Annie

She has been training her eyes to see through it all. She's been on the valedictorian track since freshman year, but, three years later, she has yet to make any social impact. As much as she tries to be seen and be heard, only her teachers will really listen. She spends weekends alone with her family working around the house on projects her parents have put together for gardening and renovations. As much as she enjoys the time spent with family, this is not by choice.

Annie has struggled to fit in despite growing up with everyone in the community. When she had a birthday party at age 5, everyone was there. By age 10, the ones that were still at her parties had become transparent in their unwillingness to be there. At least her parents had friends and means to get them to bring their kids to the party. The shift from children with no real insight on each other to young men and women learning that they have a choice of who they should be and be associated with was too much for Annie. She spent time on the fringe in the hallways listening to the cliches that she was not a part of to find out what she was missing.

After years of imparting herself into each group as a floating body, Annie began infiltrating each with some subtle suggestions. In Chemistry, she noted to Christine that she liked the drawings on her book cover of the griffin. It reminds me of my favorite role playing game, she had started and continued as Christine's eyes widened. Annie was successful at becoming part of the role playing cliche, but only in the moments when the group was gathered away from everyone else.

When she was with the athletic group, she was the runner who followed the track circuit and marathoners in professional competition and Olympics. With the drama group, she quoted plays and songs from musicals. Annie found herself going from group to group so often that she no longer had alone time between any classes on any given day. Her grades began to slip steadily with the effort she was putting in to fit into the molds each group had her set into. She had no time for studying she realized one Wednesday night as she found herself slipping into bed after midnight having had no time to put into her studies.

"I feel like Jane Goodall with the apes. I've associated myself so well that I could be one of any of them, but who does that make me? They have all latched onto an identity they have chosen for themselves, but I don't see anything in any of them that I can identify with. They all think I'm something different, but I'm no longer a person when I'm alone as if I only exist in someone else's head", she says to no one.

The next day, Annie attempted to return to her place in society as the studious book worm she had been before, but found her new standing in each group threatening that. She declined time to discuss the preference on number of sides to a die for gaming and if training for a run in bursts of high to low speeds was better than a straight steady pace for a long distance. She shook her head each time someone gave her a quote from a play or line from a song as she did not recognize them in some cases and, in most cases, was too preoccupied catching up on homework to give any thought. Within days, she was an outsider again.

For three weeks, Annie settled back into her groove of spending all of her time working on school work and with her family at home. The phone calls slowly ceased from the different groups, but she did not notice for a couple more weeks when she suddenly started missing the calls. Annie found the reentry to be nearly impossible. She was beginning to understand the concept of burning bridges behind her.

One night, Annie slept soundly. She awoke feeling as refreshed as she ever remembered feeling. She smiled in the morning out of pure happiness and her eyes settled into every piece of the morning from brushing and flossing her teeth to the scarf she tied around her neck as she prepared to walk out the front door. She made one final stop in her parents' bedroom before heading out the door and off to school.

Through the front doors, Annie travelled into the long corridor of people she had pretended to truly know. She felt a burning in her chest that did not upset her. The burning heated up her face and the smile that formed there was sickly and frightening to anyone who may have noticed her. She was sure nobody did notice her.

"I had a wonderful dream last night," she stated in a voice too weak to pierce the cluster of noises from group after group of friends engulfed in their own discussions. Undaunted, she tried again. "I had a wonderful dream last night," she shouted to the full hallway and reached into her backpack. The hallway quieted for a moment and some groups started to turn her way when they placed where the shout had come from. A young man in her class she had never noticed coincidentally as he was in her same outsider circle grabbed her and pulled her into the empty classroom. He held the wrist of her hand deep in her back pack.

"I don't have a good feeling about your intentions with that smile and the focused intent of your hand in that bag. Can you please spread your fingers wide and pull your hand back out?" Neal's frightened eyes met the half crazed eyes of Annie. He felt her fight with his hand to hold onto the surprise in her bag. "Please, Annie."

It could have been the please repeated to her with those pleading eyes, but Annie would later realize it was the use of her name that snapped her out of her psychotic break. The realization that she was an actual person to someone she did not know and had put no false pretenses into went a long ways towards breaking her down. She pulled her hand out empty and dropped the bag to the ground. Annie backed away almost surprised when the bag fell open and the handgun from her parents' bedroom slipped out. Neal barely registered that actual sight of the gun having already convinced himself of what she had been reaching for moments earlier.

They talked for an hour outside of the school skipping their first period classes. Neal comforted Annie telling her she was not alone. He was the second in line for valedictorian behind her and had always watched her in awe. He was not jealous of her ability, he was in love with it. When Annie slipped off the academic radar for a bit, he did his own investigation and saw how she had conformed herself to the multitude of seemingly self assured students in their class. It turned out that Neal was one of the few students actually sure of himself and his place in life.

He explained to Annie how the loner role was not really the shunned outcast of the world when it came to high school. Neal had observed the same groups Annie was pushing herself into, but from the individual stand point. When Annie and the majority of the group left the hallway, Neal observed a single group member at her locker or staring at himself in the mirror in the restroom. Outside of the group, the people Annie was jealous enough of to want to shoot were less sure of their place in life than even she was before she lost herself.

Annie went back on her track and ended up narrowly beating out Neal for the speech at graduation. She thanked her fellow students for teaching her something in her four years in that high school. She spoke of a sense of camaraderie and a sense of purpose, but she urged each student to find out who they were individually and not to settle for anything less than what they truly desired in life. She accepted the applause knowing well that most were not paying attention and many would not understand her words until years later when the truly valuable time of learning about themselves was nearly over. Neal stood the longest and clapped the loudest to Annie's ears. Life for each of them was wide open.


There's something in the way she makes believe, please be careful, Annie dreams that everyone is dead. - Our Lady Peace

The Series Hits A Speed Bump

"Dear ABC/Producers of Great American Bachelor,

My name is Tyler Gantry and you may know me as the newly selected bachelor for the next season of your show. I am excited about the opportunity to be apart of the show and enter into my journey towards finding my one true love from the 25 or so you have selected because you know me better than my parents and sister and friends who have done a horrible job with blind dates in the past. Especially my sister. She actually set me up with a transvestite once. I don't think she was insinuating anything, but I do think she was drunk or on something hallucinogenic, but I digress. That is not the intent of this letter.

When I was suggested to you by Rachel, my ex-girlfriend as you know, we had been apart for three months. She was dating and feeling guilty about breaking my heart and wanted to see me happy again. Something happened during whatever letter she wrote you and she started thinking about all of the great things she had to say about me. As she thought about what she had sent, she began thinking of how the guys she was dating after me all seemed to be missing things on that list. In the past two weeks, we've begun seeing each other again and have become more connected than when we split up. We started where we left off and I feel ecstatic to tell you that we are more in love than ever. That brings me to the point of this email.

I am aware that I have a contract to start shooting episodes in a week from today. However, I do not feel it is fair to the women chosen and the fans of the show to go on the show and lie about trying to find love when I am back in a happy relationship again. If you feel the need to bring legal action, I understand. If you have any flexibility and no back up bachelors, I have a suggestion that may rectify the situation. My best friend, Davis, is a great guy. We have the same sense of humor and interests. Davis has a good job and a good family life. I am also told and aware that he is an attractive man that I believe you will have no problem marketing for the show. The only thing is, well, he's kind of married. I say kind of because they are separated. no kids, just married but separated.

Before you roll your eyes and get your lawyers on the phone, I plead of you to think about the option. Davis Baker is a great guy with a failing relationship. You are always looking for good candidates and a new angle. What better angle than a man still married looking for what he's missing and what went wrong in his own marriage while he's still in it. I guarantee he will break down a few times during the run of the series.

Thank you and I'm sorry again,

Tyler Gantry"

The Big Sleep Interrupted

Tony felt the shots to his chest nearly hearing the thud as each shot hit his ribs. The overwhelming sense of gravity kicked in as he felt the hardwood crack under his skull as he dropped to the floor. The shade on the lamp next to him on the table rattled threatening to tip before settling on the base again. The shock to the back of his head signalled the ringing in his ears. The lights appeared to flick off and on as if in a muzzle flash. A form appeared above him muffled voice coming to him softly in his ringing ears.

"Have a nice flight!" The mocking tone he imagined in the voice brought up images of bad villain lines from past movies or even worse hero lines in final scenes where the bad guy dies. The points in his chest ached from the earlier strike, but did not feel like he had been shot anymore. He was distracted by the ringing and the weariness in his brain he attributed to the slow creepy decline into eternal slumber. In his waning thoughts, he began to assess his recent times and reveal who would sneak into his home and assassinate him in his sleep.

He worked in an office entering data from credit card applications received in the mail. He knew each of the ten others working around him, but no one else in the company except for the man who had hired him. In the past week, he had eaten with everyone he worked with at least once. Larry laughed at Tony's lame knock knock joke he had stolen from an episode of The Office the night before. Simi and Terri had bought him lunch when he left his wallet on his desk last Monday, but he had paid them back and they had seemed to have forgotten he owed them money. Tim, Janice, Fred, Joe and Margret took him out for drinks Friday night to celebrate a strong week of over 10,000 applications entered as a new record for the team. Timo and Angie could not make the happy hour, but they had pitched in for a round and taken off in their enamoured haze as newlyweds. His boss had given them all bonuses for work well done. His work place could not have been the source of the assault.

He had met no one knew in the past month. He had walked home quietly in solitude to his wife without so much as jaywalking to upset anyone. He had come home a bit too intoxicated for his wife's preference the night before when the happy hour ended. She had ordered take out like they do on Friday nights, but he was late and she ate alone. He had apologized several time for not calling, but she had never seemed to drop the grudge. It couldn't be his wife, could it? Could she have actually been so angry at his tardiness as to shoot him? It couldn't be, he thought. We don't even own a gun. We hate guns.

The initial shock was wearing off and he now realized he was actually getting warmer instead of colder on the floor. He reached down and felt his chest coming up empty for blood seeping out of open wounds. He was fine. There was no assassination. He had fallen from bed and now lay next to the space heater trying to recover his breath. Pressing his right hand firmly against the floor he got up to find his wife looking at him with a slight smile through drowsy eyes. The clock marked the time as 3:48am. He crawled slowly back to bed and curled on his side facing his wife as she closed her eyes and seemingly slipped back into her dream world.

After five minutes of closed eyes attempts at a return to sleep, the aching died in his chest and he began to doze off barely aware of the sound of shifting sheets as sparks jumped in front of his closed eyes. A sharp aching arose from his groin. He opened his eyes to look down and find his wife's knee solidly lodged between his thighs. The assault was on again. Tony slipped out of bed and walked towards the bedroom door to get some ice from the kitchen. From behind him, he heard a whisper chase him out. "Don't forget to call next time."

In Case Of Monty...

Em G A
A man came to my door today
At first he didn't have much to say
Then with a wink and a smile he opened his case
And insurance forms were strewn all over the place

He handed me his card, his name was Monty
His hand shake was as steady as it was crushing
The first form showed me pictures of him
Ransacking my neighbors house and killing old Jim

F C G
He pointed at the price on page one
F C B
He showed before after pictures he'd done
He pushed me to my couch, he crushed my favorite chair
He began his pitch as I started to stare
And he said...

G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm Maybe I'll crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm Oh what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm Maybe I'll kill you
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm Oh what can you do

The words were confusing but the motions were clear
He emphasized each word while building up fear
He ripped off his bow tie and I saw with a jolt
On the left and the right protruded each bolt

Stuttering I begged him please to just leave
He took my muttering as mocking and started to seize
He tore down my TV, he ripped out the fan
Then he started to cry far too much for a man
He pointed again at the prices quoted
I began to question his violent motive...

G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm kill you
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do

He was green and frightening, he stood ten feet tall
His clothes were hand tailored, he could not shop at the mall
He terrorized people with his tremendous power
But at least he was nice enough to give that poor girl that flower

I settled him down and sat him on the ground
He started to breath heavy, what a frightening sound
His story was sad, his history was grim
He was made in a lab, his career options were slim

The doctor had never given him a name
From a fruit cup, up with a new name he came
His resume was weak, his experience was none
Telemarketing was out, he thought it no fun

I felt sorry for him and we worked out a plan
I bought a policy to protect me from a man
who knew no real father, he had no mother
His first word groaned, villagers he'd smother
When life gave him lemons, he crushed them
He now made his living. when the uninsured saw him

G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm kill you
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do

G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm low deductible
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do

Grazed and Confused

Jeffrey stared out the grime stained windows of the bus at cow grazing off the side of the road. He daydreamed about what it would be like to not have a care in the world but to roam and eat grass. He would happily live in ignorance of the imminent danger he would always be in even as he was taken in on occasion to be milked. He would still roam carefree attributing the milking in his cow brain to that of necessary doctor visits or a car tune up. Yes, even as a cow, Jeffrey feels he would understand the internal combustion engine and the need for preventative maintenance. On the day he would be taken in for the slaughter, he would no doubt daydream about this patchy bearded man on a bus broken down on the side of the road and think how wonderful life must be not to be a cow.

"What the fook is taking so long!" Timothy paced the aisle impatiently waiting for the repair truck that was called an hour prior to arrive. Jeffrey had agreed to take the bus because Timothy was terrified of flying in a plane and thought a bus trip might do him good. Jeffrey figured they would both have time to figure out what to say when they saw her in Dallas. Jeffrey knew she was waiting for Timothy after running away to her parents' home outside of Dallas four months ago. She had told Timothy not to come down there, but after months of unreturned phone calls, she answered two days ago. Timothy begged her to let him explain what had happened, but she didn't want to hear it. He begged her to allow him to apologize in person at least. Jeffrey thought it odd that she had agreed, but he was anxious to see her again too. He had a confession of his own.

"Are they flying a special mechanic in from fookin' Germany?" Jeffrey could always tell when Timothy was frustrated because he always spoke in his modified swearing like a man with an accent he's worked years to lose, but always returns to in fits of anger. Timothy was born and raised in Iowa, but had grown up with his mother trying not swear in front of her child. The twisted vulgarity would stick with him through high school and get him mocked when he tried to go on a tirade against the running back of the football team for bumping him in the cafeteria.

"Watch where the fook you're going, cook stalker! I'd rip your brain out of your axe if I could find it, dip head." Brant Fising had stared at him unsure if he should be angry before patting Timothy on the shoulder and saying, "sorry about that, foreign dude" and walking away. Jeffrey had been friends with Timothy ever since that day.

"She'll be waiting for us at the bus station and my phone is dead thanks to the reception out the middle of fookin' nowhere Kansas!" Timothy pivoted like point guard to reverse his pacing and stopped to apologize to a woman and her 5 year old son for his vulgar tone. She told him it was fine. As he walked away, Jeffrey could hear the five year old call Timothy an asshole as he walked away. There wasn't much chance Timothy was going to affect the mannerisms of a young child who had probably spent more time in bus stations with odd ways about them than in this delayed trip south with Timothy.

"I could give her a call. I have reception and my phone is charged." Jeffrey reached into his pocket for the phone, but Timothy grew panicked and waved Jeffrey away from his pocket.

"Yeah. We'll call her on your phone and then she'll know I was too afraid to come see her alone. I'm sure that would begin our reconciliation just great." Timothy made another point guard pivot and began his pacing again. Jeffrey was going stir crazy in the back of the bus watching his friend nervously pace in the aisle.

"I'm going to hop out and see if I can figure anything out. My sister is a mechanic after all." Timothy stopped and gestured toward the back door like a man without much faith in his friend's ability, but wanted to humor him anyways. Jeffrey didn't care. He wasn't going out to look at the engine. He wanted to call Denise regardless of what Timothy wanted.

Jeffrey pressed his way through the rear doors of the bus and the driver came at him with both palms out waving frantically for Jeffrey not to leave the bus. Jeffrey pulled out his cell phone and shook it gently in the air. "I need to call and make sure the person I'm meeting knows we are going to be delayed and my friend will drive me insane if I call in there. I'll stay within 10 feet of the bus, alright?"

Begrudgingly, the driver dropped his hand and went back to staring at the steaming pile of engine in the rear panel of the bus. Jeffrey flipped open his phone and hit 7 on speed dial. He rarely met new people and had had no reason to reassign the speed dial since Denise had left. He listened to the static and ringing as the traded off at the speaker at his ear. After four rings and expecting to get an answering machine or voice mail, Denise picked up sounding like she had been sleeping.

"Uhh, good morning?" Jeffrey slapped his forehead forgetting that they had left on a 4am bus and had only been traveling for a couple of hours. It was still early morning on a Saturday. He listened to the rustling on the other end of the phone as Denise sounded as if she were turning on her pillow to see the clock. He heard her mumble something about six in the morning at a distance and he figured she was taking another look at caller ID.

"Jeffrey? What do you want? Is something wrong? Are you drunk? Still awake from last nights?" The concern in her voice for him was appreciated but unnecessary in his mind. If I get a 6am phone call from an old friend, I just assume they are drunk still, Jeffrey thought.

"Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to call and see what you are doing today? Any big plans for this, a random Saturday in September?" He had decided to play it vague in the hope that she wouldn't pick up that he was with Timothy on the trip to see her.

"Really? You decide to call me at 6am to chat about my day? What is wrong with you? Let me sleep, for the love of god. I'm on a trip to Phoenix for work and have to spend the weekend here. I was really hoping to sleep in before I have to get up and start working again, but I guess you've killed that. Thanks, friend." Jeffrey flipped his phone closed quickly like it mike explode if he didn't end the call. He had hoped she might slip back to sleep and forget he had called. Unfortunately, he would not be able to lose the fact that she was in Phoenix and would have had plenty of time to let Timothy know before the trip that she would not be in Dallas this weekend. Unless Timothy had another reason for bringing him down there. Jeffrey found he had now joined Timothy in nervous pacing as an over sized tow truck arrived on the scene.

Dorene

Dorene sat behind the battered brown steering wheel waiting for the stop light to blink out to green tapping her nails on the wheel to the song on the radio. The final guitar wail ended with a crash of drums and the next song began filtering in through her speakers. The drums rolled in slowly with a cymbal tapping for emphasis as a deep voice began to hum the melody. She could see the light for the cross road turning yellow as the voice began to sing.

Dorene, why you got to be so mean
Dorene, what's your problem with me
Dorene with the beater Ford escort
Dorene, why did you tear out my heart

Dorene stopped tapping and stared down at the radio. She glanced to the passenger dash staring at the Ford symbol emblazoned there. The honking of horns behind her reminded her that the light was turning green. She looked back to the street and stepped on the accelerator as the first verse started up.

Color of her hair don't mean a thing
Her black black heart didn't want the ring
She straddles some guy like a parking cone
She's done with me, her cheating is known

The honking was back again as Dorene looked in the rear view mirror and realized the cars parked on the street were no longer slipping past her. She had stopped her escort completely half a block from the next light. Noticing an open spot in front of a fire hydrant, Dorene jerked the wheel to the right and slammed on the pedal to move out of the flow of traffic as the singing continued.

Her eye a deep green, she was blind to me
A wandering gaze follows ever man she sees
Spiteful hand grabs a handful of denim
That should be me, but that is him

Dorene, why you got to be so mean
Dorene, what's your problem with me
Dorene with her wandering stare
Dorene, sees lovers everywhere

Dorene sat with her foot on the brake pedal trying to think through her past loves for anyone who would have been tied to the music industry in any way. Frank had been a bartender and knew bands, but they had never been anything serious but a few random nights on spring. She definitely had never cheated on him. Tom had been heart broken by her, but he was a computer programmer who didn't listen to much music. Darren had been hot headed which was part of what she had loved about him, but he had left her and he could not have known she cheated when she went away for a conference for work. A wave of male faces swirled in her vision. The sheer number was a bit unsettling. A voice cut into her head telling her that the song can't be her. It could be anyone, the voice said.

Dorene exhaled as she accepted it was just a coincidence. The bridge dashed those hopes quickly.

Her tattoo on her hips, she only let slip
For the men not me, that she slipped off to see
The ink covered birth mark, green as her eyes, black as her heart
A miller's daughter for me, a whore she turned out to be

Too much coincidence to ignore, Dorene knew the song was about her. She had a tattoo of a pot of gold with a green shamrock on her hip she had placed there to cover a scar from her birth. Even the last line was a reference to her. Her father was a marketing manager, but her last name is Miller. How many people she knew would recognize the song was about her? Would Ben know? She sucked in what air she could find in the suddenly confined interior of her car. No boyfriend had ever known about her indiscretions and she had never cared enough about a man to worry about being faithful until Ben.

Dorene, this song is for you
Dorene, you belong in a zoo
Dorene, you already work there now
Dorene, how do you like me now

Dorene stared in wide eyed terror at the specificity of the final chorus. Someone was going to suffer for this. She stared with tears in her eyes waiting for the song name and band, but it never came.

Back to Pilot

Jerry opens his eyes to the bright flashes and covers his face to escape. He wonders why he is so sensitive to the light from the television set when something sharp cut through his powder blue golf shirt drawing blood. Lowered hands reveal the light flashes have faded and the light from the television has been replaced by to a lone streetlight surrounding him with light in the late night. His ears are ringing while he reaches for his injured arm. The blood droplets trickle through his fingers for a bit before the bleeding ceases. Whatever caught him was sharp enough not to snag any of the cotton threads on his shirt when it cut straight through to the flesh.

The first sound audible over the ringing in his ears is a woman's scream from somewhere behind him. He spins to find her and finds himself face to what can only be assumed is another face. The body layout is human in the two arms, two legs and one head sort of way, but the head is elongated with little asparagus shaped green mustache points hanging to the chin. The eyes are saucers and a deep black that shimmers in the streetlight. The shimmering pools found in these eyes should have been a line for a date, but these pools were actual liquid. These eyes saw only a fast meal.

As his eyes focused and adjusted to the low light of night, Jerry watched as a small town square came into focus around him. Over the creature's right shoulder was a sign over a door for Dunny's Dry Cleaning. Next to the Dry Cleaners, Jerry noticed the Tully's Town Tap sign hanging over the bar. The neon "OPEN" light seemed to flare on as he noticed it. He didn't even need to look behind him. He could have named the buildings and the specific shiop layout spanning the Cypress Square. He had spent so much time within this neighborhood without actually being in the neighborhood that he could have drawn it for someone else if he were blind.

The deep breathing followed by a low gurgle emitted from the thing across from him. It tilted it's head at Jerry curious why he wasn't running away. Jerry had been startled at first, so the creature knew he was not blind.

"Why do you not run, fleshpot?" The sound flowed from around the creature as the mouth did not move on the front of the head. Flatchels worked that way. The eyes were on both sides of the head and the asparagus tips he noticed before were feelers instead of a mustache. They were used for sensing motion behind the creature for its protection. Jerry was face to back of the head to a creature he had vaguely recalled from the past.

"Run? You aren't even facing me. What am I supposed to be afraid of?" Jerry felt the corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk. He was dreaming. He had obviously fallen asleep in front of the television during and early season episode and began dreaming himself into the show. The Flatchel was an early first season creature that only managed to scare people, but was never seen on screen to have killed anyone. The only action scene with the thing was when Mark and Katy had killed it at the end of the episode to save the town. There was never any real proof that the thing would hurt anyone and the ridiculous name was common in the first season before the more juvenile writers were sent packing and the Grogalon and Juggurarmy type of creatures came around.

A hiss came from the other side of the creature as it spun around to reveal two beady eyes at the top of the skull and the remaining skull was all teeth with an opening large enough to small a small animal whole. Jerry chuckled at his imagination. The effects department had been pretty weak in the early days of The Davis Files before it was renamed Creaturetown , USA. In the actual show, the Flatchel's mouth was a gummy looking prosthetic placed onto the back of some stunt actor's head. These teeth were real and filed to a point the way a child would suck on a candy cane until it became a small weapon. The seemed to vibrate with the thing's breathing and occasional saliva dripped from the points. Jerry was impressed with his imagination.

"What's so funny? Does death amuse you?" The four longest teeth clicked together as he spoke more emphaticlly. Jerry's demeanor seemed to be upsetting it, but was there really any truth to the death in a dream thing being applied to real life? He was not afraid. Besides, this was the point in the show where the thing gets chased off by the police car responding to the woman he heard scream earlier.

"I'm not going to die. You're a figment of my imagination anyways." Jerry reached out and tapped cautiously at the creature's chest and came back with a stream of green goo attached to his finger. "You'd think I would have at least put an evil outfit or soemthing on you. The teeth look pretty sweet, but I don't see why I had to go all out on the slime coating."

The mouth appeared to turn up its corners as if the creature was smiling. One of the arms raised in front of Jerry and the tentacle hand began to slide back as a three fingered claw with what looked like razor sharp claws came out and clamped open and close in front of Jerry's face. "A figment must be quite powerful to you. Is this some mind game to you? It seems more like a claw game to me. Let's see if you've got any stuffed animals in you for my sweety."

Jerry laughed along with the Flatchel. He appreciated good wit in a villain. He wondered why this creature hadn't lasted longer on the show. Jerry stared down at the claw as it moved towards his chest. Even in his dream, he would want this thing touching him, so he placed his hand inside of the claw and winked at the creature. "You don't have enough time to kill me. A police car is about to come around the corner and shine a light on you. Then you'll rush off to the sewer grate beneath the fountain in the town square. Maybe you could save us the trip down superfluous lane and just go now. The Davis kids are going to end up killing you in three nights anyways. You might want to think twice about going after a short blonde girl tomorrow night. She's not what she looks like, Pal."

The head of the creature turned towards the corner Jerry had indicated the car would be coming from before clamping down on his hand. Jerry screamed in pain as the claws were not razor sharp after all, but the pressure had crushed his pinky and rings fingers. He could feel his pulse pick up and the throbbing begin in his hand as the sound of the police siren finally came. Jerry watched the light strike the beady black eyes and the creature roared back at the noise. It turned back to Jerry cocking its head interestedly at the man who seemed to know the future before turning and dart across the square into the grate Jerry had pointed out earlier.

Jerry stood in shock as he felt the pain spark across his brain. How could he feel this kind of pain if he was dreaming? He tried his best to convince himself that he was impervious to pain, but the thought drifted in an out with his consciousness as he slipped to the ground and passed out to the flashing lights and the footsteps of the police officer.

A Chance Meeting

Tom Upton had been working in construction for five years before the housing market caused most construction companies to begin to pull back on staffing. Even with five years in, Tom was the least senior builder and had been let go two months prior. Luckily for him, this spring in Chicago started to warm up quickly and he was contracted out on repair jobs to fill the paycheck gap. Today, Tom was fixing the loose steps on a building in the Lakeview neighborhood. He often wondered why the neighborhood was called Lakeview as most of the neighborhood was at least a mile from a even clear view of the lake.


He wondered this as he unloaded the tools and materials from his van and dropped them in bunches in the front yard of a small brick building with 3019 stamped next to the front door. Most of these buildings in the neighborhood have all concrete and brick front steps, but 3019 was an older conversion building. The condo association was being cheap at the last minute after the interior's renovations wrecked the association's initial budget. Tom was getting a lot of these calls and it was making his construction income loss a moot point at home. He had looked at his two year old son, Brett, and known he had no time to waste. His wife was working night shifts on the emergency room nursing staff and was fighting exhaustion to take care of their son while Tom worked days.


The previous night, Ellen had left him to put Brett to bed when he heard his son coughing. Knowing his wife, Tom brought Brett a glass of water to avoid double dosing him if Ellen had already given him something. Eight loud crying coughing fits throughout the night left Tom slightly ragged, but with a deadline on the new steps he did not have much choice on a sick day for himself.



Tom had been framing the new steps and front porch for a week and was finally ready to begin nail down the steps. He spent twenty minutes fighting with the air compressor before fighting with the nail gun for another ten. Once the compressor started whirring at a loud volume, Tom could barely hear as the nail gun fired each nail into the steps he had placed face down on the framing. After two steps, he set the gun down on the step and walked to grab the next set of boards. He turned around with a new step in each hand in time to see the man drop flat to the sidewalk and watch two more nails fire into the tree across the sidewalk.



Tom dove to the compressor and slapped the switch to the off position before his addled mind remembered that the switch only turned of the motor to continue compressing the air, but the air in the compressor tank was still flowing to the nail gun. Swearing ferociously, Tom ripped the air hose from the compressor cutting the air from the nail gun and sending the neighborhood eerily quiet. He lay flat on the ground for a moment before remembering why he had dove in the first place.



Tom stood and brushed the dirt from the front of his pants as he cautiously walked to the front gate. Two feet from the fence, Tom could see the man lying face down on the sidewalk. Tom could feel the blood drain from his head and fought the urge to faint. Crouching to the ground, Tom placed his head between his knees in time for thoughts of what would happen to his family if he had accidentally killed a man working a contract job on a house. He would never get hired again. His wife would have to work even more to pay the mortgage payments. He saw himself in front of a court of law with a jury shaking their heads disapprovingly at him having already convicted him.



His lawyer placing a hand on his shoulder tries to comfort him multiple times. Each comforting phrase ends with the dead man having a different family obligation and job to judge the affect it would have on him.



"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have an unmarried convenience store clerk die with no repercussions."

"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have a married police officer die with no repercussions."

"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have a married firefighter with kids die with no repercussions."

"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have a single father supporting three kids and five foster children while working three jobs to support them die with no repercussions. Maybe if you had tried to help him, they would have had mercy on you."



Tom's brain finally reconnected and he realized the man could still be alive. Running down the sidewalk between 3019 and 3017 to his truck parked behind the building, Tom hurried to get his cell phone and call 911. After a minute connecting, Tom babbled frightened to the operator that it was an accident. The nail gun was misfiring. The compressor was too loud. How could he have known it was firing with that noise?



The operator calmed him and asked Tom if the man was still breathing. Did he have a pulse? Where did the nail strike him? Tom did not know the answer to these questions. He hadn't even checked. Rushing back to the front sidewalk, Tom slid to a stop slamming his hip into the fence as he breathlessly tried to express his surprise to the operator. He swore the man had fallen and the nails had continued to fly afterwards. He had assumed the man was hit, but the only thing he could see from the property were the nails in the tree. There was no man on the sidewalk. Tom sighed deeply and apologized for frightening himself and wasting the operator's time. He hung the phone up and slid it into his tool belt, swapping the phone for his claw hammer.



Tom pushed the front gate open and crossed the sidewalk to the tree and began yanking nails from the oak tree. The first three nails came out easily, but the fourth and fifth nails were secure in the tree. On a vicious tug at the fifth one, the claw hammer came free and clanged to the sidewalk behind Tom. Shaking his head, Tom walked to the hammer and crouched to pick it up before seeing the spot next to the hammer. A small red pool of blood and a few fingers of a hand print was next it. A hand print in blood, Tom now realized the man was real, but who would walk away after that? Tom scratched his head furiously before deciding there was nothing he could do at this point and went back to working on the nail gun.

Flights of fancy characters

Ron stood in line for Security for gates 1-2 at the San Diego airport. He had not flown for a few years and was feeling a bit uncomfortable at the thought of open public spaces. Filing forward with the rest of the cattle on a Saturday morning, Ron looked across the terminal counters in time to see a cartoony monk mascot walking towards him from the security line for gates 3-10.

He had been in line for 20 minutes giving him enough time to see the security line preparation video with the large lego man and monk helping people prepare for a speedy walk through the security line to their gates. Being a bit paranoid about handing his bag to strangers, Ron had decided to carry on and admittedly over-sized bag. He felt the mascot's eye target in on him.

With a goofy cartoon-like voice, the monk walked directly upto Ron and shouted the way a man with a giant foamy head who can't hear well would. "Awfully big bag you've got there, friend. Are you sure you wouldn't rather check that?"

"No." Ron stared forward in an attempt not to continue the conversation. The attempt would fail.

"You know, everyone has a right to have space on the plane for regulation sized baggage and the ability to move through security quickly." The freakishly large head with the friar tuck style bald spot wobbled left and right as Ron was judged by a man paid to wander an airport dressed like an idiot.

"What about my right to not be hassled by a moron in a giant head? Maybe I only own one bag and this one has my medication in it that I will need during the flight. Very logical reasoning to me, but you don't look to be a man who has made all the necessary intellectual decisions in life not to end up here." Ron stepped forward with the line movement. The mascot took two sideways steps with his comically large shoes and continued in the silly voice.

"That's too bad, sir. I'd hate to see someone as pleasant as you in bad physical health. Maybe I can help you carry your bag through." A large hand made of a mixture of cloth and foam reached for Ron's bag before being slapped away.

"No. I can take my own bag." The man two spaces in line ahead of Ron looked back with some concern. A man two spaces back from Ron looked on with amusement. The rest of the line seemed unfazed by the conversation.

"Well, maybe I can help you prepare for the x-ray machine. Your watch should be in a bin. Let's get that off." The big hands waggled chunky fingers at Ron's wrist. Ron turned to face the oversized puppet man for the first time.

"I said no." His tone left no uncertainty to his aggrevation. The monk put his hands on his hips mimicking Ron as the two men watching before now shared a concerned glance towards each other.

"Well, that's a might large belt. That buckle will surely set off the metal detector. Let's get that off of you." Before he could turn away, two giant gloves had grasped onto Ron's belt and begun tugging as if to rip the belt off like a cheap band for a bar's drink specials.

Ron reached up without thinking and slammed both fists down on top of the mascot head. "Routabegga!" Ron shouted at the mascot as he knocked the mascot's hands from his belt and the two men watching earlier tackled the giant monk to the ground and secured him in handcuffs.

Ron found himself dragged from the line by a member of airport security where he was lead with the mascot dragged by the two men from the line into a secured interrogation room.

The mascot was tossed to the floor across from Ron. The two men stood with hands on the gun holsters on their hips staring at the crumpled cosutmed character. "Were you just going to let him take me off to meet his parents before you stepped in on this guy? What the hell?"

The man closest to Ron with the name Rodgers etched on his holster cleared his throat. "We had the situation within our control. This man had no weapon on him or a way of retrieving on from within the suit without being obvious about it. We are sorry if you do not think this way too. We're only here to protect you from real threats, not from any asshole bugging you today."

The man next to Rodgers with Smith etched on his holster snickered at his partner's comments. The TSA representative walked to the mascot and reached for the head.

"I'm sorry about this guy. The airport usually screens these guys pretty regularly for the signs that they have lost the patience for a surly customer or the sense to leave them alone." TSA agent Tonga grabbed onto the large nose of the mask and hoisted it off quickly possibly expecting a dramatic Scooby Doo-like reveal of a villain.

The beheaded monk squinted his eyes at the bright lights in the room and began rubbed the back of fis head with his large cuffed hands. The motion made the cowlick of hair in the back stick up even worse than usual. Rodgers and Jones thumbed the safety snap off of their holsters when the cuffed hands went up initially, but Ron waved them back while shaking his head.

"Jimmy! What in the hell are you doing here?"

Once Upon A Not So Green Lawn...

"Time travel." Jimmy Tiffin stared wide eyed as he said two words to his neighbor Ron Canton. The spray from the nozzle on the hose continued its attack on the flower bed as Ron let the words sink in. The water began to fill up the open tulip bulbs before the assault was cut off at the source.

"What are you talking about?" Ron had moved into the Payton Estates neighborhood with his wife two months back and Jimmy Tiffin has been the first one to greet him as he arrived. Likewise, he had started the conversation off with similar randomness.

"You've seen my sister, Sheila. She's married to Jack Kenton from the auto body shop. I've told you about him. He's a bit off sometimes, but he's faithful, so she doesn't complain. She's sure she can bring him more into the social scene, but it's going to take a little time."

"Yeah. I get it. The whole Rome wasn't built on the bay thing." A barrage of water slaps at the chain link fence at the edge of the yard as Ron squeezes the trigger a couple of times to feed the browning grass connecting his yard to Jimmy's yard.

"I think you mean Rome wasn't built in a day, but yeah. She thinks she can change him. I don't think there's anything wrong with him myself. I've stopped by and seen him laughing it up with the other guys at the shop without any awkwardness, so I always figured it might just be he's not yet comfortable completely being himself around new people."

"Not everyone is as upfront to everyone they meet as you are, Jimmy."

"You don't have to tell me that." Ron's mocking tone falls on deaf ears once again. "Well, I go to talk to him minutes after he's done joking around and he's stiff as a board again. I start talking to him about how my boss, Fran, just laid into me about being too social at work. She says it puts other people off and that I don't stop talking long enough to let other people tell me they have work to do. I think that's crap, but I can't tell my boss or she'll fire me or make me work second shift where only the nutties come out. You know what I'm talking about."

"I know the type." Ron stares more intently trying to allow his body language to tell Jimmy to walk away, but Jimmy continues on with his story.

"Exactly, so I'm going on about Fran and I say to Jack, 'Can you believe that?' and he just stares past me and yells, 'That thing's gonna fall on you, Trent!' like I'm not even there. After that he looks back at me and says, 'What were you saying? I don't remember what you just said.' Can you believe that? He can't remember what I said over the past three minutes. So I'm about to lay into him when I hear a loud noise behind and one of the other guys yells out in pain. Turns out this guy Trent had hung a quarter panel of a Buick on a hook on the wall to paint and the hook pulled out of the wall and dropped the chunk of metal onto his foot. Crushed his left foot and he's been in an air cast for a week now."

"I guess he should have listened to Jack then."

"Yeah. But why listen to the guy when you've done something that way so many times before. So I looked at Jack and said, 'How did you know that was going to happen?' You know what he says to me? He says, 'I just saw it coming.' Can you believe that? Saw it coming!"

Ron stood watching the water drip out of the bottom of the tulips before looking up and realizing Jimmy had stopped talking. He wondered how long he could stand there before Jimmy forced the conversation forward again, but he figured Jimmy could wait longer than Ron's patience. "And?"

"What do you mean 'And?' It's so obvious. He drifted off into the future for a few minutes and saw what was going to happen. He stood there as I spoke and the world opened up its chest of secrets to him and looked in wide eyed. He saw, in those minutes, what was going to happen to Trent before it happened. He saw it. Don't you see? He can see into the future."

"You think he's tele...kinectic or whatever?"

"Clairvoyant is the word and yeah. I do. Think about it. He lost the time while I was talking and he gained the time coming after that where Trent was going to have the quarter panel fall on him. It's like the Golden Man story or more notably like that show Lost."

"You mean he's really on an island no one can find?"

"No. His mind shifted times. While I was talking to him, his current mind switched with his future mind so he was able to see the things he would remember seeing later, but because his future mind was there while I was talking and likely confused by the situation, he lost the entire conversation. His current mind wouldn't remember it because it never happened for that mind. It's less confusing on the show, trust me."

A crash is heard behind Ron as he turns to see the paper boy lob a newspaper and decapitate three stems from his rose bushes in front of the house. Ron takes the hose with his right hand and aims it under his left arm spraying mercilessly into the face of the paperboy. Swerving to regain his site, the front tire of his bike slams into the fire hydrant and tosses him headlong into the side of Jimmy's truck. The boy lay there clutching his head while Jimmy stared.

"So you think he can see into the future?" Unfazed, Ron tries to speed the conversation to a conclusion.

"Uhh. Yeah. I figure that's why he's so weird around people because he knows he may not be there completely while they talk and then he'll just be the asshole that hears but never really listens to other people. So I'm thinking we should have a poker night and invite him over. I'll tape the game in secret and watch his face. To make sure I can track if he knows what I'll have, I will mouth what cards I have to the camera so I'll remember later. Then we'll see if he can see into the future."

You're going to do all of this while we're playing for real money?"

"Of course. How else could I convince him it's real?"

"In that case, I'll be there. Not to spoil this perfect plan, but why don't you just ask him if he can see the future or, more directly, ask him in more detail about the incident at the shop. That way you wouldn't have to ponder these things with other people around and you could put your mind at ease." The paperboy stood up rubbing the back of his head and flipped off Ron as he grabbed his bike. With deft accuracy, Ron sprayed him again in the face and he slipped sideways smacking forehead on the bumper of the truck and fell to the ground again.

"Why would I deprive you of these conversations, Ron? I don't see you socialize yourself with anyone on the street. I fear I'm your only friend." Jimmy smiled a proud smile at the thought of being so important in someone else's life.

"This conversation makes me want to slit your wrists." Ron shakes his head incredulously.

"I think you meant slit YOUR wrists."

"I said what I meant. So if I'm so antisocial like Jack, why don't you think I can see into the future too?"

Jimmy tilted his head confused. "I don't know. I guess I've never seen an instance where that would have been called into question. Are you able to see into the future?"

Ron laughed heartily and openly at Jimmy. "Of course not, Jimmy. If I could, I would see you coming."

"I don't get it."

"I know you don't, buddy. Talk to you later." Ron walked towards his front porch dragging the hose behind him. Reaching into the rose bushes, he scoops the devastated roses into his left hand and, dropping the hose, grabs the paper with his right. Standing on the porch looking at the reflection in the glass of the front door, he hears the paperboy's bike ticking along and racing to a higher speed to get away. Ron turns and spirals the newspaper through the front get and into the front tire of the bike. He's halfway way through the front door as hears the paperboy swearing loudly on the front sidewalk.