Sleeping

Meanwhile...

The small, one bedroom town home was silent in the morning calm. The Sun’s light streamed in through the crack between the curtains and chased the shadows out of the bedroom. Something clanked in the small, dark home.

Carrie Post rubbed at her eyes and slid her feet down towards the bottom of the bed with that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had grown far to used to over the past few days. This house didn’t feel right to her. Not at all.

She sat upright in bed and swept her long, brown hair from her face and looked around the room – searching for signs like she had seen before. The signs had started out small, but were growing larger every night. Something was very wrong.

She pushed the covers off her body and slid her feet over the edge of the bed. She narrowed her eyes and scanned the bedroom carefully, but saw nothing different. She pushed off the mattress and moved into the living room.

She gasped when she saw the empty beer bottle on the computer table. Tears filled her eyes as she slowly dropped to the cold, wood floor and broke down in sharp sobs. She didn’t keep beer in her home. She didn’t even drink anymore. Not since all this started. She reached out and grabbed the phone and her hand froze before she dropped it back into it’s cradle.

Someone had been in her house again and it scared her to death. The problem was, no one believed her.

Friends told her to do everything from calling the police and filing a report to getting an alarm to getting a dog, but nothing made the sick feeling in her stomach ease. Someone had been in her house smoking one evening, sending emails from her account the next, and now drinking not one, but a series of beers in her home while she slept like a baby. What was next? This person obviously had free access to her locked home. What could they do to her?

People she spoke to about the recent events looked to her with sad eyes and asked how an intruder could enter her home when it was locked and chained and the locks had been changed. They looked at her as if she were going mad or seeking attention.

It only got worse.

The next night, the prowler entered again. He fixed a meal and evidently watched a few movies, leaving the stack by the TV for her to find. Carrie thought for a moment that this criminal had slipped something into her water – knocking her out somehow. There was no way she could have slept through all this.

When she managed to make it out of the house to head for work, she found her car moved as well - parked on the street and not in her driveway where she had left it when she returned from work the previous night. She wanted to be sick. She hugged herself tightly and pressed herself against her garage. Her eyes scanned her neighborhood and it’s once friendly presence now seemed to hide watchers and danger. She slipped back into her house and locked the door, deciding to take a sick day. She needed more rest.

She thought that maybe she was drugged. The feeling that washed over her was heavy and deep. Her eyelids fluttered as she stumbled towards the bed. She had to lie down. Sleep this all away. She couldn’t fight it even though the thought of someone still lurking in her home filled her thoughts as she drifted away into the shadows of sleep.

When her eyes opened again, the room was completely dark. Carrie had no idea how long she had been asleep. She rose from the bed and fumbled for the clock. It read five-thirty AM. She had slept for almost 24 hours. She coughed and stumbled from the bed running her hand over her head.

Her hair. It was wrong. Short and slightly damp.

She shrieked and ran to the bathroom. Her hand slammed into the switch and light filled the restroom and illuminated her face in the mirror. Another scream caught in her throat as her eyes went wide and took in the new hairstyle – cropped short and dyed black in a Euro style. Her hair had but cut, styled, and dyed black…as she slept?

Blackness swept in around her and she fell to the bathroom’s tile flooring like a stone.

Endless black. Deep dreaming. Light.

Clair’s eyes fluttered open and she felt around herself in a panic. She was covered with something. Some sort of light sheet.

Striking out with her hand, she shoved it up and off her head and bolted upright again.

Daylight streamed in and warmed her. Cool, fresh air came in through the open window before her and the smell of bacon and coffee filled her nostrils. Her heart raced. Fear flooded over her.

She took in her surroundings – all unfamiliar and strange to her. This wasn’t her house. Not her bed. She started to cry, choking back sobs. She stopped suddenly when she heard footsteps thumping over carpet towards her.

A man’s voice called out softly. “Carrie? You ok?”

Blackness rushed in at Carrie. She didn’t even feel her head hit the pillow.

Blackness engulfed her for a long, long time. She felt like she was caught in some limbo. A void. All half awake and drifting on a sea of dark.

Something filled her mind with sadness as a sudden dawning washed over her. This time, when her eyes opened, she wasn’t scared or confused. She believed she understood it all now and the knowledge filled her with melancholy.

She turned her head and stared at the sleeping man at her side and the corners of her mouth turned down as tears filled her eyes yet again. Yes, she understood it all now.

Her head rolled to the right and scanned the framed photos on the shelf by the bedroom’s oak door.

There was a photo of Carrie skiing, something which she had never learned to do.

A photo of Carrie holding a smiling man’s hand and dancing. Someone she didn’t know. She looked so happy and free. Even though the picture clearly was Carrie, she stared at the couple within the frame like they were both strangers.

The last photo made Carrie’s breath catch in her throat. Carrie was cradling a small child in her arms and looking at it with love. It looked just like her. It was so small and soft and fragile.

She pitied herself. How could this to happen? Her life was no longer her own. She didn’t even know herself anymore. She felt herself slipping away again, but didn’t fight it.

Carrie Post rolled her head on her pillow and stared at the ceiling. She drew in a breath and blinked.

“So tired…,” she whispered before closing her eyes one…last…time.

Tall Tale

Meanwhile...

The large living room smelled of pizza, beer and cigarettes. The light was dim, setting a mood that was calm and comforting for half the group and stale and dirty for the other. The mix of men and women seemed comfortable with each other – the result of doing a mixer like this every few weeks for the past eight years.

“We should go dancing again. Last time was fun,” purred a blonde woman as she climbed off the sofa and moved to the window. She opened it and drew in a deep, long breath. “God, that’s better.” She turned and faced the small group again and pursed her lips.
“Didn’t know you could smell that from way over there, Tracy,” a thin man said as he leaned to the side and waved his hand over his buttocks.

“Nice, Matt.” Tracy roller her eyes and leaned against the window frame. “Always the gentleman.” She folded her arms over her chest and addressed the group. “ANYWAY…we should go dancing. Maybe salsa this time?” She brushed her blonde shag away from her face and waited for someone else to chime in.

Carl eyed Marta’s chest like a starving man would eye a steak after being rescued from an island after three months of green bananas and salty crabs. Marta loved the attention.

“That is, if Carl can pop his eyes back into his head.” Tracy grinned.

Carl shot her a glance, then smiled a wicked smile over to Marta. “I think Marta and I might be dancing a little later.”

“Slam dancing,” Marta said with a giggle.

“Gawd.” Tracy laughed.

Steven took another swig from his beer bottle and eyed the group quietly from the corner of the small room. He stayed quiet most of the time.

Tracy glanced over to him, then around at the other six. “I heard there was a place down on Fraser and Pine that gave lessons and was half price on Thursdays. I heard that Tyler and Em went there and got free drinks as well.”

“Really? You still see them?” Bert took another drag off his cigarette.

“Do you have to smoke, Bert?” Connie rubbed her eyes.

“My house, my rules.” He smirked and patted her leg. “Once one of you gets a place big enough to meet in, we’ll change this set up around. Until then,” he shrugged and puffed. His voice wasn’t challenging, it just stated the facts as he saw them. Plain as day.

Connie sighed and blurted out, “Second hand smoke kills, you know. I heard you could even get eye cancers that cause blindness and pussy oozing.” She pouted.

Bert shifted and looked back over to Tracy. “When do you even have time to see Ty and Em? I mean, you’re still working with Thomson the amazing overworking man, aren’t you? And, I thought they were moving.”

Tracy nodded. “In September. Tyler is starting a biking resort of some kind, I think. Clothing optional. From that money he made from that lawsuit. Em is going to help him run it.”

“Those are really big in Europe and Las Vegas – clothing optional bike resorts. I’d try one if I wasn’t such a chicken. I think they’re good for the soul. I once read that it actually breeds stronger people. More confident and agile.” Marta leaned back against Carl and took his hand absently. “Did anyone else read about the guy in Europe that cloned that mutant dog? Something changed in the vocal cords – swapped with parrot or something – and now the thing can talk.”

Steven frowned. “What?” He smirked, not believing what he heard. It was just silly.

“I heard about that. Yeah…Europe…somewhere. Damn thing talks. Yeah.” Carl nodded and stroked Marta’s hair. “They’re going to mass produce it and sell it, but it might not be available here in the States due to some sort of 1973 court ruling about dogs and speaking. Something that was overshadowed by the whole Roe vs. Wade thing. Sucks, too, ‘cause I’d totally buy one. I mean, that’s something I’d actually save money up for.”

Before Steven could ask where they heard this insane story, Connie stood and adjusted her skirt.

“Like that monkey thing. This monkey running around downtown Kansas somewhere sign languaging all this stuff about where it was kept and where this…I dunno…zoo Director or something buried this body of some young intern he killed after doing all this horrid stuff to her and stuff.” She grimaced and limped to the fridge, her leg asleep after being curled under her for an hour. Leaning against the fridge, she twirled her foot in the air and winced.

She sighed out, “This monkey signs that the dude killed this chick after doing all sorts of nasty stuff. Like, sick crap. Said the monkey was in tears and might have to undergo therapy. Something.” She yanked the fridge door open and pulled out a beer, popping it open and pouring it into a red plastic cup. She moved back to Bert with the cup in hand and sat among the curls of smoke and sipped at her beverage.

“Poor monkey,” Tracy whispered.

Connie rubbed her nose and muttered, “Monkey’s really deserve better treatment in general. This sort of thing is happening all over the place. I mean, pretty soon we’ll be dealing with crap like that guy down in Texas with the "snakecicles" or that woman with the "pupapult®". That was just plain cruel.”

Steven blinked and stared around the room with disbelief.
Matt glanced down and noticed his fly was down. He zipped it proudly and tossed the nerf football he held to Bert.

“They might let a crowd beat that other guy to death with chicken, you know?” Matt caught the ball as it sailed back at him in a perfect spiral. “Nice, Bert.” He squeezed it and tossed it back. It warbled through the air in a clumsy arc back to Bert. “Yeah, the dog killer guy. They plan to assemble a small crowd and let them beat on dude with chickens.”

“Frozen chicken? And, really to death?” Connie batted her eyes and waved her hand before her face. She glared at Bert.

“No, raw. Or…you know, defrosted.” Matt missed the perfect pass as it sailed back to him and through his hands. “Fucker.”

Steven stood and went to claim the ball.

“They said it seemed right seeing as the guy did that to the dogs when they frucked things up. Eye for an eye justice.” Matt punched the air. “I mean, you can’t do that to animals and expect that it won’t eventually be done to you. Right? It’s Karma.”

“I totally agree with that course of action. The guy beat dogs to death with chicken. He deserves it.” Tracy pushed off the window sill, walked to Bert, removed his cigarette, then rubbed it out in the ash tray. She then bent and crushed his pack of cigarettes with a blank expression.

Connie smiled and watched Tracy moved back to the window.

Bert pulled another pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, removed one of the nails and lit it without thinking. “They should do that across the board. Ya kill someone with a gun, you get killed with a gun. Peal them with a apple peeler and tie them to an ant mound in the desert and YOU get peeled and tied up to one yourself. Take a bite outta crime, man.” He blew a plume of smoke into Connie’s face absently.

Marta and Carl nibbled each others fingers.

“Well, I’m getting one of those talking dogs, man.” Bert sighed. “Gonna find one.”

Steven gripped the recovered Nerf ball and listened for a moment before shaking his head. “That would lead to madness. I mean, they did that in the Middle East. That whole steal and get you hand cut off thing.”

Matt chuckled. “Right.” He laughed. “Cut off their hand.”

“They did.” Steven moved closer.

“Cut it off? Come on – they’d never.” Connie coughed.

“Little wild, don’t you think, Steve? I mean why cut off a hand for stealing?” Tracy frowned.

“They…they did. I think they still do.” He thought. “Like the scarlet letter thing. A big letter A sewed to the clothing to show adultery. Or locking people in stocks in the town square if they did something wrong, you know?” He dropped the ball into Matt’s hands. Matt bobbled it and it and it dropped to the floor.

Marta and Carl broke their embrace and stared over to Steven. Carl sneered, “A letter A?”

Steven looked around the room.

“Just cause you don’t have anything to say doesn’t mean you have to start making stuff up, man. We’ll still hang out with you.” Marta smiled sweetly. “Really.”

“I’m not making this up.” Steven chuckled dryly. “Nothing was made up there – it’s true.”

Silence filled the room.

Steven stared around and waited for the punch line. “Come on! This is friggin SILLY! I mean…you’re talking about monkey’s signing and chicken beatings and talking DOGS and my stuff sounds made up?!”

“Hey, that poor monkey had to witness some pretty nasty shite. Sexual perversion and murder? And who knows if he’ll ever be back to his old monkey self. He’ll most likely be damaged for life.”

“And those poor dogs. Killed by chicken beatings.” Connie snuffled and wiped a tear away with a pizza stained napkin.

“They aren’t going to beat a man to death with chicken ‘cause he killed some dog.”

“Several dogs.” Bert snubbed out his cigarette.

“Marta, we should probably bail, huh?” Carl stood and slipped his coat on with Marta following suit right behind him. “Bert – thanks again for the meeting place and pizza and all.” He mustered a smile and nodded around to everyone but Steven.

Steven tossed his hands into the air. “OH, COME ON!”

“I should go to. Tracy, can I get a ride with you?” Connie stood and hugged Bert as he stood to show his guests out.

“What? I bet you fucking people believe everything you see on TV, too. Bert, fire up the internet. I’ll show you all this stuff is true.” Steve pointed to the computer.

“Let it go, man.” Tracy sighed and ran a hand over her head. “Maybe you should cab it home?” She motioned to Connie and the two of them started for the door with Carl and Marta.

Matt picked up the Nerf and dropped it onto the table. “Guess that’s it.” He moved to the door as well.

Bert shook hands and bid everyone a goodnight as they left. “Thanks again for coming.”

Connie stopped and looked back to Steven. “We’re your friends. You don’t need to lie to us and make up stories. We still love you. Goodnight, Steven.” She pulled her coat from the rack by the door and followed Tracy out into the night air.

Steve stared after the group then turned to face Bert.

Bert stared blankly. “A letter stuck on clothing, Steven?” He sighed and shook his head.

Steven slowly moved to the door, took his coat, and stared at Bert for a moment before stepping out into the cold, dark world.

Parkour Story

Meanwhile...

Todd slowly drops to the sofa and stares at the TV before him.

Parkour. He’d seen it in films and on TV often and was fascinated. “Urban Running” they call it. He watches the beginning of Casino Royale again and studies the opening scene intently. He notes the style and moves like he has done many times before.

The character in the film bounds through the scenes trying to elude James Bond. He leaps, slides, dives and swings through a complex series of movements. He bolts over tables with his legs before him and strong arms pushing him up and over. He hops and dives through small windows as Bond tries to keep up and catch him.

He’s agile and quick. He moves like a cat.

How hard could that be, Todd thinks. He’s strong. He has grace.

He grabs the remote, switches off the TV and DVD player, and stands tall. He wears his running gear with pride. Top notch and ready for action.

The weather is cool as he jogs towards the school down the street. San Francisco is alive with activity. People move through the streets in cars, on bikes and by foot. The sun shines through the clouds a warm breeze warms him as he speeds up his pace.

He tries a wall hop, leaping towards the wall to his right, catching it with his right foot, and springing off and forward a good seven feet. A classic Parkour move.

Perfect, he thinks with a smile as he runs for the school and up the stairs.

That’s when he sees her. Another jogger on the school grounds. She’s amazing. A ponytail swings behind her head. Broad hips move left and right with each running bound and her body shakes in all the right places.

He grins and moves towards her and the railing of the path she runs on. If he times it right, he will be able to dive over it and onto the railing on the other side – leaping directly over the path before her. Perfect.

He speeds up. It’s all about the timing. He glances over at her and takes in her form again with a sigh, then returns his focus to the railing before him. This will be an awesome way to get introduced. He pictures future dates. Friends they’ll share. The conversations.

“You met jogging?” they’ll ask over wine and cheese and amazing jazz music as the City twinkles out the wind.

She’ll smile at him, then look at the crowd before her and say, “He looked like a gazelle. He jumped OVER the path and onto the railing on the other side like SUPERMAN!”

The crowd will coo and swoon as he holds her tight.

Focus.

He speeds up again. He’ll need good height. He can do this.

Timing his strides, he plants his foot and leaps forward for the railing.

It looked so easy on TV, you know? Seemed like a matter of strength and timing. All about the timing and power. That’s what he thinks.

His foot almost clears the railing. He thinks he has the height, but…evidently he doesn’t.

His toe hooks up and under the railing and stops his leg, but not his body, which manages to clear the first railing beautifully. It arches up and over and his arms pinwheel out before him and grasp for the rail on the other side.

All about the timing.

If he manages to grab the rail, he might prevent his face from connecting with it. He doesn’t, of course.

His mouth connects first, then his eye follows as his head rolls to the side. His shoulder misses the railing completely, letting his hip take the full hit on the metal.

All about the timing, really.

He crumples before the female jogger in a heap – out cold.

Years later, after the birth of their first child, she tells the story again to all the relatives gathered for Christmas dinner. A combination of laughter and pity fills the room as Todd smiles an embarrassed smile. She goes into great detail making sure she remembers everything.

Todd’s bloody mess of a face. The ambulance ride. Todd mumbling through the gauze trying to ask for her number.

She looks over at him and runs a hand through his hair, remembering out loud how amazing she thought he was – still trying to chat her up after making such an entrance.

Her eyes fill with happy tears as her hand slides down his cheek. “He was like Superman.”

Good deeds

Meanwhile...

The thick blanket of fog drifted over the water, over the sand, over the street, and up Mike Lawrence’s hill under cover of darkness, then rested around his apartment and shrouded it in a blanket of cold haze. When Mike awoke, he slipped out of bed and tried not to wake his girlfriend, then slipped over to the window and pulled the curtain back ever so slightly to see what his City had in store for him.

“Crap,” he whispered.

Susan rolled over to face him – her head raised slightly off the pillow and eyes half open. “Foggy?”

“Yeah.” Mike sighed.

Susan’s head fell back into the pillow with a thud.

Showers, clothing, a small walk and coffee later, Mike and Susan parted ways and climbed onto different busses to head to different parts of the City. Susan made her way towards the Mission District and Mike towards downtown. The ritual was now commonplace among many San Francisco residents.

Mike stood in the aisle of the Muni bus and gripped the handrail as he thought about his life. He smiled as he thought of Susan and the sleepy conversations over coffee that they enjoyed every morning. Mike loved the consistency of the acts, but also enjoyed slipping in a little variety from time to time. Susan always seemed up for some variety. Mike snickered to himself and braced himself as the bus slowed to a stop.

Mike moved off the bus with the other morning regulars and pressed forward and off to the side of the sidewalk to avoid being run down. He glanced at his cell phone – the only way he had of telling time. His mouth slipped over to one side in a wincing gesture as he scanned the sidewalk and bushes. His hand slipped into his pocket and his fingers found the cardboard edge of the small package within it.

“Of course he’s not here today. Classic.” Mike grumbled softly, but not soft enough.

“Pardon me?” The man next to him looked agitated as if wondering what right Mike had to ask him anything.

“Sorry…no…nothing.” Mike smiled and the man looked away and down the street for his bus.

“Hey there, Mikey. What’s the plan of action for today?”

The smell hit Mike Lawrence’s nose before the words sank in. Pungent body odor with a touch of sour beer. Mike made note that some sort of deodorant might help this situation as well. Mike turned to face the jolly voice.

“Hey, Carl. Staying out of trouble?” Mike said with a grin.

“Oh sure…sure.” The older, “dwelling-challenged” man smiled back and looked like a slightly dirty and worn out version of Santa Claus. Mike had talked him into washing up at the rest rooms on Larkin and it seemed to pay off. Carl looked cleaner and that in turn made him seem a little less…out there. Homeless. Carl even said more people gave him money now that he looked more presentable.

Carl pursed his lips. “Good or bad day today?”

“Seems good?” Mike shrugged. “So far at least. How are you?”

“Oh dandy.” The man smiled and the sorry state of his teeth was revealed to Mike. Dentistry he couldn’t afford. This pet project would have to do without nice teeth. “Um…” Carl stopped and glanced to his right as if listening then nodded and sighed to the air and turned back to face Mike. “Right. You’re right.”

Mike was used to this by now. He waited patiently for the conversation to slip back over to him. He cleared his throat and took a moment to clear his nostrils of Carl’s scent as well.

“Mr. Lawrence, don’t take this the wrong way and all, but…you know…but, you able to afford all this stuff every mornin’?” Carl’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I mean, Stevie here has a point. You got a wife ta take care of and a life ta lead. You don’t need to take on keepin’ a hard case like me out of the ditch.” Carl laughed and Mike took another step back.

“I’m not married yet.” Mike winked.

“Matter of time.” Carl waved Mike’s statement way like a pesky insect. “Way you go on about her and all. Bah.” Carl giggled. “Love her like crazy. You take good care of her when we’re off and gone from here, you here?”

Mike nodded and giggled with the old man. His little pet project. The guy was probably a lot smarter than him, for sure. Mike wasn’t going to be able to keep this up if – he thought – when he and Susan got married and had a child. All his gifts would have to stop. Mike had a moment of sadness pass over him like the fog past over the City. Was it fair to provide things for this man, then rip it all away and just stop showing up?

Carl leaned to the side, listened to the air to his right, then nodded and straightened up again. “Stevie says you were lucky he was around ‘few months ago with that whole Susan bike thing, ya know.“

Mike snapped from his drifting thoughts. “Sorry? What was that?”

Carl looked to his right again, then back to Mike. “The other month or so. The BIKE accident.” Carl patted Mike’s arm, then jerked a thumb to his right. “Stevie said if he weren’t there she might have broken that flipper of hers. Lucky he was watchin’ out for her.”

Mike glanced reflexively to the right of Carl, then back. Sometimes, Carl almost had him believing someone was there. “Well, tell him thanks.” Mike smiled, and then thought this was the perfect time for the gift.

He reached into his pocket and slipped the blister packed item from his pocket. “Speaking of Stevie, I got you this thing so that you’re talking to him wouldn’t make people so…concerned. You know, when you walk by talking to Stevie.” He handed the pack to Carl and waited for the reaction.

“What’s this thing?” Carl opened the pack and a wire dangled from a small, ear bud headset.

“It’s one of those cell phone ear things. I figure you could wear it, then slip the cord into your pocket.” Mike smiled. “Brilliant, huh? Make it look like you’re talking on a cell phone, “ Mike slipped closer, “but, really you’re talking to Stevie. See?”

Carl eyed the device, then looked back to his right again. He nodded and mumbled, “That’s right – cell phone.” He shrugged and slipped the earpiece into place. His old fingers worked the small wire that kept the cord wound and tossed it to the sidewalk. He re-thought the act and reached down to pick it up again before slowly standing up again and sliding the cord into the pocket of his overcoat.

“How’s that?” Carl held his hands out.

Mike smiled wide and thought his plan was brilliant. “Cell phone. Yup.” He chuckled. “Works like a charm.” Mike nodded – quite pleased with himself. “Coffee and bagel morning or you want to try fruit again?”

Carl stared at Mike for a moment, then sighed. “Coffee I guess.” He looked somewhat sad and Mike hoped he didn’t offend him by trying to make him change and fit in.

“You ok?”

“Mikey, why do you try and help me anyway?” Carl’s eyes met Mike’s.

“Well, you watch my bike when I ride down here, right? Gotta pay ya something for that service, right?” Mike hunched his shoulders.

“You don’t think Stevie exists, yet you buy me little do-dads to make it easier ‘ta talk to him? You think I’m a loon.” He chuckled dryly, then coughed a raspy angry cough of an old man who’s been outside far too long.

Mike looked at his shoes, then back to Carl. “Just trying to help, you know? I like you, Carl. That’s all.” Again, the corner of Mike’s mouth pulled to the side in a little smirky smile.

Carl thought he looked like a big kid with that silly smirk. A good kid.

“Well, thanks. You’re a good guy, Mikey. Good man.” He nodded for emphasis. “Tell ya what. I’ll let ya buy me a coffee and banana today, but after that – fair’s fair – I get the goods when I watch the bike. You take that cash and by that lady of yours somethin’ nice.” Carl smiled. “You hear me?”

Mike grinned, then whispered, “Fair enough, Carl. Sounds good. Come on – you’re gonna get me fired if I stay out here much longer. I have to get up there to work.” Mike jerked his thumb at the building before him, then turned and moved towards the coffee stand in front of it and ordered two large coffee’s and two bananas.

Carl kept his usual distance and waited patiently for Mike to return.

Steven Cole, dead a good four years now, stood to the right of his long time friend and walking partner Carl Morgan and watched Mike do his good deed with a smile plastered on his pale, translucent face. He patted Carl’s arm and Carl glanced over. “That’s a good kid there. Good soul.” Steve glimmered to the right of Carl. He always walked on Carl’s right when he was alive. He saw no reason to stop now.

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07_Plans (Rev01)

MEANWHILE...


I watch as my careful plans fall away like dying leaves during the fall back home on T’sor.

I stare out into the dark and grind my teeth. Fire erupts from the burning ship behind me and I duck as our position illuminated.

The barren, grey rockscape before me crawls with THEM.

I watch with horror as Tac One is wiped out completely. THEY eat at the flesh and bone like a pack of ravenous wolves. Their scales glisten in the fire and moonlight as the horde’s slathering mouths seek out more to eat. THEY looked huge in the vids we reviewed before dropping, but THEY look bigger when you see Them from the ground they stand on.

I press myself back against the cracked and blackened bulkhead and drop slowly down to the ground and signal for the other two teams around me to do the same. Something has gone terribly wrong and I’m not sure what to do about it anymore. I try to stay icy and calm, but a thin line of fear runs through my body and it feels like tiny snakes are crawling over my skin under the Drop Armoplate I wear.

I sign to my Transmissions Op and he crawls toward me while his hand fumbles in the trans codes and boosts my gear signal. Smoke from the burning hulk that brought us here to A’md stings my eyes and the fires that rage around the ship make us far too easy to see in the haze.

I growl words into my gear and scan the area making sure THEY are still feasting on Tac One and not making their way towards us. “This is Lempor Algen Mas – do you read? Lempor Algen Mas to Coral Coras –acknowledge. Priority message. Out.” I think I mutter the phrase twice before they finally answer up in the Heavens.

“This is Lempor Tasit Kin – I read you Lempor Mas. We were trying to reach you earlier, but A’md’s damned moon is scratching out signals to Slan and back. Out.”

I grow angry at the calm in his voice. Safe and secure up there while we and our crashed ship get fed into the meat shredder down here.

Panic shoots through Tac Two like a wave of fire as THEY start scanning the hills in their direction. Tac Two looks to their weapons, then back to their fallen crew mates as if reason and the uselessness of the tools at hand are starting to clash in their brains. The armament is obviously not enough to fight off these numbers. Not without the promised and planned Second and Third Waves from the Coral Coras that we planned on – as yet unseen. We had this planned out. It was set.

I whisper, “I need the position of Waves Two and Three. We’re pinned down and THEY are closing. We have maybe five passes before THEY are on us. Out.” I look up into the star filled sky and search out the blue glow of the Wave’s thrusters, but all I see is a mass of stars.

“We’ve had to change plans, Lempor Mas.” I stare up at the stars as his words rattle around in my head. My mouth goes dry and disbelief creeps in around the edges of my spirit.

Tac Two – closer to THEM by a good 500 clicks – break and stand as the first group of THEM stand and start up the hill towards their position. Half the Tac stands their ground as trained and take aim with their weapons. They are expert shots and don’t waste ammunition by firing wild. They shoot at THEM with focused intent. I watch as the second half of Tac Two breaks into a run – fleeing. I don’t blame them.

THEY move like a flock of birds. All at once without a sound other than their gnashing maws and claw tipped mass of limbs, scales and fur. Their eyes catch the light from the fires burning on our ship and shine silver in the dead landscape of A’md. A place we don’t belong. THEY fall and die as bits and chunks fly from their heads, chests and bodies, but there are more that move forward en mass. They step over their brethren and move on toward Tac Two’s shooters. Towards the enemy. Towards the food.

No use hiding now. THEY have seen us.

Gunfire cracks and echos off the cliffs behind us. Some of the men turn and look to see if it’s our support team on high and are crestfallen when they see that no one is there. I feel sad for them.

“CHANGE PLANS?! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!” I raise my weapon and cut down an advancing creature before it descends upon a member of my team firing in the other direction. IT’s head explodes into a fine spray, but the momentary victory is cut short when three more rip through the man I just saved with their claws and…beaks. I fire into the group blindly as I scream, “WE NEED THOSE BACK UP SHIPS NOW!”

“We weren’t sure if that plan you and K’lys Ba Rak came up with was going to get us the results we needed. We’ve moved the Second and Third Wave Teams back into position at A’md Sett. Return to Coral Coras at once and regroup with them there. Out.”

Blind rage raced through me and I pressed forward through the haze of plasma and projectile dust and backed into what was left of our ship. I tried to find someone – anyone – who was left, but the surrounding area was all bodies and THEM feasting. For the time, THEY were busy filling their bellies.

I reload and check to see how many cart packs I have left as I hiss a stream of curses into my head gear.

“We have no ship! We crashed on entry! We’re overrun! You’ve killed us, Kin!” I move back into the ship until the fire heats my neck armor starts burning the back of my neck. I glance to my right and see the door to the hanger, but it’s smashed in at the top and I doubt it will move and inch. I’m proven wrong as I slide my blade into the frame and pull hard sliding it not one, but two inches before it grinds to a stop.

Lempor Kin’s voice crackles in my ear – the signal barely reaching me now that my Trans Op lays in a heap being torn at by THEM. “Repeat that? No ship?”

I rip the gear free of my helmet and pull two of the bangers off my vest unit. I start to think again as I give up on the idea of help arriving. I hiss, “Change of plans,” and search my area for somewhere to escape to. Somewhere to hide.

The ship rocks with another explosion as the last of the engines plasma fuel maxes out and shoots from the weak point of the pod. The plume of pink and blue energy lights the ground around me and I’m able to see just how bad this situation is.

THEY are scattered all around me – devouring.

I’m stuck on this rock. My plans hop-grenthed over and brushed away like unwanted dust.

THEY chew and rip away at my men and the only thing I can think about is how I can get THEM up to Coral Coras and into the bridge to feast on the real monsters. The real enemy.

THEY chew, then look my way. THEY stare with their silvery eyes and move towards me like a flock of wild, angry and ravenous birds.

06_Karma

Meanwhile...

The office buzzed with activity. Post lunch and post, post lunch coma was a magic hour for work. Some used that time to complete tasks started in the morning and get things done before leaving for the day while others spent their time trying to look busy for the next three hours until it was time to escape.

Frank Tate was a master of Looking Busy. He stared at computer screens, moved from one end of the office to the other with seeming intent, but his true stroke of genius was the Paper Walk. This involved moving from space to space with papers in hand and acting as if you were either on your way to deliver them or back from an important meeting with a new set of marching orders.

Frank clicked at his pen and shuffled through his latest stack of paper ploy, but stopped when he rounded the lobby desk.

Frank was transfixed and caught like a deer in headlights by what he saw before him. His jaw slowly dropped as he slowed to a snails pace and brought the stack of papers up as if reading them to mask his obvious staring. . He felt his heart skip and, for a moment, thought that this was the heart attack his doctor had warned him about for months. He looked around, then stopped by an empty cube and pretended to read.

Sonnie Fong swayed by the copier and sang something – he couldn’t quiet make it out. He moved closer, still holding the copies he had made and marking them with a pen as if editing, but he was just killing time. The hip movements hypnotized him. The song drew him in. She was a siren. He was sure of it now. This wasn’t appropriate behavior for the office –this lurid leering of his – but neither was a samba by the copier wearing something like Sonnie was wearing.

Her black skirt clung to her demure hips as she swayed. Her light blouse was sheer enough to make out the white bra she wore under it. He bit his bottom lip, sighed a blissfull sigh and moved closer to the swaying figure before him.

Sonnie moved her hips and softly cooed out, “When I saw you first the time was half past three…When your eyes met mine it was eternity…By now we know the wave is on its way to be…Just catch that wave don't be afraid of loving me…The fundamental loneliness goes whenever two can dream a dream together….” She held the printer like it was a dance partner and moved along with her little song.

“Enjoying the show, Frank?” The disembodied voice ran over Frank's spine like someone dripped ice cold water down his back.

Frank screamed. He actually screamed. It was a child's scream - something from the back of Frank's throat. His round body squatted slightly as if the flight mechanism was about to kick in and send him running out of the office for safety.

This was followed by the sound of Sonnie screaming. She spun around to face the embarrassed, red faced Frank Tate and his boss, Ron Marks. “WHAT was that about? You nearly gave me a friggin heart attack!" Sonnie's eyes narrowed and anger became very apparent. Her head lowered slightly like a bulls right before it charges - Frank's red face a sad, red cape substitute. Her impulse was obviously fight.

“Frank was just catching the wave, weren’t you, Frank?” Ron Marks placed a hand on Frank’s shoulder and squeezed. Ron's spash of Cool Cat Cologne caught in Frank's nose and burned. Ron’s smug face beamed. He thought himself charming, funny, and smarter than pretty much everyone else in this office of his. He was “The Man”.

“That song," Frank stammered. "I was going to ask you what it was,” Frank tried to keep eye contact, but broke after a moment and looked down at his crumpled fistful of papers.

Sonnie stared blankly. “The Wave,” she growled. Her eyes were cold and cruel. "Do you have my report yet, Frank?"

Frank smiled a wide, stupid smile. "I was just going to tell you - I have them right here." He raised the mess of papers in his hand.

"Thanks." Sonnie stared dismissively. "Maybe reprint it first. A copy that's not wrinkled and covered with your flop sweat would be nice.”

Frank waved the papers again, glanced at Ron, then moved off quickly leaving Ron giggling.

"Coffee?" Ron said as he smiled at Sonnie and adjusted his tie. His phone purred and he instantly forgot about talking to Sonnie, leaving her talking to herself as he snatched the phone from his pocket and pressed it to his ear. “Ron Marks,” he said in his official tone.

Sonnie – used to this after years of this sort of treatment - turned and faced the copier again. She jumped when Ron’s shrill, high-pitched yelp slammed into the back of her head like breaking glass.

“WHAT?! JESUS! When did this HAPPEN?!” Ron paced and ran his free hand over his head, yanking at the hair in back when hand completed the mad scalp scramble. “Vandalism? No shit vandalism!”

A few heads popped up out of cubes like Muscats on a prairie sensing danger. They saw it was Ron and popped back down into their cubes before his blind rage had them working more long hours.

“Ron?” Sonnie moved to Ron and folded her arms. “What happened?” She feigned interest.

Ron ignored her. “Ok…yes…I’ll be right there.” He ripped the phone away from his head and came close to throwing it across the office. Veins popped in his forehead. Sonnie thought he may even be crying.

“What HAPPENED, Ron?” Sonnie frowned. She’d give his a little slack, but her patience was wearing thin.

“Some FU-.” He stopped short, drew in a breath, and started again using a more office friendly tone. “Someone broke into my HOME and SMASHED EVERYTHING!” He kicked at the air. “Smashed things all over. Baseball bat. Killed all my fish! Set my BED ON FIRE!” Ron’s face flared. It looked like his eyes were going to burst from his head. Sonnie wished they would.

“That’s horrible. Is Kate ok?” Sonnie tried not to smile. She coughed and shook it off.

“She’s fine. She wasn’t there or something. DAMN IT.” It was obvious that Ron had not even thought about his girlfriend, Kate, or her well-being in the situation.

“Why would someone want to do that to you, Ron?” Sonnie cocked her head to the side and sighed furrowing her brow. “So wrong. Sorry to hear it. Crazy world.” She tried to keep from laughing and wondered if she was convincing.

Ron stormed off. “I’m out for the rest of the day,” he blurted out over his shoulder.

“I’ll let everyone know,” Sonnie said softly as she watched Ron storm off around the corner. “You dumbass.” She giggled to herself and basked in the visual of some wondrous soul bashing the hell out of Ron’s possessions. His beloved fish and that ridiculous tank whose base cost could have fed five families for a month. His gaudy bedroom where – she shivered – Kate would give herself over to that self centered scumbag.

A vicious smile crossed Sonnie Fong’s face as she snatched her copies from the machine and made her way back to her office. She felt bad for a moment and thought of what it would be like if someone did that to her home. The momentary feeling of guilt passed. “He had to have done something to get someone to that state. Guess there is Karma.” She grinned to herself and moved down the carpeted hallway on soundless high heels.

Frank walked up at the same time Sonnie reached her office door. He held a small, neat stack of papers in front of his chest and managed to smile without vomiting. “Got that report redone for you.”

Sonnie stopped in front of him and stared for a moment before taking the proffered papers. Karma, she thought.

“Thanks, Frank.” Sonnie smiled in earnest.

Frank couldn’t speak without croaking – he knew it. He released the papers and nodded with a smile turning quickly and moving off down the hall to avoid doing something else that would enrage this…Goddess. Maybe later he’d kill a goat in her name. Light a fire and dance around it or something.

“Frank?”

Frank stopped. He knew he should have walked faster. He turned and faced Sonnie. “Yeah?”

“I have a few MP3’s of that Wave song I was singing on my laptop. Want me to email them to you?” Sonnie flipped through the report absently. “There are a ton, but I have a few of the better….you know…versions.” She looked up and her eyes were soft. She didn’t want to lead him on, but also didn’t need Karma rearing it’s ugly head and smashing up her home.

“Um…sure?” Frank smiled. “That would be nice. Yes, please.” He stopped himself from gushing.

“I’ll send ‘em.” She waved the report. “Thanks for this.” She slipped into her office.

Frank smiled. “Cool.” He smoothed the front of his shirt, glanced around to see if anyone was around to witness this monumental event, then moved off back to his side of the office feeling a bit better about himself.

Quiche Lorain

MEANWHILE…

Pink light flooded in from the streets of San Francisco below and the smell of toast and oranges filled the air. Traffic zipped along outside and somewhere in the building someone vacuumed. The twenty by twenty space was warmed by a small space heater wall unit, but it wasn’t cold enough to leave it on right now. The city’s summer was here, for what it was worth and it wasn’t as cold as it had been back in January.
The woman ran her fingers through her hair shaking it loose and free. It had been up all day and it felt good to release it to roam wild – free from the pins and ridiculous little pink hat she was forced to wear.
She reached into a bag on the bed and removed the purchase she managed to sneak away after the days lunch rush to buy. She smiled wide as she laid it out on the bed, smoothed it out and picked up the scissors she had placed next to the bag.
She carefully removed the tags from and cocked her head to the side as she noticed again just how beautiful it was. She loved it and was glad that she had chosen to add this to her collection. It was exactly what she wanted. The color was perfect. The blue shimmered in the half-light of the small, studio apartment and brought a small smile to her face.
She ran her hand over the fabric and sighed. So soft and fine. She lifted the dress and turned to face the mirror. She had to have it on again. The dishes from dinner could wait. She slipped her uniform off and tossed it aside. It landed on a chair by the window and the name tag clacked against the pane. It read Quiche Lorraine – an homage to the B-52’s song that still confused her sixty year old boss at the diner.
Her curvy frame and pale skin caught her eye in the mirror on the back of the front door. She took a moment to stare blankly at her reflection, then snatched the dress up carefully and stepped into it. She treated the dress as if it were made from the webs of spiders and as if it could tear at the slightest wrong tug.
Once on, she ran her hand down the side and zipped it with equal parts of care and excitement. She drew in a breath and turned back towards the mirror.
There she was. Pale skin set off by the sky blue of the dress. Her sandy blonde hair fell down around her shoulders. Every big, beautiful curve accentuated wondrously by the cut and cling of the dress. She beamed – so very happy.
The studio was silent and cool. Outside, fog drifted along like ghosts. It found it’s way into her little home through small cracks and spaces in the warped window frame.
She glanced at the clock. She had to wake up and be back at the diner in eight hours. She supposed she could make it out to some bar or club to show off her dress if she pushed herself. Slink around like a modern day Veronica Lake? But, the idea made her shiver. She told herself it was far too cold and too late for such folly.
Her hands slid over her tummy and around on her hips. Her reflection smiled to her and the hum of the mini-fridge a few feet away made her sleepy.
This was a fine purchase. One day, she’d go somewhere and show it off. This and some of the other purchases she’d made in the past two years since she’d been here in this amazing city. The Gucci handbag she got for a steal downtown at Christmas. The shoes. The low cut jeans and baby t-shirt she got when she was feeling particularly naughty last summer in the Haight.
One day.
She swung her head around and looked at the clock in the kitchenette. Yes, it was indeed far too late to go anywhere. By the time she got there, she’d have to come right back home.
She slid out of her slippers and set the alarm on her cell phone and placed it on the table by the small, single bed. She straightened up and smiled at herself as she slunk towards the mirror. She paused in front of it and rested a hand on her hip. “Oh Baby…” she growled as she reached up and slid the bolt on the door. She giggled and turned after winking at herself and made her way to the bed again.
She sat on the bed’s edge, smoothed the dress out on her hips, then cranked her legs up and under the covers. When she had her next day off, she’d wear this dress...somewhere. She bet the bag would look great with it.
She smiled, pulled the covers up and reached over and flicked off the light.
She loved her new dress.

Sweet and Sour

MEANWHILE…


The restaurant hummed with conversation and was bathed in warmth and delicious smells from the kitchen. Waiters and waitresses fluttered around to tables and then back to the kitchen like bees heading to flowers then back to the hive. Small Chinese symbols of good fortune and happiness hung on the walls and sat on the tables. Groups laughed, discussed, and fought in both English and Chinese.

Ted and Cindy verbally jousted at their table – furious and sending cutting remarks flying with reckless abandon. Cindy’s eyes flared viciously as Ted smiled a cruel smile and took a victory gulp of beer still thinking about the most excellent point he just made.

“That was low. Really low, Ted.” Cindy’s lip curled into a sneer. “You knew we were old friends and that’s all.”

Ted replaced his glass then shifted forward in his chair. “You’re saying you didn’t play grab ass with him?” He arched a brow.

Cindy let her brow relax and leaned back in her chair. A smile played on her lips as her eyes locked on Ted’s. She licked her lips, and then whispered, “I was confused at the time, Ted. I’m not used to being with a man that I’m sexually attracted to, you know?” Her eyes narrowed. “I went with the feeling. And, I have to say, I’m glad I did. It was the first time in months that I’ve felt alive.”

Ted hissed, “Well played, Cindy,” and leaned back in his chair. His hand rested on his glass.

A busboy approached and slid two glasses of water in front of Ted And Cindy and smiled and awkward smile.

Ted continued to stare at Cindy and barked out, “I’ll have the orange beef and we’ll take the spring rolls.” Ted reached for his water and took a sip.

The busboy stared blankly, not understanding a word. It was his first day and all he was supposed to do is handle water and dishes.

Cindy kept her eyes locked on Ted. She was seething, but choked out, “Shrimp and oyster sauce. With Rice. Please.”

The busboy continued to stare, then he wandered off through the mini-maze of tables and back into the kitchen without understanding a word the couple had said to him. They were so mean looking.

Ted and Cindy remained locked in a silent struggle of hate for a moment, then something shook Cindy at the core.

This same thing had happened with Robert – an ex from the year before. This anger. This hate that came from somewhere deep inside of her. It was the same anger that she saw between her parents. The idea that she was turning into the same, angry person that her mother was scared her to death.

Cindy blinked, then looked down at the table. This wasn’t what she wanted. Wasn’t what they used to have. She wasn’t sure when it changed, but it was vastly different than when they first started seeing each other months ago and it was seemingly out of her control. This needed to be defused like a bomb. They were such good friends, but to listen to the conversation you would think the exact opposite. Something needed to be done. Something to defuse the situation. Reset.

Cindy looked up – her eyes wide and filled with horror. “OH GOD!” She clutched her throat and tossed herself out of her chair. She hit the tile floor harder than she planned. Pain shot through her arm, but she kept the play acting up, clawing at her throat and gasping.

“Cindy?!” Ted was up like a shot and down on one knee by her side. “What’s wrong? What happened?” He pawed at her throat and tried to see what the obstruction was, if any.

Cindy drew in deep breaths and tried to pace herself. She wondered what she had. What sort of illness was she playing at? She’d have to improvise. “Throat,” she gasped. “Water.”

Customers hovered around and belched out words of wisdom.

“Keep her head up!”

“Bend her over a chair!”

“Smack her back!”

Ted looked horrified. He reached for the first glass on the table and knocked it over in his panic. He focused and managed to grip the other glass of water and bring it to Cindy’s lips. She gulped at the liquid as small groups of diners filled in around her to see if they could assist.

Cindy allowed herself to calm down, showing that the magical illness was gone. She nodded and let Ted help her to her feet and into the chair again.

Ted stroked her forehead and cooed over her softly. “Are you ok, Baby?”

Cindy looked into his eyes and saw it. Something was back in his eyes. She whispered, “I think I’m ok, Ted.” She gripped his arm and frowned slightly. “Can we…get out of here? Go for a long walk and talk? Please?”

Ted saw something in her eyes now. Something he had not seen in a long while. Suddenly, things seemed more in focus. More important. Less petty. He smiled and brushed hair from her face. “Sure, Baby.”

Cindy’s arm throbbed. She could barely move the limb without pain shooting through it. Her eyes watered and she wasn’t sure if it was due to the pain in her arm or the warm feeling she had back for Ted and his care for her.

Ted dropped a twenty-dollar bill onto the table, waved off the service staff that asked about Cindy with a smile, then the two of them walked out arm in arm.

After an hour of serious talking, the two of them seemed back on track and on the same side again. They both agreed that they needed to be more attentive to their relationship. Treat it with a little more care and respect.

They talked some more as they drove to the emergency room and had Cindy’s broken arm set and slipped into a cast.

Ted stopped and got a movie on the way home for them to watch, then ordered Chinese food for the two of them after getting Cindy snuggled in on the sofa.

03_Zombies

Stanley Ankou slid the lever back with a click and watched as the doors to the facility opened before him like the gates of Heaven themselves. “Yeah, Baby.” He looked around with caution. No time for slip ups here. Not now.
A small red light spun slowly on a pole about fifty feet down the hallway. That must be his destination. He took a step inside and took a moment to peer around both doors. He didn’t want those things coming after him. Not when he was this close. The air was damp and musty. He knew they were around somewhere. But, right now he had data to gather and he needed to do it fast.
Another series of steps found him closer to his goal. And, found them closer as well. His eyes narrowed and the shotgun rose slightly. He listened.
The groaning started low and began to rise. Shadows danced down the corridor and up from the stairwells. The smell of rotting flesh filled his nostrils.
“CRAP!” Stanley brought the gun into play – spinning around and taking aim.
The horde came into view groaning and gnashing their rotting teeth. They ambled along the corridor and filled in the space between him and the Lab. No, he wouldn’t be stopped like this.
Stanley ran towards the spinning red light, gun raised and firing. He moved with grace and agility, but there were so many of the dead and so little shotgun shells. He tried to reload, but the undead descended on him like a swarm of bees. His final agonized vision was that of the red, spinning light and the lab mere feet away.
He had failed.

“Did you at least save? I told you, right? You need to get the grenades first, then hit the lab. You toss those suckers down there and blow the crap outta them first, then you just stroll into the Lab and your on to the next deal.” Mike grabbed another handful of popcorn and brought it to his mouth.
“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full.” Stanley tossed the controller onto the sofa and snatched up his beer. “And I told you that that wasn’t going to work because the toxics would go off and I already used…the mask.” He killed the beer and rose to grab another.
“Oh yeah.” Mike shrugged. “You done?” Another two fistfuls of popcorn disappeared.
“Yeah…for now. Supposed to go meet Angie.” Stanley popped beer open and took several swigs.
“Taking the bus?”
“Yeah,” Stanley sighed and drifted back to the sofa. “There’s a five fifty. I can take that down and connect to the 22 at the bottom of the hill. Should get there in time – no problem.”
“How are things anyway? Good still?” Mike rubbed the corn along the bottom of the dwindling supply of butter and salt at the bottom of the bowl.
“Naw, we broke up.”
Mike blinked hard. “What? Really?”
Stanley nodded.
“Why?” Mike shoved the bowl away.
Stanley slid the beer onto the tabletop and grabbed the controller again. “We were better as friends, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the TV with a blank expression.
“You ok?” Mike rested his elbows on his knees. “You guys are still hanging out, huh? It’s kind of a shock.”
“Yeah.” Stanley loaded the game and focused. “I’m fine.”
Mike nodded slowly, then turned his attention to the TV – his eyes dropping to the time on the VCR. “Gotta go soon. Going out with Sarah.” He leaned back in his chair. “But, I’ll watch you DIE one more time, then walk down to the car with you. I’ll give you a ride over if you want.”
“Cool – thanks. I’ll just bus it. I don’t wanna take you out of your way.”
“It’s Cool – I’m heading down there anyway. Getting her at work.”
“Oh…ok, well…sure. Ok – I’ll take a lift. Thanks, man.”
A zombie’s head exploded sending gore splattering along a wall in the game.
“Grenades, huh?” Mike stood.
“Might not set off the toxics if you head down the hall faster?”
“I’ll try that.” Stanley maneuvered his character down the darkened hallway.
“Cool.”

02_Battered

Meanwhile…
“One, two, three…”
The hammer came down again and again sending wood splinters flying in all directions. Bits of paint flecked bits flew up and hit against Spider Baby’s safety glasses and stuck in her black and gold hair. She brushed the dust and flakes off her t-shirt and coughed.
She thought back on the past night’s events, then dropped the hammer and picked up the steel baseball bat. Shouldn’t make her feel odd, what happened. It was all agreed on before hand and should have been fine, really. Even though it got messed up and the dog got loose. And the fire, well, got loose too.
The bat cut through the air and glass shattered and flew into a thousand pieces. She lost her grip on the handle and almost lost the bat out the front windows. Shit, that’d be the end of things for sure. She stomped over the glass, wood and porcelain shards and her heavy boots crushed small bits into smaller bits. She really should have had better gloves for this.
Spider Baby raised the bat again, took aim at the lamp then let fly. She missed, but connected with the fish tank on the follow through sending one hundred and fifty gallons of salt water and three thousand dollars worth of rare fish spilling out onto the fine wood flooring.
She felt bad about the fish. They were just innocent victims. Just like her.
She rested the bat on her shoulder, surveyed the living room, then nodded to herself and adjusted her glasses. One room down, five to go.

01_One of those mornings

Meanwhile…

Angie Lyst stared at herself in the bathroom mirror as she wiped away the streams of tears that flowed from her eyes like small, sad rivers. She glanced at her watch and her bottom lip quivered slightly in the yellow glow of the bathrooms light bulb. A small rubber duck witnessed the scene with a complacent smile on its beak – seemingly uncaring and cold to Angie’s feelings.
“Ok…you gotta go to work now, Angie lyst. You have to.” She drew in a deep breath and tried to stop crying. It was harder and harder to get out of the house each day. She thought that one day she might not even be able to leave. She’d be some strange, shut in type they’d eventually find after complaints of the smell.
She barked out a laugh and shook her head violently. “Ok…come on. Time to go. Just go and get it over with. You’ll be fine outside.” She swatted the rubber duck off of the sink with the back of her hand, turned and stomped out of the bathroom.
She had to act without thinking. That seemed to work best. She strode t the front door, snatched up her purse and keys, then gripped the door handle hard and turned it. A moment before she jerked the door open, she glanced down at her naked form and released the handle like a hot coal.
“Clothes.” She blinked.



The bright blue daylight streamed through the windows of the Express Café as Angie and her friend Sonnie Fong sipped their coffee in the window seat. Angie stared around the café with a blank expression and toyed with a dime – rolling it around her fingers and palm. Sonnie chattered like a bird, but Angie didn’t mind. Not today. Made it easier not to have to talk.
“So, I just looked at him and said that he better just shut up and put the DVD on before I put my clothes back on, you know? He always pushed it.” She sipped and glanced over at two hipsters who stared back with smiles on their faces. “Eavesdroppers,” She said with a growl as she tossed her shining black hair at them. “So, what’s up with you? You were late again. Ron was grumbling about today. You better watch it.”
“Yeah.” Angie nodded and looked at Sonnie and her perfect skin, eyes, hair, and outfit. On top of all that, she was sweet, cute, friendly, helpful and nice. If Angie didn’t know her so well, she’d hate her. “I’ve been having issues. Just tired, I guess.” The dime dropped to the table and Angie stared at it a moment before picking it back up and rolling it though her fingers again.
Sonnie nodded. “More sleep. Or, more coffee. Something. How’s Stanley?” She looked back over at the hipsters and re-crossed her long legs. She loved the attention and loved hating them for looking. When Sonnie looked back over to Angie, the dime was gone.
Angie swallowed hard. “He’s fine.” She took a sip of her coffee and sighed. “He’s trying.”
“He’s always trying.” She glanced at her watch. “We should get back to work.” She gulped the last of her coffee and stood, making a show out of straightening her skirt and blouse.
Angie crawled up out of her seat and swept her copper red hair back over her shoulders. “Ok…let’s get.” She took two steps and smashed her leg on the table. Her balance lost, she stumbled two feet to the right and flipped over the table there, sliding the three glass coffee cups and their contents to the floor.
Angie sprang up and held her hands out before her. “Ok…ok...” she muttered as if trying to stop two children from fighting. “Ok, yes. Sorry about that. Sorry.” She laughed out loud when she saw the three shocked faces staring at her. It was rather funny, even though she was the cause of the chaos.
A team of Express Café workers dove into action, asking is Angie was all right and trying to see if there was any legal recourse that could be avoided. Angie begged off, thanked them for their concern, then she walked out quickly before anything else could happen.

Sonnie stared Angie all the way up in the elevator. Concern showed on her face and she didn’t seem to believe Angie when se told her everything was fine.
“You’re a wreck. You should deal with this stuff before it gets worse, you know.” Sonnie touched the cuff of Angie’s coffee soaked sleeve. “Nice.”
Angie glanced at it as the doors opened. “It’ll clean up.” She stepped out of the elevator and into her boss, Ron Marks.
The two bounced off each other and regained their footing – each looking the other up and down.
Marks was obviously annoyed and used this as a springboard. “Angie…hello. How are you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I was looking for you earlier, Angie. I really need to see you in here at 9am. We have a lot going on right now and you showing up and 10 and 10:30 just isn’t going to work, ok? Can you make it in by 9? Maybe car pool or get an earlier bus? It’s really important. We have to present a unified front to Kaufman and Clain and not knowing where you are or when you’re going to be in makes it tough. Ok?” His freckled face winced and he rubbed his chest where Angie’s elbow had hit it. He blurted out, “Are you ok?”
Angie blinked, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead. The office noise filled her head. She looked to her feet, then she looked up again up again choking out, “I have a dime in my body right now.” She pointed to her stomach.

Learning to Fly

Sometimes...I think I can fly.

Then I fall down and the remembering begins.