The Cat Man

Thump, thump, thump. A knocking erupted from the front door throughout the house. An old lady in her seventies waddled down the steps to her foyer and peeked through the peephole in the door. Through the viewing device she could only make out a large grin with stubble all around it. Oh no, she thought to herself, what could this man possibly want? She checked herself in the full-length mirror by the door it’s not proper to look shabby when greeting people she felt. Then she undid the main lock and opened the door.

A burst of breeze and sunlight bounced around the room. One might have felt a light happy musical tune off in the distance saunter in with the air and light and take a seat by the entry table. The tune whimsically observed the old lady and the man on the other side of the portal. He wore a loosely fitted brown plaid wool suit with a dirty well-worn fedora on his head. He had a touch of stubble on his face, as if it had been a day or two since his last shave. His eyes radiated a serine blue, which felt calming. He had a dark grey satchel draped over his shoulder.

“Hello there and what a lovely day it is. The sun is shining. The breeze is blowing. The clouds are playing in the sky. My name is Gerrod Fantingue,” his words came out in rapid-fire succession. The old lady was finding it hard to keep up; he seemed to notice this and slowed down just enough that she was still barely gripping on. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing on your doorstep today? I bet, you’re thinking to yourself, what could this somewhat shabby, yet debonair man be wanting with me. Well there are so many reasons I could be here, it’s near unfathomable. But the real reason is I’m here to sell you a used cat or two! It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss?”

She stood there, mouth agape. Mr. Fantigue looked around the foyer, and then decided it might be better to inspect his fingernails. After a length of time she finally seemed to catch up to the current point in the conversation.

“Ruth,” she said cautiously, “Did I hear you correctly? A used cat?”

“Ah Ruth, a truly wonderful name. I once had a grandmother named Ruth. Can’t go wrong with a name like that. And yes you did. As I was passing by, I noticed a distinct lack of creatures of the feline persuasion about your property and figured that we ought to rectify this toot sweet.”

Ruth wasn’t sure how to respond to this. The only thing that came to mind was that this man wanted something more than what he was letting on to. She decided caution would be the best policy. “Um. I don’t need any cats. As you can see, I’m old and fragile, I wouldn’t be able to take care of them.”

“Ruth, Ruth, Ruth. Do I look like I would be so insensitive? No, no, no. Like I said these are used cats, they can take care of themselves. I think I know the perfect one for you in fact.” He turned his back on her took off his satchel and started digging around in it. “Now, I know he was in here somewhere, I just saw him the other day… Oh where are you. Fred? Fred! There you are.” He turned back around and in the palm of his hand sat a very old looking miniature cat.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with that.” Ruth said to the man.

“Course you wouldn’t! You’ve probably never received a used cat before. It’s simple, just put him in the sink and run water over him, in no time he will be up to the right size. He knows how big he’s supposed to be.” The cat looked up at Ruth and smiled. “And look he already likes you.”

“I don’t think I can afford a fancy cat like that.”

“Afford? Afford! No Ruth, there’s no charge for used cats. They’re used. Already been paid for once. No need to pay again. This guy, Fred, be sure to get his name right, they get ever so testy if you don’t, is yours.” He handed the cat over to her. Before she had time to say anything back he was already walking away from her house.

“Wait!” She called after him. “I can’t take this cat!”

He just smiled and waved over his shoulder. The tune got up off the chair by the entrance and laughed heartily and spun out into the sunny day. Ruth took the cat into the house and closed the door behind her. She walked into the kitchen and put Fred into the sink.

“Well now Fred, lets see if we can’t get you up to size.” She said as she turned on the faucet.

-V-

The Sociopath

Is it possible for a sociopath to explain love to another being? I suppose it’s possible. I don’t want to believe that I’m completely devoid of feelings, and I’m not. I just lack moral responsibility and social conscience. More simply put, if I were to step on your foot, I would feel nothing, well other than the sensation of a foot under my foot. I care not a nanny what you feel. Empathy is for other people. And morals? They are a waste of time, if you ask me.

I have no idea when it started. Perhaps when I was a child, the summer my hair went from completely straight to a sort of frazzled wool look. I was eight years old. An A+ student, if that can be said of an elementary school student. I was very studious and was able to entertain myself for hours.

I wasn’t the sort of kid who would pull spiders legs out, or burn ants with a magnifying glass or anything. I kept to myself for the most part. Sometimes I wonder if the people who influenced me during those years even really existed. There was a boy John who taught me if one is bigger than everyone else, then they would get whatever, usually with some extra force, they desired. A quick wit can help you, but the brute would always beat the silver tongued. There was a girl named Gwen who I thought I had affections for. She taught me no matter how much one chases something they still might never get it, if she even existed that is.

My memories are so hazy. I don’t know if it’s a side effect of my psychoses, but I have really no memories to define me like other people. Everyone else seems to be able to readily pull to his or her forethought events and feelings that happened weeks and years ago. I don’t know if any of my memories are real anyways, they always seemed to me like they happened to other people anyhow. I always felt like I was just an observer in the room watching the events unfold. It was similar to watching a movie, you might find yourself hoping some particular set of events happen, but in the end you don’t honestly care what happens. It’s just a way to while away the long tedious hours of existing. I wonder from time to time, if everything in my head was just implanted by some bastard; playing a trick or gaming with me.

So the question now becomes, why am I sharing this with anyone? Well truth be told, I love the attention. I would say it feels good, but it’s more that it feels good to know I can trick other people into wanting to be near me, around me. I couldn’t care less what they feel, so long as I can trick them into thinking that they need to share it with me. It’s quite a delightful game.

There’s power in knowing other peoples feelings. I have been able to use information like this to my advantage many times before. Well I don’t want to give away too many of my secrets, so I’ll leave it at that.

-V-

Gallopen (Part 1)

The sun was setting gingerly on the horizon, leaving a purple sheen on the meadow. A lone snake-wasp was lazily making its way over the creek running through the center. Hints of lilac and honeysuckle wafted lightly from a small natural flowerbed recently sprung up by a twisting creek. The creek was filled with many tiny sinue fish chasing each other around. Small accents could be heard from the clear water as it passed over the moss-covered stones. Very close by, under the only tree in the area, a lone figure lay sprawled out on the tall grass, hands behind his head. He had been very still for the past few hours. One might have even believed him to be sleeping, but closer inspection would find his eyes wide open and full of wonder.

Vough was staring at the clouds passing overhead. He couldn’t help making each one out to be a different hero or battle his grandmother had told him about in stories. His blue eyes reflected back the remaining blue of the sky that the setting sun hadn’t overtaken with purple. He had a mess of brown shoulder length hair, which for the most part fell straight down from his scalp, and today it created a strange halo on the grass above his head. He was concentrating heavily on one particular cloud overhead now. He saw it as Klingu, a mighty sailor whom tracked down the beast Farknor and slain the beast when it had taken Klingu’s only child.

Vough had heard many stories from his grandmother, usually as he sat cross-legged by the hearth while she would make some awful concoction in her cauldron. The townsfolk generally regarded her as a witch, but she would always dismiss this and tell Vough, “People try to place names on things they don’t understand. They feel that by naming something, it loses power. If only they knew, in giving a name alone, they actually give it power.” She was a wise old lady.

He knew it would be time to head back home soon. As soon as the sun touched the horizon he would need to be back home. One wouldn’t want to be caught out in the open plains in the dark alone. Everyone knew the stories about the Feld, a catlike race of beings that preyed on the unsuspecting. Vough’s own father had run in with them when he was young and managed to escape with scars down his side and months of physical recovery.

He picked up his knapsack and padded down the trail that lead back to his family cottage. In his mind he was on a great adventure to the Harrows Land well beyond the Graphite Forest, only rarely would a bard or random traveler come from this part of the world, but the fables they told would leave stars gleaming in the eyes of all the young in the village. In his imagination he would meet other warriors and slay mighty creatures to assure the safety of people all around him.

He was pulled out of his daydream by his grandmother’s call, she was yelling from the window, her head extended out just enough to be seen down the road. He picked up his pace and sprinted for the door. He imagined the Feld were now chasing him and the only safe haven his family stoop. Upon landing there all reality took its proper place around him and he went inside for supper.

-V-

Dry Spell (Part 2)

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He pulled off his glasses to absentmindedly clean them with the corner of his lab coat. “At the current rate of ‘devisoration,’ as we are calling it, lakes and rivers will be completely dry within two years. The oceans as deep as we believe them to be, will be dry within ten years. We have our top minds on the problem, but as of yet we have no solutions as to the cause or long-term effects. We are working night and day to come up with a good solution. We will let the public know as soon as any progress is made. For now all we can say is try to conserve water as best you can.”

The room erupted into a cacophony of reporters’ questions and outbursts. The presidential seal appeared on the screen, and then the world fell silent for a short time. What was going to happen now? Would we be living in a strange new land, were lawlessness takes over? The only thing I was sure of, things were about to get real abnormal around here.

I rushed to my front door and ripped it open, plunged outside and stared up into the sky. Nothing looked different: clouds, airplanes, the sun; all was in order and normal. I reclaimed the feeling that this was all just a silly hoax. Someone was having fun at my expense.

“Do you believe it?” A voice drifted over to me from the apartment next door. “I mean, can it really be true? Are we finally doomed?” The questioning voice emanated from my neighbor, Tia Capucine, a late twenty-something bombshell of a girl. She was perhaps five foot four inches tall, had chestnut brown hair, which was pulled back into a tight ponytail that just went past her shoulders in length. Her skin was a creamy dark olive and her eyes were a deep brown and had energy emitting from them like burning embers.

I have had a thing for this girl ever since she moved in two years ago. She was a graduate student studying history; specifically ancient Mesopotamia sparked great interest in her. She seemed to be very intrigued by the Fertile Crescent. I can’t say I much cared for history, but for her I’m sure I could learn volumes on the subject.

“I’m not sure what to believe right now,” I responded, “I mean, it’s sort of unbelievable. One day they just decide to drop an information bomb on us of this magnitude? No, I’m pretty sure someone is having a good laugh, much like Orson Welles infamous War of the Worlds radio broadcast.” I smiled reassuringly at her, but she looked pensive nonetheless.

“I wonder,” she said, pondering the question, “I called a few people at the university in the chemistry and biology departments that I have made friends with. I think they have seen data that corroborates the story.”

“You’re putting me on.” I jovially answered.

“Not at all,” she said seriously, “I’m pretty sure these guys wouldn’t lie to me. And think about it; what if all this ‘global warming’ hype was really us misunderstanding the intrinsic issue, just like we need water to sweat out to stay cool, so does the earth?”

-V-

Read Part 3

Fireflies (Part 2)

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There are others here, some peaceful, some very angry. We converse on occasion, but nothing too steady. I guess when you know you have an eternity to talk; keeping constant contact doesn’t seem so urgent. A few other points I feel necessary to clear up. Yes we can walk through walls, doors, and any other object you can come up with, including the cemetery fence. We are however unable to cross over open running water like a stream. I have no idea why, but it just feels like an impossible wall to pass. Much like trying to push yourself through solid concrete. On the other side of it, we can absolutely pick up and move objects just like any living thing.

There was a new presence in the graveyard tonight. I can’t really explain how I knew, but it’s a feeling we get, much like how one would know when there is a unwanted guest in their home. It’s like a tickle at the back of my mind or an itch that just can’t be scratched into submission. Something had invaded my space and I needed to find out what it was.

I decided to first check out Amaranth Abby, it always seemed like a common haunting ground for new acquisitions and living interlopers. When I came up to the back I found the usual grumpy apparitions hanging about, complaining about how things were when they were ‘younger’ ghosts. It’s sort of funny as after death it’s all about how long you’ve been dead, nothing really changes when you cross over.

Balser, my favorite haunting buddy, was hanging out in the corner of the Abby. This man had seen it all as far as American history was involved; he had even fought alongside General George Washington. I’m pretty sure his family is the reason the cemetery exists at all. Balser seldom talked about his days among the living, but when he did, the stories about Washington were always the best. That man had a certain level of crazy that commonly gets dubbed as eccentric.

“How fare thee Balser?” I called out to him.

“Oh, you know, still dead. And you?”

“Eh? Not too bad I suppose, been feeling a certain presence around, how about you?” I asked back.

“Oh that. Yes, there’s something about tonight. But I think it’s over on the other half.” Union cemetery had long since been split between an eastern and western lots due to the ever expanding need for more places to put people to rest. We were interned on the western site. Luckily it was a short flight over to the eastern.

I didn’t much like going over to the eastern section, as one would have to go past Babyland, a particularly saddening portion of the cemetery. The cries of all the infants stuck in the hereafter, they would never really know why or what for. Perhaps they were here for all the mothers who passed in childbirth, those specters would croon and nourish the little ones as best they could. They seemed so happy to do so. I would always pass by this part in silent reverence.

-V-

Read Part 3

Nightmare

I had just walked through the front door of my apartment after a three-week stint assisting my psychology professor. She was touring colleges giving a lecture on abnormal reactions to value enabled systems. Even after hearing the lecture twenty times now, I still have no idea what that means. I threw my luggage in the corner and wearily sauntered up the stairs to my room. In the hall outside my door my roommate was seated napping by my door. He had a cake in his hands with welcome back poorly written in blue icing on it.

It’s nice to come home to cool roommates, not like the last one I used to live with. My old roomie was the reason I had decided to get into psychology in the first place. He had so many odd ticks and strange ways of doing things. I’d say a severe case of obsessive-compulsive disorder would be the most apt description. When he would get home, he had to flip the lights to main room three times and walk in backwards. If anyone else didn’t do this, he would chase that person out of the door screaming on the proper ways to enter the house. Lets just say my social life suffered greatly that year.

I was ready for a well deserved nap, but decided I might want to brush my teeth first. I had a feeling my breath could slay dragons at this point. The bathroom was situated across the hall from my own room, which made for easy drunken nights when I needed to find the toilet in an inebriated stupor. I was not prepared for what I found on the other side of the door.

The bathroom was in a shambles; the sink was ripped from the wall. The toilet toppled over into the bathtub. Water was rushing all over the floor and in the corner sat a figure. It was my old roommate, laughing or crying, which one I couldn’t say. He was hunched over himself when I came in, but on hearing my entry he looked up and stared wild-eyed at me. He pulled out a stick with razor blades affixed to the end. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran down the stairs as quickly as my legs would let me. Hearing yells of glee and splashes behind me, I was sure he had begun pursuit.

It had not occurred to me that my new roommate might be in trouble. Perhaps he wasn’t just sleeping? I needed to do something and fast. I ran to the kitchen, there should be something I could use to defend myself there. It struck me as I entered. There was a strong odor seeping around the room; someone had left one of the gas stoves on. The idea quickly formed in my head, albeit not a terribly good idea, one that would work. I waited just outside the kitchen in the back alley. Lighter and roll of paper towels in hand, ready to strike at first sign of him.

He came into the room eyes ablaze, weapon in hand. I knew it was the only way out. I lit the paper towel roll and lobbed it into the open kitchen door. I was blown back against the alley wall with such intense force I couldn’t breath for what felt like minutes. Fire was billowing out of every window of my apartment. No one could have survived that blast.

Then it hit me: murder and arson, I had just committed some pretty heinous crimes. Sure I could claim self-defense, but I would probably end up in jail for some amount of time. I’m not one for that type of place, so I ran. I’ve been running ever since. Perhaps you’ve seen me on a street corner, or in another country, I don’t have a name anymore, well at least not one that I will ever say out loud, I’ve become a ghost among men and its time for me to hide again.

-V-

A World Alone (Part 4)

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I get this car going? I get myself out to the airport as fast as I can. Runways are a great place to test your mettle, long and flat and straight. I pull the car to the end of the runway. I let the engine rip away, the car stutters and grips the tarmac. The speedometer rises with reckless abandon. I get it up to 150 before I realize that this is stupid and extremely scary. I start braking, but the breaks lock up and I spin out of control barreling down the runway spinning. Real fear rips into my heart.

I think back to my original assessment that this whole situation is a dream. Right now this is too real. I would have surely woken up by this point. The car goes off the end of the runway, I’m in grass and dirt, it comes to an abrupt halt as it smashes into a large pole that I assume pilots use to assist them getting planes safely on the ground. I pass out. Not sure how long I’ve been out I awake in the car still, my whole body is sore. I’ve never been in this much pain in a dream before. This can’t be a dream.

Reality sinks in. This isn’t a cruel joke, this isn’t a dream, this just is. I get myself unstuck from the inside of the car. No broken bones, I’ve had those before. I’d be sure if I had any. It’s a long walk off the runway, but at least airports have rental car places located nearby. I find a reliable car, and zip off to find food. For some reason the hunger right now is greater than I’ve had the whole time I’ve been here. Perhaps I passed out for a longer than I originally thought.

I find a grocery store and ransack it for anything that is easy to eat and satiate myself. After I stuff myself, I sit in the isle and stare into the middle distance. I think, is this really it? This is how it ends for me? I’ll be without anyone to converse with, to hold, to touch, to share my life with. Alone. I wonder what is it all worth then? Why even bother? But that’s not the way to think. It’s not futile. There will be something, possibly someone out there, eventually. I just have to be okay with myself until then.

I find acceptance in my own head. I figure if someone eventually comes either I’ll be here, or I won’t and I should leave something behind for him or her. So I start to paint. I start to record music. I create. I build sculptures. I find that I by myself will be okay. Acceptance. At that precise moment, everything starts going dark, my vision, my hearing, and my feeling. It’s as if I’m slipping through a very fast tunnel. Sucking my through, compressed and free at the same time.

I look up and there she is. Staring down at me, tears in her eyes. “You’re finally back.”

“Back?” I reply.

“Yes!” She exclaims. Her warm tears fall on my face.

-V-

Flametips

The sun was saying farewell to us as the fire we had just set up awoke grumpily. James was lying on the ground breathing life into it, being careful to keep his face somewhat shielded by his hand. The trees around us slowly snuck back into the shadows, they would get caught in the light every once in a while by a wisp of flame more daring than the others from the blaze. My friends and I had been coming out to the wilds once a year since we were old enough to set up a tent and be trusted enough not to set the entire area asunder in charred remains. We had pulled large logs from the nearby fallen trees and set them up in a circle around the campfire, just close enough for warmth and vision.

It was traditional for us to trade stories at our annual meeting. Generally they were awful tales of debauchery, corruption, and immorality. Perhaps this was our way of cleansing ourselves of the human condition we didn’t feel quite right calling ourselves a part of? Who knows, I was half the mind that most of these stories were made up. In our youth, the stories were usually some sort of horror tale, the scariest one we could think up, but as one ages we tend to know that most of them are a pack of lies and don’t let ourselves fall for them.

Already a few anecdotes and fables had been relayed, it was now my turn, but this year something unusual happened. Before I could even get my first word out an unknown person in the circle began speaking.

“I will tell you a story of Earth Mother and Field Mouse.” We all turned, confused, to our new companion. None of us were frightened by his appearance; there was something very soothing about him being a part of our circle. Without asking I knew his name, Mr. Jeam. Perhaps he had different names in different places or situations, but right now I knew that’s who he was.

“Field Mouse was playing in his field enjoying the summer day. He ran to the edge of his field and stood on a large rock. From here he could see far and wide and he would dream of going out into the vastness before him. ‘Oh how I wish I could go far and see great things,’ Field Mouse said aloud. ‘You are a field mouse,’ replied Earth Mother, surprising Field Mouse. ‘You must stay in your field and live your life as a field mouse.’

“Field Mouse did not like this at all. ‘But if I wasn’t a field mouse I could go anywhere I wanted!’ He yelled back at Earth Mother. ‘Perhaps,’ she answered, ‘but you are what you are, and you must be what you are.’ Field Mouse was unhappy with this. ‘But you are Earth Mother,’ he said back, ‘you can change things. Can’t you help me see the world?’ She stared at him a moment and nodded.

“Father Eagle came out of the sky and plucked up Field Mouse, digging his talons into Field Mouse’s sides, and pulled him up into the sky. From here Father Eagle flew Field Mouse farther than he had ever seen before. In Field Mouse’s dying moments he felt true happiness that he had finally seen the world.”

With that Mr. Jeam stood up and walked into the shadows. We all sat pondering his unusual story. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand what he was trying to tell any of us, but I felt touched by the story nonetheless.

-V-

A World Alone (Part 3)

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I need to get out of her house, think of the places she might be. I hop into my car and start it; the next few hours are a blur. I drive to every haunt I’ve been to with her, every place she has described in our long talks that we’ve had. No one is around, not a single person anywhere. I drive frantically, nearly out of control to each of my usual haunts, searching for some one, any one. Perhaps someone I have seen in passing, someone I know. But the streets are empty, the places closed and locked.

I start to think this is some really cruel elaborate joke. I start screaming, “Okay guys you got me. You can come out now!” I know terribly cliché, but what else have I got. My mind falls back to all the Twilight Zone episodes I have watched where what seems to be happening in them is happening to me. Perhaps this is just a really bad dream, a nightmare? I don’t know. I try to will myself awake. It’s never worked in a dream before for me, so I know it is a futile attempt anyways.

Logically, I am left with two conclusions: either this is a dream and I will wake up soon enough, or this is not a dream and I’m alone out here. The easier to accept option lands in my mind as a focus. This has to be a dream; everything will be okay. I just have to make it till I wake up. What would I do, I ask myself, if I were all alone in this world? The answers start coming in quickly.

I go to all the places that were restricted before. Every closed door I have ever wondered what was behind it, I open. I know there will be no consequences. I take a trip to D.C. and wonder through all the hidden parts of the Smithsonian’s. I explore congress and the hidden places in the archive. Days stretch on. I drive out to Area 51, and search through it. Surprisingly there’s nothing there of any real interest. Sometimes my imagination fails me, oh well. I go back home after months of searching around. I rack my brain for things to do, but everything I think of I’d rather be doing with someone, sharing memories. Boredom starts to set in.

Then it strikes me, I have always wanted to drive on the roads at really high speeds and see how good I am at driving insanely fast. I would need a really good car though. I remember driving 350Z, a well to do friends car, it handled like a dream, had great pickup and grabbed the road like it was no ones business.

I drove my crappy car to the closest dealership that would have one of these cars. Breaking into the dealership is really easy when you’re sure no one is coming to take you away. I find my quarry and quickly get it going and out onto the road. I rip through the city at defying speeds. It gets to the point that I start to scare myself at how fast I have always been willing to go on these roads, but fear of loosing my license or hurting someone else has kept me from doing so.

-V-

Read Part 4

Glimpsing a Moment

The air was musty and light, it had just finished raining only moments before. The sun was finally finding small pathways through the dense clouds and speckling small parts of the ground around us. The air had cooled considerably due to the rains and a light fog could be seen in the trees in the distance. We were all sitting around a table silently waiting for someone to kick the conversation off, but no one seemed to want that honor.

“Strange weather we are having?” The person to the left of me finally ventured.

“Oh, I don’t know, seems to be par for the area,” I replied, “This time of year, one needs a jacket, an umbrella, shorts, pants, t-shirt, and long-sleeve shirt everywhere they go. The weather is a bit psychotic around here.”

“Yeah,” they responded back, “I hear it’s tornado season as well.”

I rolled my eyes and thought of all the high winds and loud sirens that would be ruining my spring days. It had already been a relatively extreme winter, and now it looked like we were heading into a spiteful spring. I have found that I’m easily weather affected and this was not looking good.

Quickly tiring of discussing the weather I explored other possibilities of conversation at the table and found myself drawn to the creature sitting across from me. She sat introverted with her eyes closely appraising her hands. She ran her index finger of her left hand around each digit on her right, slowly seeking up to each tip and down into each valley. When she would get to either her pinky or thumb, she would work back the way she had come. I found myself entranced by the movement; it looked soothing.

She looked up for the briefest of moments and our eyes connected. It must have been too much for her; she hastily averted her eyes back down to her hands. I found myself compelled to continue observing her. I wanted desperately to find something else to lay my attention on, but I couldn’t. She opened up her frame and looked back into my eyes, this time with more fervor. It may have only been for another short second, but we were locked into each other, time suspended.

Her eyes pleaded with me. They showed me depths I could only slightly understand, depths that have no words for describing, just a bunch feelings that make no sense together. I had an overwhelming sense of sadness impressed upon me. It was the kind of sadness you can only see in someone when you have known great loss.

She made an attempt at a smile, but her eyes betrayed her. It felt like looking into an infinite abyss, I could see my own sadness reflected back. I just stared wishing there was something I could do. Wishing we could really share our sadness and excise it somehow. She tried her smile again, but to no avail. In an instant the pause was lost, we both looked away and knew the moment would never come back. We knew that our sorrows would be our own to deal with.

-V-

A World Alone (Part 2)

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I whip around the house and find her spare key, let myself in through the back door and call out her name as I mount the stairs to the second floor where her bedroom is. There is no response. I fear the worst. The door to her room creaks slowly under my touch. I crane my head in, every second an eternity, as I will myself to search the room.

I’d like to believe that she is as organized as I am. I tend to lead a very bohemian lifestyle. I try to only have the few items I need and everything else is discarded. My usual rule is if I haven’t seen an item in three years when I do come across it, I throw it away as it was just taking up space. I can always get a new one if the need arises.

Her room is piles and piles of books and clothes. Everywhere in the room is a general disaster. I really don’t want to go poking through her items, but what if she’s near suffocating underneath one of these mounds. I don’t know if it’s possible, but each buildup is certainly big enough to contain her. I figure the best way to handle this is simple prodding with my hand into each assortment, if I feel something that is other than clothes and books, I’ll investigate further, otherwise move onto the next pile. Each mass seems devoid of her, and I am relieved with each one I go through, but in the back of my mind this does not help. The slipping in the shower theory rears its head in my thoughts. I quickly abandon her bedroom and rush around the corner to the bathroom.

The bathroom is empty and unused, not a drop of water lingering on any part of the shower. A thought occurs to me; perhaps she was at a party last night and hasn’t returned yet. So I grab my cell phone out and start dialing furiously. Why hasn’t it occurred to me sooner to try calling her? Oh right, I like to surprise people. I’ve always felt the little things; the ones that make being with someone special are the unexpected little surprises. The ones you think back on for years and years, the ones that remind you that that person means the world to you. If they tell you they are going to do something, I feel a bit of that is lost.

The phone rings and in an instant my heart drops. From her bedroom I hear the sonorous sound of the ringtone she has set for me. She never is without her phone. It has practically become a part of her. Everyone that knows her will describe her as the girl in the corner on her cell phone. I don’t know what to do. I panic. I run through the rest of the house, looking in every nook and cranny. Nowhere. No signs of life anywhere.

I pull out my phone again and call the only person I know to call when I have no idea what to do. My mother always answers when I call, never fail. She always knows the exact thing to say to calm me, all the way back to when I was a child. In fact, just hearing her voice is enough to make me relax. The fifth ring goes by and I begin to worry more. It ends up going to voicemail. This is not helping my current emotional state.

-V-

Read Part 3

A World Alone (Part 1)

The day everyone disappeared. I was lying in bed, awake, as usual. Every night for the past week I would lay down and my thoughts would start to run away. Insomnia can be a real killer. Each day starts to blur together, and time doesn’t feel as real as it used to, two days ago could seem like weeks; a month ago, only yesterday. I would sit there and wonder if this was some type of omen. I would leave the window open and stare out at what few stars I could see. It seems no amount of words can really explain feelings.

Finally the sun was coming up. I figured I would drive over to her house and wake her up with the present of a Red Bull; she was always on my mind. Anywhere I would go, something would remind me of her. A plastic flower in another girl’s hair, a scent would drift into my car, as I would drive at night to try and tire myself out, a random dog sitting on the street corner, a glittering object in the distance, every thrift store and bookshop. Anytime I would see something I knew she would like I would be sure to go out of my way to acquire it for her, cost or trade, it didn’t matter.

Even the car had a scent of her lingering from the previous night. Just hanging in the air as a reminder of the possibilities, the dreams, the joys to come. Key in ignition, it started as it always had, a click, a sputter. The engine jumped to life. I was excited; I’m always excited to see her. My heart skips a beat just thinking about it. Calm down, I tell myself. I put the car in reverse and begin the journey to her home.

Traffic seems exceptionally light, in fact, I don’t pass a single other car. Is it a holiday? No, I think I would have remembered that. But then again, my memory is kind of shit at times. Perhaps there’s a motorcade coming through town today, and I missed the bulletins, but then there would be police blocking my progress. I turn on to her street. Her car sits just outside her home. I know I’m just moments away from seeing the girl I adore beyond any I have known before.

Drinks in hand, I mount the steps of her porch and knock on the door. There is no reply. I try again, but this time I bang on the door, figuring she is just asleep. Five minutes go by, then ten, then twenty, and no response. I am getting concerned. I know she keeps a spare key tucked away in a fake rock hidden around the back of her house. Her and I are not quite to the point of really being in each others houses without the other present, and certainly not uninvited, but something feels really wrong. What if she fell while taking a shower and is lying there by the bathtub, life leaving her, and I’m the only chance she has of survival. I figure, in this case my trespass can be safely excused if I’m wrong.

-V-

Read Part 2

Things of Value

John watched as the Fredrick’s left their home Saturday morning. They placed their two children in the car seats in the back of their immaculate yellow sedan. William Fredrick placed the luggage in the trunk of the car, opened the door for Joan and closed if after she was seated, but not before leaning in to give her a kiss. With a large grin he wriggled in to his seat and started the car, it jumped to life with a near silent cat like purr. William laughed heartily to a joke Joan had made as the drove off.

John had been casing the Fredrick’s house for weeks now; it was on his long complicated route of houses that he would watch regularly looking for his opportunity to pounce. Tonight would be one of these nights. There was a gleam in his eyes as he got the feeling he always got before a job and tonight was going to be extra special. An apprentice had found him and wanted to watch him work, so he happily agreed to it. John had pride in his work and was happy to share his talents and know-how with newbies. Plenty of houses to hit and so little time, having more people doing jobs didn’t bother him much, and well if he ever really needed an out he could probably pin his job on an apprentice.

The new guy’s name was Fred, he found John through a close personal friend of John from his short stint in juvenile detention, where he learned so much more about his craft than any other place. Fred showed up just after sunset as John had instructed. They nodded at each other and Fred followed John up to the house and watched intently as broke in. They entered and John moved around swiftly collecting items he saw. Fred looked dumbfounded he didn’t understand what was going on.

“What are you doing?” Fred whispered with as much emphasis as he could.

“I’m taking things of value. What did you expect?” John replied in normal conversation volume. “Why are you whispering? There’s really no one around to hear us, and I know they don’t have a security system.”

“Well fine,” Fred spoke conversationally, “Why are you taking these items? I mean, a silver thimble, a piece of clay with a kids hand print in it, all the baubles sitting in that ashtray?”

“I’m taking things people value more than just stuff. That television set over there. It’s nothing. It can simply be replaced for a price, but these things, they are memories. There is no way to get them back.” He said with an evil smile across his face. Fred stepped back slowly, this was not what he had signed up for. He was in it for the money; this guy was obviously a sicko.

“Um, well if it’s all the same to you, I have a thing,” Fred said as he looked at his watch. He really felt a strong need to get away from this guy. Of all the things he learned in his life, number one was ‘you don’t mess with the crazies’ and he wasn’t about to break this rule now.

“Well, okay. Are you sure you don’t want to stick around and learn more?” John was a little put off looking, but he didn’t seem too bothered by this upcoming departure.

“Nah, I’ve really got to be going. And don’t worry about calling me, I’ll call you when I have time to shadow you again.” With this John seemed pleased. Fred left in a hurry and had no plans of ever getting back in with this guy.

-V-

Which Way? (Part 1)

“Gentlemen, Let me be the first to thank you for attending my little experiment,” the white haired man stated in an almost fake sounding German accent. “As some of you may already know, my name is Dr. Hantzle von Shultenheim. You may refer to me as Dr. S, if it so suits you. You were all already made aware of some of the details of this trial, and I would like to let you know that you have the next twenty minutes to decide whether or not you would like to continue. I will however state that once the trial is started, there is no way to stop it until the full cycle has passed.” He paused here with raised eyebrows. Dr. S scrutinized the fifteen candidates seated in front of him, each in turn. No one made any movements or seemed to have any questions, so ventured on.

“Due to the nature of exercise, we cannot guarantee that everyone will be completely safe. In other words, some harm may come to the participants.” With this news nearly all the members started to get out of their chairs to leave. Noticing this Dr. S quickly added, “that being said, we will be offering twice the compensation we originally quoted.” Everyone in the room froze and pondered the new information.

“Just how much ‘harm’ can come to us doc?” One of the more burly candidates asked carefully looking at Dr. S.

“Well you know, accidents happen. Anything really, we can’t guarantee any safety at all, to be profoundly clear.” With this information, eight of the men stood up and started for the door, leaving the strongest looking seven behind. “I would like to add,” he hastily said, “that any successful participants will be receiving a bonus equal to four times the new payout.”

This new information stopped three more before they got out the door. With careful consideration on their faces they came back and sat down.

“Excellent. We will get started in just a moment. First we must secure the building, but before we do that, I must ask that no one refer to anyone else here by his real name. If such an infraction happens, you will be penalized, at the very least by not receiving any compensation. I’m afraid I’ll have to be very stern on this one as it’s an integral part of the trial. Under your seat you will find an envelope, inside you will find a name, which shall be your name for the rest of the trial. Memorize it! It is terribly important. Feel free to converse and take part in the refreshments,” he said gesturing towards a table in the corner overflowing with food and drink, “I’ll be back shortly to get things underway.”

The men pulled out the cards underneath their chairs and found the names they would be using for the rest of their time here: Dagger, Bilbo, Dao, Pulwar, Talwar, Krabi, Falx, Aruval, Arit, and finally Patu. All of them were confused by the names, but started introducing themselves to the others being sure to use their new monikers. One thing was clear to all of them; things were probably going to get real interesting very soon.

-V-

Foundation Shift

“I asked you to come here so I could tell you a secret I’ve been carrying with me for nearly all my life now.” Wheezing and rasping she said, the brittleness in her voice made it seem like her vocal chords were about to give out at any moment. Lying in her hospital bed, one could sense that she knew innately that the end was upon her. She paused for a moment and examined a necklace that she held in her left hand. The adornment on it was a little girl in a spring dress wearing a wide brimmed hat. The brim covered the tiny girls face in such a way that one wouldn’t be able to make out the statuettes expression.

I sat scanning the old lady. One could see the weathered age on her deeply lined face. Perhaps in the past she would have tried to fill in the crevasses with copious amounts of foundation, but now she was well past the age of trying or caring. I thought it genuinely helped make her look younger than she really was. Her skin seemed to be one or two sizes to big for her now, as the wrinkles continued down her neck and could once again be seen creeping out of her sleeves down to the trinket in her hand.

Perhaps the smell of the hospital room was getting to me, but this didn’t seem like my mother. Sure she looked like her, and smelled like her, but something was different, peculiar. And where did this necklace come from. I had never seen it before. It looked old too.

“Mother, What are you getting on about?” I inquired. She didn’t move her eyes from the pendant. She just sat in silence for a while. Eventually she turned her deep blue eyes upon me.

“Now this is very serious. Everything you know, or think you know, will forever be altered.” As the words poured out of her mouth I felt a strange pang in my stomach. I was sure this was the ‘I’m not your real mother’ speech every child fears their entire life. I get that it would be hard, but this woman was my mother, by blood or not, and would always be that to me.

“Mother, I think I know what you are about to say and I can assure you that it doesn’t matter.” I said as I took her free hand in mine, consoling her as best I could.

“It most certainly does. You are a changeling boy.” She sat and stared me directly in the eyes.

“A what?” I responded.

“A changeling, your father is fae. And you; a half-breed.” Internally, I started laughing. My mother had finally lost it. “I can see in your eyes you don’t believe me. Take the necklace, boy.”

“Are you thinking of my iron allergy, mother?” When I was young I had a bad reaction to a ring a friend let me borrow one summer. I haven’t touched the stuff since.

“Allergy? Hah! Take the necklace.” She blurted. I figured I would humor her; a little rash on my skin wouldn’t be too much trouble to show her that she was becoming senile. When I took the necklace in hand, it burned and not like holding your hand over a candle. It felt way more intense, like a hot poker pressed against my skin, it shot straight into my soul with a fire so clear that I could only focus on the pain. She saw my reflex and pulled the iron away. All the energy she had mustered up for that last challenge seemed to drain her completely.

“And now?” She questioned as her eyes were shutting. I had no idea what was happening, my world was indeed changing completely and faster than my thoughts could keep up with. Perhaps it was true. I seemed to be aging very slowly compared to other people. I still looked like I was in my mid twenties, but I was well past that now.

“What should I do mother?”

“Find your father, Whelcen, you have so much to learn about the other half of yourself. Look inside and you will find a path to him. You are linked by blood.” She was becoming much more faint at this point, but she pressed on, “the only advice I can give before I go is, don’t accept any presents or hospitality unless you can return them in kind. I love you son.” And with these parting words she passed. Now I was on my own to piece the other side of my life together.

-V-

Neurotic

“Hello!” she screamed, startling people from their various perches and places around the fountain in the center of the town square. One man was so alarmed that he fell ass-over-elbows into the water behind him. Danielle was giggling and prancing around the area much like one of the lost boys. One would assume she was only twelve, but she was really in her early thirties.

“Oh boy!” Dani, as she preferred to be called, looked wide-eyed at the person in the fountain. She had an enormous ear-to-ear smile perfectly plastered on her face. “Swim time!” She bellowed and proceeded to jump into the fountain herself. She ran around the poor man drenching him even more than his initial fall into the fountain.

“Danielle!” He yelled as he lifted his soaked body out of the water, “what are you doing?”

“My name is DANI!” She screamed back in protest, “Dani, Dani, Dani…” stomping her feet in the water each time she said her name. “Why can no one remember this? Do I need a name tag? Yes! That’s it. I need a name tag that reads Dani, in big sparkly letters, then everyone will know.” She continued on this train of thought out loud, but no one was listening anymore.

“Everyone already knows you Dani,” the man in the fountain responded, exacerbated and giving extra emphasis to her shortened name as he said it. “Why are you here at the fountain?”

“Oh, that’s simple,” she said back as she tapped her index finger to her nose. She continued in this gesture for a minute, not offering any more dialog.

“Dani!” The man screamed.

“Hah, had an itch and now I got it. You ever wonder where unicorns go when they fly off into the sky?”

The man stood aghast, watching Danielle, now spinning in pirouettes not paying attention to anything in particular. He began to rub his forehead as the inevitable headache was forming near his temples. “First off, unicorns don’t exist. Secondly, if they did exist, they wouldn’t have wings to fly with. That was Pegasus from Greek mythology.”

“Oh yeah? What would you know?”

“I’m a professor at the local university! Of course I would know…”

“What if your Pegasus and a unicorn had a baby, then it would be a flying baby unicorn, duh!” She interjected before he could finish. “Aaaaaaaannnnndddd… if monkeys could do arithmetic they would know that one plus one plus one plus one minus two is, how you know where to go when the sun goes down,” she finished the statement right behind his ear.

The man whipped around to explain how completely nonsensical all this was, but as he came to rest in her direction, she was already far away skipping down the street singing slightly out of tune and startling birds perched on the electrical wires nearby. The man soothingly rubbed his temples. “One day I’ll educate her… one day.”

-V-

Captured

Found recently in an abandoned storage building in Chad, reprinted for legibility:

I write this on day twelve of my internment. The conditions are worsening and I fear not many of us will get out of this alive. With this concern and a heavy heart I lay down what I hope is not my final testament. To my friends and family I place these words here in the hopes that they never need to be read by them. I hope it will offer some consolation and record of the events that came to pass in the case that I don’t make it back.

My envoy was on its way to Ati, Chad. I was planning on writing a very serious article investigating the human trafficking out of Africa and was narrowing down on one of the key parts of the trade. I had hired out two bodyguards and one guide to get us around the country. I had just located a source that was willing to meet with me. Our envoy was travelling with three other tourists and one diplomat heading to a new appointment in Chad.

From what I can gather, we were just a few kilometers outside of Ati when the ambush took place. A hiding semi truck smashed into the first vehicle in the convoy. From there one could hear screams, guns, and see flashes of bullets. My ears started to shut down and everything became a blur of slowness. The bodyguard sitting next to me in the back of our vehicle took a hit, I would guess in an artery, and I was drenched in syrupy blood. I could feel it drip down my face, and the taste of iron entered my mouth, one doesn’t tend to think about keeping their mouth closed in these situations. Once most of the initial shock had passed we were all pulled out and secured with our hands behind our backs. I could feel the ropes burning against my wrists. Hoods were placed upon us, if only I knew this would be the last time I would see the sun, I would have tried to take it in more.

The darkness of the ride to our holding area was jarring, I’m pretty sure I was lying next to the dead bodyguard, his lifeless body weighing in on me. There were many bumps and turns, but it all blurred together into a nightmarish surreal trial. We were then thrown into separate cells. Very confined spaces. Concrete. It couldn’t have been more than six feet in any direction and no way to find any comfort. There was some repugnant hay on part of the floor, perhaps their idea of a place to sleep or feel some sort of comfort.

At night I hear the screams from the others who were with us. The sounds become weaker and sadder each time and I’m sure there are less of us now. Every now and again they pull me out and yell at me in a language I don’t understand and find new ways to torture me. I haven’t eaten any food since we were brought here. The only water I have had, I found dripping down the wall. It tastes like mold and sorrow, but for survival, one would be surprised what they are willing to do. I’m amazed they haven’t found my moleskine and what’s left of the pencil I keep hidden in the cell.

I hear them coming for me again. I hope someone finds us and frees us soon. I miss you Jenn, my love will always be with you. Hans and Jenny, daddy loves you.

-V-

Detached Day

Myra sat at the bench in the park all alone, staring into the cloudy sky. Sadness was clearly written across her face. Normally on days like today she would imagine the clouds as different animals, but today she just wasn’t feeling it. She tried closing her eyes and letting the light breeze sooth her, but it just tickled her hair against her cheek and annoyed her. None of her usual tricks were working. She crossed her arms and frowned.

Looking out over the park, not many things going on; a twenties-something playing catch with his dog, two older women power walking their way to calorie bloated lunches, and a ally cat staring up intently at some baby birds chirping away in their nest. Myra was startled when the man next to her first spoke, she hadn’t noticed him approach and he didn’t make any sounds prior this.

“Lovely day for a sit, isn’t it?” His voice came off in dulcet tones. He sat cross-legged next to her and looked to be in his late forties. He wore a time ravaged suit that was once black, now gray and tattered, and a top hat. His skin was a luminescent pale white, but he had amazingly dark features otherwise. He gave Myra a crooked cat like smile, which showed off is impossibly white glowing teeth.

“What the hell? Who are you?” Myra bellowed, she was very taken aback by her new companion. She had no idea how he got there, and how he did it so silently.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He stood up, took off his top hat and bowed, “People call me Mr. Hume. It’s a pleasure to meet you… miss?” He held the bow with his hat behind him waiting on her response.

“My name is Myra.” Myra so caught off guard and dumbfounded by this display that she responded before her mind could stop her. Damn, she thought immediately after the words were past her tongue. Mr. Hume smiled at this, placed the hat back on his head and took his place next to her once more. She decided she wasn’t going to let this strange man ruin her day any more than it was already, so she chose to just ignore him.

“You look so sad Myra. Why do you suppose that is?” He asked looking off into the middle distance. He didn’t seem at all too interested in her actually answering him. This agitated Myra to no end. Who does that? Why does he care? Or not care? His body language was too hard for her to read. She was usually very good at reading people; she prided herself in being able to do so. She figured what the hell, this conversation might be at least a distraction, and well, while he looked creeperish, he seemed harmless enough.

“I’m not sad, per se. I just feel so alone.” The words surprised Myra as they came out her mouth.

“Alone? How can you feel alone? You have so many people vying for your attention all the time.” He responded.

How would he know, Myra thought, but as if under a spell, she found that she couldn’t stop the dialog. “Well yes, there are a lot of people in my life, but I only take from them. They offer me so much, they are like my toys, and it’s too easy.” Why was she saying all this? Deep down she knew it was true, but she would never let it cross her lips.

“True, why do you treat people like toys?”

“No!” Finally she felt a little control coming back, “It’s just, no one really challenges me, or if they do I rip them apart.”

“That sounds queer. So no one is in the same class as you?”

“Yeah, I’m unique.” This, this was what she knew to be true. No one was like her, could ever understand her. This was why she was alone.

“No, you know everyone wants to be unique. Everyone wants to be special. You know what’s funny about that?” He only waited long enough for her to ask, but continued on without her saying a word. “That’s what makes everyone the same. We all share that.”

“No we don’t. I’m different from every one else, no one feels alone like I do. Trust me, I’d know.”

“And how would you begin to know how other people think? You’re only concerned with controlling them, treating them like playthings, you don’t actually care about any thing other than yourself.” His words hurt, but he had no contempt in his voice. He was just stating fact, and she knew it. She felt alone, because she was alone, but only insofar as she actually wanted to be alone. This didn’t make sense; she didn’t want to be alone. She’d read the fairytales, she’d seen the people who were happy and had friends, they weren’t alone. Was she alone? She was so confused now.

“You see, until you learn to try and understand people, really understand people, you will feel alone, but know that, because of that, you’re really not alone. You’re just like everyone else who’s just like you.” She turned to respond, but he was gone, disappeared like smoke in the wind.

-V-

Heart of Revenge (Part 1)

The night air was dank and cold. This was my fifth night out here waiting for the drop. I'm not one who likes to be kept waiting, but my boss insisted that I pick up this package. He assured me the delivery would be here soon. A set of headlights appear in the distance and I get my hopes up just like I have the last twenty times cars have gone by. The car doesn't slow down, but in fact picks up speed so that the wind starts gusting by me and I get a chill deep in my bones. Pulling my trench coat tighter around me I try to stamp some feeling back into my feet. I figure it's going to be another long night and settle in against the wall.

I wasn't always into hanging out on cold street corners. I used to be a regular Joe, working a standard nine to five. I had a wife and kids. I was living the American dream, until one day it happened. I don't much like talking about it, but lets just say everything fell away in a single night. Now, I really don't have much to live for. That's when I picked up this gig. In the business I'm what you'd call a sinker, I take care of things for people, no questions asked, no answers given. Tonight was no different, other than the fact that it's been going on for the past four nights. I think someone just wants to make me sick, but whatever, the pay is too good to pass up this time.

All I know is the drop is supposed to be some organs for a big fish cutthroat. He's been on death’s door for some time now and I think he's scouring the streets trying to get himself new kidneys or a new heart, if he ever had one in the first place. Normally I don't have this many details, but the person who hired me seemed to have pretty loose lips. That’s a very dangerous affliction to have in this business.

I'm not put off by any of these sick bastards discretions, but I generally don't like to know. Anyway, once I get the drop I'm supposed to jet it personally up to the 112th floor of Chimay tower and collect my pay. Then it’s back to scouring for more cash anywhere I can find it. I'm only halfway to my goal, revenge can cost so much these days.

Just then, a car screeches to a halt in front of me. It’s some type of Chevy something or other, all black with mirrored windows. Real discrete, I think to myself as the window lowers. It's Eddie, essentially a hatchet in a leisure suit. He had brown hair at one point in his life but now it's a mixture of grey and some black dye. His eyes are creepy as hell, one cloudy grey and one jaundiced green, it seems he took a two by four to the head as a child. He never said who did it, but everyone assumed it was his father. His face contorts into a crooked smile and he says, "Ello William. Wat yous doin' out 'ere?"

"Oh you, know, I just love hanging out in the cold, I was actually waiting for your mother to come along and give me a blow job."

His smile quickly disappears. "Look 'ere, ash-hole, I's don 'afta take this shit from the likes of you.”

“No but your mother does…” I say with a big smirk. I can tell this has really set him off. I decide to go for a more tactful route, "Sorry mate, it's just too damned cold out here, I've been out for hours on this corner. You need something?”

"Wat? Me? No. But you do, it's in 'e trunk." He proceeds to pop the trunk from his dashboard.

I walk around and pull out the only thing sitting in the trunk, a little Styrofoam container. As soon as I close the trunk he guns the engine and speeds away. Great, I think, I can finally get moving and get my ass out of the cold. Not having a car in the city can be a godsend, sometimes. Not right now though. It was way too cold for this. Luckily, I was near a subway entrance and could get out of the polar air quickly.

-V-

Read Part 2

Dry Spell (Part 1)

“NEWSFLASH!!! An important announcement will be broadcast on all stations in ten minutes…” it read across the bottom of the screen on my television set. I wasn’t paying too much attention until a loud beep started coming from the set. Whatever it was, it was not a test. So I sat patiently, waiting. The screen cleared and I was looking at the white house backdrop. Oh no, I thought to myself, we were finally in a full-scale war with one of the many countries our government has wronged along the way. Or possibly some fanatical group was crazily trying to make a name for themselves, or any other number of insane plots that would lead us down yet another abyss for our economy and lifestyle.

I waited the longest five minutes ever sitting there staring at the flags slowly saunter in the background. It was the only movement on the screen, very eerie. Finally the President walked into frame and up to the podium. I could feel the tension in the pressroom permeate into my living room.

“My fellow Americans, and people of the world, it is with great urgency that I must make this speech. Some people may have noticed the recent changes. It is on a very small scale at the moment, but I have been informed it will reach global proportions very soon.” He paused to take a drink of water; one could see a visible quiver in his arm as he did so. “Our top scientists and those from around the world have confirmed that our water table is reversing itself. Simply put, rain is going in reverse. I cannot explain the reach or implications of this information, so I will turn the podium over to a top American scientist who can explain further. Dr. Schmeckle, if you please.”

My jaw dropped. I ran over to the calendar that sits on my desk in the office. It was certainly not April first, and this was not simply an elaborate joke. I could not hear any laughing though my television from the pressroom either. This was real. I started getting text messages, left and right, from friends, obviously news was travelling fast.

Dr. Schmeckle eased onto the platform soundlessly. He was improbably old looking, but you could see a youthful fire in his impossibly blue eyes. He wore a traditional empowering white lab coat, but lacked all the other traditional mad scientist accoutrements. I was honestly hoping for rubber gloves or welding goggles; the best I was going to get were a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that he wore. His hair was slicked back with copious amounts of gel and was as white as freshly fallen snow.

“As you have already heard the President say,” His voice was low and hearty, “The water tables are reversing. In essence, clouds are no longer depositing rain on the earth, but rather sucking up water like a sponge, and then it is disappearing, we’re not sure how.”

-V-

Read Part 2

An Exercise in Dialog

Emily sat at the table, practically placid, waiting for Michael to return. She double-checked her face in a compact mirror she grabbed out of her clutch. She had spent hours plucking away stray eyebrow hairs, drawing in new ones, applying foundation and an assortment of other layers of colors, around her eyes and on her cheeks. For all her work, she looked mostly the same. For her this was a crowning achievement, the natural her, only better.

She shifted a little and assessed her outfit. Had she perhaps overdressed for the coffee date? Looking around, almost everyone else in the establishment wore skillfully distressed blue jeans and t-shirts with profoundly contemptuous messages printed on them. Her outfit was a traditional little black dress (which every girl in America owns), with patterned black tights in a knitted motif, and the random assortment of accessories: two bracelets, short silver earrings, and a silver necklace with an ouroboros (a snake eating it’s own tail) dangling just above her neckline. She would have put her hair up in a bun, but she was told that it made her look too stern once by a previous suitor. Instead she wore her shoulder-length chestnut brown hair in a playful and inviting ponytail.

Michael pranced up to the table, two coffees in hand and did a little spin before sitting down. Trying his best to look elegant, he came off as just a bit queer and awkward. He was very angular with high cheekbones and a strong jaw line. He was also relatively tall, just over six feet. His eyes were a strong emerald green in the center and bled out to a grey-blue on the edges. He had short-cropped dark brown almost black hair unkempt and a little longer in the front (It gave him an almost emo look, but not so much that it would be the first thought in your mind). He wore neat, dark blue jeans that were well fitted and a button-down grey shirt not tucked in. He took a deep breath and set a mug in front of Emily.

“Here you go, Chai latte with a splash of skim milk and I have a caramel macchiato, extra foam. Oh how I do love the foam.” He paused with a far off look in his eyes and smiled a little, “So you were able to find the shop easily enough?”

“Yeah, your directions were really easy to follow, even the bit about turning right at the big donut man in the sky.” Michael chuckled at this. Emily found it hard to maintain eye contact, his eyes felt like they were piercing through her. It was as if he was trying to memorize every detail of her in the shortest time possible. It felt both flattering and a touch creepy. She continued, “So what do you do for a living?”

“Oh you know, a bit of this and a bit of that.” Michael smirked a little at his response.

“Not really.” Her face switched from a smile to a slightly pensive look. Emily was a little tired and weary of mysterious guys now, the last one she had been with was so much of a conundrum that she never felt like she was on any stable footing with him. As it turned out, she wasn’t; she found him in bed with her best friend, ex-best friend now.

Michael quickly caught on, he knew his mystification act was going to be a no go here. He hadn’t tried it in a while or if ever really, and then he figured he could just try being real with her. His smile disappeared for a moment and he looked her in the eyes, “I work in acquisitions for a large clothing firm. Essentially, I buy fabrics from around the world for the design teams to use and create interesting new lines.” He smiled again when he noticed that Emily wanted an answer more like this.

“Oh really?” She chirped, “That sounds so interesting. Does that mean you get to travel all over the world?” The excitement was well in her voice now.

“Uh no I’m afraid, we are sent samples from textile firms all over the world. I inspect them in an office under fluorescent lighting, day in and day out.” Michael could see Emily deflate a little, so when in doubt, ask the girl about herself. Michael learned early in life that everyone likes to talk about their accomplishments, and hell why shouldn’t they, that’s why they are called accomplishments. “So… tell me about yourself?”

Emily thought for a second then sputtered out in quick-fire succession, “Well, I’m an interior design major. I live near campus with two roommates. My parents are divorced now. Shrimp is my favorite food. I like to go out dancing. I like to go on road trips. I enjoy small social gatherings with friends. I not much of one for camping, but I do like strolls through forested areas.”

Michael was taken aback by all the information that was so quickly shot at him. He decided it would be wise to just pick one topic from her list and feign excitement for it. “So, interior design. That’s fascinating. Why did you pick that?”

“Well, when I was much younger, my parents had an old interior design book sitting on our coffee table. I was overwhelmed and speechless looking at the designs by Frances Adler Elkins and Dorothy Draper. I would spend hours just staring at the photos. The elegance and boldness, future and past, merriment and misery all spoke to me in ways I still don’t understand. From the moment I held that book I guess I knew, that’s what I wanted to do, and it hasn’t changed one bit since.”

“Oh wow,” was all Michael could lamely muster at the explosion of her passion for design. He continued asking her questions as best he could, and tried to echo the energy that she was showing as they delved deeper into her interests. With each new question, they leapt further down the rabbit hole. Without realizing it, time had passed by swiftly for the both of them.

“Excuse me,” a barista in a dirtied smock had meandered up to them, “we would really like to close the shop soon, and well, we did lock the doors an hour ago, and well, I’m tired and you know it would be nice if you guys could wrap…” He became more and more voiceless as he continued.

“Oh my!” Michael blurted to cut him off, fearing that this might go on indefinitely, “would you look at the time, I suppose we ought to get going. Emily, would you like me to walk you to your car? It looks like it’s become darker while we’ve been sitting here.” The barista stopped mumbling, smiled, and walked back behind the counter.

“Yes, that would be wonderful,” Emily beamed. To her, this finally felt like the beginning of something worthwhile. She actually hadn’t felt this good about a new meeting with someone in a long time. They collected their things and exited the shop.

-V-

Fireflies (Part 1)

The wind is rushing by. My ears can barely hear anything else now. Screams and heat is all around me. Warm sticky blood is trickling down my forehead and into my eyes. As my vision is becoming blurrier, I can tell that my arms are broken in multiple places. I try to get to my feet, but my legs are trapped underneath one of the many seats strew about the upturned car. Everything goes a searing white for a moment or perhaps hours. I can’t think straight, only the pain is at the forefront of my mind. I think about my family, will I see them again? The cacophony slowly becomes quieter, perhaps I’m becoming used to the horrible sounds around me. Then everything fades to black.

I am once again conscious, but I’m no longer in the train car. Every day it’s the same nightmare, well as much as one can have a nightmare during the day. It’s been the same thing over and over again for 150 years. One may be wondering how that’s even possible? I do hope you’re not thinking that I’m a vampire. Don’t be silly; those only exist in the minds of conspiracy theorists and people who watch to many teen heartthrob movies. I’m a ghost, and not one of your crazed I want to destroy the world kind of ghosts; no I’m just a want to live my death in peace kind of ghost.

Perhaps you’re wondering how I came to have this affliction? Well I had the phenomenal delight of dying on a train bound for California during the tail end of the California gold rush. I was on the B&O headed out to St. Louis to pick up my wife, Margaret, and our daughter, Emeline. We would have then continued all the way to California together. I had been in New York City working out some of our finances and other obligatory errands. But my train, never made it to St. Louis, somehow it got accidently diverted in Grafton, West Virginia and came to a crashing halt in the middle of the night near Columbus, Ohio. The aged conductor, who must have been losing his eyesight, never saw it coming.

All our bodies were brought to Union Cemetery, a quaint plot of land on the Olentangy River. There were about sixty of us on the train when it happened, most were asleep, which I imagine made it a more peaceful way out. Not the hell and horror I woke up to as the last minutes of my life were being wrenched from me. But that is all in the past now. Now I rest during the day in my grave and come out at night to watch the stars and consider the big questions of the universe. I really never thought it would be like this at all. You might be wondering: does everyone become a ghost when they expire? Simply put, no. I can’t say where most people go, but it isn’t here. And I doubt staying behind has anything to do with unfinished business. Everything I had needed to do was taken care of. I feel entirely satisfied with how my life went. Sure, I might have liked more time with my family, but they would be set with the insurance payout.

-V-

Read Part 2

Inconvenient Resort (Part 1)

We were there for a peanut butter convention or whatever it is people go to convention places for; I have no idea anymore. I was there to accompany my lovely companion on some adventure she had concocted as a fun getaway. All seemed well, until we arrived at the hotel. It was a unique formation of a lodging that sat on the side of a hill nestled between the mountains. It was a long time forgotten mining site. I think they used to get coal from the top of the mountains and bring it down this hill. They had converted old mining cars that went up to the top of the hill into hotel rooms. Every room sat stationary on the old tracks at a five percent incline. At the base of the hill the hotel’s main body stood with tennis courts, pool, and a workout facility. It was connected to the quaint convention center, which reached out further and touched the forest. The forest was filled almost entirely with evergreens; it must have looked impressive year round. Luckily, it was late spring and the skies were clear; the temperature was just perfect and the pine aroma filtered around the place beautifully.

My lady and I were the first to arrive to the hotel room. It had a sickly mothball and honeysuckle smell permeating every corner of the main room. We entered from the top of the car and took stock of our surroundings. Down the right side there was a bedroom, followed by a bathroom, and then another bedroom. Along the left wall one could find two more bedrooms. Each door leading from the main room was intricate and different. It gave an air of mystery as to what could be behind each door. The width of the main room couldn’t have been more than ten feet across, but was incredibly deep. At the far end sat the kitchen area, which was adjusted so that it was level and nothing would fall off the counters. I’m not much of one to be too close to the main door, so we chose the room on the far right, just past the bathroom that was closest to the kitchen.

We pulled our belongings into the room and felt the immediate horror. It was a room done entirely in leopard prints and other African motifs, but not authentic in any way (more like how a tourist would believe a room like this should look). There were plastic masks screwed into the wall, spray-painted with reds and blacks to make them look older and more authentic. In the center of the room sat a four-poster bed with a horribly fake looking white tiger pelt. There was mosquito netting draped over the frame; overall it just looked cheap. We unpacked and went back into the main room to drudge up some cups of coffee.

The coffee was percolating nicely. The java smell was starting to overcome the odd natural odor of the room. Then she walked in the main door, my ex, looking crestfallen and harried. My current sweetheart had no idea who this girl was and I was not about to enlighten her. My ex and I hadn’t ended on the best of terms but we were willing to let bygones be gone. Essentially, the current relationship with my ex was a masterful dance of avoidance and pretending the other did not exist. Of course, there were times where it was too obvious to people around us, in which case we would pass simple cursory greetings through gritted teeth or an empty compliment with a crocodile smiles.

-V-

Day Dreaming

It’s days like this, she thought, I wish I was alone. She sat cross-legged in the grass plucking up one blade at a time and inspecting them intently. Each one seemed to have a completely unique look and feel up close, but from a distance they all seemed the same. Her hair, a flat umber with some sun infused gold strode down to her mid-back, but she kept it in a tight ponytail on days like this. She had a tiny nose that she was very proud of. And although most people wouldn’t be absolutely sure, her left ear was one tenth of a centimeter lower than her right. She’d measured it countless times. She had eyes that were a whirlwind of olive and ash with a slight mix of coffee dipped in. She wasn’t terribly fond of her lips; she felt the lower one didn’t stick out quite far enough, and the top one too thin.

With each blade she would think of a new dream that she wanted for her life. She would rub the blade between her forefinger and thumb, feeling the slightly scratchy side on one and the smooth part on the other. With each dream done, she would close her eyes and bring the blade to her lips, kiss it, and then blow it off into the sunlight. Countless dreams were released this way. To her it was the only way to live any of them.

It had been a long night, she thought, as the sun warmed her face and arms. One of the longest she had experienced in a while. Her name, Mariella, felt like someone else’s now. For all one knows she had stolen it last night from an unsuspecting person she crossed paths with? The events that took place were quickly becoming enclosed in the dense haze of her memory, much like to grasp at the last fading parts of a vivid dream as wakefulness cleanses ones mental pallet. Nothing felt real from it now.

Mariella focused on the cold grass beneath her. It was a world of dreams for her to wish away. But right now, more than anything, she just wanted to wish the previous night away. Certain parts would come stabbing back into her memory like lightning bolts: a hissed insult at her close friend; a person being pushed out into the street with cars speeding by; a few minutes, perhaps hours, spent vomiting in some random person’s garden. Not much of it made sense now.

She knew that apologies would be need to be made, and soon. But for now, it was just time to let things go. She closed her eyes and felt a light breeze touch her cheek and forehead. With it brought a delicate scent of far off water and fresh flowers. In the distance she could hear a dog searching for its master, or possibly mate. Her arms came up behind her and her hands interlocked behind her head. The wind slowly assisted her to the ground. She stayed lying there for hours. Things would have to be dealt with, but later. Later.

-V-