As they do in the movies it seemed my husband and his crew were highly aware of prying ears and spoke of cargo and packages in very general terms. With every passing conversation I gathered more details about his activities and the people he worked and dealt with. Finally, 6 months later, I discovered what kind of cargo they were dealing with.
He had gone to the mansion bringing a box that I had seen so often down at the shipping yard. Inside the house, the leader of the gang, or so I assumed, said “Johnny, let’s see the goods. Are these the first of the new line?”
“You bet, JD. Check it out.” I heard the sound of a box being ripped open and clinking plastic or metal. When I heard what sounded like a shot being fired, a man screaming wildly and saw some someone come running out of the house clawing at himself before falling to the ground motionless I realized things were worse than I feared.
I finally confronted Johnny about his extracurricular activities, feigning the belief that he was having an affair. Johnny was always kind. A great, kindly liar. He assured me he was in no way having an affair; that he was usually out running, clearing his head; that the cool night air, mixed with the impenetrable silence of the middle of the night was his favorite running time. You’ll soon be doing a whole lot of running, away from the law, I thought. Johnny wasn’t a terrible guy. He was just terribly drawn to trouble.
The following week my boss called me into his office to inform me that all my hard work had paid off.
“Given all your work we’re putting you on another part of this venture.” He handed me a file. Opening it I wasn’t surprised. Everything I had done for my job was leading up to this. I was, however a little stunned at how I felt. Guilt? Shame? “Think you can handle it?” he asked.
“Definitely, Boss.”
That was the night I killed my husband. It was easy actually. Poisoning his favorite dish, lasagna, which brought on a coronary embolism was as easy as convincing him to come to the house for a rarely made home cooked meal. What I didn’t realize would be so difficult is dealing with it. He had to go, I know that. I didn’t realize that a part of me would actually miss him. That is when I turned to the vodka in the pantry and the drugs Johnny had hidden in his closet.
My work phone rings. I need to pretend I’m sober. I pick it up after a few seconds of concentrated breathing.
“Hawson, here”
“Secure line.” There are a few beeps and clicks then an automated voice replies “Line Secure.”
“Agent Hawson.”
“Chief”
I wanted to commend you on an excellent job. I heard the clean up crew came and everything went without a hitch.”
“Yes sir.”
“I just want to applaud you on the excellent work you’ve done for this agency the past 6 years. Your dedication, information and perseverance to this case has shown me what you’re capable of. With your husband out of the way we can fully infiltrate the Skiferlli gang. Can’t wait to see you back in the office Monday for your next role in this assignment.”
“Thank you sir.” I hung up the phone and downed two more pills.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Wrong Man, Right Job- Ch. 1
I have been in a drug induced stupor for two days now. And it’s not helping one bit. I can’t erase his face from my brain. His final look before…before the end. Two days ago I killed my husband.
Did he deserve it? I keep asking myself that. One part of me swears that not only wasn’t he the man for me but he was a down right living hell. The other part, well the other part isn’t so sure. When we first met I knew he was going to be a big influence in my life. While my meeting him was in no way coincidental (a colleague of mine put us together) our life as we knew it would change considerably in the coming years.
The day we got married there were a few suspicious characters there that he would intermittently speak with in a very secretive manner. When I looked over at him and he noticed me he waved casually. I waved back and though “So this is how it will be.” When he stepped out in the middle of that night to “get some fresh air” I noted the time, wondering if this was going to become a habit.
A habit it became as throughout the years I still found him making those midnight excuses, still talking to truly conspicuous characters at a table near ours at dinner or outside of a theater after a movie. By our 5th year of marriage I was comfortable with this strange behavior and a willing observer. It was about this time that I got my promotion at work and life, my life, my plans went into overdrive. I would come home very late and to no surprise find that my husband wasn’t in our bed.
One might think that he would ask where I had been or I would question what he had been doing. That wasn’t the nature of our relationship. We were both closed off people, something we had discovered about each other very quickly. Besides, it wasn’t allowed by my job to discuss what I worked on. I don’t remember when it was exactly that I began following my husband and my suspicions but I do remember that it was around the time I had received new information about a project I was working on at my job. I would return from work a few minutes before I knew he would “sneak out”, parking down the street from our house and tailing him.
On some nights he was at the shipping yard going to an office building and staying for hours as boxes came and left. On other days he was at a very large, run down mansion in a bad part of town. After a few weeks I found what he believed was his secret cell phone, (though I had seen him use it on occasion, noting that it was a different color from his “regular” cell) which he used during these excursions. Having purchased a very tiny microphone (which was surprisingly easy- radio shack has everything these days) and placed it under the casing of the phone, I was able to listen in on everything he did during these nightly sessions. Deciphering what he was talking about was another matter entirely.
Did he deserve it? I keep asking myself that. One part of me swears that not only wasn’t he the man for me but he was a down right living hell. The other part, well the other part isn’t so sure. When we first met I knew he was going to be a big influence in my life. While my meeting him was in no way coincidental (a colleague of mine put us together) our life as we knew it would change considerably in the coming years.
The day we got married there were a few suspicious characters there that he would intermittently speak with in a very secretive manner. When I looked over at him and he noticed me he waved casually. I waved back and though “So this is how it will be.” When he stepped out in the middle of that night to “get some fresh air” I noted the time, wondering if this was going to become a habit.
A habit it became as throughout the years I still found him making those midnight excuses, still talking to truly conspicuous characters at a table near ours at dinner or outside of a theater after a movie. By our 5th year of marriage I was comfortable with this strange behavior and a willing observer. It was about this time that I got my promotion at work and life, my life, my plans went into overdrive. I would come home very late and to no surprise find that my husband wasn’t in our bed.
One might think that he would ask where I had been or I would question what he had been doing. That wasn’t the nature of our relationship. We were both closed off people, something we had discovered about each other very quickly. Besides, it wasn’t allowed by my job to discuss what I worked on. I don’t remember when it was exactly that I began following my husband and my suspicions but I do remember that it was around the time I had received new information about a project I was working on at my job. I would return from work a few minutes before I knew he would “sneak out”, parking down the street from our house and tailing him.
On some nights he was at the shipping yard going to an office building and staying for hours as boxes came and left. On other days he was at a very large, run down mansion in a bad part of town. After a few weeks I found what he believed was his secret cell phone, (though I had seen him use it on occasion, noting that it was a different color from his “regular” cell) which he used during these excursions. Having purchased a very tiny microphone (which was surprisingly easy- radio shack has everything these days) and placed it under the casing of the phone, I was able to listen in on everything he did during these nightly sessions. Deciphering what he was talking about was another matter entirely.
Monday, June 8, 2009
A Power filled Relationship
So much to do in such a short time. I need to stay awake. Nine cups of coffee, 5 red bulls and a few sodas. Only 6 more hours to go. And then this all disappears. With all this caffeine I may trigger something or hit a button too early.
They deserve what they are getting. They have tortured, raped and destroyed women around this place and now they are going to be served justice. With every ticking second their fate becomes more sealed. They should have known better, she told me. Fuck with us in this life and you’ll be entering hell in the next and very soon.
Some would say my actions reek of feminism and to that I say “What’s your point?” Women have been pushed down and oppressed for so long that it’s time we took matters into our own hands. It seems odd to me that this government would put all men with similar crimes in the same facility but then again maybe they too are making a stand. Maybe they want action to be taken, a step they can’t take but we sure as hell can.
This wire goes in here. That canister is emptied into there. I was just a lonely student studying literature when my current associate spouting the common mantra of equal rights, liberty and justice above all approached me. At first I wasn’t interested but the more she ranted the more rooted I became to that spot. Our relationship started out casually: coffee one day, dinner and drinks the next. We first became leaders of the World Equality for Women Organization. But spending all those long nights together things heated up quickly. I became drunk off my lust for her, which soon turned into strong feelings of love.
Two years later while living together with an international following of self-righteous women, she broached the idea of a very public display of women’s power. The moment she said those last two words I agreed. It wasn’t until a week later and our friend the chemical engineer from UCLA was documenting how to assemble and detonate a bomb that I began to be scared. Not of what we were going to do since the bastards deserve it but of her. With each passing second, as the bomb was assembled right before our eyes her smile increased. But there was no light behind them. It wasn’t a smile of happiness. It was a smile of greed, hunger. She seemed bent on more than equality. She wanted domination. World spread power.
Shoving me under the fence of the facility earlier this evening she seemed calm, like she knew it was only an upward rise from here. I on the other hand was terrified. Was this how she would deal with any naysayer who stood in her way, killing them without even batting an eye? Killing them and…enjoying it? What if I decided this wasn’t the path for me? Or worse if I thought she wasn’t the woman for me? What would she say then? What might she do?
Putting the final touches on the chemical creation I wipe my hands, take one last look and walk out to her sitting on a wood table out front. “Everything set?” She has a a smirk on her face.
“Set.” I have to end this now or the rest of my will be lived in fear. As we slide through the gate and walk to the rest of our crew a ½ mile away I hand her the detonator. She takes it and looks at it, an appetite in her eyes. It’s like she’s a vampire fiending for blood. We stop in the woods in clear sight of the building. She inhales slowly and hits the red button. As the explosion moves from the west wing to the east destroying everything in it and around it we walk to the car. In the almost silencing sound of destruction I say, “I want out.”
“Out of what?” Her smirk has turned into a full cold grin.
“Everything. This organization.” I pause. “And this relationship.”
“You’re breaking up with me? I knew it. I knew you didn’t have the gall to fight till the end. Well,” she sighs, “good thing I plan ahead.” She puts her hand up signaling to someone and I hear a rush of footsteps come towards me.
They deserve what they are getting. They have tortured, raped and destroyed women around this place and now they are going to be served justice. With every ticking second their fate becomes more sealed. They should have known better, she told me. Fuck with us in this life and you’ll be entering hell in the next and very soon.
Some would say my actions reek of feminism and to that I say “What’s your point?” Women have been pushed down and oppressed for so long that it’s time we took matters into our own hands. It seems odd to me that this government would put all men with similar crimes in the same facility but then again maybe they too are making a stand. Maybe they want action to be taken, a step they can’t take but we sure as hell can.
This wire goes in here. That canister is emptied into there. I was just a lonely student studying literature when my current associate spouting the common mantra of equal rights, liberty and justice above all approached me. At first I wasn’t interested but the more she ranted the more rooted I became to that spot. Our relationship started out casually: coffee one day, dinner and drinks the next. We first became leaders of the World Equality for Women Organization. But spending all those long nights together things heated up quickly. I became drunk off my lust for her, which soon turned into strong feelings of love.
Two years later while living together with an international following of self-righteous women, she broached the idea of a very public display of women’s power. The moment she said those last two words I agreed. It wasn’t until a week later and our friend the chemical engineer from UCLA was documenting how to assemble and detonate a bomb that I began to be scared. Not of what we were going to do since the bastards deserve it but of her. With each passing second, as the bomb was assembled right before our eyes her smile increased. But there was no light behind them. It wasn’t a smile of happiness. It was a smile of greed, hunger. She seemed bent on more than equality. She wanted domination. World spread power.
Shoving me under the fence of the facility earlier this evening she seemed calm, like she knew it was only an upward rise from here. I on the other hand was terrified. Was this how she would deal with any naysayer who stood in her way, killing them without even batting an eye? Killing them and…enjoying it? What if I decided this wasn’t the path for me? Or worse if I thought she wasn’t the woman for me? What would she say then? What might she do?
Putting the final touches on the chemical creation I wipe my hands, take one last look and walk out to her sitting on a wood table out front. “Everything set?” She has a a smirk on her face.
“Set.” I have to end this now or the rest of my will be lived in fear. As we slide through the gate and walk to the rest of our crew a ½ mile away I hand her the detonator. She takes it and looks at it, an appetite in her eyes. It’s like she’s a vampire fiending for blood. We stop in the woods in clear sight of the building. She inhales slowly and hits the red button. As the explosion moves from the west wing to the east destroying everything in it and around it we walk to the car. In the almost silencing sound of destruction I say, “I want out.”
“Out of what?” Her smirk has turned into a full cold grin.
“Everything. This organization.” I pause. “And this relationship.”
“You’re breaking up with me? I knew it. I knew you didn’t have the gall to fight till the end. Well,” she sighs, “good thing I plan ahead.” She puts her hand up signaling to someone and I hear a rush of footsteps come towards me.
I'm back!
Mad Max Here:
I've used the excuse before but I have returned from my somewhat lengthy hiatus. While I haven't been posting my tales as I should have I have still been writing. There are plenty of tales to come. It wasn't that I was lazy this time or that I wasn't interested in my blog. I was recently told by someone very close to me (*cough cough- my father) that I shouldn't be posting things on my blog in such "rough form". For a while I agreed with him.
Now however I have begun to realize that he is not my only critic. There are others out there who do read my stories every now and then and enjoy them for what they are. Yes they may be a little rough around the edges but that doesn't mean they aren't worth merit if they aren't perfect, right? So in an effort to keep up a readership with those who like my stories I am posting more of them starting again today.
I've used the excuse before but I have returned from my somewhat lengthy hiatus. While I haven't been posting my tales as I should have I have still been writing. There are plenty of tales to come. It wasn't that I was lazy this time or that I wasn't interested in my blog. I was recently told by someone very close to me (*cough cough- my father) that I shouldn't be posting things on my blog in such "rough form". For a while I agreed with him.
Now however I have begun to realize that he is not my only critic. There are others out there who do read my stories every now and then and enjoy them for what they are. Yes they may be a little rough around the edges but that doesn't mean they aren't worth merit if they aren't perfect, right? So in an effort to keep up a readership with those who like my stories I am posting more of them starting again today.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Consider It
I feel like I’m dying. My stomach is tying itself into knots so tight I might never be able to get food in there. The walls of this place feel disturbingly close.
“Alfred can you hear me, snap out of it!” My mother. As a 40 year old man many would say it’s high time I start relying less on my mother and more on thoughts of marriage and family. My mother has always been there for me. There go the walls again, moving closer to my bed with every ticking second.
“Alfred, breathe,” she says without looking up from her knitting. She always knows best. She stops knitting and looks over at me, picking up the towel by my bed and wiping my face. I guess I’ve been drooling. She puts the towel back and goes back to her knitting. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the outside of these 4 walls. Been awhile since I’ve seen anyone of real importance besides my mother.
It happened about 6 months ago. I had just closed a huge case landing my firm another big one, prosecuting the same mob organization. The partners were ecstatic and any day I was hoping to become one of them. My boss had come up after the verdict to shake my hand. It was a monumental moment in my career and my life. Packing up my things his words still echoed in my head. “Keep this up and you’ll be seeing my office from behind my desk very soon.”
Walking into the hallway of the court house I began mentally preparing everything I needed for the new case. That’s when she walked briskly up next to me. “Dara, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”
“I shouldn’t be here?!” She had tears in her eyes and an angry look on her face. “You used me, Alfred. You made me believe that you loved me just so you could get information.”
“It wasn’t a lie. My feelings were real. But your father is not a good man, baby. He runs a lot of crime in this town.”
“Don’t you baby me, you arrogant son of a-“
“Dara, listen I know you love your father but his line of work is no place for you to be in. Come with me. We can be together. I can protect you.”
“My father says you’re the one I need protection from.” With a swift movement she stabbed me on the right side, twice. I crumpled to my knees where I saw her steel toed boot come to my head. Then everything went black.
Here in this room my mind replays that scene over and over. My mom continues knitting. I can hear the needles constant clicking. Then I hear someone come into the room. “Hello, doctor.”
“Hello, Ms. Pembridge. How are you today?”
“Oh, just fine. How’s my Alfie doing?”
“Ms. Pembridge, I think it’s time we start discussing your options. He’s been in a vegetative state for over 6 months.”
“Options?”
“Yes, you may want to consider taking him off life support and letting him go.”
“Alfred can you hear me, snap out of it!” My mother. As a 40 year old man many would say it’s high time I start relying less on my mother and more on thoughts of marriage and family. My mother has always been there for me. There go the walls again, moving closer to my bed with every ticking second.
“Alfred, breathe,” she says without looking up from her knitting. She always knows best. She stops knitting and looks over at me, picking up the towel by my bed and wiping my face. I guess I’ve been drooling. She puts the towel back and goes back to her knitting. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the outside of these 4 walls. Been awhile since I’ve seen anyone of real importance besides my mother.
It happened about 6 months ago. I had just closed a huge case landing my firm another big one, prosecuting the same mob organization. The partners were ecstatic and any day I was hoping to become one of them. My boss had come up after the verdict to shake my hand. It was a monumental moment in my career and my life. Packing up my things his words still echoed in my head. “Keep this up and you’ll be seeing my office from behind my desk very soon.”
Walking into the hallway of the court house I began mentally preparing everything I needed for the new case. That’s when she walked briskly up next to me. “Dara, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”
“I shouldn’t be here?!” She had tears in her eyes and an angry look on her face. “You used me, Alfred. You made me believe that you loved me just so you could get information.”
“It wasn’t a lie. My feelings were real. But your father is not a good man, baby. He runs a lot of crime in this town.”
“Don’t you baby me, you arrogant son of a-“
“Dara, listen I know you love your father but his line of work is no place for you to be in. Come with me. We can be together. I can protect you.”
“My father says you’re the one I need protection from.” With a swift movement she stabbed me on the right side, twice. I crumpled to my knees where I saw her steel toed boot come to my head. Then everything went black.
Here in this room my mind replays that scene over and over. My mom continues knitting. I can hear the needles constant clicking. Then I hear someone come into the room. “Hello, doctor.”
“Hello, Ms. Pembridge. How are you today?”
“Oh, just fine. How’s my Alfie doing?”
“Ms. Pembridge, I think it’s time we start discussing your options. He’s been in a vegetative state for over 6 months.”
“Options?”
“Yes, you may want to consider taking him off life support and letting him go.”
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Commotion- Ch. 4- The Final Installment
There’s a noise outside the door of my holding room. Two men arguing but I can’t tell about what. Then suddenly the camera’s red light goes off and the over head light is extinguished leaving only the circle of light from the table lamp. I know what’s coming next. I breathe in and out. Must not smile at their good cop, bad cop routine. Don’t want to insult them. I hear the door open and two sets of feet walk through the door. The light outside is blinding and I can only see shapes. When they shut the door one pair of shoes walks to the table and into my circle of light. My jaw drops.
“Hello, darling.” Charles is smiling and wearing a suit. I can’t speak. My eyes feel like they are bugging out of my head. “I couldn’t tell you. There’s a lot going on under the table here. But I was asked to bring you in as a favor.”
“A favor to whom?” I can’t rip away my gaze.
“Someone who wanted to see you. Someone you haven’t seen in a while. Lieutenant?”
“Thank you agent Swanton.” I know that voice. As Charles steps out of the light and stands beside me, another man steps forward into my line of vision. With his gray hair and grey eyes piercing me I feel tears well up in my throat. “Dad?”
“Hiya Kiddo,” he squeezes my hand. “I heard your Mom’s painting was causing quite a commotion.”
“Hello, darling.” Charles is smiling and wearing a suit. I can’t speak. My eyes feel like they are bugging out of my head. “I couldn’t tell you. There’s a lot going on under the table here. But I was asked to bring you in as a favor.”
“A favor to whom?” I can’t rip away my gaze.
“Someone who wanted to see you. Someone you haven’t seen in a while. Lieutenant?”
“Thank you agent Swanton.” I know that voice. As Charles steps out of the light and stands beside me, another man steps forward into my line of vision. With his gray hair and grey eyes piercing me I feel tears well up in my throat. “Dad?”
“Hiya Kiddo,” he squeezes my hand. “I heard your Mom’s painting was causing quite a commotion.”
Monday, April 27, 2009
Commotion- Ch. 3
On the day of we arrived at the museum dressed and pressed. In my stilettos and pant suit I jumped the line and stated “I’m the curator from the Museum of Modern Art in New York,” flashing my forged ID quickly to the guards. “I believe I’m expected.” They conversed with each other, checked their books, looked me up and down, then made a call on their walkie talkie. The real curator had of course been knocked out in the cab ride from the Rome airport to our house. Finally we were ushered in with a wave of the guard’s hand, Charles on my left acting as a translator. With the boys in line as eager tourist to see the artist latest highly anticipated piece the plan was in full swing.
As Charles and I sat in the office waiting for the head of the Museum and their curator to arrive the boys were making their way to the exhibit. As the curator and Museum director arrived we got the vibrating signal. They were in sight of the exhibit which gave us 45 seconds to distract the men in front of us. In his perfect Italian Charles laid on the pre-scripted bullshit we had worked up. “This piece should be in our museum. What gives you the right to show it before us, blah blah blah.”
On cue a guard burst in the office mid sentence of the Italian curator yelling right back at Charles. We all stopped and looked at the man panting heavily as he said something in Italian to the museum director. Without another word the two men from the museum rushed past us and the guard. We immediately followed curious to see what had interrupted our meeting.
As we got to the main floor of the museum we could hear loud shouting. A crowd had gathered blocking the way from the main entrance of the big hall to the prized piece of art. After a lot of yelling and pushing we managed to get to the center of the commotion to see Sam and Ted had started a brawl with a bunch of Irishmen. The size of the Irishmen and the fight itself seemed to have deterred any staff intervention. However being the biggest exhibit of the season the museum director and curator immediately tried to break it up. We joined in, pretending to be the Americans trying to save the art they know belongs to them and that is when we took our moment. Slipping the copy from under his pant leg Charles handed it to me as I edged over to the painting. In one swift movement I unrolled the forgery, slipped it into the casing and felt it catch under the clip. I pulled the real one out and rolled it tossing it to Charles who quickly slipped it under his pant leg, then slipped out of the crowd. I pushed back through the crowd. By this time the police had been called and were making their way through out the museum, the crowd quietly parting for them. The Irishmen and our boys, however, were unaware of the impending hand of the law and so continued beating each other mercilessly, dragging me in and causing me to start throwing punches.
When the police got in they managed to pull everyone apart with their shields and sticks putting me in with the others as an inciter. Sam had made his escape to Charles in the get away car during the police intervention (seeing that I had been captured and was supposed to drive the car) leaving only me, Ted and the Irishmen cuffed and tagged for questioning. Not part of the plan but I went with it.
As Charles and I sat in the office waiting for the head of the Museum and their curator to arrive the boys were making their way to the exhibit. As the curator and Museum director arrived we got the vibrating signal. They were in sight of the exhibit which gave us 45 seconds to distract the men in front of us. In his perfect Italian Charles laid on the pre-scripted bullshit we had worked up. “This piece should be in our museum. What gives you the right to show it before us, blah blah blah.”
On cue a guard burst in the office mid sentence of the Italian curator yelling right back at Charles. We all stopped and looked at the man panting heavily as he said something in Italian to the museum director. Without another word the two men from the museum rushed past us and the guard. We immediately followed curious to see what had interrupted our meeting.
As we got to the main floor of the museum we could hear loud shouting. A crowd had gathered blocking the way from the main entrance of the big hall to the prized piece of art. After a lot of yelling and pushing we managed to get to the center of the commotion to see Sam and Ted had started a brawl with a bunch of Irishmen. The size of the Irishmen and the fight itself seemed to have deterred any staff intervention. However being the biggest exhibit of the season the museum director and curator immediately tried to break it up. We joined in, pretending to be the Americans trying to save the art they know belongs to them and that is when we took our moment. Slipping the copy from under his pant leg Charles handed it to me as I edged over to the painting. In one swift movement I unrolled the forgery, slipped it into the casing and felt it catch under the clip. I pulled the real one out and rolled it tossing it to Charles who quickly slipped it under his pant leg, then slipped out of the crowd. I pushed back through the crowd. By this time the police had been called and were making their way through out the museum, the crowd quietly parting for them. The Irishmen and our boys, however, were unaware of the impending hand of the law and so continued beating each other mercilessly, dragging me in and causing me to start throwing punches.
When the police got in they managed to pull everyone apart with their shields and sticks putting me in with the others as an inciter. Sam had made his escape to Charles in the get away car during the police intervention (seeing that I had been captured and was supposed to drive the car) leaving only me, Ted and the Irishmen cuffed and tagged for questioning. Not part of the plan but I went with it.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Commotion- Ch. 2
In the following months the team gathered together to get to know one another. There were 4 of us: Ted and Sam (the two conspicuous guys at the diner), Charles, and myself. Charles felt for a team to function without a hitch they needed to know what made each other tick. “In times of high pressure you’ll need to be able to read each other. So this way nothing will be a surprise or impossible to handle.” That’s when Charles and I became lovers.
For the next year the team was busy, planning, building and doing reconnaissance work. I began dreaming that I was sitting outside the target getting busted…by my Mother. We ate, slept and obviously dreamt the job. We even moved in together so as to make it safe, easier and more time efficient to pass information, make up schemes. This had become my family. It was about four months before the day of that I realized I was in love with Charles. Apparently so did Sam.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”
“Am I sure what’s a good idea?” I said putting another round in the Waltham.
“You being with Charles.” I stopped assembling the .45. “I mean, emotions like that can cause a lot of problems for the group, don’t you think?”
“I think you should worry about the problems that maybe caused by your bum knee.” I walked away. Was he right? Was I in over my head mixing business with pleasure?
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Charles said, stroking my hair a few hours later.
“I just mean that may be we should stop what we’re doing until after the job is done.”
“Mmmmm.” He leaned against the head rest of the bed and looked at me, smirking. I tried to hold back a smile but he was so darn good looking. That’s when he leaned in and kissed me.
Sitting here under the stark lighting, feeling the cold steel of the handcuffs against my skin I feel utterly calm, cool, collected even. It had been a long road and while the plan hadn’t played out exactly as it was supposed to it wasn’t that far off the mark. And he had trained us to expect the unexpected, hadn’t he?
For the next year the team was busy, planning, building and doing reconnaissance work. I began dreaming that I was sitting outside the target getting busted…by my Mother. We ate, slept and obviously dreamt the job. We even moved in together so as to make it safe, easier and more time efficient to pass information, make up schemes. This had become my family. It was about four months before the day of that I realized I was in love with Charles. Apparently so did Sam.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”
“Am I sure what’s a good idea?” I said putting another round in the Waltham.
“You being with Charles.” I stopped assembling the .45. “I mean, emotions like that can cause a lot of problems for the group, don’t you think?”
“I think you should worry about the problems that maybe caused by your bum knee.” I walked away. Was he right? Was I in over my head mixing business with pleasure?
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Charles said, stroking my hair a few hours later.
“I just mean that may be we should stop what we’re doing until after the job is done.”
“Mmmmm.” He leaned against the head rest of the bed and looked at me, smirking. I tried to hold back a smile but he was so darn good looking. That’s when he leaned in and kissed me.
Sitting here under the stark lighting, feeling the cold steel of the handcuffs against my skin I feel utterly calm, cool, collected even. It had been a long road and while the plan hadn’t played out exactly as it was supposed to it wasn’t that far off the mark. And he had trained us to expect the unexpected, hadn’t he?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Commotion- Ch. 1
I wasn’t trying to evade the truth. Sitting in the cold steel chair with my hands cuffed behind me I smiled. This wasn’t exactly the plan but it was still going on track. It was only a matter of time.
He approached me two years ago. I was sitting at my normal seat in the diner, doing some recon work for a private contractor. Staring down at my pad of paper, trying to recall the layout of the building, I didn’t even notice he had sat down in front of me until I looked up. With Crystal clear blue eyes and a grin on his face I was immediately drawn to him. “Hello, Cynthia.”
“Hello,” He held out his hand and we shook, his grip firm; his hand engulfing mine.
“My name is Charles. Charles Swanton.” The illustrious Charles Swanton was known very well in my circles. No one was sure whose side he played on, ours or theirs, but it was known that he was very good at what he did. “Hello, Charles.” I couldn’t stop smirking. He was so…handsome. A little older with some salt sprinkled in his hair but just the right amount.
“Doing some re-con work I see. May I have a look?” I pushed my pad over to his side of the table, my eyes glued to his face. His eyes moved up and down my scribbles, notes and crude drawings. After a few moments he pushed the pad back to me. “And this is why I’m here.”
“You’re also on this job?”
“No but your work is further proof that you should be working with me, as I’ve long thought.”
“Oh yeah and what- wait, how long?”
“A while.” He lifted his hand and signaled for the waitress. “Two coffees, please.” As he watched her walk away I began to take more note of my surroundings. He wasn’t alone. There at the counter, failing to look inconspicuous was a man in slacks and a button down shirt. And over there at the table behind Charles was a man who was trying not to stare at us.
“I see you’ve noticed my friends.” I looked at him. “We’d like you to join us, Cynthia. You are the needed ingredient for our plan to be a success.” It was with those few words that my life would change.
He approached me two years ago. I was sitting at my normal seat in the diner, doing some recon work for a private contractor. Staring down at my pad of paper, trying to recall the layout of the building, I didn’t even notice he had sat down in front of me until I looked up. With Crystal clear blue eyes and a grin on his face I was immediately drawn to him. “Hello, Cynthia.”
“Hello,” He held out his hand and we shook, his grip firm; his hand engulfing mine.
“My name is Charles. Charles Swanton.” The illustrious Charles Swanton was known very well in my circles. No one was sure whose side he played on, ours or theirs, but it was known that he was very good at what he did. “Hello, Charles.” I couldn’t stop smirking. He was so…handsome. A little older with some salt sprinkled in his hair but just the right amount.
“Doing some re-con work I see. May I have a look?” I pushed my pad over to his side of the table, my eyes glued to his face. His eyes moved up and down my scribbles, notes and crude drawings. After a few moments he pushed the pad back to me. “And this is why I’m here.”
“You’re also on this job?”
“No but your work is further proof that you should be working with me, as I’ve long thought.”
“Oh yeah and what- wait, how long?”
“A while.” He lifted his hand and signaled for the waitress. “Two coffees, please.” As he watched her walk away I began to take more note of my surroundings. He wasn’t alone. There at the counter, failing to look inconspicuous was a man in slacks and a button down shirt. And over there at the table behind Charles was a man who was trying not to stare at us.
“I see you’ve noticed my friends.” I looked at him. “We’d like you to join us, Cynthia. You are the needed ingredient for our plan to be a success.” It was with those few words that my life would change.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Don't Do It
He couldn’t get his head around it. He just couldn’t understand. She had left him. Packed her bags and left. “I’m going on vacation, Lyle. I’ll be back in 10 days. Don’t burn the house down.”
What was he supposed to do for 10 days? She had been keeping house for the past 15 years. He made the money, she did the house work. It was a deal they had made before they got married. He always took her on his vacations. How could she go on a vacation without him? This is fine. I’m a grown man, he thought. He had lived without her once; he could certainly do it again.
The first few days were fine. He made it to work in his clothes, ate food and watched TV like normal. Granted the food he ate was all the leftovers she had told him to eat and the outfits he wore were the outfits she had hung for him in the closet but he was still managing on his own. He was able to wake up without her, get out the door. Maybe 10 days wasn’t that long after all.
It was on the 4th day that things began to go downhill. It began innocently enough. He no longer had any pre-prepared outfits to wear. Not disastrous. Though when he got to work his colleague pointed out the stain on his shirt, right there on his left peck. He had grabbed it from the hamper in a minor frenzy. Then when he got home there were only fruits and vegetables in the fridge. And they weren’t even cut up or mixed together! But he managed. Managed to eat everything in it. It was at this point that he turned to his old buddy Famous Grouse for support.
By day 6 he had called in sick to work and was living in a drunken stupor in his bathrobe. He had made an attempt to do laundry, stuffing all of his dirty clothes into the machine. He turned it on even though the machine wouldn’t fully close, full with so much dirty laundry. He left the room expecting it to do its magic of making his stuff clean again. He came back to find the room flooded and the machine inoperable. All of his clothes were soaking in dirty water.
On day 7 his neighbor dropped by having noticed that the newspapers had piled up outside and the mailbox was over flowing. When Lyle answered the door the neighbor took a step back. “What’s going on, Ralph,” he said biting into the celery stick in his left hand.
“Hey Neighbor,” Ralph said. “Just checking in. Seems you’ve been behind on your mail, huh?” Lyle looked over the lawn past Ralph at his engorged mailbox. “Look at that. Mail.” Ralph looked him up and down and said “Are you doing ok?”
“Oh, just fine. Sheila is out of town for a few days but I’m just fine.” He took a large gulp of the scotch in his right hand.
By day 9 the floor was covered in take out food boxes, dirty clothes and papers. At least he had brought in the mail and newspapers; discovered where the take out menus were. But he had been perpetually drunk for the past 4 days. He wasn’t sure what that rancid smell was or where it was coming from. He hadn’t eaten real food in two days and hadn’t slept in 3 because he was permanently glued to the home shopping network which he had pleasantly discovered.
He began having wild visions as his sleep and food deprivation took hold. He kept envisioning Sheila coming home, fire shooting out of her head with fury at the state of things. Other times he had thoughts of wild dogs coming in, wreaking havoc and eventually eating him. He couldn’t take much more mental strain.
At around 9pm on the 10th and final day he decided to get out of his doldrums. If Sheila could escape so could he. He got up, went into the kitchen and found his old cigarette lighter. Standing outside of his house he felt free at last. Like wiping away tears on your face he felt he was renewing himself, his independence, his manliness. As he took a deep breath in a taxi pulled up beside him. Breathing out he heard Sheila scream “Oh my God, Lyle! How did you burn the house down?!”
What was he supposed to do for 10 days? She had been keeping house for the past 15 years. He made the money, she did the house work. It was a deal they had made before they got married. He always took her on his vacations. How could she go on a vacation without him? This is fine. I’m a grown man, he thought. He had lived without her once; he could certainly do it again.
The first few days were fine. He made it to work in his clothes, ate food and watched TV like normal. Granted the food he ate was all the leftovers she had told him to eat and the outfits he wore were the outfits she had hung for him in the closet but he was still managing on his own. He was able to wake up without her, get out the door. Maybe 10 days wasn’t that long after all.
It was on the 4th day that things began to go downhill. It began innocently enough. He no longer had any pre-prepared outfits to wear. Not disastrous. Though when he got to work his colleague pointed out the stain on his shirt, right there on his left peck. He had grabbed it from the hamper in a minor frenzy. Then when he got home there were only fruits and vegetables in the fridge. And they weren’t even cut up or mixed together! But he managed. Managed to eat everything in it. It was at this point that he turned to his old buddy Famous Grouse for support.
By day 6 he had called in sick to work and was living in a drunken stupor in his bathrobe. He had made an attempt to do laundry, stuffing all of his dirty clothes into the machine. He turned it on even though the machine wouldn’t fully close, full with so much dirty laundry. He left the room expecting it to do its magic of making his stuff clean again. He came back to find the room flooded and the machine inoperable. All of his clothes were soaking in dirty water.
On day 7 his neighbor dropped by having noticed that the newspapers had piled up outside and the mailbox was over flowing. When Lyle answered the door the neighbor took a step back. “What’s going on, Ralph,” he said biting into the celery stick in his left hand.
“Hey Neighbor,” Ralph said. “Just checking in. Seems you’ve been behind on your mail, huh?” Lyle looked over the lawn past Ralph at his engorged mailbox. “Look at that. Mail.” Ralph looked him up and down and said “Are you doing ok?”
“Oh, just fine. Sheila is out of town for a few days but I’m just fine.” He took a large gulp of the scotch in his right hand.
By day 9 the floor was covered in take out food boxes, dirty clothes and papers. At least he had brought in the mail and newspapers; discovered where the take out menus were. But he had been perpetually drunk for the past 4 days. He wasn’t sure what that rancid smell was or where it was coming from. He hadn’t eaten real food in two days and hadn’t slept in 3 because he was permanently glued to the home shopping network which he had pleasantly discovered.
He began having wild visions as his sleep and food deprivation took hold. He kept envisioning Sheila coming home, fire shooting out of her head with fury at the state of things. Other times he had thoughts of wild dogs coming in, wreaking havoc and eventually eating him. He couldn’t take much more mental strain.
At around 9pm on the 10th and final day he decided to get out of his doldrums. If Sheila could escape so could he. He got up, went into the kitchen and found his old cigarette lighter. Standing outside of his house he felt free at last. Like wiping away tears on your face he felt he was renewing himself, his independence, his manliness. As he took a deep breath in a taxi pulled up beside him. Breathing out he heard Sheila scream “Oh my God, Lyle! How did you burn the house down?!”
Monday, April 20, 2009
Job Without Rules
There’s no point in arguing something that is dead and drowned. When he pulled me into his office I knew something was wrong. I never really speak to him, let alone sit down and chat.
Luckily I wasn’t preparing to get comfortable because before my butt had even felt cushion he said “Right, you’re fired.”
“Wh-what? Why?”
“You were caught on camera stealing a box of pens from the supply closet. We do not tolerate that.” He picked up the remote on his desk and clicked a button. A screen magically rose out of what I thought was a table to my left and showed a security video of me shoving a few pens in my pocket, looking this way and that over my shoulder. Guilty as charged.
As I was carried out the door by security I realized that wasn’t the job for me. Being a second assistant to a junior accountant didn’t ring. It was toneless, boring, like the job itself. After being tossed out the door I stood up, brushed the poop I had landed in off my knees and took a deep breath. An opportunity to find my passion.
Over the next few months I tried my hand at a few things. Inter-galatic sex operator was entertaining until some Alien beings got so dirty I threw up. On my boss. Who was monitoring my progress. Not the best way to make a good impression.
I dabbled in the gangster business for a second but the moment I chipped a nail on the raid, balked about it and got some of our gang shot, I was out. Apparently none of the guys realized just how important a good manicure is. Lucky for me they merely told me if I ever told anyone what I had seen or heard they’d hunt me down and kill me. Phew! What a break.
The longest job I managed to hold down was an interstellar translator. It was going great for a while until my superior found out that I would make things up when I didn’t know what was being said. Apparently it’s not ethical. Who knew?
What is a girl to do? Sitting here, staring at a blank cellu-screen I have galaxies of jobs at my finger tips. When I’ve found a job I kind of enjoy it gets taken out from under me because of all these “rules”. I’m just about to type up “Job with no rules” when- Ring, dadaring, ring da-
“Yes?”
“Allo, darling.”
“Hey Babs,” my sister.
“Darling, tell me you love me.”
“I love you, Babs, now what’s up?” I really do need another manicure.
“I think I’ve found you the perfect job. Planet hopping, sunshine and moonshine in your face, meeting new people, taking your time.” Sounds good so far.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch. Just call this constellation and ask for Roving Wishes.”
As I jot down the number I think things may work out after all.
_________________________ __________________________
Six months later and I’m the happiest girl in the galaxy. I have found my calling! My sister was right. This is the job, no scratch that, the life for me. My hours are great, I have all the time in that world to get my job done, I meet new people everyday. I see sunshine and moonshine (depending on which planet I’m on) and I love my clients. Looking down at them sniffing and wagging I feel no regrets but peace and joy. Oh, hang on, phone call.
“Roving wishes animal walking Company where your little rover is our biggest priority. How can I make their wish come true today?”
Luckily I wasn’t preparing to get comfortable because before my butt had even felt cushion he said “Right, you’re fired.”
“Wh-what? Why?”
“You were caught on camera stealing a box of pens from the supply closet. We do not tolerate that.” He picked up the remote on his desk and clicked a button. A screen magically rose out of what I thought was a table to my left and showed a security video of me shoving a few pens in my pocket, looking this way and that over my shoulder. Guilty as charged.
As I was carried out the door by security I realized that wasn’t the job for me. Being a second assistant to a junior accountant didn’t ring. It was toneless, boring, like the job itself. After being tossed out the door I stood up, brushed the poop I had landed in off my knees and took a deep breath. An opportunity to find my passion.
Over the next few months I tried my hand at a few things. Inter-galatic sex operator was entertaining until some Alien beings got so dirty I threw up. On my boss. Who was monitoring my progress. Not the best way to make a good impression.
I dabbled in the gangster business for a second but the moment I chipped a nail on the raid, balked about it and got some of our gang shot, I was out. Apparently none of the guys realized just how important a good manicure is. Lucky for me they merely told me if I ever told anyone what I had seen or heard they’d hunt me down and kill me. Phew! What a break.
The longest job I managed to hold down was an interstellar translator. It was going great for a while until my superior found out that I would make things up when I didn’t know what was being said. Apparently it’s not ethical. Who knew?
What is a girl to do? Sitting here, staring at a blank cellu-screen I have galaxies of jobs at my finger tips. When I’ve found a job I kind of enjoy it gets taken out from under me because of all these “rules”. I’m just about to type up “Job with no rules” when- Ring, dadaring, ring da-
“Yes?”
“Allo, darling.”
“Hey Babs,” my sister.
“Darling, tell me you love me.”
“I love you, Babs, now what’s up?” I really do need another manicure.
“I think I’ve found you the perfect job. Planet hopping, sunshine and moonshine in your face, meeting new people, taking your time.” Sounds good so far.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch. Just call this constellation and ask for Roving Wishes.”
As I jot down the number I think things may work out after all.
_________________________ __________________________
Six months later and I’m the happiest girl in the galaxy. I have found my calling! My sister was right. This is the job, no scratch that, the life for me. My hours are great, I have all the time in that world to get my job done, I meet new people everyday. I see sunshine and moonshine (depending on which planet I’m on) and I love my clients. Looking down at them sniffing and wagging I feel no regrets but peace and joy. Oh, hang on, phone call.
“Roving wishes animal walking Company where your little rover is our biggest priority. How can I make their wish come true today?”
Friday, April 17, 2009
The Proposal
He loves me, I know he loves me. He looks at me with those golden brown eyes and I feel like he can see into my soul. When we sit together the silence is dreamy and peaceful, not oppressive like it can be when you sit with others. I feel comforted by him. Calm.
Sometime’s he’ll lie down and lay his head on my lap. I’ll stroke his head and as he falls asleep I feel my stress ebbing away. On our daily walks I really feel like I can clear my head. Like walking with him is all the therapy I need. It seems to me that because we’ve been together for so long (going on 10 years now) that it’s time we took our relationship to the next level. I’m nervous about asking him since I know he can be a little cryptic sometimes. Having been together for so long this question is a simple one. I just have to be brave.
So after our run today, both of us breathing hard, I gather my nerve. While he’s laying on the couch I kneel before him, put my head to his and say “Burt, I think we should get married.” He pulls his head away and with that grin of his looks me right in the eyes before laying one on my cheek. I know what that means. We’re off to Vegas!
The only place that will welcome our decision freely and quickly. We drive 4 hours in the night. Burt whines when we fly. Before checking into a hotel I pull into the Love Chapel the moment we enter the city limits. It’s been 10 long years, no need to wait any further.
At the chapel Burt jumps out of the car. I’m glad to see he’s as excited as I am. When we get inside and I fill out the forms the woman, the registrar, at the desk looks at my information then at Burt and says “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” I look over at Burt who is meandering around the lobby in that cute way of his and smile saying “Oh I’m absolutely positive I want to do this.”
Inside the pastor calls our name as the next lucky couple. People in the aisle waiting to have their moment of bliss stare at us wide-eyed. Like me, they can’t believe this is happening either. When we get to the alter the pastor looks me up and down, looks over at Burt and laughs. I’m so glad this is joyous! When the time comes to kiss the bride everyone laughs and claps. This is the happiest day of my life.
I bend over and kiss Burt’s head, his fur caressing my lips. I put my hands around his face, looking into his eyes and say “I love you!” Burt looks up at me and wags his tail wildly.
Sometime’s he’ll lie down and lay his head on my lap. I’ll stroke his head and as he falls asleep I feel my stress ebbing away. On our daily walks I really feel like I can clear my head. Like walking with him is all the therapy I need. It seems to me that because we’ve been together for so long (going on 10 years now) that it’s time we took our relationship to the next level. I’m nervous about asking him since I know he can be a little cryptic sometimes. Having been together for so long this question is a simple one. I just have to be brave.
So after our run today, both of us breathing hard, I gather my nerve. While he’s laying on the couch I kneel before him, put my head to his and say “Burt, I think we should get married.” He pulls his head away and with that grin of his looks me right in the eyes before laying one on my cheek. I know what that means. We’re off to Vegas!
The only place that will welcome our decision freely and quickly. We drive 4 hours in the night. Burt whines when we fly. Before checking into a hotel I pull into the Love Chapel the moment we enter the city limits. It’s been 10 long years, no need to wait any further.
At the chapel Burt jumps out of the car. I’m glad to see he’s as excited as I am. When we get inside and I fill out the forms the woman, the registrar, at the desk looks at my information then at Burt and says “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” I look over at Burt who is meandering around the lobby in that cute way of his and smile saying “Oh I’m absolutely positive I want to do this.”
Inside the pastor calls our name as the next lucky couple. People in the aisle waiting to have their moment of bliss stare at us wide-eyed. Like me, they can’t believe this is happening either. When we get to the alter the pastor looks me up and down, looks over at Burt and laughs. I’m so glad this is joyous! When the time comes to kiss the bride everyone laughs and claps. This is the happiest day of my life.
I bend over and kiss Burt’s head, his fur caressing my lips. I put my hands around his face, looking into his eyes and say “I love you!” Burt looks up at me and wags his tail wildly.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Who's There?- Ch. 3
Chapter III- The Final Installment
Outside I get into my vacumobile and head to the site. Upon arriving it seems there is more life here than we realized. Tents have been erected and the low lifes of the surrounding systems seem to have created a little community for themselves. Stepping out of the vacu I could see clouds of smoke from the fires all around. I am blasted with a putrid smell that can only be described as scumbag living. Walking around with my gun and badge hidden I feel something afoot. How did these beings find this place; know to come here?
“Hey, buddy?” I poke the nearest being which happens to be a Snarken. He doesn’t move for a second so I poke him again. This time he snuffles and rolls over opening his eye slightly. “Buddy, how did you find this place?”
He looks me up and down and says in that gurgly voice of theirs “We heard about it from that guy,” pointing behind him to a huge tent structure that I hadn’t noticed before amid the smoke, debris and wall of beings. “Thanks” I mutter as he rolls back over, emitting a pretty horrible scent. I walk towards the huge structure and as I get closer I hear music playing. Music I don’t recognize though it sounds Earthly.
Right before I get to the door a Bontiki is thrown out by a very large man. “Enough!” the man shouts at the Tiki, wiping his hands. The Bontiki rolls over in the dirt laughing as I step over it to get to the door. The man, big and burly looks at me blankly then says “And?”
“Sounds like my kind of party in there.” I begin to walk forward when the guy puts his arm out stopping me. He puts his face right into mine and says “You are?”
“Full of words aren’t you, pal? I’m an old friend…of the crew,” I say. I have a theory and I’m going with it. What if Drag vicious has started his whole outfit up again; his whole gang and place of “business”? Right under our noses since we assumed the place was done for in our first sweep.
“The crew, huh? Wait here.” Right. As the hefty guy moves away into the tent I casually walk in behind him and dart to the right into the crowd. I follow the guy with my eyes he heads straight to the back of the tent, the crowd parting for him, and walks through another doorway. I begin walking in that direction, as close to the wall as possible but my progress is slow as I’m bumped constantly by the dancing beings all around me. Eventually I make it to the back of the tent just in time to see my burly buddy coming out of the door to my left. I jump into the corner crouching behind the Tetronicsound equipment. In a quick motion, still crouching I run over to the door and into it, my hand on my gun. The room is sparse with a carpet, full length mirror, wall of clothes and shoes, and a little curtain room. I hear a scuffle from behind the curtain to my right and jump behind the mirror. Out he saunters in a strapless gown and Shinny silver shoes. Son of a gun.
I pop out from behind the mirror and shoot my freezeoid gun at him simultaneously hitting the back up button on my Police radio. “Well, well, well if it isn’t my favorite douche in Drag,” I say walking around the stiff body now lying on the floor. His eyes try to follow my movements.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” I say out loud.
I’ll handle this, Josh.
Who’ll handle this? I’m in charge here. Picking up the pieces that Dave couldn’t gather for himself.
Don’t worry, Josh baby. You and Dave are in good hands.
Taking a deep breath and opening my eyes the world is almost fresh and new. Dave and Josh need me. They need a feminine touch to make the Universe right again.
Outside I get into my vacumobile and head to the site. Upon arriving it seems there is more life here than we realized. Tents have been erected and the low lifes of the surrounding systems seem to have created a little community for themselves. Stepping out of the vacu I could see clouds of smoke from the fires all around. I am blasted with a putrid smell that can only be described as scumbag living. Walking around with my gun and badge hidden I feel something afoot. How did these beings find this place; know to come here?
“Hey, buddy?” I poke the nearest being which happens to be a Snarken. He doesn’t move for a second so I poke him again. This time he snuffles and rolls over opening his eye slightly. “Buddy, how did you find this place?”
He looks me up and down and says in that gurgly voice of theirs “We heard about it from that guy,” pointing behind him to a huge tent structure that I hadn’t noticed before amid the smoke, debris and wall of beings. “Thanks” I mutter as he rolls back over, emitting a pretty horrible scent. I walk towards the huge structure and as I get closer I hear music playing. Music I don’t recognize though it sounds Earthly.
Right before I get to the door a Bontiki is thrown out by a very large man. “Enough!” the man shouts at the Tiki, wiping his hands. The Bontiki rolls over in the dirt laughing as I step over it to get to the door. The man, big and burly looks at me blankly then says “And?”
“Sounds like my kind of party in there.” I begin to walk forward when the guy puts his arm out stopping me. He puts his face right into mine and says “You are?”
“Full of words aren’t you, pal? I’m an old friend…of the crew,” I say. I have a theory and I’m going with it. What if Drag vicious has started his whole outfit up again; his whole gang and place of “business”? Right under our noses since we assumed the place was done for in our first sweep.
“The crew, huh? Wait here.” Right. As the hefty guy moves away into the tent I casually walk in behind him and dart to the right into the crowd. I follow the guy with my eyes he heads straight to the back of the tent, the crowd parting for him, and walks through another doorway. I begin walking in that direction, as close to the wall as possible but my progress is slow as I’m bumped constantly by the dancing beings all around me. Eventually I make it to the back of the tent just in time to see my burly buddy coming out of the door to my left. I jump into the corner crouching behind the Tetronicsound equipment. In a quick motion, still crouching I run over to the door and into it, my hand on my gun. The room is sparse with a carpet, full length mirror, wall of clothes and shoes, and a little curtain room. I hear a scuffle from behind the curtain to my right and jump behind the mirror. Out he saunters in a strapless gown and Shinny silver shoes. Son of a gun.
I pop out from behind the mirror and shoot my freezeoid gun at him simultaneously hitting the back up button on my Police radio. “Well, well, well if it isn’t my favorite douche in Drag,” I say walking around the stiff body now lying on the floor. His eyes try to follow my movements.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” I say out loud.
I’ll handle this, Josh.
Who’ll handle this? I’m in charge here. Picking up the pieces that Dave couldn’t gather for himself.
Don’t worry, Josh baby. You and Dave are in good hands.
Taking a deep breath and opening my eyes the world is almost fresh and new. Dave and Josh need me. They need a feminine touch to make the Universe right again.
For your viewing Pleasure
Mad Max Here:
In talking with people who have read my blog I have gotten some very helpful feedback not only on what I've written but on the layout. When I post short stories that I split up into chapters it would have been helpful if the blogging site recognized which is chapter 1 and put it at the top. It however does not do that. Instead it archives by date. Therefore I have changed a few things.
Firstly, on the right hand side of the page the older posts will appear first under the archive section and this will hopefully alleviate the issue of which part of the story comes first as I always post the first chapter of any story first thereby making it the older posting.
Secondly, and maybe most importantly, I have included the chapter numbers in the title of the post as well as within the body of it. This will certainly clue those in on where to start if they are arriving at my site for the first time.
As stated at the top of my blog you can also click on the "Tales" section in the labels area on the right hand side of my page to sort through my stories and pick one you would like to read exclusively.
Hopefully this will help clear things up and make my blog even more enjoyable to read and easier than ever to use.
In talking with people who have read my blog I have gotten some very helpful feedback not only on what I've written but on the layout. When I post short stories that I split up into chapters it would have been helpful if the blogging site recognized which is chapter 1 and put it at the top. It however does not do that. Instead it archives by date. Therefore I have changed a few things.
Firstly, on the right hand side of the page the older posts will appear first under the archive section and this will hopefully alleviate the issue of which part of the story comes first as I always post the first chapter of any story first thereby making it the older posting.
Secondly, and maybe most importantly, I have included the chapter numbers in the title of the post as well as within the body of it. This will certainly clue those in on where to start if they are arriving at my site for the first time.
As stated at the top of my blog you can also click on the "Tales" section in the labels area on the right hand side of my page to sort through my stories and pick one you would like to read exclusively.
Hopefully this will help clear things up and make my blog even more enjoyable to read and easier than ever to use.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Who's There?- Ch. 2
Chapter II
I woke up in the Medi room, blinking frantically as my eyes slowly adjusted to the natu-light glowing around the room. A doctor came in of the Gragain species. Fortunately for me he spoke human. “So it seems you were blasted with a fragmenting lazer.” Gargains are very to the point.
“Right, at least it wasn’t a bullet,” I said rubbing my head.
“It seems the villain created a new weapon and from what we can gather your being has been split. Into how many pieces we don’t know.” I looked down at my body. Everything seemed attached and unharmed. I felt my head, no bumps or bruises. I lifted the sheet and looked between my legs to make extra sure.
“Everything seems to be in place, Doc.”
“Your being. You humans refer to it as many things like soul, personality, and so on.”
“You’re telling me that Diva dick fragmented my personality”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
Ever since then it’s been non-stop whirring and buzzing. I feel like I’m floating by. I mean I know we float around now a day as transportation but I feel like I’m floating within myself.
Because you are, Dave.
What was that? It felt like it was in my head.
That’s right.
Who is talking? I’m not talking. There’s no one around me. What’s going on?
Oh nothing, just hanging out.
Who said that?
You did.
I didn’t say anything. Who are you?
I’m you, well, another you.
What? Where are you, buddy? The joke is over. Come out now.
Ok
Opening my eyes I feel alive and ready. Dave could only do so much. Time to fight back. Gotta look good on the journey. Man, Dave has got some shitty taste in clothes. I’ll have to change. But what to wear? His body is pretty worn down, all that drinking. Look at this gut! We should go to go to the gym. Maybe after I save the universe. Ok, jeans and a button down shirt will have to do. Cool, casual, collected.
At the office everyone greets me normally of course except for Brian. When he comes over to say hello he stops, looking me directly in the eyes bobbing his head up and down looking for something. “You all right, Dave?”
“Sure, all right.”
I take off Dave’s jacket, put it over the back of the chair and sit down in front of the Cellu-screen. Typing up Drag Vicious into the main frame I begin my investigation into revenge. The Drag’s last known address and associates are dead and gone. His hide-out on Planet Trontan was blown up in a massive raid a few years back taking most of his known associates with it. It’s somewhere to start, though.
As I stand up and put my coat on the Chief says “Wait Dave, where are you going Buddy?”
“Following a lead chief.”
I woke up in the Medi room, blinking frantically as my eyes slowly adjusted to the natu-light glowing around the room. A doctor came in of the Gragain species. Fortunately for me he spoke human. “So it seems you were blasted with a fragmenting lazer.” Gargains are very to the point.
“Right, at least it wasn’t a bullet,” I said rubbing my head.
“It seems the villain created a new weapon and from what we can gather your being has been split. Into how many pieces we don’t know.” I looked down at my body. Everything seemed attached and unharmed. I felt my head, no bumps or bruises. I lifted the sheet and looked between my legs to make extra sure.
“Everything seems to be in place, Doc.”
“Your being. You humans refer to it as many things like soul, personality, and so on.”
“You’re telling me that Diva dick fragmented my personality”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
Ever since then it’s been non-stop whirring and buzzing. I feel like I’m floating by. I mean I know we float around now a day as transportation but I feel like I’m floating within myself.
Because you are, Dave.
What was that? It felt like it was in my head.
That’s right.
Who is talking? I’m not talking. There’s no one around me. What’s going on?
Oh nothing, just hanging out.
Who said that?
You did.
I didn’t say anything. Who are you?
I’m you, well, another you.
What? Where are you, buddy? The joke is over. Come out now.
Ok
Opening my eyes I feel alive and ready. Dave could only do so much. Time to fight back. Gotta look good on the journey. Man, Dave has got some shitty taste in clothes. I’ll have to change. But what to wear? His body is pretty worn down, all that drinking. Look at this gut! We should go to go to the gym. Maybe after I save the universe. Ok, jeans and a button down shirt will have to do. Cool, casual, collected.
At the office everyone greets me normally of course except for Brian. When he comes over to say hello he stops, looking me directly in the eyes bobbing his head up and down looking for something. “You all right, Dave?”
“Sure, all right.”
I take off Dave’s jacket, put it over the back of the chair and sit down in front of the Cellu-screen. Typing up Drag Vicious into the main frame I begin my investigation into revenge. The Drag’s last known address and associates are dead and gone. His hide-out on Planet Trontan was blown up in a massive raid a few years back taking most of his known associates with it. It’s somewhere to start, though.
As I stand up and put my coat on the Chief says “Wait Dave, where are you going Buddy?”
“Following a lead chief.”
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Who's There?- Ch. 1
Chapter I
Why won’t that damn whirring noise stop? All I hear in my head, everyday is a sound like a ceiling fan going round and round. Where did it come from? More importantly how do I make it stop?
I feel like I can’t remember anything before the whirring and whizzing shooting in my head. I can remember when it started because that was the day everything changed. I was sitting in the Sky Bar on Planet Forsan enjoying a Tri-blink blended drink. As the planet rotated around its 4th sun of the day I leaned back in my floating chair feeling at peace. My job was going well. As an inter-stellar crime negotiator I was always busy though not always culpable since other worldly crime is pretty hard to police let alone talk a being out of.
As the drink started to take effect I leaned back and let the fizzy feeling wash over me. I was starting to see the stars they advertise for on the drink bottle when I heard a commotion at the door. In walked the notorious Solar Stealer brandishing a new Ultra powered Nitro Fever gun. He had a huge grin on his face.
“Well, well, well, what a nice restaurant,” he said walking slowly through the tables, the gun pointed out like an extension of his arm. Beings scattered out of his way. I slowly put my hand on my Dual ray gun in the back of my belt. I continued sipping my drink with the other hand.
As he walked towards my table I saw recognition dawn on his face. “If it isn’t my favorite copped crusader.”
“Nice to see you again, Stealer. I see you’ve decided to take leave of your cell.”
“Wasn’t really working out for me; confinement,” he said picking up my glass and finishing my drink. “Wow, that’s a kick!” He turned around and blasted a few quick shots into the air evoking a few screams in the crowd. With his back turned I took my moment and flew at him pinning him to the ground with my knee in his back.
“Nice try Stealer but next time-“
“Next time you shouldn’t underestimate the bad guy.” I felt the cold steel of another gun on my neck. Turning my head to the right I saw a long red robe and pink stilettos. It was none other than Drag Vicious: a man so deadly he could wear women’s clothing and still be frightening. I slowly stood up, kicking the Stealer on the way, hands raised above my head.
“Why don’t we just let these nice beings go, shall we?” I said walking to the left hoping to see a clear exit strategy somewhere.
“Hmm, let me think about that.” Drag Vicious frowned, bit his lip and said “No, that’s pretty boring. I think we need to spice it up a bit.” He shot his gun at me. From there everything went hazy and then blackness.
Why won’t that damn whirring noise stop? All I hear in my head, everyday is a sound like a ceiling fan going round and round. Where did it come from? More importantly how do I make it stop?
I feel like I can’t remember anything before the whirring and whizzing shooting in my head. I can remember when it started because that was the day everything changed. I was sitting in the Sky Bar on Planet Forsan enjoying a Tri-blink blended drink. As the planet rotated around its 4th sun of the day I leaned back in my floating chair feeling at peace. My job was going well. As an inter-stellar crime negotiator I was always busy though not always culpable since other worldly crime is pretty hard to police let alone talk a being out of.
As the drink started to take effect I leaned back and let the fizzy feeling wash over me. I was starting to see the stars they advertise for on the drink bottle when I heard a commotion at the door. In walked the notorious Solar Stealer brandishing a new Ultra powered Nitro Fever gun. He had a huge grin on his face.
“Well, well, well, what a nice restaurant,” he said walking slowly through the tables, the gun pointed out like an extension of his arm. Beings scattered out of his way. I slowly put my hand on my Dual ray gun in the back of my belt. I continued sipping my drink with the other hand.
As he walked towards my table I saw recognition dawn on his face. “If it isn’t my favorite copped crusader.”
“Nice to see you again, Stealer. I see you’ve decided to take leave of your cell.”
“Wasn’t really working out for me; confinement,” he said picking up my glass and finishing my drink. “Wow, that’s a kick!” He turned around and blasted a few quick shots into the air evoking a few screams in the crowd. With his back turned I took my moment and flew at him pinning him to the ground with my knee in his back.
“Nice try Stealer but next time-“
“Next time you shouldn’t underestimate the bad guy.” I felt the cold steel of another gun on my neck. Turning my head to the right I saw a long red robe and pink stilettos. It was none other than Drag Vicious: a man so deadly he could wear women’s clothing and still be frightening. I slowly stood up, kicking the Stealer on the way, hands raised above my head.
“Why don’t we just let these nice beings go, shall we?” I said walking to the left hoping to see a clear exit strategy somewhere.
“Hmm, let me think about that.” Drag Vicious frowned, bit his lip and said “No, that’s pretty boring. I think we need to spice it up a bit.” He shot his gun at me. From there everything went hazy and then blackness.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Unadvisable- Ch. 3
Chapter III- The Final Installment
“So you’re telling me that our President is doing illegal side deals?” I asked skeptically. Tom turned to me and said “No, I’m telling you that the President is unaware that he is working closely with some highly unadvisable advisors.”
We both sat in silence as the sign for the Nevada state border came and went by our window. “How did they figure out you knew?”
“They had followed Charly that night and when they saw the ambulance pulling his dead body out on a stretcher they probably assumed he was killed passing on information. Ironically that isn’t far from the truth.”
“So where’s Paulie?”
“He’s gone. Paulie can blend in anywhere. He’s well connected being part of some organization. He’s just gone. And me, well they’ve bee following me ever since. I’ve been trying to out maneuver them but they’re getting more aggressive.”
“What if they just want to talk or offer you a hell of a lot of money to keep quiet?”
“Do you really think men that high up with that much to loose are going to chance this kind of information being kept quiet with money?”
“Hmm, I suppose not. So what’s the plan?”
“The plan is to drive,” he said pointing his arm forward. Good plan.
As if on cue a car came up behind us fast with the head lights blazing. It sped forward and banged into the back of our car. I stepped on the accelerator but in my beat up 95’ Corolla I had no hopes of outracing their 2009 Land Cruiser. As I sped forward they pulled along our right side and turned into our car. We were lifted off the ground for a second and pushed off the road onto the shoulder, steep drop off the mountainous road. Our left front wheel was rolling on air. I veered back to the right trying to get on steady ground when the Land Cruiser smashed into us again. Both our front wheels got pushed over the edge. I sharply turned the wheel to the right trying to gain back some solid ground but the Land Cruiser slammed into our right side one more time.
For a moment everything was silent. Then everything went into chaos as our car fell over the edge and we tumbled down the slope. Rolling over and over I could see the debris pass by and hear the crunching and breaking of my car. My head hit the side window a couple of times and I felt my arm get squished between the wheel and my leg. With a sickening crunch my arm succumbed to the pressure.
Finally the car stopped rolling landing upside down. Hanging there I couldn’t imagine I was still alive.
“Tom? Tom are you ok, buddy?” No response. With all the blood rushing to my battered head I could barely turn it. Moving slowly I looked over. Tom wasn’t in his seat anymore. He had been pushed through the windshield and from what I could tell his head had been outside of the window as we rolled over and over. Dazed, confused and still in shock I unbuckled my seat belt which sent me head first into the roof. After a few moments of seeing stars I rolled towards the door window which had shattered; whether from the impact or my head who knows.
I slowly crawled through the window, every movement hurting every part of me. I got almost through the window before I collapsed exhausted by my efforts, my feet dangling over the driver’s seat head rest. Lying there in the freezing desert night I could see my labored breathing in the air. As I began to regain more consciousness the words of the past few hours drifted back to me. “Advisors, Drugs, Terrorism. Doesn’t know. Killed him.” I started breathing hard again. I could hear voices in the distance. Two were running towards me, down the hill my car had just tumbled. Are they going to finish the job they had started on the road? Or maybe they are passerby’s coming to lend a helping hand.
I gotta get out of here.
“So you’re telling me that our President is doing illegal side deals?” I asked skeptically. Tom turned to me and said “No, I’m telling you that the President is unaware that he is working closely with some highly unadvisable advisors.”
We both sat in silence as the sign for the Nevada state border came and went by our window. “How did they figure out you knew?”
“They had followed Charly that night and when they saw the ambulance pulling his dead body out on a stretcher they probably assumed he was killed passing on information. Ironically that isn’t far from the truth.”
“So where’s Paulie?”
“He’s gone. Paulie can blend in anywhere. He’s well connected being part of some organization. He’s just gone. And me, well they’ve bee following me ever since. I’ve been trying to out maneuver them but they’re getting more aggressive.”
“What if they just want to talk or offer you a hell of a lot of money to keep quiet?”
“Do you really think men that high up with that much to loose are going to chance this kind of information being kept quiet with money?”
“Hmm, I suppose not. So what’s the plan?”
“The plan is to drive,” he said pointing his arm forward. Good plan.
As if on cue a car came up behind us fast with the head lights blazing. It sped forward and banged into the back of our car. I stepped on the accelerator but in my beat up 95’ Corolla I had no hopes of outracing their 2009 Land Cruiser. As I sped forward they pulled along our right side and turned into our car. We were lifted off the ground for a second and pushed off the road onto the shoulder, steep drop off the mountainous road. Our left front wheel was rolling on air. I veered back to the right trying to get on steady ground when the Land Cruiser smashed into us again. Both our front wheels got pushed over the edge. I sharply turned the wheel to the right trying to gain back some solid ground but the Land Cruiser slammed into our right side one more time.
For a moment everything was silent. Then everything went into chaos as our car fell over the edge and we tumbled down the slope. Rolling over and over I could see the debris pass by and hear the crunching and breaking of my car. My head hit the side window a couple of times and I felt my arm get squished between the wheel and my leg. With a sickening crunch my arm succumbed to the pressure.
Finally the car stopped rolling landing upside down. Hanging there I couldn’t imagine I was still alive.
“Tom? Tom are you ok, buddy?” No response. With all the blood rushing to my battered head I could barely turn it. Moving slowly I looked over. Tom wasn’t in his seat anymore. He had been pushed through the windshield and from what I could tell his head had been outside of the window as we rolled over and over. Dazed, confused and still in shock I unbuckled my seat belt which sent me head first into the roof. After a few moments of seeing stars I rolled towards the door window which had shattered; whether from the impact or my head who knows.
I slowly crawled through the window, every movement hurting every part of me. I got almost through the window before I collapsed exhausted by my efforts, my feet dangling over the driver’s seat head rest. Lying there in the freezing desert night I could see my labored breathing in the air. As I began to regain more consciousness the words of the past few hours drifted back to me. “Advisors, Drugs, Terrorism. Doesn’t know. Killed him.” I started breathing hard again. I could hear voices in the distance. Two were running towards me, down the hill my car had just tumbled. Are they going to finish the job they had started on the road? Or maybe they are passerby’s coming to lend a helping hand.
I gotta get out of here.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Unadvisable- Ch. 2
Chapter II
It had happened a few months ago, while playing poker in the back room of his night gig at the grocery store. He and his cronies were having a good time, laughing, drinking, shooting the shit when this guy slams through the double doors.
“Hey Charly, you made it,” Paulie said, Tom’s boss. Paulie pulled out a chair at the table as Charly swayed over to it and collapsed in it. The guy was clearly wasted.
“Where have you been man? I’ve been trying to reach you for the past few weeks.” Paul said loudly. The man was haggard looking with his eyes constantly darting back and forth around the room. They were bloodshot and puffy like he hadn’t slept in ages.
“I’ve been around,” Charly said picking up a nearby glass of whisky and downing it. The guys continued to play poker with Charly watching. After a while people began to teeter off and leave with what was left of their money. Before Tom knew it he, Paulie and Charly were the only ones left. Charly’s eyes were half open and his expression was blank; his mouth dangling open. Paulie slapped him on the shoulder and Charly bolted upright.
“Are you ok man?” Tom asked. Charly leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. He then pulled a bottle of pills from his breat pocket, opened them, threw the entire contents of the bottle into his mouth and swallowed them down with the Jack Daniels bottle.
“Woah, hey man!” Both Paulie and Tom jumped out of their chairs. “What the hell are you doing, guy?!” Tom shouted. Charly leaned back, lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke out in perfect little circles. “I’m taking back the control they took from me.”
“Whose they?” Paulie asked cautiously, like he was approaching a skittish cat.
“The government. I found out something they weren’t so thrilled about. They’ve been trying to get a hold of me ever since. I don’t know what they’re planning on doing but I’m not waiting to find out.” He looked at the end of his cigarette and started chuckling to himself. This guy has gone nuts, Tom thought.
“What’s going on with you, man?” Paulie asked. Charly turned his head slowly towards him and said “Turns out the President doesn’t know everything.” Charly chuckled again. Paulie and Tom looked at each other “What are you talking about?” Tom was frustrated. This guy was babbling and wasting his time. Charly jumped up and grabbed Tom by the collar putting his face centimeters away from Tom’s. He had a crazed look in his eyes.
“The President’s advisors claim they are getting paid legally to make speeches and advise other private companies about business. What they don’t tell you is that the companies they are advising aren’t always of the best moral fiber.”
“Ok,” Tom said trying to pull always from Charly’s grip.
“Drugs, war missiles for other countries we are not supposed to be dealing with, the list goes on and on.” Charly let go of Tom’s shirt, ruffled through his pockets and slammed down a piece of paper on the table. With that his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell backwards. Paulie and Tom looked at each other stunned for a second before Paulie raced over to see if Charly was ok, calling 9-1-1 at the same time. Tom picked up the piece of paper.
It had happened a few months ago, while playing poker in the back room of his night gig at the grocery store. He and his cronies were having a good time, laughing, drinking, shooting the shit when this guy slams through the double doors.
“Hey Charly, you made it,” Paulie said, Tom’s boss. Paulie pulled out a chair at the table as Charly swayed over to it and collapsed in it. The guy was clearly wasted.
“Where have you been man? I’ve been trying to reach you for the past few weeks.” Paul said loudly. The man was haggard looking with his eyes constantly darting back and forth around the room. They were bloodshot and puffy like he hadn’t slept in ages.
“I’ve been around,” Charly said picking up a nearby glass of whisky and downing it. The guys continued to play poker with Charly watching. After a while people began to teeter off and leave with what was left of their money. Before Tom knew it he, Paulie and Charly were the only ones left. Charly’s eyes were half open and his expression was blank; his mouth dangling open. Paulie slapped him on the shoulder and Charly bolted upright.
“Are you ok man?” Tom asked. Charly leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. He then pulled a bottle of pills from his breat pocket, opened them, threw the entire contents of the bottle into his mouth and swallowed them down with the Jack Daniels bottle.
“Woah, hey man!” Both Paulie and Tom jumped out of their chairs. “What the hell are you doing, guy?!” Tom shouted. Charly leaned back, lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke out in perfect little circles. “I’m taking back the control they took from me.”
“Whose they?” Paulie asked cautiously, like he was approaching a skittish cat.
“The government. I found out something they weren’t so thrilled about. They’ve been trying to get a hold of me ever since. I don’t know what they’re planning on doing but I’m not waiting to find out.” He looked at the end of his cigarette and started chuckling to himself. This guy has gone nuts, Tom thought.
“What’s going on with you, man?” Paulie asked. Charly turned his head slowly towards him and said “Turns out the President doesn’t know everything.” Charly chuckled again. Paulie and Tom looked at each other “What are you talking about?” Tom was frustrated. This guy was babbling and wasting his time. Charly jumped up and grabbed Tom by the collar putting his face centimeters away from Tom’s. He had a crazed look in his eyes.
“The President’s advisors claim they are getting paid legally to make speeches and advise other private companies about business. What they don’t tell you is that the companies they are advising aren’t always of the best moral fiber.”
“Ok,” Tom said trying to pull always from Charly’s grip.
“Drugs, war missiles for other countries we are not supposed to be dealing with, the list goes on and on.” Charly let go of Tom’s shirt, ruffled through his pockets and slammed down a piece of paper on the table. With that his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell backwards. Paulie and Tom looked at each other stunned for a second before Paulie raced over to see if Charly was ok, calling 9-1-1 at the same time. Tom picked up the piece of paper.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Unadvisable- Ch. 1
Chapter I
“I gotta get out of here,” he said frantically.
“Get out of here? Get out of here and go where?” I asked.
“Somewhere. I’ll catch a ride. Wherever they take me, that’s where I’ll go.” He continued to quickly throw things into a duffle bag. He seemed very out of breath.
Tom was always getting into some kind of trouble ever since I had known him. The kind of trouble that was easily rectified with a call from his parents to the dean or the frat guys pooling together money for bail. This time there didn’t seem to be a fix at all.
“Tom slow down. What happened?”
“I can’t, I gotta get out of here. Tonight. Now.”
“So let me take you somewhere. I can drive you any where you need. We can talk about it on the way,” I said slowly.
“Whatever,” he said packing the last of his things and throwing his bag over his shoulder. I grabbed my keys and jacket and rushed out the door behind him. On the drive “just head south” he had directed, Tom was looking around himself constantly, eyes darting. He checked all the windows every few seconds and it began to make me feel anxious.
“All right buddy, start talking.” He took a deep breath, rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. Taking a few long puffs his breath slowed down.
“Who would you say is the most famous person in the world? The President?”
“Sure.”
“Well let’s say it is the President. He surrounds himself with the smartest, most capable people. People with nothing to hide and a lot to loose, right?”
“Right.”
“Well what if a few of these people, a few of these advisors did have some to hide? If you knew their dirty little secret would you expose them?”
“What are you getting at here, Tom?”
“What I’m getting at is that if you knew a secret that could bring down one of the most powerful person in the world’s advisors you’d do it, right?”
“I suppose do. It’d be the right thing to do.”
Tom took another drag from his cigarette, continuously looking out the windows; he said “That is unless one of them found out you knew before you could do anything about it.”
I paused. “Wait wait wait are you saying , are you actually trying to tell me you have a dark little secret about the President’s advisors and they know you know?”
Tom continued staring out the passenger window. “And now they’re after you?!”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he said.
“Well come on then,” I said with a small smirk on my face. “What is it?”
“I’m in a shit storm of trouble, scared for my life because of this information and you think I’m gonna tell you and endanger one of my closest friends?”
“Well, yeah.”
He looked at me for a moment and then back out the window lighting a fresh cigarette with the end of his old one, flicking his old butt out the window. We sat in the car for a few minutes in silence, my car snaking through mountains with only the car’s headlights and moon to guide us.
“Ok well if you won’t tell me what it is can you at least share how you became privy to this top secret information?”
Tom looked around and behind us as though he expected to find someone in the back seat. Then he started talking.
“I gotta get out of here,” he said frantically.
“Get out of here? Get out of here and go where?” I asked.
“Somewhere. I’ll catch a ride. Wherever they take me, that’s where I’ll go.” He continued to quickly throw things into a duffle bag. He seemed very out of breath.
Tom was always getting into some kind of trouble ever since I had known him. The kind of trouble that was easily rectified with a call from his parents to the dean or the frat guys pooling together money for bail. This time there didn’t seem to be a fix at all.
“Tom slow down. What happened?”
“I can’t, I gotta get out of here. Tonight. Now.”
“So let me take you somewhere. I can drive you any where you need. We can talk about it on the way,” I said slowly.
“Whatever,” he said packing the last of his things and throwing his bag over his shoulder. I grabbed my keys and jacket and rushed out the door behind him. On the drive “just head south” he had directed, Tom was looking around himself constantly, eyes darting. He checked all the windows every few seconds and it began to make me feel anxious.
“All right buddy, start talking.” He took a deep breath, rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. Taking a few long puffs his breath slowed down.
“Who would you say is the most famous person in the world? The President?”
“Sure.”
“Well let’s say it is the President. He surrounds himself with the smartest, most capable people. People with nothing to hide and a lot to loose, right?”
“Right.”
“Well what if a few of these people, a few of these advisors did have some to hide? If you knew their dirty little secret would you expose them?”
“What are you getting at here, Tom?”
“What I’m getting at is that if you knew a secret that could bring down one of the most powerful person in the world’s advisors you’d do it, right?”
“I suppose do. It’d be the right thing to do.”
Tom took another drag from his cigarette, continuously looking out the windows; he said “That is unless one of them found out you knew before you could do anything about it.”
I paused. “Wait wait wait are you saying , are you actually trying to tell me you have a dark little secret about the President’s advisors and they know you know?”
Tom continued staring out the passenger window. “And now they’re after you?!”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he said.
“Well come on then,” I said with a small smirk on my face. “What is it?”
“I’m in a shit storm of trouble, scared for my life because of this information and you think I’m gonna tell you and endanger one of my closest friends?”
“Well, yeah.”
He looked at me for a moment and then back out the window lighting a fresh cigarette with the end of his old one, flicking his old butt out the window. We sat in the car for a few minutes in silence, my car snaking through mountains with only the car’s headlights and moon to guide us.
“Ok well if you won’t tell me what it is can you at least share how you became privy to this top secret information?”
Tom looked around and behind us as though he expected to find someone in the back seat. Then he started talking.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Kaboom?
Less than one day left of this crap. And then Kamboom! Some people have been fighting it but the end of Earth is inevitable. And let’s face it there is so much more out there. My heart is beating with excitement. The junkyard of this planet has been able to fester and infect for too long. It’s time to get rid of the old and dirty. In with the new; infinite space and endless possibilities.
It was decided by the Extra- Wordly committee that Earth was to be destroyed about 6 months ago. Being the translator for 3 different languages and 2 different being groups I was privy to information but not to a reaction. I for one am thrilled. The only people left on earth are those who can’t afford a trip out here or those who like living in the waste and muck the planet has become.
For those unfortunates who couldn’t afford it before, this is their lucky time. They get a free trip to space on a new craft with temporary living and help finding employment. The others who say its “real life”, reaping what we sow from years of planet neglect and abuse, well they will just be blown up with their beloved garbage heap. We have no use for them anyway.
We are embarking on a huge endeavor. Space mobilization: the building of spatial structures moving through space as we explore the vast unknown and live life peaceably and full of curiosity. It was about 100 years ago when the decline of our planet was apparent. By 2200 we had already built enough structures in space to accommodate Europe, some of Asia and most of the US. World wide peace had allowed a fair trade atmosphere and speedy building occurred. The planet’s ozone had become so bad that parts of it were inhabitable and areas of the ocean had become black waste. As time wore on things only got worse and our country ties became stronger, out space vessels more advanced. We discovered things, amazing things. Coming only in peace with no gains of territorial domination we made allies with many new beings, once thought of as Alien but now known as friends.
At a certain point people began to request planet reassignment or space transfer. Like a wave more and more people made the migration everyday. Pods left every 15 minutes carrying the capacity of 500 and then some. Others however began protesting. “This is our home, our heritage, our mother!” Their cries became fewer and fewer as many of them were old and feeble and they began to well, pass away.
So what’s left of these naysayer’s are basically the oldies, the druggies and the loaners. The time is now, the future is near and the end of Earth is imminent. Taking up space and leaving dirt and disaster in its wake there’s no reason to leave it here. We must move forward.
---- ----
Who do they think they are deciding our fate, our history, without asking us? My mother got very ill and we can’t leave. We can barely afford the hovel they are still charging us for let alone the shitty “health” care they are giving her. And I know they said they’d pay for us to leave but like my mother we just can’t abandon this place because things get tough. Plus she is too sick to move. There is still good stuff here, life here. It just takes a little time and work.
For the past 4 months I’ve been working tirelessly to get my point heard. Protesting and shouting is doing no good. No, instead I’ve been appealing to members of the Extra Worldly committee playing on their weakness about their own mortality, relating it to my mother and Mother Earth. I think I’m starting to get through. A few have responded to my videos over the interlink and they seem to be coming from those higher and higher up in the bureaucratic chain. I’ve even received an anonymous message from someone in the Worldly Court Order. Now that is someone who can make a difference!
I just want people to see that if we do a little work together those who still want to live here can. Like my sick mother all it takes is a little tender loving care and support to bring it back to life. And if you want to explore you’ll still have a place to come home to. We deserve another chance, Earth, my mother, deserves another chance. Just because some place is dirty or sick doesn’t mean it should die or be destroyed or it’s unlivable.
Before the massive migration scientist had worked on and discovered resources and means to fix the ozone. With their help and those who still feel an affinity towards their home planet we can make this place even better than before. Destroying the world and all that is left isn’t fair, good or serving any justice at all.
---- ----
The translator has informed me that the countdown has begun. As a Supreme member of the Worldly Court Order I can decide if and when the destruction of Earth occurs. I must admit I’m having my doubts. A woman on Earth with a very sick mother has been sending some compelling messages about saving the planet that houses the fruit of our existence and the beginning of our future.
The translator and many others in the counsel believe our past is so far behind us and the Earth is just a dirty, defective reminder. I understand. There is a lurid history back there but there is history. Is it better to erase the past to create a new and hopefully better future or is it important to remember and cherish the past in order to have a future at all? I’m starting to think there can be both. Let’s face it, we used to teach history in schools, we used to want to save our planet. When did that stop?
The emergency counsel meeting button is right there, right in front of me. If I press it the countdown will stop and deliberation can begin. Do I want to be responsible for that? More than that: Do I really want to save Earth? What has Earth done for me? The depletion of the ozone almost killed my family. Our home had gotten so disgusting that we were inhaling toxins on a daily basis. Thank god for the career move into the order. Earth. There are some good people there though, obviously. People who deserve a second chance because they are still living, living in a belief that things can still be saved. How optimistic. Save the Earth?
The button is right there. Press it? Don’t press it?
---- ----
IN T- 30 SECONDS THE DESTRUCTION OF EARTH WILL BEGIN
---- ----
Yes! What we’ve been waiting for. I can barely translate the countdown. I’m so excited for our future to start.
---- ----
I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t want to die. I want to save us, save my mother from a horrible diseased death. Save my planet from uncontrollable destruction. Have my words gone unheeded?
---- ----
What do I do? As a man of justice all sides of the story should be presented. Have we heard all there is to hear?
---- ----
THE DESTRUCTION OF EARTH IS IN 5 – 4 – 3- 2 --------------
It was decided by the Extra- Wordly committee that Earth was to be destroyed about 6 months ago. Being the translator for 3 different languages and 2 different being groups I was privy to information but not to a reaction. I for one am thrilled. The only people left on earth are those who can’t afford a trip out here or those who like living in the waste and muck the planet has become.
For those unfortunates who couldn’t afford it before, this is their lucky time. They get a free trip to space on a new craft with temporary living and help finding employment. The others who say its “real life”, reaping what we sow from years of planet neglect and abuse, well they will just be blown up with their beloved garbage heap. We have no use for them anyway.
We are embarking on a huge endeavor. Space mobilization: the building of spatial structures moving through space as we explore the vast unknown and live life peaceably and full of curiosity. It was about 100 years ago when the decline of our planet was apparent. By 2200 we had already built enough structures in space to accommodate Europe, some of Asia and most of the US. World wide peace had allowed a fair trade atmosphere and speedy building occurred. The planet’s ozone had become so bad that parts of it were inhabitable and areas of the ocean had become black waste. As time wore on things only got worse and our country ties became stronger, out space vessels more advanced. We discovered things, amazing things. Coming only in peace with no gains of territorial domination we made allies with many new beings, once thought of as Alien but now known as friends.
At a certain point people began to request planet reassignment or space transfer. Like a wave more and more people made the migration everyday. Pods left every 15 minutes carrying the capacity of 500 and then some. Others however began protesting. “This is our home, our heritage, our mother!” Their cries became fewer and fewer as many of them were old and feeble and they began to well, pass away.
So what’s left of these naysayer’s are basically the oldies, the druggies and the loaners. The time is now, the future is near and the end of Earth is imminent. Taking up space and leaving dirt and disaster in its wake there’s no reason to leave it here. We must move forward.
---- ----
Who do they think they are deciding our fate, our history, without asking us? My mother got very ill and we can’t leave. We can barely afford the hovel they are still charging us for let alone the shitty “health” care they are giving her. And I know they said they’d pay for us to leave but like my mother we just can’t abandon this place because things get tough. Plus she is too sick to move. There is still good stuff here, life here. It just takes a little time and work.
For the past 4 months I’ve been working tirelessly to get my point heard. Protesting and shouting is doing no good. No, instead I’ve been appealing to members of the Extra Worldly committee playing on their weakness about their own mortality, relating it to my mother and Mother Earth. I think I’m starting to get through. A few have responded to my videos over the interlink and they seem to be coming from those higher and higher up in the bureaucratic chain. I’ve even received an anonymous message from someone in the Worldly Court Order. Now that is someone who can make a difference!
I just want people to see that if we do a little work together those who still want to live here can. Like my sick mother all it takes is a little tender loving care and support to bring it back to life. And if you want to explore you’ll still have a place to come home to. We deserve another chance, Earth, my mother, deserves another chance. Just because some place is dirty or sick doesn’t mean it should die or be destroyed or it’s unlivable.
Before the massive migration scientist had worked on and discovered resources and means to fix the ozone. With their help and those who still feel an affinity towards their home planet we can make this place even better than before. Destroying the world and all that is left isn’t fair, good or serving any justice at all.
---- ----
The translator has informed me that the countdown has begun. As a Supreme member of the Worldly Court Order I can decide if and when the destruction of Earth occurs. I must admit I’m having my doubts. A woman on Earth with a very sick mother has been sending some compelling messages about saving the planet that houses the fruit of our existence and the beginning of our future.
The translator and many others in the counsel believe our past is so far behind us and the Earth is just a dirty, defective reminder. I understand. There is a lurid history back there but there is history. Is it better to erase the past to create a new and hopefully better future or is it important to remember and cherish the past in order to have a future at all? I’m starting to think there can be both. Let’s face it, we used to teach history in schools, we used to want to save our planet. When did that stop?
The emergency counsel meeting button is right there, right in front of me. If I press it the countdown will stop and deliberation can begin. Do I want to be responsible for that? More than that: Do I really want to save Earth? What has Earth done for me? The depletion of the ozone almost killed my family. Our home had gotten so disgusting that we were inhaling toxins on a daily basis. Thank god for the career move into the order. Earth. There are some good people there though, obviously. People who deserve a second chance because they are still living, living in a belief that things can still be saved. How optimistic. Save the Earth?
The button is right there. Press it? Don’t press it?
---- ----
IN T- 30 SECONDS THE DESTRUCTION OF EARTH WILL BEGIN
---- ----
Yes! What we’ve been waiting for. I can barely translate the countdown. I’m so excited for our future to start.
---- ----
I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t want to die. I want to save us, save my mother from a horrible diseased death. Save my planet from uncontrollable destruction. Have my words gone unheeded?
---- ----
What do I do? As a man of justice all sides of the story should be presented. Have we heard all there is to hear?
---- ----
THE DESTRUCTION OF EARTH IS IN 5 – 4 – 3- 2 --------------
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
The Perfect Plan- Ch. 2
Chapter II- The Final Installment
Of course it would have to be a few months after the wedding, maybe 7 or so: avoid suspicion and still be entitled to a large portion of the marital assets. How would she do it?
That was the easiest part of this plan, actually. He was on heart medication and had been for quite sometime. Heart problems ran in his family. It was a large dose and heavily regulated. If he took even half a pill more than the designated amount he could go into cardiac arrest. Maybe they’d have a few too many drinks one night and he might accidentally take one pill too many. The ring sparkled at her again and she smiled.
The wedding was beautiful. Standing up at the alter in her $16,000 Oscar De LaRenta gown she smiled at him and internally started her countdown. At the reception everyone kept telling her how beautiful she looked and what a good match this was, only validating her plan even further.
When the marriage truly began he was at work a lot while she lived in the lap of luxury which meant boredom, constant boredom. She took up hobbies like photography and painting, calling back to her college days when she feigned creativity and passion. Even those triflings became dull. Whenever he came home and they’d sit together having cocktails, recounting the mundane adventures of his day, Lisa thought “Maybe this isn’t so bad, companionship, comforts.” This optimistic mood would last about two hours and then he would do something to put her steadfastly back on track: snort with laughter at his own not funny joke or spend twenty minutes trying to make her cum, give up, get on top and finish himself off in 30 seconds where he promptly would roll over and fall asleep. Asshole, she would always think. As the months wore on and the routine of their life continued Lisa felt herself become more like a drone and less like a human. Her resolve couldn’t get any stronger. It’s either him or me she thought.
Seven months, 14 days and some odd hours after they tied the knot the plan was in motion. He had had a particularly grueling day at work and had no problem accepting the scotch neat on top of scotch neat she kept handing him. She had seen him take his pill that morning but not the final one he took in the early evening. She handed him one now, he was already pretty buzzed and he swallowed it down with a gulp of scotch. His speech continued to slur as he ranted on and on about his day. Two hours later and he was a complete drunken mess. Casually she handed him another pill saying “Oh, you forgot to take your pill this evening darling, here you go.” He grabbed it, waving it around as he shouted about a deal that had gone sour, popped it in his mouth and downed his previously full glass of scotch.
The pills were quick. Twenty minutes later he was passed out on the ground. She gave it another ten minutes before calling 9-1-1 where she said she had been in the bathroom when she had found him unconscious on the living room floor.
Chapter III
Standing in the hallway of the hospital surrounded by his family she was in shock. Shock that everything she had fantasized about was coming true. His family mistook this shock for grief and clung to her crying, thinking they were commiserating with her. This is the huddled group the doctor found them in on the cheap sofas in the lounge when he told them that her husband was gone. “In his drunken state it seems he took one too many heart pills. With his weak heart it was just too much.” His mother burst into a fresh round of sobs. The doctor put his hand on Lisa’s shoulder which made her jump out of her stunned trance. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” She looked up at him and started to have trouble breathing. It had happened, she was free. Everything started to go fuzzy, she tried to get up and walk but the world was shaking. The floor started to move towards her then everything went black.
When she woke up she was in a hospital bed with his whole family surrounding her, smiling. “Wha-what happened?” she asked slowly sitting up.
“You fainted,” she looked over and the doctor was there checking her stats. “But everything is all right. In fact, wonderful I’d say.”
Then his mother blurted out through her tears “Congratulations, darling!”
“Huh?” she said confused and groggy.
“You’re pregnant!” she said wet with tears and a huge grin on her face.
Oh fuck, Lisa thought.
Of course it would have to be a few months after the wedding, maybe 7 or so: avoid suspicion and still be entitled to a large portion of the marital assets. How would she do it?
That was the easiest part of this plan, actually. He was on heart medication and had been for quite sometime. Heart problems ran in his family. It was a large dose and heavily regulated. If he took even half a pill more than the designated amount he could go into cardiac arrest. Maybe they’d have a few too many drinks one night and he might accidentally take one pill too many. The ring sparkled at her again and she smiled.
The wedding was beautiful. Standing up at the alter in her $16,000 Oscar De LaRenta gown she smiled at him and internally started her countdown. At the reception everyone kept telling her how beautiful she looked and what a good match this was, only validating her plan even further.
When the marriage truly began he was at work a lot while she lived in the lap of luxury which meant boredom, constant boredom. She took up hobbies like photography and painting, calling back to her college days when she feigned creativity and passion. Even those triflings became dull. Whenever he came home and they’d sit together having cocktails, recounting the mundane adventures of his day, Lisa thought “Maybe this isn’t so bad, companionship, comforts.” This optimistic mood would last about two hours and then he would do something to put her steadfastly back on track: snort with laughter at his own not funny joke or spend twenty minutes trying to make her cum, give up, get on top and finish himself off in 30 seconds where he promptly would roll over and fall asleep. Asshole, she would always think. As the months wore on and the routine of their life continued Lisa felt herself become more like a drone and less like a human. Her resolve couldn’t get any stronger. It’s either him or me she thought.
Seven months, 14 days and some odd hours after they tied the knot the plan was in motion. He had had a particularly grueling day at work and had no problem accepting the scotch neat on top of scotch neat she kept handing him. She had seen him take his pill that morning but not the final one he took in the early evening. She handed him one now, he was already pretty buzzed and he swallowed it down with a gulp of scotch. His speech continued to slur as he ranted on and on about his day. Two hours later and he was a complete drunken mess. Casually she handed him another pill saying “Oh, you forgot to take your pill this evening darling, here you go.” He grabbed it, waving it around as he shouted about a deal that had gone sour, popped it in his mouth and downed his previously full glass of scotch.
The pills were quick. Twenty minutes later he was passed out on the ground. She gave it another ten minutes before calling 9-1-1 where she said she had been in the bathroom when she had found him unconscious on the living room floor.
Chapter III
Standing in the hallway of the hospital surrounded by his family she was in shock. Shock that everything she had fantasized about was coming true. His family mistook this shock for grief and clung to her crying, thinking they were commiserating with her. This is the huddled group the doctor found them in on the cheap sofas in the lounge when he told them that her husband was gone. “In his drunken state it seems he took one too many heart pills. With his weak heart it was just too much.” His mother burst into a fresh round of sobs. The doctor put his hand on Lisa’s shoulder which made her jump out of her stunned trance. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” She looked up at him and started to have trouble breathing. It had happened, she was free. Everything started to go fuzzy, she tried to get up and walk but the world was shaking. The floor started to move towards her then everything went black.
When she woke up she was in a hospital bed with his whole family surrounding her, smiling. “Wha-what happened?” she asked slowly sitting up.
“You fainted,” she looked over and the doctor was there checking her stats. “But everything is all right. In fact, wonderful I’d say.”
Then his mother blurted out through her tears “Congratulations, darling!”
“Huh?” she said confused and groggy.
“You’re pregnant!” she said wet with tears and a huge grin on her face.
Oh fuck, Lisa thought.
Monday, April 6, 2009
The Perfect Plan- Ch. 1
Chapter I
It was so shiny and sparkly. It glistened with every turn of her hand like it was winking at her. It was one of the most stunning engagement rings she had ever seen including those on her richest girlfriends or in a magazine. He certainly had good taste. One check in the “pro” column.
She did care for him. As a person he was good, in the battle for good and evil. And he loved her, truly loved her. Another check in the pro column. The ring didn’t hurt either though she wondered whether he really had taste that good or he called in one of her friends to help. Either way it was spectacular.
But a diamond does not a marriage make. He wasn’t that funny, Lisa thought, or charming. But he was rich from his inheritance from what his Grandfather and father had made on Wall Street as well as his own personal successes. He was kind and caring. He wasn’t that bad in bed. Being honest with herself Lisa didn’t know why she had stayed with him for as long as she had.
It had started casually enough. He actually had shown balls and asked to buy her a drink one night after she had an exceptionally hard day at work. They got to talking and drinks turned into dinner the next night and a movie a few nights later. Before long they were seeing each other 2 – 3 times a week, sleeping at each other’s apartments, meeting each other’s friends and family. Lisa had gotten in too deep to end it now. Or rather, he had. She was enjoying the freedom that came with someone loving you more than you love them, the wealth of that person and the ability to let go of cares you might have if you cared what the other person thought of you.
Many of her friends thought she was crazy not to be in love with him; he was handsome, in that conventional, wealthy, Khaki wearing, sweater vest kind of way. He was caring and unbelievably rich. But many of her so called friends were superficial, money grubbing socialites. She knew if she ended it now she would be worse off than she currently was. After all she had quit her job and sold her apartment.
“I have more money than you’ll ever need, baby. And if we’re going to be married you should move in sooner rather than later,” he said to her in a post coital haze.
Lisa was smart, resourceful, she could think of something. She was on the rise at her marketing firm before she got “swept off her feet” as her parents told all their friends with glee. They couldn’t have been happier that she had finally settled down and with someone so “sensible and safe” her mother said when Lisa told her the news of the engagement.
There must be some way to dispatch of the situation. Dispatch…that was it. She’d have to kill him. It wasn’t that she hated the guy or really felt he deserved to die but this was the only she’d get out free and clear, after all we could only look after ourselves in the end.
It was so shiny and sparkly. It glistened with every turn of her hand like it was winking at her. It was one of the most stunning engagement rings she had ever seen including those on her richest girlfriends or in a magazine. He certainly had good taste. One check in the “pro” column.
She did care for him. As a person he was good, in the battle for good and evil. And he loved her, truly loved her. Another check in the pro column. The ring didn’t hurt either though she wondered whether he really had taste that good or he called in one of her friends to help. Either way it was spectacular.
But a diamond does not a marriage make. He wasn’t that funny, Lisa thought, or charming. But he was rich from his inheritance from what his Grandfather and father had made on Wall Street as well as his own personal successes. He was kind and caring. He wasn’t that bad in bed. Being honest with herself Lisa didn’t know why she had stayed with him for as long as she had.
It had started casually enough. He actually had shown balls and asked to buy her a drink one night after she had an exceptionally hard day at work. They got to talking and drinks turned into dinner the next night and a movie a few nights later. Before long they were seeing each other 2 – 3 times a week, sleeping at each other’s apartments, meeting each other’s friends and family. Lisa had gotten in too deep to end it now. Or rather, he had. She was enjoying the freedom that came with someone loving you more than you love them, the wealth of that person and the ability to let go of cares you might have if you cared what the other person thought of you.
Many of her friends thought she was crazy not to be in love with him; he was handsome, in that conventional, wealthy, Khaki wearing, sweater vest kind of way. He was caring and unbelievably rich. But many of her so called friends were superficial, money grubbing socialites. She knew if she ended it now she would be worse off than she currently was. After all she had quit her job and sold her apartment.
“I have more money than you’ll ever need, baby. And if we’re going to be married you should move in sooner rather than later,” he said to her in a post coital haze.
Lisa was smart, resourceful, she could think of something. She was on the rise at her marketing firm before she got “swept off her feet” as her parents told all their friends with glee. They couldn’t have been happier that she had finally settled down and with someone so “sensible and safe” her mother said when Lisa told her the news of the engagement.
There must be some way to dispatch of the situation. Dispatch…that was it. She’d have to kill him. It wasn’t that she hated the guy or really felt he deserved to die but this was the only she’d get out free and clear, after all we could only look after ourselves in the end.
Vacation has come and gone
Mad Max Here:
It has been a little while since I've posted anything and this is not due to the problems I was having earlier in my blogging career where I couldn't buckle down and write. I was on vacation and I felt that a vacation meant a seperation from everything including my blog.
I love the blogging experience of course and so having returned to normal life I am returning to my writing. Today I am posting this little aside to let people know I've been gone but have returned and to share another new story or as I like to think of them as mini adventures. I hope you enjoy!
It has been a little while since I've posted anything and this is not due to the problems I was having earlier in my blogging career where I couldn't buckle down and write. I was on vacation and I felt that a vacation meant a seperation from everything including my blog.
I love the blogging experience of course and so having returned to normal life I am returning to my writing. Today I am posting this little aside to let people know I've been gone but have returned and to share another new story or as I like to think of them as mini adventures. I hope you enjoy!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
No More Mistakes
He ran and ran until he couldn’t breathe anymore at which point he quickly darted down an alley way and stood panting, bent over in a doorway. It had all gone wrong, terribly wrong. He had been doing this job for years and the one mission he never expected to go awry had.
He’d been assigned to this job a couple of weeks ago and it had seemed easy. Easy breezy was the term he had put to his employer when he accepted. What a cocky son-of-a bitch he was. The mission was simple, take out the target, make it look like an accident then disappear. About par for his job as a whole.
The target was none other than Salim de Sade, Osama Bin Laden’s French contact and a formidable enemy to the US, the World and peace. At the time of the operation Salim was going to be in Sri-Lanka on vacation and giving a conference for his legal arms company’s plan for expansion. Right, vacation he thought. Salim seemed to be perpetually on “vacation”. Clubbing in Rome one night, eating with a French Model in Sevilla another. It was amazing and almost untraceable that he had dealt arms and Intel to Osama for the past 1 ½ years. Almost untraceable. Right before he was put on the mission his employer had picked up a phone call with Salim and an unknown man (presumed to be Osama’s son) discussing the buying and delivery of mass explosives. His employer’s employer (the CIA among other national intelligence groups around the world) had determined it was time. One less scumbag on the planet and the world might seem a little shinier.
The next week he was on a flight to Sri Lanka with his contact’s name in his breast pocket. Upon arrival he handed the Customs agent his passport (the one of many he had) citing his trip as purely for pleasure. He would take pleasure in taking this douche bag down.
At his hotel he unpacked his one carry on bag: A white button down shirt and khakis with a baseball cap and glasses. He would be playing the role of the stereotypical American tourists. That’s when the phone rang.
“Yes?” he said.
“There’s a fax for you at the front desk, sir,” the receptionist said in a heavy accent.
“Thank you.” He then changed into his get up and went down to the front desk, grabbing his fax on the way out.
“3:00pm” was all it said.
At 3:00pm sharp he arrived at the pre-arranged meeting point (arranged by his employer) to see his contact. Sitting on the corner reading a Sri-Lankan newspaper was the man he has seen in the picture given to him. He sat down opposite the man who put his newspaper down.
“The location is set,” the man said sliding an envelope over the table to him, which he subtly covered with his fax, picked up and put in his pants pocket. He waved over the waitress and ordered a cup of coffee.
“How’s the soccer team doing?” he asked casually.
“They’ve had a shitty season,” the man’s accent was French, the southern province he assumed. He didn’t know who this contact was or who he worked for. All he knew was his employer had sent him here and so he was here. His coffee came, he drank it down and left as the man picked up his paper and continued to read.
Nine hours later and he was back out on the street. This time in mostly black .He had gone to the address the French man gave him where he had been given all he would need for the assignment. Since it was a “silent operation” as his employer called it no guns were needed. He arrived at the hotel on the one and only night Salim would be in bed early. Salim’s conference was the next morning to tell his investors of his legal enterprise how their money would be spent. Salim had to put his best face forward.
He took the elevator up to the top floor and crept along the hallway. He saw the one Rent a guard Salim had in place, rushed forward and quietly snapped his neck from behind. He held the guy as he slowly crumpled to the floor. After picking the lock he dispatched the two guys in the suite’s living room in the same manner as the guy in front. Tip toeing into the bedroom he could see Salim’s slow breathing, deep in sleep. It wasn’t until he passed by the bathroom on the right, with the full length mirror that he noticed the guy under the bed with the gun. He immediately dropped and rolled back to the living room as a shower of bullets rushed past him. Silent mission my ass, he thought and he rolled to the right and pulled the front door open running as fast as he could. He turned the corner and shot up the stairs to the roof. He could hear Salim and his guy shouting as they slammed into the stairwell after him.
He ran and jumped off the roof and immediately pulled the cord releasing his parachute. He felt the wiz of bullets flying by just missing him. Then one hit, hit the chute causing him to plummet quickly. He pulled on the left and as he veered around as he gathered the chute, making it smaller and closing the hole where the bullet had hit. He landed in the middle of a crowded street barreling into people. It caused a scene; some people clapped but mostly they were pissed. At least they had broken his fast fall. He ditched the chute and started running.
“Fuck,” he thought as he ran. “Now what?” Now to protocol. He must call the boss and tell him the job went south. Standing in the alleyway, thinking of what he would say to the big man, he turned around and saw the French man from the coffee shop standing a few feet away with a silencer in his hand. He put his hands up “What’s going on?” he asked dumbfounded.
“You’re a liability now, man” Suddenly the French man was no longer French but speaking in a perfect American accent. He should have known.
“A liability? No no no, I’ve been a loyal employee for the past 5 years,” he said the tension rising in his voice.
“Yeah, but you know how the boss man feels about mistakes,” the American, no longer French man said.
“I haven’t had any mistakes,” he said slowly walking to the right towards an open door. Following him with the gun the no longer French man said “Until now.” With that the American pulled the trigger just as he threw himself towards the open door.
He’d been assigned to this job a couple of weeks ago and it had seemed easy. Easy breezy was the term he had put to his employer when he accepted. What a cocky son-of-a bitch he was. The mission was simple, take out the target, make it look like an accident then disappear. About par for his job as a whole.
The target was none other than Salim de Sade, Osama Bin Laden’s French contact and a formidable enemy to the US, the World and peace. At the time of the operation Salim was going to be in Sri-Lanka on vacation and giving a conference for his legal arms company’s plan for expansion. Right, vacation he thought. Salim seemed to be perpetually on “vacation”. Clubbing in Rome one night, eating with a French Model in Sevilla another. It was amazing and almost untraceable that he had dealt arms and Intel to Osama for the past 1 ½ years. Almost untraceable. Right before he was put on the mission his employer had picked up a phone call with Salim and an unknown man (presumed to be Osama’s son) discussing the buying and delivery of mass explosives. His employer’s employer (the CIA among other national intelligence groups around the world) had determined it was time. One less scumbag on the planet and the world might seem a little shinier.
The next week he was on a flight to Sri Lanka with his contact’s name in his breast pocket. Upon arrival he handed the Customs agent his passport (the one of many he had) citing his trip as purely for pleasure. He would take pleasure in taking this douche bag down.
At his hotel he unpacked his one carry on bag: A white button down shirt and khakis with a baseball cap and glasses. He would be playing the role of the stereotypical American tourists. That’s when the phone rang.
“Yes?” he said.
“There’s a fax for you at the front desk, sir,” the receptionist said in a heavy accent.
“Thank you.” He then changed into his get up and went down to the front desk, grabbing his fax on the way out.
“3:00pm” was all it said.
At 3:00pm sharp he arrived at the pre-arranged meeting point (arranged by his employer) to see his contact. Sitting on the corner reading a Sri-Lankan newspaper was the man he has seen in the picture given to him. He sat down opposite the man who put his newspaper down.
“The location is set,” the man said sliding an envelope over the table to him, which he subtly covered with his fax, picked up and put in his pants pocket. He waved over the waitress and ordered a cup of coffee.
“How’s the soccer team doing?” he asked casually.
“They’ve had a shitty season,” the man’s accent was French, the southern province he assumed. He didn’t know who this contact was or who he worked for. All he knew was his employer had sent him here and so he was here. His coffee came, he drank it down and left as the man picked up his paper and continued to read.
Nine hours later and he was back out on the street. This time in mostly black .He had gone to the address the French man gave him where he had been given all he would need for the assignment. Since it was a “silent operation” as his employer called it no guns were needed. He arrived at the hotel on the one and only night Salim would be in bed early. Salim’s conference was the next morning to tell his investors of his legal enterprise how their money would be spent. Salim had to put his best face forward.
He took the elevator up to the top floor and crept along the hallway. He saw the one Rent a guard Salim had in place, rushed forward and quietly snapped his neck from behind. He held the guy as he slowly crumpled to the floor. After picking the lock he dispatched the two guys in the suite’s living room in the same manner as the guy in front. Tip toeing into the bedroom he could see Salim’s slow breathing, deep in sleep. It wasn’t until he passed by the bathroom on the right, with the full length mirror that he noticed the guy under the bed with the gun. He immediately dropped and rolled back to the living room as a shower of bullets rushed past him. Silent mission my ass, he thought and he rolled to the right and pulled the front door open running as fast as he could. He turned the corner and shot up the stairs to the roof. He could hear Salim and his guy shouting as they slammed into the stairwell after him.
He ran and jumped off the roof and immediately pulled the cord releasing his parachute. He felt the wiz of bullets flying by just missing him. Then one hit, hit the chute causing him to plummet quickly. He pulled on the left and as he veered around as he gathered the chute, making it smaller and closing the hole where the bullet had hit. He landed in the middle of a crowded street barreling into people. It caused a scene; some people clapped but mostly they were pissed. At least they had broken his fast fall. He ditched the chute and started running.
“Fuck,” he thought as he ran. “Now what?” Now to protocol. He must call the boss and tell him the job went south. Standing in the alleyway, thinking of what he would say to the big man, he turned around and saw the French man from the coffee shop standing a few feet away with a silencer in his hand. He put his hands up “What’s going on?” he asked dumbfounded.
“You’re a liability now, man” Suddenly the French man was no longer French but speaking in a perfect American accent. He should have known.
“A liability? No no no, I’ve been a loyal employee for the past 5 years,” he said the tension rising in his voice.
“Yeah, but you know how the boss man feels about mistakes,” the American, no longer French man said.
“I haven’t had any mistakes,” he said slowly walking to the right towards an open door. Following him with the gun the no longer French man said “Until now.” With that the American pulled the trigger just as he threw himself towards the open door.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Don't Eat the Sushi- Ch. 3
Chapter III- The Final Installment
The day came, the stage was set and everyone was ready. And so it began. The Bull was sitting at her desk grading some papers. Ariel knocked on the door around 12:00pm with a package of sushi from Whole Foods (pre-dosed with Mercury thanks to Tony’s friend in the Pharmaceutical department). “Hey Mrs. Carlislie, I brought you some sushi.” The Bull looked up with that fake smile plastered on her face and said “Thank you, dear.” She called all her TAs dear because she never cared to remember their names, another reason to bring her down.
“I was also wondering if you might look over-“
“No time, dear,” the Bull replied tartly, waving her hands and looking down at her papers. “No time. Later.” Ariel silently slunk out of the room, turning her back on the Bull and smirking. With that the plan had been set into motion.
Twenty minutes later Scott called Brad from outside the cultural arts building to say “The Fish Market Friday night?” This signaled that the Bull had eaten the Sushi.
“You got it.” At that moment Scott left his apartment, walked to 5 minutes to the Bull’s office and knocked on her door.
“Yes?”
“Professor,” Scott said walking in “I have a few questions about the assignment for this week’s discussion.”
Before she could answer, telling him to leave her office as she had Ariel, Kathy stormed into the room in a flurry saying “Professor there’s a problem. One of my students keeps saying these obscene things and I’m not sure if she’s attracted to me or she has some condition like Turrets or something.”
As the Bull opened her mouth to speak Tracy and Selma stormed in arguing “You take him!”
“You can’t just shuffle a student around between us TAs because he asks, Tracy.”
“Can too!”
“Can not!”
They both turned to the profession inquisitorially and said “Can you, Professor?” The excitement mixed with the amount of mercury she had been dosed with caused the Bull to start to teeter in her chair. She stood up, put out her hand and then crashed down on top of her desk pushing the papers all over the floor sliding to the ground in a heap.
“Oh my god! Mrs. Carlislie?!” Kathy shouted. It was rehearsed of course but very convincing Selma admitted to herself.
“Don’t worry, I know CPR,” Selma said holding her hand in front of Kathy. “Somebody call 9-1-1.” As Scott jumped to the phone and dialed Selma turned the Bull over and checked for breathing. As she began pumping away on the Bull’s chest Scott told the 9-1-1 operator “Yes, we have an emergency. Our professor is unconscious and seems not to be breathing. We are…”
While Scott continued giving the necessary information Tracy’s eyes glazed over and her happy Bull free world lay out before her. Fifteen minutes later the paramedics lifted Mrs. Carlislie onto a bed, strapped her in and wheeled her away, breathing.
“You saved her life,” the paramedics said to Selma and in turn to Scott. The four of them who had been in the office stood there with phony expressions of shock and horror on their faces as other people came out of offices and around hallways to see what all the commotion was. One by one each of the TAs left, going down different hallways and out various doors.
Leaving the Bull’s office for the last time Tracy held back the grin and mirth she was exploding with inside. Walking outside into the bright rays of sunshine she texted everyone “Friday night dinner is a go,” closed her phone and sauntered across the quad.
The day came, the stage was set and everyone was ready. And so it began. The Bull was sitting at her desk grading some papers. Ariel knocked on the door around 12:00pm with a package of sushi from Whole Foods (pre-dosed with Mercury thanks to Tony’s friend in the Pharmaceutical department). “Hey Mrs. Carlislie, I brought you some sushi.” The Bull looked up with that fake smile plastered on her face and said “Thank you, dear.” She called all her TAs dear because she never cared to remember their names, another reason to bring her down.
“I was also wondering if you might look over-“
“No time, dear,” the Bull replied tartly, waving her hands and looking down at her papers. “No time. Later.” Ariel silently slunk out of the room, turning her back on the Bull and smirking. With that the plan had been set into motion.
Twenty minutes later Scott called Brad from outside the cultural arts building to say “The Fish Market Friday night?” This signaled that the Bull had eaten the Sushi.
“You got it.” At that moment Scott left his apartment, walked to 5 minutes to the Bull’s office and knocked on her door.
“Yes?”
“Professor,” Scott said walking in “I have a few questions about the assignment for this week’s discussion.”
Before she could answer, telling him to leave her office as she had Ariel, Kathy stormed into the room in a flurry saying “Professor there’s a problem. One of my students keeps saying these obscene things and I’m not sure if she’s attracted to me or she has some condition like Turrets or something.”
As the Bull opened her mouth to speak Tracy and Selma stormed in arguing “You take him!”
“You can’t just shuffle a student around between us TAs because he asks, Tracy.”
“Can too!”
“Can not!”
They both turned to the profession inquisitorially and said “Can you, Professor?” The excitement mixed with the amount of mercury she had been dosed with caused the Bull to start to teeter in her chair. She stood up, put out her hand and then crashed down on top of her desk pushing the papers all over the floor sliding to the ground in a heap.
“Oh my god! Mrs. Carlislie?!” Kathy shouted. It was rehearsed of course but very convincing Selma admitted to herself.
“Don’t worry, I know CPR,” Selma said holding her hand in front of Kathy. “Somebody call 9-1-1.” As Scott jumped to the phone and dialed Selma turned the Bull over and checked for breathing. As she began pumping away on the Bull’s chest Scott told the 9-1-1 operator “Yes, we have an emergency. Our professor is unconscious and seems not to be breathing. We are…”
While Scott continued giving the necessary information Tracy’s eyes glazed over and her happy Bull free world lay out before her. Fifteen minutes later the paramedics lifted Mrs. Carlislie onto a bed, strapped her in and wheeled her away, breathing.
“You saved her life,” the paramedics said to Selma and in turn to Scott. The four of them who had been in the office stood there with phony expressions of shock and horror on their faces as other people came out of offices and around hallways to see what all the commotion was. One by one each of the TAs left, going down different hallways and out various doors.
Leaving the Bull’s office for the last time Tracy held back the grin and mirth she was exploding with inside. Walking outside into the bright rays of sunshine she texted everyone “Friday night dinner is a go,” closed her phone and sauntered across the quad.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Don't Eat the Sushi- Ch. 2
Chapter II
Over the next couple of weeks Tracy and Selma each met with their colleagues in one on one get togethers, of course. Dinner with Brad at the Fish Mart, drinks with Kathy at Carl’s and so on. Never in the same place, same time or in the neighborhood of the university. One by one people agreed, some more quickly than others but no one took long to be persuaded and to Selma’s surprise and delight every single TA working for the Bull agreed to the plan.
About a third of the way through the semester Tracy and Selma organized a “TA Dinner” at Selma’s place. Completely inconspicuous since it was common for TAs to want to get to know each other, go over the course work and maybe discuss their worst students. On the night of the dinner, after everyone was stuffed with food, had a few drinks and were in a merry mood Tracy stood up on her chair, giggling.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Selma and I appreciate you all coming together this evening. We all know why we’re here, the very noble cause of bringing the Bull down by the horns!” Everyone cheered, clapped and laughed. Tracy raised her glass, took a sip of her red wine and continued. “So to the task at hand. You’ve each been given a role to play in this extravaganza whether it is to be a look out or to just keep your mouth shut if you have to.” She winked, people chuckled. “The event will take place in 3 days and will hence forth be referred to as Friday Dinner. We cannot emphasize precaution enough.” Tracee took another sip, sat down and then Selma stood up on her chair.
“With that being said we have a few ground rules. Do not talk about this on campus. If you must discuss it over the phone remember it is called Friday diner and be cognizant of what that means to someone who may be listening in. Anything you talk about would have to make sense in the context of a Friday night dinner. On the day of the event no talking about it period. You should know your roles and have all your questions answered by then. So, are there any further questions?” A hand rose at the end of the table.
“Yes Tony?”
“Yeah, when’s the celebratory party afterwards?” Tony asked smiling. Everyone laughed.
“Friday,” Selma replied grinning. “If there’s nothing more let’s eat, drink and bring the Bull Bitch down!” Everyone raised their glasses and took a long hopeful gulp.
Over the next couple of weeks Tracy and Selma each met with their colleagues in one on one get togethers, of course. Dinner with Brad at the Fish Mart, drinks with Kathy at Carl’s and so on. Never in the same place, same time or in the neighborhood of the university. One by one people agreed, some more quickly than others but no one took long to be persuaded and to Selma’s surprise and delight every single TA working for the Bull agreed to the plan.
About a third of the way through the semester Tracy and Selma organized a “TA Dinner” at Selma’s place. Completely inconspicuous since it was common for TAs to want to get to know each other, go over the course work and maybe discuss their worst students. On the night of the dinner, after everyone was stuffed with food, had a few drinks and were in a merry mood Tracy stood up on her chair, giggling.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Selma and I appreciate you all coming together this evening. We all know why we’re here, the very noble cause of bringing the Bull down by the horns!” Everyone cheered, clapped and laughed. Tracy raised her glass, took a sip of her red wine and continued. “So to the task at hand. You’ve each been given a role to play in this extravaganza whether it is to be a look out or to just keep your mouth shut if you have to.” She winked, people chuckled. “The event will take place in 3 days and will hence forth be referred to as Friday Dinner. We cannot emphasize precaution enough.” Tracee took another sip, sat down and then Selma stood up on her chair.
“With that being said we have a few ground rules. Do not talk about this on campus. If you must discuss it over the phone remember it is called Friday diner and be cognizant of what that means to someone who may be listening in. Anything you talk about would have to make sense in the context of a Friday night dinner. On the day of the event no talking about it period. You should know your roles and have all your questions answered by then. So, are there any further questions?” A hand rose at the end of the table.
“Yes Tony?”
“Yeah, when’s the celebratory party afterwards?” Tony asked smiling. Everyone laughed.
“Friday,” Selma replied grinning. “If there’s nothing more let’s eat, drink and bring the Bull Bitch down!” Everyone raised their glasses and took a long hopeful gulp.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Don't Eat the Sushi- Ch .1
Chapter I
“Do you think we could get away with it?”
“Get away with poisoning her?”
“Yeah.”
Selma paused to think about it, shrugged and said “Probably.” She took a sip of her coffee. It was a tempting idea, Tracy had to admit. The woman had been driving her bonkers; so much so that Tracy had recently been fantasizing about ways to seriously injure her. It wasn’t that her esteemed professor wasn’t good at what she did, per say. It was just that she was such a raging bitch, especially to her TAs, like Tracy and Selma.
Many of her students admired her and felt inspired by the African Art and stories class she taught at the university. But for Tracy, Selma and pretty much all the other TAs she was simply known as the Bull. She treated them like her servants, there to do her will and bidding. They were so much more than that. They were TAs for a reason; they were aspiring for something more: a master’s degree for one, a life for another and most importantly a dream.
Tracy and Selma continued to sip their coffees in silence. All around them at the coffee shop people were reading their books, typing on their laptops or quietly chatting to one another, not a worry in the world past the next term paper or their boyfriend’s cryptic words the other night.
Tracy wanted to be that carefree, not worried about what the Bull was going to demand next or what she would end up doing wrong this time. “I’m not saying I want to kill her or anything, just put her out of commission long enough to get to next term when I can be re-assigned,” Tracy said quietly, looking around to make sure no one was listening.
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Selma asked incredulously.
“Well” Tracy paused, briefly, very briefly then said “Yeah.”
“Tracy! You do realize you’re talking about harming someone, not to mention all the laws you’d be breaking.”
“We’d be breaking…”
“We, whose we?!”
“You, me, Brad, Kathy, all of us. You don’t know how many of them I’ve talked to about this very thing.”
“They weren’t serious though.”
“Maybe,” Tracy said as she took another sip of her coffee.
Selma sat there looking stunned for a few moments. What if they could get away with it? Their lives would be so much happier. But how, how would this work, really?
“How would this work?” Selma asked with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. Tracy looked around the coffee shop again, moved in closer to the table and said in a very low voice “The way I figure it we’d need at least 4 people in on it. A couple to distract her with some inane questions, one person to give her the poisoned whatever acting like we’re sucking up and care about her approval and someone there to watch to make sure she eats it. More of us would always be good. Crowd up that terrible office of hers and make it harder for her or anyone else to place blame, if it comes to that.” Tracy muttered the last bit and sipped her coffee. If Selma was going to help Tracy didn’t want to scare her off right from the start.
“But wouldn’t they be able to tell she had been poisoned?”
“Ahh, yes, well I’ve been thinking about that. Have you ever noticed how much sushi that devil eats?”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is mercury poisoning is quite common from eating lots of sushi, not to mention everyone is talking and worrying about it because of Jeremy Piven’s recent episode during that play he was in.”
“So you’re suggesting we dose her with mercury?”
“Yeah, we could even have someone bring her sushi already injected with an extra dose of it.” Tracy realized that this plan was beginning to form itself.
After a few moments where both of them sat lost in their own thoughts Selma finally spoke. “Tracy, what you’re talking about is highly illegal and highly exciting.” More silence. After a few more moments Selma said “All right, let’s get the bitch!” Tracy smiled and they clinked their coffee mugs.
“Do you think we could get away with it?”
“Get away with poisoning her?”
“Yeah.”
Selma paused to think about it, shrugged and said “Probably.” She took a sip of her coffee. It was a tempting idea, Tracy had to admit. The woman had been driving her bonkers; so much so that Tracy had recently been fantasizing about ways to seriously injure her. It wasn’t that her esteemed professor wasn’t good at what she did, per say. It was just that she was such a raging bitch, especially to her TAs, like Tracy and Selma.
Many of her students admired her and felt inspired by the African Art and stories class she taught at the university. But for Tracy, Selma and pretty much all the other TAs she was simply known as the Bull. She treated them like her servants, there to do her will and bidding. They were so much more than that. They were TAs for a reason; they were aspiring for something more: a master’s degree for one, a life for another and most importantly a dream.
Tracy and Selma continued to sip their coffees in silence. All around them at the coffee shop people were reading their books, typing on their laptops or quietly chatting to one another, not a worry in the world past the next term paper or their boyfriend’s cryptic words the other night.
Tracy wanted to be that carefree, not worried about what the Bull was going to demand next or what she would end up doing wrong this time. “I’m not saying I want to kill her or anything, just put her out of commission long enough to get to next term when I can be re-assigned,” Tracy said quietly, looking around to make sure no one was listening.
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Selma asked incredulously.
“Well” Tracy paused, briefly, very briefly then said “Yeah.”
“Tracy! You do realize you’re talking about harming someone, not to mention all the laws you’d be breaking.”
“We’d be breaking…”
“We, whose we?!”
“You, me, Brad, Kathy, all of us. You don’t know how many of them I’ve talked to about this very thing.”
“They weren’t serious though.”
“Maybe,” Tracy said as she took another sip of her coffee.
Selma sat there looking stunned for a few moments. What if they could get away with it? Their lives would be so much happier. But how, how would this work, really?
“How would this work?” Selma asked with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. Tracy looked around the coffee shop again, moved in closer to the table and said in a very low voice “The way I figure it we’d need at least 4 people in on it. A couple to distract her with some inane questions, one person to give her the poisoned whatever acting like we’re sucking up and care about her approval and someone there to watch to make sure she eats it. More of us would always be good. Crowd up that terrible office of hers and make it harder for her or anyone else to place blame, if it comes to that.” Tracy muttered the last bit and sipped her coffee. If Selma was going to help Tracy didn’t want to scare her off right from the start.
“But wouldn’t they be able to tell she had been poisoned?”
“Ahh, yes, well I’ve been thinking about that. Have you ever noticed how much sushi that devil eats?”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is mercury poisoning is quite common from eating lots of sushi, not to mention everyone is talking and worrying about it because of Jeremy Piven’s recent episode during that play he was in.”
“So you’re suggesting we dose her with mercury?”
“Yeah, we could even have someone bring her sushi already injected with an extra dose of it.” Tracy realized that this plan was beginning to form itself.
After a few moments where both of them sat lost in their own thoughts Selma finally spoke. “Tracy, what you’re talking about is highly illegal and highly exciting.” More silence. After a few more moments Selma said “All right, let’s get the bitch!” Tracy smiled and they clinked their coffee mugs.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Window to Where?
When one door closes another one will open. When one door closes another one will open. When one door… That’s what he said to me before he popped off, the goat man who bears a striking resemblance to the flute playing god Pan. Now here I stand staring down at an infinitely long hallway with brown wood doors all identical on either side. Millions of them, trillions of them. If I go through one how will I ever get back out to find the open one? Shit.
I can’t believe I’m in this predicament. I was merely hanging out, surfing through Virtu-World, the virtual world and network so many of us commune in these days, when something caught my eye on the right. When I turned my head to get a closer look something blinked and was gone. I slowed down my board and veered off the Virtu-way almost causing an accident. I wasn’t quit sure where I was. I had never gotten off in this sector.
Looking around all I could see were run down space programs with holes in the starry skies and the waistoids who frequented here because they couldn’t handle the space and speed of the rest of the Virtu-World. Where did I see that flash? Maybe it was a rouge star whose script had gone off the grid or something.
Suddenly I saw it again, this time to my left, as I headed south against the traffic I was just speeding in. As I moved closer to it, wedged between two old Horror House program buildings, I saw it. A long thin sliver of light so bright that if I looked directly at it my pupils hurt. I got off my hoover board and walked up to it. It was beautiful and kind of scary. As I walked around it I realized it wasn’t a sliver, it was a window. A window to what? To Where?
I put my hand up right in front of it. Do I touch it? What happens if my hand burns off or just doesn’t come back if I pull my arm out? What happens if I go in and can’t ever get out? Eh, fuck it. I slowly put my pinky in first (after all who needs it anyway). It felt like nothing and I pulled it out unharmed. This experimenting continued for a few minutes longer as I put more and more of my arm in and out of the window.
My curiosity finally got the better of me and I pushed my head through. There he was, standing in a long hallway of doors. Pan, a mythological Greek character who plays a flute made out of reeds and dances with nymphs, was standing in a hallway of doors, through a window suspended in Virtu-Cyber-Space. Just your typical day.
He grinned, grabbed me by the head and pulled me threw. I fell on the ground at his goat legs and looked up. He couldn’t have looked more mischievous than if he was painted in a Greek tapestry.
“What did you do that for?” I asked rubbing my head as I stood up.
“Why not?” he countered.
“Right, of course,” I said tartly looking around at my new surroundings. “What is this place?” I walked down the hall a little bit touching the doors with my fingertips. Each one I touched was vibrating and none of them had doorknobs.
“This place is the place,” he said.
“Oh right, the place. Thanks for clearing that up.”
“The place where everything begins and everything ends. The place where all things everywhere come together.”
“Uh huh, and in this place of places where does each door go?”
“Don’t you want to find out?”
“You’re just full of helpful answers, aren’t you?”
He just continued to stand there with a smirk on his face, a glint in his eye, and his hands behind his back.
“And which one of these are you from?”
“None of them,” he replied. “And all of them.”
“Great, well that settles that.” I walked back to the end of the hall, a blank wall now but what had once been a glowing window of wonder, where he was standing, leaning my back up against it. Pan turned around to look at me, still grinning.
“So how would I get into one of these doors? There aren’t any handles.”
“I will open one.” He raised his hand and a door about a 1/3 of the way opened and a shimmering blue light bounced off the white floor. I started to take a step towards it, uncontrollably propelled by my curiosity but stopped.
“How do I get out of this place?”
“Get out? I’m offering you infinity and you want out,” he rebuffed. I was taken aback. A real answer.
“I mean in case, how do I get back to virtu-world so eventually I can wake up in my own real world?”
“The answer you seek will reveal itself when it’s ready.”
“When it’s ready? When what is ready? Oy.”
“Are you ready to begin?”
“Begin what? And how do I get out of one door into this hall and then into another door?”
“X marks the spot.” He handed me a leather necklace with a dazzling blue stone hanging on it. It looked sort of like a sapphire but clearly wasn’t. I took it and held it up into the unknown light cascading around the hall. I felt slightly hypnotized by it. Then Pan blew a low note into his flute and I snapped out of it.
“Be careful of the stone. It can be helpful but harmful. You will need this to find the door you came through after you have closed it behind you.”
“Ok.” I said skeptically putting it on over my head, slipping the stone under my shirt.
“Ready?”
“Ready? Who knows?” I took a deep breath. What lay ahead of me? Did I want to find out? Yes I fucking did.
“Yes I’m ready,” I replied.
“When one door closes another door will open. Be careful not linger for doors do not remain open forever.” And with a small pop he vanished leaving a slight echo of his final words and a few wisps of smoke behind him.
It’s that time. The time that defines who you are and the course of your history, your destiny. I must remember to enjoy the ride. As I walk closer to the door I can hear a faint melody and smell grass, lilacs and, and…is that carrot cake? Standing in front of the door I poke my head through. I can see faint blurry lines of moving figures. Are they human? Are they kind? Time to find out I guess. With one food inside the door and one hand on it I step forward, walk through and shut the door softly behind me.
Let the journey begin.
I can’t believe I’m in this predicament. I was merely hanging out, surfing through Virtu-World, the virtual world and network so many of us commune in these days, when something caught my eye on the right. When I turned my head to get a closer look something blinked and was gone. I slowed down my board and veered off the Virtu-way almost causing an accident. I wasn’t quit sure where I was. I had never gotten off in this sector.
Looking around all I could see were run down space programs with holes in the starry skies and the waistoids who frequented here because they couldn’t handle the space and speed of the rest of the Virtu-World. Where did I see that flash? Maybe it was a rouge star whose script had gone off the grid or something.
Suddenly I saw it again, this time to my left, as I headed south against the traffic I was just speeding in. As I moved closer to it, wedged between two old Horror House program buildings, I saw it. A long thin sliver of light so bright that if I looked directly at it my pupils hurt. I got off my hoover board and walked up to it. It was beautiful and kind of scary. As I walked around it I realized it wasn’t a sliver, it was a window. A window to what? To Where?
I put my hand up right in front of it. Do I touch it? What happens if my hand burns off or just doesn’t come back if I pull my arm out? What happens if I go in and can’t ever get out? Eh, fuck it. I slowly put my pinky in first (after all who needs it anyway). It felt like nothing and I pulled it out unharmed. This experimenting continued for a few minutes longer as I put more and more of my arm in and out of the window.
My curiosity finally got the better of me and I pushed my head through. There he was, standing in a long hallway of doors. Pan, a mythological Greek character who plays a flute made out of reeds and dances with nymphs, was standing in a hallway of doors, through a window suspended in Virtu-Cyber-Space. Just your typical day.
He grinned, grabbed me by the head and pulled me threw. I fell on the ground at his goat legs and looked up. He couldn’t have looked more mischievous than if he was painted in a Greek tapestry.
“What did you do that for?” I asked rubbing my head as I stood up.
“Why not?” he countered.
“Right, of course,” I said tartly looking around at my new surroundings. “What is this place?” I walked down the hall a little bit touching the doors with my fingertips. Each one I touched was vibrating and none of them had doorknobs.
“This place is the place,” he said.
“Oh right, the place. Thanks for clearing that up.”
“The place where everything begins and everything ends. The place where all things everywhere come together.”
“Uh huh, and in this place of places where does each door go?”
“Don’t you want to find out?”
“You’re just full of helpful answers, aren’t you?”
He just continued to stand there with a smirk on his face, a glint in his eye, and his hands behind his back.
“And which one of these are you from?”
“None of them,” he replied. “And all of them.”
“Great, well that settles that.” I walked back to the end of the hall, a blank wall now but what had once been a glowing window of wonder, where he was standing, leaning my back up against it. Pan turned around to look at me, still grinning.
“So how would I get into one of these doors? There aren’t any handles.”
“I will open one.” He raised his hand and a door about a 1/3 of the way opened and a shimmering blue light bounced off the white floor. I started to take a step towards it, uncontrollably propelled by my curiosity but stopped.
“How do I get out of this place?”
“Get out? I’m offering you infinity and you want out,” he rebuffed. I was taken aback. A real answer.
“I mean in case, how do I get back to virtu-world so eventually I can wake up in my own real world?”
“The answer you seek will reveal itself when it’s ready.”
“When it’s ready? When what is ready? Oy.”
“Are you ready to begin?”
“Begin what? And how do I get out of one door into this hall and then into another door?”
“X marks the spot.” He handed me a leather necklace with a dazzling blue stone hanging on it. It looked sort of like a sapphire but clearly wasn’t. I took it and held it up into the unknown light cascading around the hall. I felt slightly hypnotized by it. Then Pan blew a low note into his flute and I snapped out of it.
“Be careful of the stone. It can be helpful but harmful. You will need this to find the door you came through after you have closed it behind you.”
“Ok.” I said skeptically putting it on over my head, slipping the stone under my shirt.
“Ready?”
“Ready? Who knows?” I took a deep breath. What lay ahead of me? Did I want to find out? Yes I fucking did.
“Yes I’m ready,” I replied.
“When one door closes another door will open. Be careful not linger for doors do not remain open forever.” And with a small pop he vanished leaving a slight echo of his final words and a few wisps of smoke behind him.
It’s that time. The time that defines who you are and the course of your history, your destiny. I must remember to enjoy the ride. As I walk closer to the door I can hear a faint melody and smell grass, lilacs and, and…is that carrot cake? Standing in front of the door I poke my head through. I can see faint blurry lines of moving figures. Are they human? Are they kind? Time to find out I guess. With one food inside the door and one hand on it I step forward, walk through and shut the door softly behind me.
Let the journey begin.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
New day, same old Traffic
Mad Max here today:
Everyday I am baffled and truly frustrated by the congestion of cars that roam the streets of Los Angeles. Everyone is of course forewarned of this problem before visiting or if they take the big step, moving here. And while I've lived here for almost 3 years everyday I struggle with the stop and go, bad driving of others and general mayhem that ensues with too many cars, too many people and not enough road. I have recently come to the conclusion however that it may not be any of the aforementioned things but the traffic lights, the timing of them and the way it affects the flow.
Have you ever noticed that if you're traveling from Hollywood to say the Westside of Los Angeles the moment you hit Beverly Hills everything slows down, the roads get almost smaller in width and it seems like you've entered a third dimension of driving. I used to attribute this to the old, stuck up people who generally live in the area. First of all, if you're old it's probably a given that you're going to drive more slowly than the rest of us. Secondly, Beverly Hills being its own municipality tends to want to stray from whatever the norm is in Los Angeles and I figured that if you've got that kind of clout legally you'll change the driving laws to whatever you damn well please. It turns out that this isn't far from the truth. Being its own municipality Beverly Hills is on a different lighting grid from the rest of Los Angeles slowing down traffic. In fact there are times when I will be on little Santa Monica going through the heart of Beverly Hills and I will see three green lights in a row, one red light and another green. How on earth does that make sense? Not only does it disturb the flow of traffic but it's just ridiculous.
Now the city of Los Angeles itself isn't all that much better than Beverly Hills for they will frequently have similar lighting incidents where there are several greens in a row, interrupted by a red and then more greens. I understand that Los Angeles, being so big, having so many drivers and so forth is going to be a on a different system than New York City but New York’s truncated system where the lights in a strip of street turn Green one second behind each other makes sense. Traffic flows from east to west in one stream and then from north to south in one stream of cars and pedestrians. Why can LA not be the same? It seems to me that each neighborhood (which I rave about as a cool facet of Los Angeles: having all the different neighborhoods in one big city) are on their own grids causing this massive blockage all around town. People need to start talking to one another, neighborhood lighting systems need to start syncing up when one flows into another, when a boundary line is crossed.
Or maybe it's not Los Angeles at all and the people are really just terrible drivers and instead of paying attention to the road, driving defensively and understanding the rules they just get behind the wheels of the car and press the accelerator.
Everyday I am baffled and truly frustrated by the congestion of cars that roam the streets of Los Angeles. Everyone is of course forewarned of this problem before visiting or if they take the big step, moving here. And while I've lived here for almost 3 years everyday I struggle with the stop and go, bad driving of others and general mayhem that ensues with too many cars, too many people and not enough road. I have recently come to the conclusion however that it may not be any of the aforementioned things but the traffic lights, the timing of them and the way it affects the flow.
Have you ever noticed that if you're traveling from Hollywood to say the Westside of Los Angeles the moment you hit Beverly Hills everything slows down, the roads get almost smaller in width and it seems like you've entered a third dimension of driving. I used to attribute this to the old, stuck up people who generally live in the area. First of all, if you're old it's probably a given that you're going to drive more slowly than the rest of us. Secondly, Beverly Hills being its own municipality tends to want to stray from whatever the norm is in Los Angeles and I figured that if you've got that kind of clout legally you'll change the driving laws to whatever you damn well please. It turns out that this isn't far from the truth. Being its own municipality Beverly Hills is on a different lighting grid from the rest of Los Angeles slowing down traffic. In fact there are times when I will be on little Santa Monica going through the heart of Beverly Hills and I will see three green lights in a row, one red light and another green. How on earth does that make sense? Not only does it disturb the flow of traffic but it's just ridiculous.
Now the city of Los Angeles itself isn't all that much better than Beverly Hills for they will frequently have similar lighting incidents where there are several greens in a row, interrupted by a red and then more greens. I understand that Los Angeles, being so big, having so many drivers and so forth is going to be a on a different system than New York City but New York’s truncated system where the lights in a strip of street turn Green one second behind each other makes sense. Traffic flows from east to west in one stream and then from north to south in one stream of cars and pedestrians. Why can LA not be the same? It seems to me that each neighborhood (which I rave about as a cool facet of Los Angeles: having all the different neighborhoods in one big city) are on their own grids causing this massive blockage all around town. People need to start talking to one another, neighborhood lighting systems need to start syncing up when one flows into another, when a boundary line is crossed.
Or maybe it's not Los Angeles at all and the people are really just terrible drivers and instead of paying attention to the road, driving defensively and understanding the rules they just get behind the wheels of the car and press the accelerator.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
What does a Degree In African Art Get you?- Ch. 2
Chapter II- The Final Installment
One year later and we were open. My investors were my 1st clients and swore they would merely be hotel and spa guests (after all they were married) but I knew better. Some of them didn’t even sleep on the same side of the house as their husbands let alone the same room or bed. They should have their fun, their husbands certainly did with the maids, babysitters of the past and so forth.
The hardest part was advertising. How to say what we offered with out actually saying it?
“OUR STAFF IS FRIENDLY, FUN AND READY TO HELP WITH ANY AND EVERY NEED.”
My best marketers were of course my lady investors who ate the place up, literally. Turns out my small city had a big niche that I was filling. By the 3rd quarter we were fully booked, really busy and turning a profit. We were in!
And the husbands were out. Outside of our doors, that is. It didn’t take too long for the men with the wandering eye to wander right over to my burgeoning business. Tired of coming home to find no one there to ignore them they began to investigate the disappearance of their wives. When they finally found them and our shop they were astonished. No longer were their women wasting away. Not only were they getting their kicks in the bedroom but they were eating healthily, taking classes to workout or fill their brain. We had yoga, water aerobics, dance, art, lit classes, history classes, the works! We were truly a full services spot. We made it so that if you could afford it you never needed to leave. And that was the problem.
I looked outside my office window one morning to find a swarm of middle aged and older men standing on the front terrace shouting and holding up signs, many of which read something like “WOMAN COME HOME!” Pretty bad marketing ploy if you ask me. I guess this day was inevitable. I sighed and got up taking the elevator to the lobby. This was going to be interesting.
My assistant Tammy rushed up to me when I stepped out of the elevator and said “They have this wiled eyed look about them. Should I call the cops?”
“No, no, I’ll handle this,” I said haughtily. I walked straight out the front doors with a few of my regulars scurrying behind me and more women coming to see what was happening every second (they of course stayed behind the glass doors). I stood on top of one of our big tree pots, put my hands up and shouted “Gentlemen, if you please.” Silence began rippling through the crowd as they realized I was there and I was their main enemy.
Of course right at that moment my mind went completely blank. What do you say to a crowd of angry men whose wives you’ve basically stolen of their own free will? I winged it.
“I come here today in peace to say that this place is a haven for these women, my clients. Tired of being ignored and replaced by a younger version of themselves they can come here and feel good about themselves. They can relax, learn, work out, indulge in food and fantasies, be themselves and feel loved. Something I believe many of them were lacking with you men here” I took a breath. No bad for on the fly. And then I heard,
“Fuck that. Give us our wives back!”
I felt something wet and slimy pelted at me. An egg! Someone had thrown an egg at me! As I wiped the yolk off my face someone shouted,
“Give em back!” Uproar followed in agreement.
“We’re not possessions to be taken, Robert!” one of my regulars came stroming out shouting at one of the men in the front.
“Baby, I miss you. Please come back. The house is lonely without you,” Robert said in a sweet subdued tone.
“Oh, your little whore Laurie can’t help spice the place up?”
“That’s over sweetie. She’s not you, Barb.”
“She wasn’t ever me you son of a bitch!” With that Barb slapped Robert fresh across the face. Robert put his hand up to his face looking stunned. The group seemed frozen in anticipation. What was next? Like the silence before a massive disaster such as a tornado or hurricane, quiet permeated throughout space and time, it seemed. Then as quickly as it came the silence was gone, replaced by a tumult of anger, screaming and rushing women. In a mad flood all my patrons came out of the building. They spread through the men (probably to find their respective husbands- though some just to reek revenge on whomever was closest) shouting, hitting, pulling at anything they could get a hold of. Men cowered from the blows, some tried to fight back meagerly and others just took it.
From my perch on the tree pot I looked over the mayhem I had caused and grinned. The war had started and I could only hope and imagine how it would end.
One year later and we were open. My investors were my 1st clients and swore they would merely be hotel and spa guests (after all they were married) but I knew better. Some of them didn’t even sleep on the same side of the house as their husbands let alone the same room or bed. They should have their fun, their husbands certainly did with the maids, babysitters of the past and so forth.
The hardest part was advertising. How to say what we offered with out actually saying it?
“OUR STAFF IS FRIENDLY, FUN AND READY TO HELP WITH ANY AND EVERY NEED.”
My best marketers were of course my lady investors who ate the place up, literally. Turns out my small city had a big niche that I was filling. By the 3rd quarter we were fully booked, really busy and turning a profit. We were in!
And the husbands were out. Outside of our doors, that is. It didn’t take too long for the men with the wandering eye to wander right over to my burgeoning business. Tired of coming home to find no one there to ignore them they began to investigate the disappearance of their wives. When they finally found them and our shop they were astonished. No longer were their women wasting away. Not only were they getting their kicks in the bedroom but they were eating healthily, taking classes to workout or fill their brain. We had yoga, water aerobics, dance, art, lit classes, history classes, the works! We were truly a full services spot. We made it so that if you could afford it you never needed to leave. And that was the problem.
I looked outside my office window one morning to find a swarm of middle aged and older men standing on the front terrace shouting and holding up signs, many of which read something like “WOMAN COME HOME!” Pretty bad marketing ploy if you ask me. I guess this day was inevitable. I sighed and got up taking the elevator to the lobby. This was going to be interesting.
My assistant Tammy rushed up to me when I stepped out of the elevator and said “They have this wiled eyed look about them. Should I call the cops?”
“No, no, I’ll handle this,” I said haughtily. I walked straight out the front doors with a few of my regulars scurrying behind me and more women coming to see what was happening every second (they of course stayed behind the glass doors). I stood on top of one of our big tree pots, put my hands up and shouted “Gentlemen, if you please.” Silence began rippling through the crowd as they realized I was there and I was their main enemy.
Of course right at that moment my mind went completely blank. What do you say to a crowd of angry men whose wives you’ve basically stolen of their own free will? I winged it.
“I come here today in peace to say that this place is a haven for these women, my clients. Tired of being ignored and replaced by a younger version of themselves they can come here and feel good about themselves. They can relax, learn, work out, indulge in food and fantasies, be themselves and feel loved. Something I believe many of them were lacking with you men here” I took a breath. No bad for on the fly. And then I heard,
“Fuck that. Give us our wives back!”
I felt something wet and slimy pelted at me. An egg! Someone had thrown an egg at me! As I wiped the yolk off my face someone shouted,
“Give em back!” Uproar followed in agreement.
“We’re not possessions to be taken, Robert!” one of my regulars came stroming out shouting at one of the men in the front.
“Baby, I miss you. Please come back. The house is lonely without you,” Robert said in a sweet subdued tone.
“Oh, your little whore Laurie can’t help spice the place up?”
“That’s over sweetie. She’s not you, Barb.”
“She wasn’t ever me you son of a bitch!” With that Barb slapped Robert fresh across the face. Robert put his hand up to his face looking stunned. The group seemed frozen in anticipation. What was next? Like the silence before a massive disaster such as a tornado or hurricane, quiet permeated throughout space and time, it seemed. Then as quickly as it came the silence was gone, replaced by a tumult of anger, screaming and rushing women. In a mad flood all my patrons came out of the building. They spread through the men (probably to find their respective husbands- though some just to reek revenge on whomever was closest) shouting, hitting, pulling at anything they could get a hold of. Men cowered from the blows, some tried to fight back meagerly and others just took it.
From my perch on the tree pot I looked over the mayhem I had caused and grinned. The war had started and I could only hope and imagine how it would end.
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