The rumbling of the van over the stones in the driveway shook Stan awake. He was inside a dark smooth cloth prison. As he fought more, the sides of the bag closed in tighter until he was no longer able to move. He had vacuum sealed himself into submission. He could blink his eyes for now, but even that movement seemed to be drawing the sides of the bag in on him even more. Closing his eyes, Stan gives in to what must be certain death until he feels himself tipping over and slam into the inside wall of the van.
A small tear forms near his face and a stream of light falls on Stan's face. A noise like that of a passing airplane can be heard and he takes it to be the sound death must make upon crossing over. The tear is letting air in little by little and his arms are able to fan out more and more space to move.
Stan reaches towards the light as souls are instructed to do in the movies. A cool breeze greets him as he tears open the bag and tumbled to the rough tan carpeting in the back of the van. He never imagined heaven could look so tacky and dirty. Heaven's image was renewed upon the sound of a hissing coming from behind him. He turned just in time to see a small block of wood at the end of a small handle passing towards him at a great speed.
Scrambling for safety, Stan's foot catches in the velvet bag he just escaped. Stan's footing gives way from under him. The bag slips out from his foot and launches into the air connecting with the wooden stamp. Stan rolls over as he lands in time to witness light emanating from the point of contact before the bag disintegrated into a pile of dust.
The air begins to vibrate like a tuning fork as the stamp begins to glow for moment afterwards and then cools until it appears just hot to touch. The red outline in the area reads "OVERDUE" in reverse. Stan covers his ears as the ringing ends with a sudden burst as if a great vacuum void has just been filled in a rush of air.
"Damn it. That was an expensive bag." Each letter seems to be whispered yet carries as if the voice is directly in Stan's ear. From his corner in the back of the van, Stan can only see the arm retract and the van's sliding door close from the outside. The world comes back into focus when Stan hears the van door make the same whooshing plane over head sound he heard while in the bag.
A moment later a round spot of black smoke forms in the wall of the van near where Stan is sitting. He recognizes what is happening a moment before the glowing stamp comes through the cloud and narrowly misses his right shoulder.
He swings out to grab the arm, but his hands pass through as if it were some attacking apparition. The arms retracts and is gone before another smoke hole opens from the back doors. This time, Stan doesn't need to move as the strike is well off the mark and the stamp slams into the wheel well instantly turning the van into dust. The carpet does not dematerialize which is a blessing to Stan as it saves him from falling naked into the driveway of stones.
"Sit still!" The hissing is back in his ear, but this time it really is behind him. Stan quickly grabs the frayed end of the carpet formerly lining the van and begins to roll himself up for protection. The stamp strike the carpet beneath his armpit causing Stan scream and swing wildly this time connecting with the butt of the stamp and knocking it to the ground.
Now lying in a nude heap in the stones, Stan reaches out his hands to return to a kneel when he realizes his hand now rests on the handle of the stamp that thing used to turn the bag and van to dust. This new found weapon gives him a slight feeling of control until he finds himself in a dark green headlock fighting to maintain this new control.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Stan cries out in muffled breathes as his air supply dwindles.
"It is the way of things. Things must begin and things must end in their correct time. I failed to set your final date at birth and now I must right the situation if I ever want to get back to my true job again." The hissing and the throbbing of his blood in his ears begins to make Stan dizzy. Beginning to lose his balance, he reaches up to the arm holding him to keep himself standing forgetting he still has the stamp in hand.
There is a clicking noise as Stan's grip on the handle bumps the switch that must have caused the light he saw previously. The sizzling sound in his ear is deafening for the second it is there and then he is huddled on the ground lying on an empty robe. His green captor is nowhere to be seen. Rising to his feet, he feels the find in his damp hair from sweat and begins to feel the cooling breeze in far too many places for being out in public.
Turning from left to right and spinning slowly counter clockwise, Stan sees nothing but large mountains of stone and a path from which the van must have entered. He recognizes the Slater Sand & Stone yards from his trips down I-83. He was taken about five miles outside of town and the wind has gone from cooling to freezing now that he's been standing in the buff for ten minutes taking in all that had happened. Stan reaches down for the robe beneath him and tosses it on after the green dust has fallen out from the inside. He tosses the stamp into the pocket he finds inside and begins the long walk back to Parkwood.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Mistaken Identity
Stan Garetti has owned the Parkwood Manor apartment buildings since 1995 when his mother left them to him in her will. He had been using an abandoned office for booking bets for wealthy clientele until then without much gain for himself. On an average week, he brought in just enough to pay his utilities and buy enough food to live. He lived month to month, but it was not much of a life. Stan had become gaunt and an unhealthy form of thin. His mother did not know where he was or what he was doing. He had run out as a teenager and she had not changed her will in the 15 years he had been gone.
Now in his late forties, Stan was now an unhealthy form of average build and weight. He had the right weight and shape for his height, but was not the kind of man that worked out other than in his visits to the occasional lonely housewives in his apartments. He had taken to the electronic age for his book making business and now took bets via email and phone. He held monthly meetings with clients for pay out and pay in from the old abandoned office to keep a distance, but he no longer worked from that office outside of these monthly meetings.
In fact, Stan had begun to drop clients since he no longer needed the money as badly to live on and he had found himself spending more of his time in 14B with Jennifer Brilke. There was something about him that she had taken a liking to and he wasn't going to miss out. Jennifer was a beautiful 39 year old woman who was not overly happy with her husband Ed.
Stan liked Ed. Stan had a similar build and hair style to Ed albeit a bit thicker. Ed had lost his father when he was a kid as well and had grown up in a single mother home lacking the male influence of a constant father. He had also found himself feeling like a burden to his mother as she tried to continue her life without the man she had planned to finish it with beside her. They often discussed the lack luster courting routines of the men that interviewed for the position of father and a role of husband they could not and would not be able to fill.
This did not stop Stan from seeing Jennifer throughout the week while Ed was at work and it would have continued this way for years had that lizard thing not come into Ed and Jennifer's bedroom that day. Stan was lying naked under the sheets as Jennifer began to drift off on her side when the wall started to smoke and figure appeared in a dark hooded robe. A scaly green finger pointed at Stan before leaning in and mumbling something about time being up or overdue.
In a fit of courage the Jennifer would keenly recall later, Stan leapt across the bed to the other side of Jennifer begging the thing to take her and not him as she lay frozen in terror next to the naked man crouched behind her like a frightened child. A cold wind swept into the room as the figure stepped forward and through the bed as if it were a pool of water her was wading through. The robe cut through Jennifer's leg as it stopped a few inches from Stan. Stan and Jennifer both retreated to their respective corners as the looming shape stopped between them.
Out of fear and in an attempt at self preservation, Jennifer reached back for the antique ceramic lamp given to her by Ed's mother and launched it through their attacker before it hit the wall in a purge of smoke gained during the pass through without touching the looming threat. The figure stopped and addressed Jennifer for the first time since entering the room. Jennifer witnessed the green within the shadow below the hood and recoiled at the uncoiling tongue that hissed out a warning to stay out of this fight.
The robed figure reached a long arm into its sleeve and pulled out a large velvet bag. The bag also smoked as it exited the robe and appeared large enough to hold the bureau on which the 32" TV stood in the bedroom. An arm reached toward Stan deftly tossing him headlong into the sack despite his violent flailing on the floor. As valiantly as Stan fought in captivity, he was unable to emerge from the bag again. Velvety imprinted of Stan's face and fist were apparent in his struggle but to no avail for the trapped man.
The tall beast stepped through the rest of the bed dragging Stan in bag through the wall with a thud as the bag refused to dissipate through on first pull. With a hiss heard from the other side of the wall, the bag was jerked through the drywall leaving a hole in the shape of a crumpled man. Stan was knocked unconscious by the final blow and would not notice the sound of the front door opening as he was led out without the glitz of a smoke screen through a concrete wall. He would awaken twenty minutes later in the back of a van driving at high speed across town.
Now in his late forties, Stan was now an unhealthy form of average build and weight. He had the right weight and shape for his height, but was not the kind of man that worked out other than in his visits to the occasional lonely housewives in his apartments. He had taken to the electronic age for his book making business and now took bets via email and phone. He held monthly meetings with clients for pay out and pay in from the old abandoned office to keep a distance, but he no longer worked from that office outside of these monthly meetings.
In fact, Stan had begun to drop clients since he no longer needed the money as badly to live on and he had found himself spending more of his time in 14B with Jennifer Brilke. There was something about him that she had taken a liking to and he wasn't going to miss out. Jennifer was a beautiful 39 year old woman who was not overly happy with her husband Ed.
Stan liked Ed. Stan had a similar build and hair style to Ed albeit a bit thicker. Ed had lost his father when he was a kid as well and had grown up in a single mother home lacking the male influence of a constant father. He had also found himself feeling like a burden to his mother as she tried to continue her life without the man she had planned to finish it with beside her. They often discussed the lack luster courting routines of the men that interviewed for the position of father and a role of husband they could not and would not be able to fill.
This did not stop Stan from seeing Jennifer throughout the week while Ed was at work and it would have continued this way for years had that lizard thing not come into Ed and Jennifer's bedroom that day. Stan was lying naked under the sheets as Jennifer began to drift off on her side when the wall started to smoke and figure appeared in a dark hooded robe. A scaly green finger pointed at Stan before leaning in and mumbling something about time being up or overdue.
In a fit of courage the Jennifer would keenly recall later, Stan leapt across the bed to the other side of Jennifer begging the thing to take her and not him as she lay frozen in terror next to the naked man crouched behind her like a frightened child. A cold wind swept into the room as the figure stepped forward and through the bed as if it were a pool of water her was wading through. The robe cut through Jennifer's leg as it stopped a few inches from Stan. Stan and Jennifer both retreated to their respective corners as the looming shape stopped between them.
Out of fear and in an attempt at self preservation, Jennifer reached back for the antique ceramic lamp given to her by Ed's mother and launched it through their attacker before it hit the wall in a purge of smoke gained during the pass through without touching the looming threat. The figure stopped and addressed Jennifer for the first time since entering the room. Jennifer witnessed the green within the shadow below the hood and recoiled at the uncoiling tongue that hissed out a warning to stay out of this fight.
The robed figure reached a long arm into its sleeve and pulled out a large velvet bag. The bag also smoked as it exited the robe and appeared large enough to hold the bureau on which the 32" TV stood in the bedroom. An arm reached toward Stan deftly tossing him headlong into the sack despite his violent flailing on the floor. As valiantly as Stan fought in captivity, he was unable to emerge from the bag again. Velvety imprinted of Stan's face and fist were apparent in his struggle but to no avail for the trapped man.
The tall beast stepped through the rest of the bed dragging Stan in bag through the wall with a thud as the bag refused to dissipate through on first pull. With a hiss heard from the other side of the wall, the bag was jerked through the drywall leaving a hole in the shape of a crumpled man. Stan was knocked unconscious by the final blow and would not notice the sound of the front door opening as he was led out without the glitz of a smoke screen through a concrete wall. He would awaken twenty minutes later in the back of a van driving at high speed across town.
Friday, May 9, 2008
The Target
Ed Brilke stared directly at the 42 year old man with the thinning hair and frowned. How anyone could walk around life knowing so much scalp is showing was beyond him. If it were up to him, he'd be using a touch of the spray on hair to cover it up, but Jennifer says she'd rather see him completely bald than look like he just changed his oil without a pan. The shirt was alright with a touch of blue that highlighted his eyes, but the shoes were visibly worn at the toe and the sole flapped softly against the linoleum when he walked down the halls at work.
Yes, Ed Brilke was not the young man he had hoped to be when he'd finish his life. True, he had managed to hold off gray hair into his 40s, but God found away to remind him he was still aging. His father had passed away from heart failure at 54 with a thick full head of hair. Unfortunately, genetics works differently than Ed wanted and his mother's father was as bald as a newborn baby.
The door opens starling him from his revelry. Jim Thomas walks past him with a sidelong glance implying his concern at any man standing in the men's room not at a urinal, toilet or at least washing his hands at the sink. Ed had been caught day dreaming again instead of working. He flipped the handle to cold on the sink and began scrubbing his hands methodically like a surgeon. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand... Ed had read some where that surgeons scrub their hands for a minimum of fifteen second to insure no germs remain on their hands before a surgery. Ed had a fascinating medical history that read like a cliff notes version of a man's life. His childhood records included many dates and diseases listed as he was vaccinated as a young child and through his youth. He had his tetanus booster five years ago after cutting his foot on a rusty fishing hook at a company get away. He had a record of his visit to the cardiologist after his father passed from heart disease. All records indicated Ed was a healthy man. He had never been sick. The hospital records could only cover visits to indicate if he had ever been sick, but Ed had never even had a cold or the flu.
As a child, he only attempted a few sick days once he watched enough TV to recognize the symptoms of a sever cold or flu. He would rub his nose raw with a tissue and apply a light dose of Vaseline for the appearance of runniness, but he was often sent to the bathroom to clean off his face and get ready for school. He had never taken ill with the chicken pox as a child even though his sisters had them when he was 5 years old. his mother forced him to sleep in the same room with the itching twins for 4 nights before she gave up on the hope of getting his infection out of the way with theirs. This sort of disease that was known to be more severe in adulthood than childhood is why Ed washed his hands so thoroughly. It's why he used two paper towels to dry his hands: one for the drying and the other to open the door before he walked out.
Back in the hallway, Ed's phone began to vibrate in his pocket, but he couldn't get it yet. He had the social awkwardness of not wanting to be on his phone while walking away from the bathroom and given anyone reason to believe he was one of those men that had no problem answering the phone while sitting on the toilet. He despised those people and the diseases they likely spread to their phones in those moments. He dreaded having friends that handed him a phone to talk to a friend calling from far away and never knowing how clean it was. If he stayed healthy, he trusted that friend more than before.
Back at his desk, his voicemail light lit red. tapping the voicemail speed dial, Ed enters his pin and presses one numerous time until his message finally plays. The first sound to great him is a siren and then the panicked voice of his wife swearing that he's not at his desk and hanging up. Ed reaches furiously for his cell phone as he stands at his desk and runs to the elevator bank. He pressed the speed dial on his phone and hears this voicemail from his wife. The sirens are quieter this time and she seems to be whispering somewhere away from the noise to him. "Ed. I'm not crazy. Don't let them tell you I'm crazy. I saw it. I saw that lizard thing take Stan. It threw him in a bag and walked through the wall like it was some kind of ghost. You have to believe me! Come home now!"
As the elevator came, Ed realized Jennifer should have been working that day. Why was she at home? And, more importantly, why was she with Stan Garretti, their landlord?
Yes, Ed Brilke was not the young man he had hoped to be when he'd finish his life. True, he had managed to hold off gray hair into his 40s, but God found away to remind him he was still aging. His father had passed away from heart failure at 54 with a thick full head of hair. Unfortunately, genetics works differently than Ed wanted and his mother's father was as bald as a newborn baby.
The door opens starling him from his revelry. Jim Thomas walks past him with a sidelong glance implying his concern at any man standing in the men's room not at a urinal, toilet or at least washing his hands at the sink. Ed had been caught day dreaming again instead of working. He flipped the handle to cold on the sink and began scrubbing his hands methodically like a surgeon. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand... Ed had read some where that surgeons scrub their hands for a minimum of fifteen second to insure no germs remain on their hands before a surgery. Ed had a fascinating medical history that read like a cliff notes version of a man's life. His childhood records included many dates and diseases listed as he was vaccinated as a young child and through his youth. He had his tetanus booster five years ago after cutting his foot on a rusty fishing hook at a company get away. He had a record of his visit to the cardiologist after his father passed from heart disease. All records indicated Ed was a healthy man. He had never been sick. The hospital records could only cover visits to indicate if he had ever been sick, but Ed had never even had a cold or the flu.
As a child, he only attempted a few sick days once he watched enough TV to recognize the symptoms of a sever cold or flu. He would rub his nose raw with a tissue and apply a light dose of Vaseline for the appearance of runniness, but he was often sent to the bathroom to clean off his face and get ready for school. He had never taken ill with the chicken pox as a child even though his sisters had them when he was 5 years old. his mother forced him to sleep in the same room with the itching twins for 4 nights before she gave up on the hope of getting his infection out of the way with theirs. This sort of disease that was known to be more severe in adulthood than childhood is why Ed washed his hands so thoroughly. It's why he used two paper towels to dry his hands: one for the drying and the other to open the door before he walked out.
Back in the hallway, Ed's phone began to vibrate in his pocket, but he couldn't get it yet. He had the social awkwardness of not wanting to be on his phone while walking away from the bathroom and given anyone reason to believe he was one of those men that had no problem answering the phone while sitting on the toilet. He despised those people and the diseases they likely spread to their phones in those moments. He dreaded having friends that handed him a phone to talk to a friend calling from far away and never knowing how clean it was. If he stayed healthy, he trusted that friend more than before.
Back at his desk, his voicemail light lit red. tapping the voicemail speed dial, Ed enters his pin and presses one numerous time until his message finally plays. The first sound to great him is a siren and then the panicked voice of his wife swearing that he's not at his desk and hanging up. Ed reaches furiously for his cell phone as he stands at his desk and runs to the elevator bank. He pressed the speed dial on his phone and hears this voicemail from his wife. The sirens are quieter this time and she seems to be whispering somewhere away from the noise to him. "Ed. I'm not crazy. Don't let them tell you I'm crazy. I saw it. I saw that lizard thing take Stan. It threw him in a bag and walked through the wall like it was some kind of ghost. You have to believe me! Come home now!"
As the elevator came, Ed realized Jennifer should have been working that day. Why was she at home? And, more importantly, why was she with Stan Garretti, their landlord?
Thursday, May 8, 2008
The Back Story of Life
They smile at the obituary page. They see those passing on through the eyes of those forced to stay here without them. Those that ask why are clearly not enlightened to the grand scheme. Those that quell the saddened with phrases like "it was his time" or "God has a plan" are considered idiot savants. They know but they do not understand.
Most people have the doubt about everything happening in its time. They want to believe death happens for a reason, but it becomes difficult when it happens to the healthy. To the strong. To the young. They expect it from the old and from the terminal and can not accept when it's horrific and man made.
They can not understand that everyone has a due date stamped into the back of their heads. A time when your earthly voyage is done. Everyone fights it, but they all must succumb to it no matter how great the fight. There is no escaping us. We are everything. We are everywhere.
We have been tasked with a job and we are never failing. We are ever performing. We are clutch in your definition. We always play to win and we never lose. Our numbers may not be as great since the due dates have been extended. Most of our numbers have been laid off and moved onto positions in middle management redirecting the recent term finishers.
We came into a rough patch a few years back and were forced to use some temporary workers. Most were experienced and previous stampers. Some came from other life collection areas such as inceptors and planners. Sadly, we were one short and had to rely on one of the laborers in the entertainment wing. His name was Cyrus and he is why we have an unstamped roaming free.
He is why you are here.
Most people have the doubt about everything happening in its time. They want to believe death happens for a reason, but it becomes difficult when it happens to the healthy. To the strong. To the young. They expect it from the old and from the terminal and can not accept when it's horrific and man made.
They can not understand that everyone has a due date stamped into the back of their heads. A time when your earthly voyage is done. Everyone fights it, but they all must succumb to it no matter how great the fight. There is no escaping us. We are everything. We are everywhere.
We have been tasked with a job and we are never failing. We are ever performing. We are clutch in your definition. We always play to win and we never lose. Our numbers may not be as great since the due dates have been extended. Most of our numbers have been laid off and moved onto positions in middle management redirecting the recent term finishers.
We came into a rough patch a few years back and were forced to use some temporary workers. Most were experienced and previous stampers. Some came from other life collection areas such as inceptors and planners. Sadly, we were one short and had to rely on one of the laborers in the entertainment wing. His name was Cyrus and he is why we have an unstamped roaming free.
He is why you are here.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Sui Javo
A fine grey powder billowed skyward from the asphalt before taking the shape of the wind and dissipating into nothing. The cinder blocks tests the results of falling from such great heights. Like an egg drop gone horribly wrong, the event begins. The first contestant walks to the ledge holding cinder block stuffed full of tomatoes and tosses it in an arc with a few tomatoes escaping before implanting in the parking lot below. The cinder block reaches the ground delivering its payload of lycopene to the black top. The concrete splinters a fragment off of the corner allowing the tomatoes to ooze out like some sadistic pasta sauce.
The next contestant steps forward with a wooden box of 1"x2" boards stuffed with pickled beets in one side and 2 4"x4" blocks. The drop is meticulous and the box lands on the wood blocks firing the pickled beets airborne into the nearby splash zone. The ruddy purple strikes near the tomato remains in a spray pattern as if spewed from the mouth of some tomato beast that had fallen to earth. Contestant two walks away pleased with the effect.
Contestant three walks to the ladder rungs peeking over the top of the building's edge and ties the ends of a water balloon slingshot to each before loading the funnel with a leftover order of Chicken Tikka from Fast Fresh Indian. In one smooth motion, she pulls the funnel back tightening the elastic and quickly angles the shot downward firing before any can drip onto the building. An explosion of curry and chicken strike at an angle next to the previous two contestants spraying over top of the other two stains like a sunburst.
The judge nods in approval as contestant 3 steps back rejoining the line of contestants just as contestant four pulls a bag of limes out strapping them to his chest before sprinting and leaping off the edge of the building. The other contestants run to the edge, but can only stop and watch as the body tumbles 6 stories to the parking lot below. The body strikes the ground just beyond the tomatoes firing various streams of green lime pulp and rind in all directions. The body lies still momentarily before pressing against the ground in a push up and rising to his feet.
Shaking off the initial shock, he begins to sprint towards the gate before the guard stops him and knocks him flat with a clothes line. The judge grabs the radio from his belt and barks orders at the guard. In response, the other contestants watch as the guard smashes his flashlight over number four's head and drags the limp body into the guard house.
"Number 3. You are the winner. Now everyone dance!" The judge announces as if nothing happened. Looking downward to the parking lot she now sees the guard and contestant number four outside of the guard house dancing like they were in a dance club. The two contestants are doing an old fashioned swim dance and the judge is breaking down with the pony when she looks down and sees a trophy at her feet.
Picking it up she reads the inscription: "Lisa Weinstand, Winner of Food Stai.. traffic today on the 308 is backed up a bit due to an overturned fruit stand tipping into the exit lane near Randolph."
Lisa awakes to her radio alarm with a styrofoam container lying next to her on her bed. She remembers getting back at near to 2am the night before and ordering late night Indian food. She must have fallen asleep while eating and had a stream of yellow stain down her shirt and on her sheets. Turning 30 wasn't supposed to be like this, she tells herself before killing the alarm clock and rolling over again.
The next contestant steps forward with a wooden box of 1"x2" boards stuffed with pickled beets in one side and 2 4"x4" blocks. The drop is meticulous and the box lands on the wood blocks firing the pickled beets airborne into the nearby splash zone. The ruddy purple strikes near the tomato remains in a spray pattern as if spewed from the mouth of some tomato beast that had fallen to earth. Contestant two walks away pleased with the effect.
Contestant three walks to the ladder rungs peeking over the top of the building's edge and ties the ends of a water balloon slingshot to each before loading the funnel with a leftover order of Chicken Tikka from Fast Fresh Indian. In one smooth motion, she pulls the funnel back tightening the elastic and quickly angles the shot downward firing before any can drip onto the building. An explosion of curry and chicken strike at an angle next to the previous two contestants spraying over top of the other two stains like a sunburst.
The judge nods in approval as contestant 3 steps back rejoining the line of contestants just as contestant four pulls a bag of limes out strapping them to his chest before sprinting and leaping off the edge of the building. The other contestants run to the edge, but can only stop and watch as the body tumbles 6 stories to the parking lot below. The body strikes the ground just beyond the tomatoes firing various streams of green lime pulp and rind in all directions. The body lies still momentarily before pressing against the ground in a push up and rising to his feet.
Shaking off the initial shock, he begins to sprint towards the gate before the guard stops him and knocks him flat with a clothes line. The judge grabs the radio from his belt and barks orders at the guard. In response, the other contestants watch as the guard smashes his flashlight over number four's head and drags the limp body into the guard house.
"Number 3. You are the winner. Now everyone dance!" The judge announces as if nothing happened. Looking downward to the parking lot she now sees the guard and contestant number four outside of the guard house dancing like they were in a dance club. The two contestants are doing an old fashioned swim dance and the judge is breaking down with the pony when she looks down and sees a trophy at her feet.
Picking it up she reads the inscription: "Lisa Weinstand, Winner of Food Stai.. traffic today on the 308 is backed up a bit due to an overturned fruit stand tipping into the exit lane near Randolph."
Lisa awakes to her radio alarm with a styrofoam container lying next to her on her bed. She remembers getting back at near to 2am the night before and ordering late night Indian food. She must have fallen asleep while eating and had a stream of yellow stain down her shirt and on her sheets. Turning 30 wasn't supposed to be like this, she tells herself before killing the alarm clock and rolling over again.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Spreading
That woman was dead and that bullet went right through her chest! Jackson Krennan couldn't believe his luck. He had always wanted to wonder the streets of the city and find something amazing to tell stories about for once in his life. Enough of Bill's running of the bulls story in the cafeteria. He managed to find a way to fit that damn story in no matter what the topic.
"I can't believe they think macaroni and cheese constitutes an entree in the cafeteria. Next they'll be saying a bag of chips if an entree and we should shell out $5 for the privilege of having a plate full of Doritos!"
"I hear you. When I was running with the bulls in Pamplona, the had a lot of expensive treats at the vendors lined up along the course. Not like I had time to partake since I was running for my life and all."
Jackson hated that guy. To make matters worse, his desk was next to Bill's and he had ti hear Bill use that story on sales calls to bully people into buying one of the products in their catalog that week. Telemarketing is bad enough without this joker telling the same lame anecdotes over and over to guilt someone into a purchase to make up for not having as fulfilling of a life as Bill had.
Finally he had a story to use of his own. Don't miss your opportunity. I watched a young woman killed on the streets out here...her whole life ahead of her. You never know what could happen if you don't grab every opportunity! Jackson had it all running through his head as he doubled over in pain from a piercing pain in his chest. He felt the hot pain of the sidewalk cracking against his forehead and the cold in the pit of his stomach as his body rebooted.
His eyes opened to a pair of white tennis shoes on a sidewalk. He could not tell how long he had gone down for, but he knew one thing. Nobody was coming to check on him. Not with the dead girl in the street. He gathered himself slowly and bit more sluggish than expected to his knees. His first attempt to pull his left foot into a partially crouched pose failed as if it weren't responding to his commands at this point.
After more grunting and moaning than his personal trainer would like to see in a customer, Jackson made it back to his feet in time to see the woman standing in the street again like some undead weeble wobble. Why is she still standing there! I saw that shot go right through her.
He couldn't believe his eyes. Some story this was turning out to be. He had to say something to somebody just to prove he wasn't insane. Luckily, the streets were crowded with people witnessing the whole event. He turned to see if the sneaker lady was still next to him and was taken aback to find she wasn't watching the woman at all. her eyes bore only into him as he turned to face her.
"What are you staring at me for? She's the one still standing after a truck ran her down and a cop shot her in the chest." His voice must not have come back completely after the crack to his head because Jackson heard only the tone of his own voice as a guttural howl.
Something in that tone must have frightened the woman with the white sneakers as she recoiled in horror nearly knocking the couple behind her over backwards. She fell backwards as the couple split not wanting to touch her for some reason. Jackson wanted to make sure she was alright when he noticed those same white tennis shoes she was wearing were spattered red.
Jackson assumed his fall must have caused more blood than he imagined to come out of him. Reaching for his forehead to check for a scrape, he realized he was still holding something in his hand. To his dismay, it was a woman's arm. Further frightening him was his next action as he moved it to his mouth to take a bite.
"I can't believe they think macaroni and cheese constitutes an entree in the cafeteria. Next they'll be saying a bag of chips if an entree and we should shell out $5 for the privilege of having a plate full of Doritos!"
"I hear you. When I was running with the bulls in Pamplona, the had a lot of expensive treats at the vendors lined up along the course. Not like I had time to partake since I was running for my life and all."
Jackson hated that guy. To make matters worse, his desk was next to Bill's and he had ti hear Bill use that story on sales calls to bully people into buying one of the products in their catalog that week. Telemarketing is bad enough without this joker telling the same lame anecdotes over and over to guilt someone into a purchase to make up for not having as fulfilling of a life as Bill had.
Finally he had a story to use of his own. Don't miss your opportunity. I watched a young woman killed on the streets out here...her whole life ahead of her. You never know what could happen if you don't grab every opportunity! Jackson had it all running through his head as he doubled over in pain from a piercing pain in his chest. He felt the hot pain of the sidewalk cracking against his forehead and the cold in the pit of his stomach as his body rebooted.
His eyes opened to a pair of white tennis shoes on a sidewalk. He could not tell how long he had gone down for, but he knew one thing. Nobody was coming to check on him. Not with the dead girl in the street. He gathered himself slowly and bit more sluggish than expected to his knees. His first attempt to pull his left foot into a partially crouched pose failed as if it weren't responding to his commands at this point.
After more grunting and moaning than his personal trainer would like to see in a customer, Jackson made it back to his feet in time to see the woman standing in the street again like some undead weeble wobble. Why is she still standing there! I saw that shot go right through her.
He couldn't believe his eyes. Some story this was turning out to be. He had to say something to somebody just to prove he wasn't insane. Luckily, the streets were crowded with people witnessing the whole event. He turned to see if the sneaker lady was still next to him and was taken aback to find she wasn't watching the woman at all. her eyes bore only into him as he turned to face her.
"What are you staring at me for? She's the one still standing after a truck ran her down and a cop shot her in the chest." His voice must not have come back completely after the crack to his head because Jackson heard only the tone of his own voice as a guttural howl.
Something in that tone must have frightened the woman with the white sneakers as she recoiled in horror nearly knocking the couple behind her over backwards. She fell backwards as the couple split not wanting to touch her for some reason. Jackson wanted to make sure she was alright when he noticed those same white tennis shoes she was wearing were spattered red.
Jackson assumed his fall must have caused more blood than he imagined to come out of him. Reaching for his forehead to check for a scrape, he realized he was still holding something in his hand. To his dismay, it was a woman's arm. Further frightening him was his next action as he moved it to his mouth to take a bite.
Monday, May 5, 2008
The baby epidemic
Erin Morgan Shine, 35 years old, lies 8 months pregnant in the hammock in the side yard of her home on 318 North Prospect place in Spring Hill, Indiana. She and her second husband, Eric, have lived there for nearly two years. Eric is mowing the back lawn as Erin relaxes on a cool autumn day after a morning of picking through the baby names book together. Names had been tossed around both from the book and as jokes to make each other laugh, but nothing was agreed upon yet.
Eric didn't have any male role models in his family that he would consider naming the child after. His father had been one of the string of congressmen linked to the DC Madame prostitution ring as "Customer 10" on the list before congress a year back. He had no uncles and his grandfather had fled to Canada to avoid the draft into WWII which Eric did not fault him for, but he abandoned Eric's grandmother and father at the same time and never returned to the US once he found a new love in Saskatchewan.
Erin liked the names of Eric's father and grandfather, but Eric would not hear of being reminded of his family's past or force his child to live a life in their shadow and name. The name choices were also limited by Erin's refusal to name her son the same as any other children in the neighborhood. She feared the day when she asked if her son was somewhere by first name only and allowed her son to go missing for not asking for him beyond first name. The sheer number of pregnant women on Prospect place also made it difficult. Each was at a similar stage of pregnancy and each was also having a son due within a two month period of each other.
Evelyn Taylor, 34, lives next door to Erin and Eric at 316 and moved in a month prior. She had laid claim to the name Gabriel weeks ago and is expected to go into labor at any minute with her due date so close. Despite this fact, Evelyn is standing next to her mower attempting to pull start the push mower in between waving to neighbors walking past. Her husband, Ron, is a traveling salesman fresh off a long route of sales and with a month of vacation beginning today. He's currently sleeping on the couch in the living room while his wife gladly does work outside ecstatic to have her husband back before she delivers.
Marissa James, 19, power walks out her front door across the street at 315 Prospect place. Marissa came into money from her parents when they passed in the tsunami that hit the great lakes region 3 years earlier in the height of the spate of worldwide weather headlines. She moved to the neighborhood after nearly 2 1/2 years of blindly drinking her way across the country with her then boyfriend, Tommy Tension (Tinsman), of the band Lickfinger. The band's trademark image ripped off from the Rolling Stones lips and tongue image could be seen peaking out from behind the spaghetti straps of her tank top. She had dumped him after the last tour after finding him with two groupies and a bong in the back of their van. After a night of arguing and a "fitting goodbye" as Marissa called it, she bought 315 and found out two weeks later that she was pregnant. Though she didn't speak to many in the neighborhood, word had spread that she too was having a boy and had taken to the name Nigel because "it would really piss Tommy off to have a son with a name like that."
There were 5 other women on Prospect place that were also pregnant not counting Jackie Bailey who lost her baby when she moved to South Bend when her husband, Ed, got transferred for his job. It happened almost as soon as they moved according to Jackie. The doctors tell her it was likely the stress of relocating so late in her pregnancy, but Jackie swears she stopped feeling her unborn son kick when they drove out of the neighborhood with the moving truck.
Eight women on the same block shared due dates with 58 days of each other and eight women had to fight over individual baby shower dates. Linda Butler's was coming up in a couple of days and Erin was thinking of a unique gift for her while lying peacefully on the hammock that day as Eric walked up and shut down the mower. He leaned in and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek.
"How is your new hammock working out for you, my dear?" The previous hammock had weight limits that Eric learned about when he tripped and landed heavily across the ropes. He wanted to be able to lie safely with his pregnant wife, so he had picked up a higher strength nylon brand. Erin joked that he was hinting at her increased girth.
"Good. I haven't broken it yet. I'll give you a shout if I hear it creaking on me." Eric loved to see her smile even if she was a bit self conscious about it. She had knocked a tooth loose while moving and it had settled somewhat crooked. Eric said it gave her the most genuine smile he had ever seen and he should know as a lawyer what a genuine smile looks like.
"Ha ha. That things is weight tested by rocket scientists at NASA for catch the space shuttle during re-entry. If you hear a creaking, I would suspect it's the trees coming down."
"That's cute. Stop teasing your pregnant wife and grab the paper in the driveway. I want to see if there are any sales on baby furniture for Linda. I drew the furniture gift paper for her shower and can't rely on a fresh pack of onesies this time." To even up the baby showers in the neighborhoods, each coming shower had a paper draw from a hat with a number of baby gift options so everyone spent a similar amount overall and no one felt cheated. Some of the women there could be very petty.
"As you command, my lady." With a grand bow, Eric wandered off to the front of the house for the paper. He was lucky he was cute because his sense of humor most of the time wasn't going to win him any awards.
With a thud, the paper landed next to her on the ground just out of reach.
"Very funny." She didn't see him from the front, but she knew the image of her struggling to get out of the hammock would send him running. She reached the paper before she saw him on the road talking to Jonathan Kine, the rich developer that owned the land and the big house on Keiser drive. She never quite trusted him after the shopping development fiasco forced her out of her first house in Spring Hill even if it couldn't have been his fault that the zoning committee failed him.
She was beginning to wonder again how someone with the money to buy such a large number of land plot could not afford to bribe an official or three to get proper zoning when the newspaper at her feet nearly made her collapse in a heap. With a sprint that would be considered quite adept for a college track star, Erin picked up the paper and bolted to the house screaming "Oh God" loud enough to bring Eric running along side her.
Erin nearly knocked Eric over with the screen door running to the kitchen counter knocking the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers to the ground. Erin snatched the phone and immediately started dialing the only phone number with an area code in Arizona she knew. She tossed the paper to the table and stared unblinking at the headline as the line rang in her ear before informing her the number she is attempting to reach has been disconnected. Eric studied his wife's face before he too noticed the headline, "Freak Flood wipes out Southwest" and realized what she was doing. "Bert!"
Eric didn't have any male role models in his family that he would consider naming the child after. His father had been one of the string of congressmen linked to the DC Madame prostitution ring as "Customer 10" on the list before congress a year back. He had no uncles and his grandfather had fled to Canada to avoid the draft into WWII which Eric did not fault him for, but he abandoned Eric's grandmother and father at the same time and never returned to the US once he found a new love in Saskatchewan.
Erin liked the names of Eric's father and grandfather, but Eric would not hear of being reminded of his family's past or force his child to live a life in their shadow and name. The name choices were also limited by Erin's refusal to name her son the same as any other children in the neighborhood. She feared the day when she asked if her son was somewhere by first name only and allowed her son to go missing for not asking for him beyond first name. The sheer number of pregnant women on Prospect place also made it difficult. Each was at a similar stage of pregnancy and each was also having a son due within a two month period of each other.
Evelyn Taylor, 34, lives next door to Erin and Eric at 316 and moved in a month prior. She had laid claim to the name Gabriel weeks ago and is expected to go into labor at any minute with her due date so close. Despite this fact, Evelyn is standing next to her mower attempting to pull start the push mower in between waving to neighbors walking past. Her husband, Ron, is a traveling salesman fresh off a long route of sales and with a month of vacation beginning today. He's currently sleeping on the couch in the living room while his wife gladly does work outside ecstatic to have her husband back before she delivers.
Marissa James, 19, power walks out her front door across the street at 315 Prospect place. Marissa came into money from her parents when they passed in the tsunami that hit the great lakes region 3 years earlier in the height of the spate of worldwide weather headlines. She moved to the neighborhood after nearly 2 1/2 years of blindly drinking her way across the country with her then boyfriend, Tommy Tension (Tinsman), of the band Lickfinger. The band's trademark image ripped off from the Rolling Stones lips and tongue image could be seen peaking out from behind the spaghetti straps of her tank top. She had dumped him after the last tour after finding him with two groupies and a bong in the back of their van. After a night of arguing and a "fitting goodbye" as Marissa called it, she bought 315 and found out two weeks later that she was pregnant. Though she didn't speak to many in the neighborhood, word had spread that she too was having a boy and had taken to the name Nigel because "it would really piss Tommy off to have a son with a name like that."
There were 5 other women on Prospect place that were also pregnant not counting Jackie Bailey who lost her baby when she moved to South Bend when her husband, Ed, got transferred for his job. It happened almost as soon as they moved according to Jackie. The doctors tell her it was likely the stress of relocating so late in her pregnancy, but Jackie swears she stopped feeling her unborn son kick when they drove out of the neighborhood with the moving truck.
Eight women on the same block shared due dates with 58 days of each other and eight women had to fight over individual baby shower dates. Linda Butler's was coming up in a couple of days and Erin was thinking of a unique gift for her while lying peacefully on the hammock that day as Eric walked up and shut down the mower. He leaned in and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek.
"How is your new hammock working out for you, my dear?" The previous hammock had weight limits that Eric learned about when he tripped and landed heavily across the ropes. He wanted to be able to lie safely with his pregnant wife, so he had picked up a higher strength nylon brand. Erin joked that he was hinting at her increased girth.
"Good. I haven't broken it yet. I'll give you a shout if I hear it creaking on me." Eric loved to see her smile even if she was a bit self conscious about it. She had knocked a tooth loose while moving and it had settled somewhat crooked. Eric said it gave her the most genuine smile he had ever seen and he should know as a lawyer what a genuine smile looks like.
"Ha ha. That things is weight tested by rocket scientists at NASA for catch the space shuttle during re-entry. If you hear a creaking, I would suspect it's the trees coming down."
"That's cute. Stop teasing your pregnant wife and grab the paper in the driveway. I want to see if there are any sales on baby furniture for Linda. I drew the furniture gift paper for her shower and can't rely on a fresh pack of onesies this time." To even up the baby showers in the neighborhoods, each coming shower had a paper draw from a hat with a number of baby gift options so everyone spent a similar amount overall and no one felt cheated. Some of the women there could be very petty.
"As you command, my lady." With a grand bow, Eric wandered off to the front of the house for the paper. He was lucky he was cute because his sense of humor most of the time wasn't going to win him any awards.
With a thud, the paper landed next to her on the ground just out of reach.
"Very funny." She didn't see him from the front, but she knew the image of her struggling to get out of the hammock would send him running. She reached the paper before she saw him on the road talking to Jonathan Kine, the rich developer that owned the land and the big house on Keiser drive. She never quite trusted him after the shopping development fiasco forced her out of her first house in Spring Hill even if it couldn't have been his fault that the zoning committee failed him.
She was beginning to wonder again how someone with the money to buy such a large number of land plot could not afford to bribe an official or three to get proper zoning when the newspaper at her feet nearly made her collapse in a heap. With a sprint that would be considered quite adept for a college track star, Erin picked up the paper and bolted to the house screaming "Oh God" loud enough to bring Eric running along side her.
Erin nearly knocked Eric over with the screen door running to the kitchen counter knocking the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers to the ground. Erin snatched the phone and immediately started dialing the only phone number with an area code in Arizona she knew. She tossed the paper to the table and stared unblinking at the headline as the line rang in her ear before informing her the number she is attempting to reach has been disconnected. Eric studied his wife's face before he too noticed the headline, "Freak Flood wipes out Southwest" and realized what she was doing. "Bert!"
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