from the chaos journals

Tones of Outdated Enlightenment

2009-01-14T21:00:00.006-07:00

Tony was struck with a particular realization as he listened to the woman on the phone. Fascinated by the idea of interrupting the telemarketer to reveal a key part of his life that he had just now, during this conversation, come to the understanding of, he spoke up.

"Excuse me miss?" And then louder as she had failed to hear him, "Miss?"

She stuttered to a stop, obviously thrown off by the existence of someone on the other end of the line. And then after a terse silence she said, "Um yes?"

Tony savored the tone of these words; it was the conventional response he had provoked on purpose. It proved that she was human and not just a machine for selling... what was she selling? He had missed that part. The tone suggested she expected something of him. And not just a random something. She expected that he would dismiss her now; make some lame excuse about not being interested or being too busy or something and cut the connection. He held the silence just long enough and:

"Sir?"

There it was. The delicate tinge of fear; professionally masked, true - but definitely there. She was worried. Worried that he was angry or at least, indignant. Part of her expected he would now rail at her for interrupting his dinner; for being that most loathsome and pathetic creature: the telemarketer; for causing all the world's problems. Or whatever. Tony almost changed his course to give her what she desired, but his desires won out. So instead he asked, "Can you ask your advice on something?"

"Um..." she replied, obviously startled. Like dear in headlights, telemarketers thrown off their spiel will stare wordlessly over space, over telephone lines at the virtual headlights of the unexpected response. Often they fall back into their well rehearsed lines, but Tony wasn't going to give her the chance.

"You see, I've just realized that those things I like to do, I no longer want to do," he said being careful to punctuate. This was important after all. "And those things I want to do, I no longer like to do. So I'm not really sure what to do."

There was silence on the other end of the line - he found that he could not read it. Tony played the words over once in his head to make sure they were correct. Yep, that was his current state of affairs. The Lord's own truth, as his mother would call it.

He was slightly unnerved to realize how eagerly he awaited her response; that he was unable to even continue until she replied; unable to really breathe. It was like she had unwittingly become the Oracle of Delphi, and her silence was that of the gods weighing his worthiness. This stranger on the other end of the line - the woman who's prefabricated and poorly delivered speech had triggered some neuron in his brain, who's words had unknowingly caused in him the realization that he no longer understood his own motivations, and therefore no longer knew himself - would she provide answers as well as questions? Did he even stand a chance of getting her number?

He chuckled as these thoughts wandered through his mind and then vaguely realized that he had missed something. Some small detail had gone astray in the last few minutes. Some opportunity missed. A voice called to him.

"Sir, are you still there?" a man's voice came from the receiver; an overly cheerful and only barely out of puberty voice that sounded to Tony like the fall of Troy. He made a half-choked noise which was apparently the cue for the voice to speak again from his demon-possessed phone. "I am sorry for the inconvenience, but Caroline has gone off duty for the evening. Now, did you decided which magazine you were going to sign up for? Remember if you sign up for five subscriptions you will receive a free gift!"

Police Blotter: The MailBox Gang

2006-04-24T09:20:00.000-06:00

so i'm a bit behind the eight-ball on this one - this is a scratch fiction tag from monkey0 :

• A Meadowlawn Road, woman reported that her mailbox
was attached to her house when she left in the morning,
but was gone when she returned.

• A complainant said someone burned his mailbox, which
is across the street from his Indian Church Road residence.

• During the overnight hours, someone stole mailboxes
from the front of homes on Pacecrest Court and
Waltercrest Terrace and destroyed a plastic mailbox at
another Pacecrest address. Pieces of the mailbox were
found in the driveway.

• Someone placed a number of small firecrackers inside a
Fawn Trail mailbox, charring the inside when they exploded.

• An Old Post Road, Lancaster, man reported that after
hearing a loud noise outside his residence, he looked out
the window to see a vehicle driving away with his mailbox
and post in the trunk.

• A Kraus Road resident reported unknown person
damaged the homeowner’s mailbox.

From where he stood, Toby could still see the rest of them on their bikes - barely within sight but not out of reach. Eagerly, he peddled as fast as his little legs would go, leaning forward and rising from the bike seat as he did. His stomach turned a bit and he almost cut the brakes when he got to the top of the hill on Old Post Road, but big boys don't wear helmets, big boys ride hard and fast, and big boys are never, ever scared. So down he went.

He'd ditched the helmet under a bush not far from his house so that he could grab it on the way home. He'd tried to tell mom that he was a big boy now, but she never understood. Toby figured this was because she had never been a big boy, she was a big girl after all. Now, leaning far over the handlebars as he'd seen the bigger boys do, he coasted down the hill and almost wished he'd kept the helmet. But he was a big boy, wasn't he? And there was no way that a big boy like him was going let the others see him looking like just a kid, was he? Especially not Trevor. No, not him.

Trevor was the leader. He wasn't the oldest or the biggest or really, the meanest or the smartest - but he was the leaderest. And that was enough. If Trevor said he was in, he was in. If Trevor was impressed with the fireworks over on Fawn Trail, they'd all be. If Trevor said he needed a black eye, then he'd get a black eye. That was just it. The others just listened to him. Toby listened to him.

When he got to the bottom of the Old Post hill, a stupid scaredy cat streaked out in front of his bike, surprising him. The handlebars seemed to jump right out of his fingers, throwing his shoulders back. While he fought to keep his balance, using his legs and the pedals to keep the bike up, he didn’t pay attention to where it was going.

It skidded up onto the sidewalk, dipped down a corner crosswalk, then up the other side and into the air. When Toby felt the wheels leave the ground he panicked, forgot all the boys and their bikes on the next block, forgot about Trevor, forgot he was a big boy and screamed.

.........

"Dude, I think I just saw his eyes flutter."
His leg hurt.
"You sure?"
His head, did not. That was weird.
"Yeah yeah, look he's movin"
Why was that weird? Oh right.
"Toby? You alright?"
A clear image of his green helmet sitting under the evergreen bush came to his mind. It was so clear that he could even smell the Christmas scent of the needles.
"Get back! Give him some room to breathe, people."

He knew that voice. Who was that? Trevor? That was definitely him. Immediately, Toby's eyes shot open and he tried to sit up, but a hand restrained him. "Woah, don't worry dude. Relax."

A tawny-haired boy with green eyes swam into focus before him. He had said to relax, so Toby relaxed. "Yeah, that's right. You're alright Toby. You're in. Forget about the fireworks - nothing but beginner's bad luck. But oh man you should have seen that old Mrs. Crabby Kraus' face when she came out to see her mailbox destroyed. It was priceless. You'll be in the history books for that little stunt."

she folded dreams between her arms and began to fall

2006-03-23T10:53:00.000-07:00

Falling
her first sensation
falling
when she became conscious she felt like falling, like she wanted to fall, like she was falling

she.
i am she. i am falling

i tried to open her eyes, she had eyes, she opened her eyes. visually there was no change - dark was dark whether there were eyes or closed eyes - but at least there were eyes and she could feel they were open. that was a difference.

so she opened her eyes and stopped falling. well, no - perhaps she stopped and perhaps she hit terminal velocity. either way, she was done falling - had no more time for falling, only time for changes: there was light, a change of dark and darker and it was moving upwards; everything was moving upwards. around her and up.

everything was moving upwards but her - she wasn't moving at all, couldn't move.

ok, i breathed with her lungs. the sound echoed back, the sound of breathing like light moving upwards in the dark - it too moved upwards, wrapped around me and continued on its way. i lay back watching the sound move up the walls, reflecting with the light and then it was gone. the light left darkness in it's wake and i rolled over - rolled into the sound of coughing and stopped -

The ties won't let me roll over all the way.

I can hear Cody coughing and vomiting from the bathroom. His sputtering makes me feel dirty, like those same lips that are parting to pass partially digested food and stomach acid were dirty in my memories; like there were flecks of vomit drying on them even then, when he whispered to me in the bar, when he kissed me in hallway, when he... all vomit.

I struggle to sit up, half-heartedly - I don't really think I'll get out of this one. I just want a drag, one drag - I could smoke a whole cig in one drag right now. That's all the matters; for the rest, well, I'm not usually this stupid.

I had gone out with the intent that going out would distract me from the withdrawal symptoms. That not being in my dump of a place would help me forget that I have nothing left to sell or trade - well, nothing of any materialistic value anyway. I had contemplated the next step, but was not ready for it, didn't think I was strong enough (or weak enough) to go that far for just a fix.

I'd met Cody at a bar. Not my usual dive, not my hook-up dive either - I wanted to be anonymous last night. It was like he knew what I wanted even though I had decided I wanted nothing. He swaggered up, smiled shyly and made his offer.

He had promised to give me my fix. Just give it to me. To grant me that moment when I don't have to be me, here, or now. He had said it was ‘cause I reminded him of his niece or daughter or someone, because I was beautiful. I had told him I was done with that shit, with all of that shit and he smiled again. Just smiled that shy grin, like a boy who knew the score but was too polite to tattle on his big sister.

"Well then, this'll be your celebration," he cooed. His voice was rough like tree bark but not unpleasant. "One last fix, for the beginning of the rest of your life."

It sounded like a good idea, sounded like exactly what I wanted - one last fix and free too. It was too good to be true. I knew it was too good to be true but I was in the sway of a serious fit so my mind easily smoothed over any doubts, leaving me free and willing to do anything. Making me invincible. I didn't even hesitate when he told me I had to go with him to get the stuff.

There's a silence from the bathroom, then water running. I struggle again and try to make out just what he used to tie me to the bed with - feels like rope, where'd he get rope? - but the little light that seeps from under bathroom door is not enough to illuminate anything and I can't even tell if the place has windows. He'll be out in a minute. I wonder if he'll let me have a cig, even if he has to hold it to my lips. He's gotta. The idea makes my whole body tense in anticipation. I don't want to see him. I don't want him to touch me. I want him to bring me a smoke. I want him to bring it now. I'm so tense that I barely feel my body shaking.

I relax involuntarily when the vomiting starts up again. The poor thing - he didn't even get a chance to turn the water off this time.

He'd promised a fix and he'd delivered alright - I had lost most of the night to the tricks of drug and memory. But I know why he's puking, I remember why he's sick. The stuff wasn't clean, I can feel its poison coursing through my body now - the same poison he is trying to exorcise. He'll fail. Even if he manages to get all of that shit out of his body, he'll fail - the possession has clawed its way into his soul and dug tunnels. I know, trust me, I know. That's why I don't feel the least bit sick, just antsy. Damn I need a smoke.

You see, the poor bastard, for all his smiles and promises wanted - wants to use me. That much had seeped through my desperate brain while he fed me for free, spread his filthy plans like dirty fingers over my spine. So he paid, is paying and will pay the price. I'm not totally helpless, you know - well usually. I do have certain weapons in my arsenal. Weapons that even assholes like Cody can't resist. And last night, for the first time ever, in all the years he's been seducing stupid bitches like me up here to drug out and use up, he did his own shit, took his own poison and now the addiction can have him... well, after he brings me a smoke.

Miles and miles and... (part two)

2006-02-12T16:10:00.000-07:00

(Curious? Part One is Here)

"I won't let you keep hurting me," she says, not a child's voice any more. "I won't. And you can't control me anymore."

Sylvia hears. Sylvia smiles. Sylvia makes the girl (not a child any more) scream again.

The scream jolts me, but not enough. I lapse...

Somehow, the girl breaks free - again? as always? Her footsteps echo, moving quickly down hallways, stairs. Quick little steps - lots of echoes.

Sylvia laughs. Her footsteps do not echo.

The echoes pause, start, stop, but not for long. She's not lost, never lost - can't be lost - but the place is unfamiliar and she makes a wrong turn.

Sylvia smiles and the girl screams again.

The scream jolts me and this time I become aware of a point of view. I feel the smile but in the darkness, I cannot see - not the girl, not Sylvia, not the hallways. It is all darkness - my eyes will not open, but I feel her smile.

The girl screams again, a long scream, gaining in intensity and tone until there is no sound, until the scream itself is silence.

I lapse in that scream - losing my point of view, like opening eyes in total darkness.

The scream ends - no trailing off, no whimpering, nothing - just true silence, which floods my attention with such force that I am pushed back. Sylvia smiles again and again and again - all at me now. All at me. I don't like her smile. I know her smile. I know and suddenly I know that I am more than a point of view, that I know her smile like I know my face, like I know my own cruelty - but to Sylvia's growing dismay, I am not scared. She frowns, a painful expression somehow worse than the smile.

As if in desperation, Sylvia makes the girl (not a child any more) scream. A short scream that quickly degrades into whimpering and crying. The girl whispers something I cannot hear - she is so far away now.

I open my eyes and, for lack of a better word, come awake. The couch under me is familiar, but I'm not immediately sure why.

"Oh good dear, you're awake. We were so worried." I turn toward the voice and look into the eyes of Sylvia. Her eyes but the face is older: a wasteland of cracks and crevices. I grin at her, feeling her smile crease my own cheeks. Then I remember Raylyn and look to see the bastard still sitting at the cute little table with a lace napkin stuffed in his collar.

"Hey fucker," I call to him, grasping Sylvia's shoulder to leverage myself into a vertical position; my legs throb only slightly. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her fighting a frown and I stifle a laugh - I don't want to show all my cards. Not yet.

I smile toothily at Raylyn, who stiffens and tries not to look at me. "I would just adore a cup of tea - be a dear wouldya? And I could just murder one of those tasty little cakes."

Fractures

2006-02-07T14:27:00.000-07:00

First there was light, like a broadening definition of existence. Something external in the darkness outlining the details of space. Something I had never seen. I reached out to take hold of the light, to grasp the space in fingers too thick to do anything but part the space into light and shadow; too thick for anything but shadows.

As I extended my arm, it became a solar system - an ancient relief of tensions in a universe that requires opposites, that requires strangers to forever be on the verge of meeting. On the verge.

My shoulder drifted into a constellation and got stuck, forcing my elbow to hinge around and trace the tail of a comet; a jet stream of ancient data reaching out toward distant points, which twinkled with laughter as I tripped on the event-horizon of an untied black hole. My knee collided with a globular cluster, sending each object spinning off into orbit. I would have kept going too, the dark matter only of consequence to an outside observer but a spike of solar wind slowed my collapse and I managed to grab onto a nearby binary system to steady myself.

This caused the bigger of the two bodies to tense up, struggling against ancient vendettas and imbalance but failing. This time, it supernovaed into old patterns, destroying the plateau it had worked so hard to create, scaring off its closest friend and singeing my eyebrows. The sudden reaction made my hair dance with waves of heat, like desert mirages of water, weaving nebula storms until it froze in the coldness of space, letting off only a little dark haze as it sizzled to a stand still.

Something above me and to my left caused my attention to drift with particle waves and I looked up, stretching to see over the present representation of the past-in-motion and there, just beyond my own effectiveness of change on universal extremes, I saw the mirror.

no premeditation

2006-01-22T20:49:00.000-07:00

hey,

i wanted to take a moment to thank you for drifting thru my chaos - so to both those who comment and those who just read: Thank you and now's your chance.

thanks to jason evans and his Caroline, i have the urge to serialize a story but i can't figure out which one. so far there are 9 fiction excerpts from the chaos journals on this site. please take a moment and let me know which one i should continue with, which one you want to find out what happens next.

-mysfit

Faith

2006-01-16T10:10:00.000-07:00

"There's something in the way she looks at you. Something in the way she orientates herself to you, turning her shoulders just like that, just one way or the other, as if physically defining your role in her world. And after a few weeks of knowing her - well, you just know that it is really her world that you walk through, that you try to change, that you struggle to exist in. And the way she talks! That tone! - 'Don't stress it' - I can't even come close...

"Everyone who meets her, they know. They know she's got a great big heart, big enough to trap us all, big enough to set everyone free. They can tell - you'd be able to tell, if you spent like ten minutes with her, with those eyes on you, with those - those - you know it's odd that for all this time I can't remember what color they are, but it's alright - it's not the color that matters, just those eyes and her lips slightly pursed when she listens.

"Oh and she listens hard, hard like you're the only important thing in the universe - like what you mean is the only meaning that matters - like her whole being is focused solely on your words, your gestures - those eyes reading beyond your ability to commune, reaching in and pulling out everything you're trying to hide, everything you're trying to say, to be.

"It's a strange feeling really. Kinda like being suspended, hanging in the moment right before the fall - at the top of the arch, if you know what I mean. You know how, when you toss something in the air, there's a moment of suspension right before gravity catches the thing, dragging it back down to the terrestrial plane. Like - indecision, yeah - like if given a choice the thing would keep going and you'd never see it again - and right then, gravity's not sure if it cares. That's what it's like when talking to her, but then, BAM! She always catches you with a word, dragging you back down to earth - with a word she could smash mountains - but her eyes make sure that you land softly. You got it?

"You know, but I can tell - I can see the sorrow behind those kind eyes, those strict and lovely cheek-bones - and it wears on me. I just know, not sure how, but she's fighting in there, fighting the big fight - fighting for all of us, if you catch my drift - for all of us: you, me, everything. But if we knew, it'd tear us apart, right? And if she loses... well, let's just hope she doesn't eh? Just talk to her, for like ten minutes - if you'd talk to her - you'll know - there's no way she's gonna lose. She just won't, not when it's all of us on the line. So, yeah, I'm glad she's on our side.

"But, it's hard being friends with the messiah. There you have it - sorry you asked, eh? Ah well, just go talk to her."

It was a bright and shiny day when she first found herself unable to move.

2006-01-08T16:41:00.000-07:00

Well, that's what she told herself after she closed her eyes again. It was a bright and shiny day.

It almost worked. Almost enough for the blood on the walls to lose color and the straps to loosen. She took a deep breath, feeling the clothe press aginst her face restricting her breath and then releasing as she breathed out. Slowly, she wiggled her way out from under the picnic blanket, eyes closed. As she moved, the gaping wounds on her body stretched into sleep-ache from laying too long on the ground. The tigling sensation in her calves was the last to leave her and she opened her eyes, just a little, to investigate. The late afternoon sun blinded her for a moment, but when it cleared, there were no brands - no words glowing in angry red on her lower legs - just scrapes from climbing the tree. Man, had mom been mad about that one. She giggled a little at that.

"It amazing," said a shadow off to her right. "It's simply amazing, how you go from dead asleep to giggly in less time than it takes for you to fall asleep."

She rolled over and onto one elbow to look at him, her vision clearning enough to make out details. She knew him - it was nice to know somebody today. His voice was not altogether pleasent when he spoke to her, as if she had slighted him by either falling asleep or waking up. Perhaps both.

"I was dreaming," she said faintly.

"You always dream, Violet." he replied, titling his head back and sighing. "what about this time?"

"About-" but a monarch butterfly dazzled while playing in a last ray of the dying sun and flew off, taking her attention with it.

mud flaps, huh?

2005-12-29T11:24:00.000-07:00

Halle couldn't take it any more. Even she was surprised by what she couldn't take any more. It was always someone else, something else that made her so emotionally angry that her skin would start to break out in hives and she'd start to pass out from hyperventilation before forcefully calming herself down. It was hard work, harder every time, but she hadn't lost consciousness. Yet.

This time it was the darkness. So complete was the darkness that she wasn't even sure if she was still on the road, still on this planet or maybe she was but those others out there, those ones with the gleaming smiles and perfect hair, they had drifted away leaving all the darkness just for her. For the loser, for the - she stopped, took a deep breath and counted backwards - the Mama Groovy's patented hives curing method for not getting pissed. Halle bent down to feel the ground. It was still hard and cold. That was no indication, because at this time of year everything was cold and hard, even people. So she slipped a mitten off and felt the ground again. What she felt through the cold was an indication of cement, a strange, gritty feeling, that not quite real texture of being held together by something other than nature. Just like her.

The laugh that escaped her lips as she slipped her mitten back on was spiteful and mocking, but at least it killed the last of the futile anger that had been building up.

"Just like me, huh? Now whose thought was that? Certainly not one of mine. Mom's maybe? Or even Dusty's?" She laughed again, this time there was actually mirth in the sound. "Halle, my girl, you do realize that you are talking out loud to yourself just to make sure that there still is life in this darkness, that there still is you in this darkness."

She twirled once, twice, and about-faced, just like she had learned as a little girl in ballet, when she had pretended that there was magic in the movements and a future to her life. She bowed back at the place she had last spoken aloud as if responding to her past self. "Of course I know. I know I know. I know things even you, yourself have forgotten like this-" she curtseyed, bending low and sprung into a leap.

Through the air she flew and before her foot touched back down to the earth, before she reconnected with what was real, she felt that she had left this cold land for good - that she had leapt beyond the grasp of gravity and family, the crap pealing away as she left earth's atmosphere. In that moment, she felt again that movement brought magic back to the world or - no, that movement brought people back to magic. It was a wild, exclamatory leap, which probably felt much better than it looked, but who was here to judge? Halle felt that it would never end, that she would never come back down out of the sky where she found herself among clouds - the world however had different plans for her.

Her foot lightly touched back down, found no purchase, no connection to the ground and slid out from under her. This unfortunate movement made her other leg swing forward wildly, reacting to the fact the momentum of the movement had not been abated but agitated by the slip and back she fell. Her head bouncing painfully on the ground, making small white stars explode before her eyes. She sat up quickly but the effort made her head swim and she rolled over and puked.

When some of her composure had returned, she reached down beneath her left leg where she felt an unnatural shape that had to hold the answer as to why she slipped, to what had stolen the perfect moment from her. What she pulled from the ground - with effort, as if the earth was reluctant to reveal its devices - changed her life forever. There in her small hands, before her slightly unfocused eyes was a squarish piece of rubber and on it - arched in what many think of as a submissive pose but Halle recognized as a show of strength, of dominance - was exactly the woman that Halle determined to become.

things

2005-12-24T11:16:00.000-07:00

"Who were you talking to?"
"No one."
"Liar - I heard voices."
"What did you call me?"
"I said Liar. I know there was some one in here with y-"
"Never call me that. Never ever or you will be so sorry. Look around Ethel. There's no one here. The voices were from the TV."
"The TV's not on."
"I just turned it off."
"It's not warm."
"It was only on for a minute - I said, look around Ethel, there's nowhere to hide anyone."
"What about the couch?"
"Look under it."
"I mean in the couch - between the-"
"That's ridiculous, no one could actually hide in-"
"Then what's that hand sticking out?"
"Uhhh, what hand?"
"This one. Come on out you go - ooo Henry, I am going to rip you such a new one, that-"
"Good evening, ma'am."
"What the-"
"Good evening again, sir."
"Please forgive our intrusion into your lives and your husband's obvious fibbing but as we are-"
"T!!"
"F!!"
"B!!"
"C!!"
"C!!"
"-it was quite necessary that you find us in our element just as the gentleman did-"
"-just as-"
"-everyone does eventually"
"What exactly are you and what exactly do you think you're doing in my couch?"
"Please take a seat my dear lady and-"
"-all will be explained-"
"-in time."

"Miles to go before we sleep," he muttered.

2005-12-13T20:44:00.000-07:00

"Yeah," I replied, rolling my head around to face him. "Miles and miles and miles and-"
"Shut up."

It wasn't just a pretty saying to fill the silence. Raylyn knew where we were supposed to rendezvous with the rest of them, but that wasn't enough. The tunnel system here was a maze of circles and circles off of circles. Dead-ends would have been better, at least then you knew you were going the wrong way. Here though, you just had to take note of what few landmarks there were and hope you weren't retracing your steps. It probably would have been easier if it wasn't so fucking cold for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that the water was frozen, so you couldn't even use it's flow-direction as a guide. To complicate matters, the wheels of the trolley I had been haphazardly propped up on squeaked something fierce, so that the sound echoed down corridors, off walls, around corners - disconcertingly coming from all ways at once. The trolley also limited the paths that were open to us, so Raylyn could have gone much quicker on his own, but I wasn't about to let him leave me behind - not here.

"We'll just go up here."
I looked up the long iron ladder. At least this one looked like it was entirely attached to the wall, but I shook my head. "How the hell you expect me to get up that?"
"I don't."

He dropped the trolley handles and began to climb. I reached out just in time to get a good grip on his ankle and pealed him off the wall like a pancake. He held on strongly, but I had gravity on my side and soon he came crashing to the cement. The clatter reverberated through the tunnels making me deaf for a moment.

"Hey! You want us both to end up invalid on that trolley? If you hadn't noticed, I'm the only one here to push you!"
"I'll make sure you end up on this trolley if you try that again," I muttered.
"Look, I'm going up. I'll find some help up there and get you back. Deal?"
"No way."
"There's nothing down here but lost ways and potholes we can't get that thing across," he stated blandly. I knew he was talking about the trolley, but I could tell by his tone that he was using 'thing' to refer to me too.
"No way."
"Fine! Suit yourself," he said as he grasped both handles of the trolley and started pushing again.

His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible above the noise of the cart wheels, as he said, "You brought this on yourself." And then he dumped me. Just like that. Just as if I was a pile of garbage, of offal that one has to get rid of to use a perfectly good cart. The ground was cold as I slammed into it, the jolt verbing through my torso, making all the parts of me that already hurt grind with pain.

"You brought this upon yourself," he said again, his voice louder this time and then he climbed out of sight.

I was dazed, but the scream I heard a moment later brought me to my senses. It echoed louder than any noise had yet. It filled my head with such dread that when the silence was finally regained, I wasn't sure if I was still sane. No matter. I was sure that if I didn't move now, I'd be dead before long.

And I had so many people to see before that.

Aching, pushing, pulling with my arms, I made it safely around the upturned cart to the base of the ladder and began the long climb. It's amazing the things you can make your body do when there's no other choice. Humans, like most predators, have a fierce desire to live and when that desire is put to the test, we humans can out adapt any creature on this planet. That's where our biggest strength lies and that night I was the strongest man alive. My legs had stopped working - probably due to being hacked off somewhere beneath the knees - but there way no way that I was going to let Raylyn - Raylyn that mother-fucker - leave me lying in a sewer to die. Oh he was going to get his and I was going to give it to him.

I pulled, weight upon weight, rested my butt on cold iron when I thought I couldn't go on and then I went on. It took a long time to get to the top but I did it. I did it. There was no way I was going to die that easily. There was some sort of material blocking the opening. It was easy to grasp, but gave so much that it provided little leverage as I tried to pull myself out of the crack between the pads. That was what they were. There were two pads, like the lips of a mouth closing over the hole and the little light beyond was artificial. What was this?

But I didn't have much time to think, I had to get myself through the opening or I was going have even less time to regret thinking on the 50 to 60 foot fall to the cement. I closed my eyes and did that too. That was all there was to it. If I had to do it again, I'm sure I could but I definitely couldn't explain how to do it. I passed out almost immediately. My body just quit on me as soon as it knew we had survived. We had both survived. Body and mind overcoming even the cushions that posed as a final obstacle.

There was one thing I saw and heard before oblivion overtook me - though I wouldn't swear to actually being conscious when I saw it: There was Raylyn sitting at a table, teacup in hand, white lace napkin tucked into his collar, staring at me horrified and looking like a trapped animal. And the last thing I experienced before the world was lost to me was a voice, the sweet high-pitched voice of an old woman, saying, "Oh look another one has come to tea. You know that's the seventh visitor to come out of my couch this month alone."

Sammy and the Devil

2005-12-08T11:08:00.000-07:00

It was a bright and shining morning. Sammy went through his usual morning ritual: as always, his morning clothes were neatly folded on the table beside the door to his bathroom, which was beside the shower, beside the sink, beside his toothbrush on the back of his toilet beside the door to his bathroom. Sammy knew that the events associated with these objects happened in reverse order, that this was reverse temporal thinking. Once and only once, he had tried to set up his morning in the correct order prior to going to bed, but it didn't work. He dozed a little and kept waking up in front of the door, wondering if he was late for work. And besides after the table comes breakfast, the best place to start.

Sammy thought about driving to work and nearly lost his breakfast. Certainly, he would have spilled his coffee if it weren't for the sudden thought of the subway. Carefully, he set his coffee down, still shaking, and went to retrieve his briefcase by the door. By the door, hung his dark green jacket. Dark green, that meant it was Thursday. Thursday, that meant it was taxi day. Taxi day, that meant he could bring his coffee. He went back to get it before going out to the waiting yellow cab.

The nice thing about taxi day, Sammy mused, is that the driver knew the appropriate path. He always had the same driver; Sammy wasn't even sure that the man drove cabs on any other day. But it didn't matter, that was the best thing about Thursday morning - things were allowed not to matter.

First the Bank, where Sammy got out and checked his balance as he did on every Thursday. No surprises there, that was good. Then on to his Bank (Sammy kept his own money in a different bank than the one he worked in - otherwise it would be a conflict of interest). Exactly, five minutes early: coat, hanger, briefcase, bathroom, coffee, chair, desk, drawers, books. As much as it displeased him, Sammy had to be temporal at work, at least at the beginning of work and as such, he was always vaguely uncomfortable there. He often daydreamed about everything and everyone moving backwards in time. He was in one of these dreams when He walked in.

The front door to the bank opened and in walked the prince of princes, the Dark Lord, the Great Deceiver himself, Lord Lucifer of the seven hells.

There was an aura of applause that followed him on this day - because he felt like it. It hovered on the edge of hearing, like a lot of people clapping on the other side of a thick cement wall in a building across the street. Everyone in the bank paused for a moment and looked toward the door, even if they were not in line of site by virtue of being three stories up and in the bathroom. But that was Satan for you, if there was anything he enjoyed more than a good entrance, it was that people noticed when you put the extra touches on - they really stopped to take notice. One woman screamed and rushed toward him, the cross necklace she wore out-stretched before her. The Devil merely bowed formally and the woman kept running right through the door, out into the street and beyond hearing, screaming the whole way. She ran all the way to the pier, joined a traveling circus as a show girl and eventually ended up in a brothel in Calcutta, where she keeps her bank security badge framed and hanging above her satin covered bed - but that's a different story entirely. Lucifer liked the way his blue pin-stripped suit crinkled as he straightened back up.

Sammy, who's desk faced the front door, didn't even glance up. He was too engrossed in a vision of clawing his way out of his grave, to grow younger by the day, like someone had pressed the rewind button on the remote of his life. The vision was so real, so vivid, that he could nearly feel the dirt under his finger nails and the slight wrinkles around his eyes and mouth stretching out.

The Devil frowned. Those closest to him fainted and one man's hair caught on fire.

If I lie really still, I can hear my fingernails growing.

2005-12-02T09:04:00.000-07:00

It took me a long time to figure out what the soft, scraping, high-pitched whine was. At first, I searched my whole place for the origin of the irritating sound. I first noticed it right after Jg died.

We had been at the corner pub as was our practice. Jg had already dived into the whiskey bottle by the time I met him, having been detained at work for incorrect apparel. It's amazing. Simply amazing. They used to just send people home when they were dressed inappropriately for work. But ever since the infamous Sanction-Suit, where an employee had been sent home for an ugly tie, got drunk on his way home and shot up a bar - killing a number of people - no one gets out unmatched. The families of the dead in conjunction with the bar owner actually sued our company for damages. AND WON. Come on, people. If they were in the bar before lunch, then they were already dead and just hadn't realized it yet. The families were obviously waiting for someone to blame for this fact. Why didn't the court see this? Why do they coddle people who want to blame other people for their own follies? I had just started working for the company but I knew the man. Stephan DeAlec had been among the dead for sometime before the incident but his family got the biggest settlement out of the deal.

Ah well.

I suppose I shouldn't know these things, but his boss was so pissed about it (he had wanted to fire the slob long before and had just been waiting for Steve to slip up, then the bastard goes and shoots himself) that he'd been in rare form the following days. Yelling at people for anything and everything so everyone on our floor knew exactly what had happened.

Now the company security keeps a closet full of conservative, tasteful if dull apparel and it is company policy not to let anyone leave until they are properly dressed. That way the company is blameless if another employee goes on a murderous rampage. The day Jg died, I almost made it out the door, but the fat security guard who couldn't see his own feet, noticed mine and the fact that I wasn't wearing socks. It took a while for that sweaty doughnut of a man to locate not just socks, but matched socks that matched my shoes, pants, shirt, jacket, tie, jacket, gloves, hat, eyes, nose teeth hair. (These security guards are trained in unarmed combat; combat with a gun; personal self-sacrifice and good fashion tips). The process was further drawn out by the paperwork and the bloody beating I gave the guard because I don't like to wear blue socks. I tried to tell him this was why I had no socks on, that being the only color I had left at home, but he didn't listen. I signed my name, smiled lamely at him and left - the image of his his bloody face pleading for mercy firmly planted only in my head.

I burned the socks, then threw them at some bum asking for change as I went into the bar.

Jg was chatting to a girl when I walked in. She was ugly, obviously uninterested in him and slightly disgusted. But he had cornered her. As soon as his attention turned to me, she made a dash for freedom and tripped over his suddenly out-stretched foot. She made a grab for me as she fell but that wouldn't have been proper. I stepped out of the way and watched her go down, her arms and breasts flailing under her skimpy shirt. I heard the crack when she hit and the juicy sound blood splattering. Why didn't the girl catch herself on the ground with her hands instead of trying to rely on the kindness of a stranger? Stupid woman. After a stunned moment, she ran from the bar and hardly anyone noticed.

As usual, the night got quite hazy after that. Where Jg is almost entirely a whiskey drinker, I go with my tequila and gin. But that's a problem isn't it? Since I can't decide which I like better, I switch drinks: one gin martini, one margarita, one gin 'n juice one shot of tequila. Jg has commented on it before, on his amazement that I ever make it home alive. See the irony here? I do remember him pointing out a quiet little man sitting at the bar staring into his drink (one of those colorful ones that'd probably have an umbrella in it in another place). Jg always goes for the smallest victims he can find.

"That man's been looking at me funny since I came in," was all he said as he started to stand. I merely shrugged, knowing this wasn't true - that this was just Jg's excuse for starting trouble, in case anyone asked me later. I'd have tried to stop him, but it hadn't worked before and wouldn't have worked this time.

There's a lot of blurriness after that. Jg was gone a long time, longer than usual given the size of the man. I never found out what happened to him. There was just all that blood and then I was home. And it was very quiet at home.

Too quiet.

That's when I first heard my fingernails growing - as I pulled the covers over my head that night. But as I said, I didn't realize what it was at once, nor for many nights after that.

So that was that. It was over.

2005-11-30T23:06:00.000-07:00

If it came down to it, she could make some excuse for being where she was, but she doubted anyone would notice or even care if they did. That was the thing about these streets. It wasn't enough that many of the random assholes here could forcefully strip down your physical being and parade your psyche for you if you weren't sharp but these days, nobody looked too hard at the faces of strangers, nobody got involved. That kind of impersonal apathy could make plastic out of the glass that you felt inside after what the advos in charge called an "incident". Shattering can be good for a person.

Shattering can be good.

It had taken her years to rip through the scratches on her soul and strip off the tape that held her together after what he did to her. Right here in fact, right in this alley, behind this bar. Or another. Did it really matter? Out here in Verestiny, there were bars on near-every corner and always the same grungy alley behind. The same strange clientele. Cops kept peace elsewhere and that was enough for most people. This was where the leftovers of society's riots had stranded the radiated freaks, the scientists who have lost too much for their art and those few inviolates who were unlucky enough to get on the wrong side of the wrong people. Some of the denizens had real powers, like the piece of offal lying in front of her, behind her and somewhere over there, maybe. But who cares? Even if they possessed such "skills" as were deemed highly prizable by all the right people, these talents were usually wasted on the wrong sort of kicks and just like him, always on the wrong sort of person. She kicked the biggest part she could find for good measure.

Shattering can be good. But so is carrying an extra set of clothes, just in case.

It wouldn't have been that difficult to get beyond what had happened in the dungy darkness of that night if she had found an advocate to take her case. Why do these things always happen at night? It's not like the days are much better here and she surmised that it does happen during the day, in broad daylight even. One who cares, one who is skilled enough could tear a psyche apart from across a crowded room at lunchtime. Dropping her soiled clothes in a trash incinerator (so much cleanliness for the common good, so efficient), she could believe anything of this place.

It was dangerous to walk these streets, especially at night. Oh and look at that, it was indeed night again and she knew that killing him had not made it any safer. She could feel the grin on her face, a strange spasm of unfamiliar muscles, as she began the long, slow walk home.

The problem was that she was wrong. Someone did care, cared very much that this particular asshole lay in shreds behind some lowlife bar in a dirtbag place like Verestiny. Cared enough to try to put, if not his body, at least his story back together.

But this is not where it begins.

She had quit. She was free.

2005-11-29T21:57:00.000-07:00

She stepped out in to the morning fresh-scented air and was surprised to find that she was happy. It felt good to walk away from the compound just as the tank swirled the air over her head. No matter that the air tasted like oil, at least it no longer clogged at her throat, dulling her mind. She was free and freedom felt good.

This was a new planet, somewhere off the charts for a svanik like her to slosh a new life in between the grating cogs of civilization. She had paid her time and paid it over again but before this day, she never knew how easy it was just to walk away, just to leave it behind her. She had not gone more than a few paces and yet - and yet it seemed to her that years had passed. That the memory of her time in Sub-Section Ferris3 had faded in the bright light. That the weight of those dark years, those years when she never was high enough on the ladder to see the daylight, of those dark men in their suits talking to her in words she understood but whose meaning had always slid just out of hearing, those years she was least herself - all of it was ages ago. They happened in a story book, to another person in a another place. She was free.

By the time she reached the end of the walkway, if asked, she wouldn't have been able to identify her master's face, the face she had stared into every day for four years. By the time she reached the curb, if asked, she wouldn't have been able to name the equipment that had been used in the compound, nor how the machines were used. By the time she hailed a flocab, (one of the yellow ones that skimmed right over the ground instead of on the upper streams, she didn't trust any other kind and didn't question where the distrust came from), she wouldn't have been able to explain why she had spent four years of her life in an underground facility, nor how she had come to this place. By the time tossed her small bag in the back seat of the flocab and closed the door, she wouldn't even been able to recall her own name. But she knew where she was going. She was free and there are only a few places that the truly free can go.

Only one set of eyes followed the yellow monstrosity merge with the other colors of the rainbow and skim away. Those eyes were close set over a nasty grin that seemed to make the day a little less bright.

But this isn't where it begins.