly quiet moment in which the Mayor shouted to no one in particular, “We must have harmony not chaos!” The phrase hung in the air awkwardly. Everyone in the building turned and looked at him. Some eyebrows arched. Some people giggled. The Mayor turned a darker shade of red than the Red Line.
The Mayor left to get an espresso which he confided in Dr. Catropatric was the only thing that eased the depression that came over him everytime he felt powerless, which was pretty much anytime he had something important to say. “Dr.Catropatric, tell me, was that last line about harmony a little over the top cheesy?” The Orange cat looked thoughtful and walked to the coffee shop. Never much for words was that cat. The Mayor took a deep breath questioning his life decisions. It wasn’t easy to lead.
The next day after a scuffle with two elected constables a large man in a badly wrinkled carmel colored sport coat fell into the redline. He was immediately killed, some say ‘fried’, in the worst of ways. It turned out he was carrying large quantities of various narcotics meant to be distributed across river and he was a wanted fugitive from the law for murder, rape, drug smuggling and being a generally bad person.
The Red Line is 6,000 Volts for Good!
There have been eleven deaths since installation as the overwhelming urge to touch the Red Line continues but generally agreed that the benefit outways the hazards.
As of this morning however the red line, the signage for Orca Ms. Orca and even the spray painted 6,000 VOLTS! Vanished as if it was never there. With Orca Ms. Orca’s savvy business empire simply must have made more sense to either relocate the Red Line or discontinue it.
The point of the Red Line, it’s use, even its benefit to anyone anywhere remains mysterious — but it did stop that damn crook. Let’s focus on that.
