A sudden whirl of air startled Russell awake. The discomfort told him he dozed off in his recliner again. The flickering muted TV was the only source of light in his living room. What time was it? He peered, but the clock was obstructed by a thin boy in his pre-teens. The boy wore exclusively black, and appeared surprisingly pale in the darkness of the room. Russell was taken aback by this visitor. He was at the empty nest phase of life, yet his grandchildren were not yet as old as this stranger.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The boy stepped forward, “I am Death.”
“You’re... excuse me? Death?” Russell tried not to laugh. The boy nodded affirmative, showing no hint of humor.
“Bullshit.”
“You disbelieve me? Try to move.”
Russell found himself unable to simply move his arm from his chest to his face. “I… I’m dead?”
Unable to smile, the boy squinted in confirmation, “Heart attack.”
Russell absorbed the realness of his grim news. “Why aren’t you a big scary skull faced Reaper if you are Death?”
“Death can come in many forms,” the boy summoned a spiral-bound notebook from thin air. Russell decided to abstain from further patronizing, “So, what happens now? Do you have a halo for me or something?”
“Halo… hardly,” Death observed information from the notebook, “three counts of charity donations, but two counts of stealing... not many random acts of kindness… a regular prayer though… look at all those lies…”
“So it’s to hell with me then?”
“Not so fast, you’re what we call an Almost.”
“What happens to Almosts?”
“Nothing really,” Death lowered the notebook, “You’re looking at it. You don’t go anywhere.”
Russell was able to see his own body lying cold and motionless, clutching his heart in his favorite recliner, “But... my wife... my kids…”
Death stared indifferently.
“Death, you take many forms, why come to me as a little boy?”
“I have prepared for an upcoming event.”
“An event?”
“A mass homicide. First day of school at the local middle school. Lone gunner, goes crazy.”
“What?? That’s horrific! We have to do something!”
“Yes quite a tragedy,” Death stated, devoid of emotion, “Kids aren’t receptive to the Grim Reaper look, so here I am.” He looked down at his ‘costume.’
“When is the first day of school?” Russell reached right through a calendar that still displayed the month of July.
“In two days.”
“We have to stop it from happening!”
“How are you to stop anything? You’re dead if you haven’t noticed.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Russell pleaded to the boy.
Death folded his arms, staring through him to his corpse on the recliner. “Well I have liberty to give Almosts another chance if I see fit. Your heart is in the right place. We cannot use that anymore however,” he gestured to the cold sixty four year old body. “I tell you what. I will grant you your halo if you stop the school shooting.”
“Really? Thank you! I’ll do whatever it takes...”
Death waved his arm. Russell propelled back into the recliner and solidified. His feet hardly reached the footstool of the chair, and his clothes draped over him like a king sized bed sheet.
Death spoke, “You have one chance to save many lives. Don’t mess it up.”
The hand across his face revealed no scruff, and a full head of hair.
“Being forewarned and failing to act will get you a ticket in the other direction.”
Russell picked up his reading glasses with a small hand, and angled them to view his reflection. A prepubescent version of himself stared back. “I… I’m a little boy!!”
Death gave another affirmative squint, “I’ll see you in two days, one way or the other.” He disappeared abruptly, a clapping sound of air reoccupying the place he stood.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Shootout (three word Wednesday - grimace, phase, stumble)
“All right they’re coming in. Mitch, Nick, Carla go right, try to flank them. Randy, hold the middle with me. Rich, take the others left into the brush.” Eight people in full camouflage nodded their masks in accordance, readied their guns, and carried out Jacob’s plan. The dense forest around them sloped uphill on the right. Mitch would get a good vantage point and wait for an opportunity. He was the ace sniper of the team.
Jacob heard rustling of branches from ahead of them. He took cover behind a large rock, while Randy stood against a wide tree to his left.
“See anything?”
“No.”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat…
Gunshots. From the left… Rich’s side. Someone had seen or been seen by the enemy. Jacob raised his head, nothing but forest through his visor. A bullet grazed the large rock.
“Get down,” Randy swiveled his firearm around the tree and fired towards the source of the bullet targeting Jacob.
“Can you see them?”
“I saw something move…”
“Don’t waste ammo if you cannot see them…”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat… this time gunfire spawned from the hill. Shots were flying actively from several sources on the left. “Ungh,” the grunt warned that Rich’s side was down a gunner. Rich yelled to fall back.
From the right, Nick’s voice declared a small victory, “Got him...” before tat tat tat tat… “Ou… Got me.”
Jacob peered up the hill, then to Randy, “They got Nick… Randy?”
Randy had advanced twenty feet and shot determinedly forward. He had his eye on something Jacob could not see from his vantage point. Randy ceased his fire, apparently successful. He looked up the hill. Carla had pointed out two more enemy gunners. Jacob stumbled from the rock to Randy’s first tree, scanning the far left. Rich was now alone, running backwards, shooting into the foliage. Rich ducked behind the stump of a fallen tree, signaling two fingers to Jacob before pointing forwards. Shit. They were coming in hard on the left. Rich poked his head over the stump over to receive a splattering on the side of his head.
“Randy! Randy watch out left! They’re coming!” Knowing half the team was down, Jacob resorted to regrouping for stronger defense. He had hoped it would not get to this phase, but their backs were to the wall. Randy had advanced too far ahead into the center to hear Jacob. Jacob heard sticks breaking deep in the foliage on the left. He retreated up the hill.
“Carla, they’re coming around.”
Carla covered Randy in the center until Randy stopped running, a contrast of color from the camouflage across his back.
“Shit they got him.”
And just like that, they got Carla, too.
Jacob hit the ground. Where the hell was Mitch? Jacob pivoted his line of vision. Behind him, two were closing in. Ahead, at least one gunner was over the mound of earth. He had no choice but to disallow the pincer attack to happen. He ran forward, gun extended.
Tat… tat… tat tat tat tat…
He scaled the mound, strafed right to the cover of a tree, and fired openly. His back would be open to the foes behind, he had to land a hit and land it quickly. His foe jumped backwards in surprise, receiving the full impact of Jacob’s gunfire across his collarbone. Jacob circumnavigated the tree taking cover from the two in the rear.
“Hey,” a voice came from ten feet behind him. The voice was not Mitch’s. Jacob swung his gun around, but it was too late…
Tat tat…
Pink paint splattered across the visor of his face mask. Jacob lowered his gun, wiping the visor clean with the backside of his glove.
“Got you!” It was his brother’s friend Kyle. The eyes were all Jacob could see of Kyle’s taunting grimace behind his own face mask.
Kyle extended a hand to Jacob while his two teammates came into the clearing, “Good game, we win!”
“Did you now?”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat...
Mitch always was our ace sniper.
Jacob heard rustling of branches from ahead of them. He took cover behind a large rock, while Randy stood against a wide tree to his left.
“See anything?”
“No.”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat…
Gunshots. From the left… Rich’s side. Someone had seen or been seen by the enemy. Jacob raised his head, nothing but forest through his visor. A bullet grazed the large rock.
“Get down,” Randy swiveled his firearm around the tree and fired towards the source of the bullet targeting Jacob.
“Can you see them?”
“I saw something move…”
“Don’t waste ammo if you cannot see them…”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat… this time gunfire spawned from the hill. Shots were flying actively from several sources on the left. “Ungh,” the grunt warned that Rich’s side was down a gunner. Rich yelled to fall back.
From the right, Nick’s voice declared a small victory, “Got him...” before tat tat tat tat… “Ou… Got me.”
Jacob peered up the hill, then to Randy, “They got Nick… Randy?”
Randy had advanced twenty feet and shot determinedly forward. He had his eye on something Jacob could not see from his vantage point. Randy ceased his fire, apparently successful. He looked up the hill. Carla had pointed out two more enemy gunners. Jacob stumbled from the rock to Randy’s first tree, scanning the far left. Rich was now alone, running backwards, shooting into the foliage. Rich ducked behind the stump of a fallen tree, signaling two fingers to Jacob before pointing forwards. Shit. They were coming in hard on the left. Rich poked his head over the stump over to receive a splattering on the side of his head.
“Randy! Randy watch out left! They’re coming!” Knowing half the team was down, Jacob resorted to regrouping for stronger defense. He had hoped it would not get to this phase, but their backs were to the wall. Randy had advanced too far ahead into the center to hear Jacob. Jacob heard sticks breaking deep in the foliage on the left. He retreated up the hill.
“Carla, they’re coming around.”
Carla covered Randy in the center until Randy stopped running, a contrast of color from the camouflage across his back.
“Shit they got him.”
And just like that, they got Carla, too.
Jacob hit the ground. Where the hell was Mitch? Jacob pivoted his line of vision. Behind him, two were closing in. Ahead, at least one gunner was over the mound of earth. He had no choice but to disallow the pincer attack to happen. He ran forward, gun extended.
Tat… tat… tat tat tat tat…
He scaled the mound, strafed right to the cover of a tree, and fired openly. His back would be open to the foes behind, he had to land a hit and land it quickly. His foe jumped backwards in surprise, receiving the full impact of Jacob’s gunfire across his collarbone. Jacob circumnavigated the tree taking cover from the two in the rear.
“Hey,” a voice came from ten feet behind him. The voice was not Mitch’s. Jacob swung his gun around, but it was too late…
Tat tat…
Pink paint splattered across the visor of his face mask. Jacob lowered his gun, wiping the visor clean with the backside of his glove.
“Got you!” It was his brother’s friend Kyle. The eyes were all Jacob could see of Kyle’s taunting grimace behind his own face mask.
Kyle extended a hand to Jacob while his two teammates came into the clearing, “Good game, we win!”
“Did you now?”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat...
Mitch always was our ace sniper.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
As Advertised (three word Wednesday - joke, leverage, remedy; and flash Friday)
“Can you get the door, honey?” Shelley shouted from the kitchen.
Shawn placed the newspaper down on an end table and moved briskly to the front door. Who could be ringing the doorbell during the dinner hour? He gazed through the peephole. A distorted image of a bulky delivery man awaited his response. Shawn swung the door open.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Gelinas? I have a package you’ll need to sign for,” he extended a clipboard with a delivery form and a pen clamped under the hinge. Everything appeared legitimate enough. The large brown van parked on the street matched the color of his uniform. Shawn passed the form back, looking around for an absent package.
“Thank you sir, you’re all set!” The large man tucked the clipboard under his arm and left the front steps. In his place, a young woman stepped forward. Bright green eyes gazed playfully under dark, long eyelashes. Her lips were full and glossed, catching the light as if they were wet. Straight blonde hair draped aside her defined high cheekbones and rested on smooth shoulders. Her curves at the bust, the waist and the hips were nothing short of majestic. She wore nothing more than a leopard print bra and briefs. Shawn’s jaw conceded to gravity. A blonde strip of well-groomed eyebrow raised and her welcoming lips formed cute cheek dimples as she smiled. “Hello, Mizzer Gelneez, I am Katya,” her soft voice hinted at a strong Russian accent.
“Uh… hi Katya,” Shawn blinked intentionally to cease ogling. My God, there was a half naked Russian model on his front steps! There are families in his neighborhood with small children! He glanced down the street; a basketball game between the neighborhood boys had come to a grinding halt. “Please please come inside,” Shawn stepped aside, holding the door open. He escorted her into the living room, “Katya, might I ask what you’re doing coming to my house in lingerie?”
“You order zis, no?” She rolled her arm as if presenting herself.
“I ordered… what are you saying?”
“Online order. Lingerie site from Belarus. Remember? You order zis online.”
Shawn jogged his memory. He did place an order a few weeks back for some lingerie for Shelley’s birthday. Of course he opted for an online purchase, buying lingerie in person was one of the most uncomfortable things a man could do. He looked Katya up and down. She was wearing the exact lingerie he had ordered! He recalled the blond in the photo, wearing the lingerie with such a sultry pose. He remembered thinking the message in the margin, ‘As advertised’ was somewhat out of place.
“You like Katya picture online. Your order here now Shawn Gelneez.” Katya winked and sat herself on the couch.
“Katya I ordered the lingerie only, not the model too! You can’t stay!”
“But Katya come from Belarus for you.”
Shelley appeared in the doorway. “Shawn, why do we have a mail order bride in on our couch?” She spoke through gritted teeth and flaring nostrils.
“I, well, uhh… you see, I ordered you some lingerie dear…” Shawn shrugged hopelessly.
“Shawn order from lingerie model site. I am Katya,” she waved innocently at Shawn’s wife.
“Shawn there had better be a good…”
“I told you I only ordered lingerie,” he scurried for some leverage in the argument, but understood how bad this looked to her.
“No need for mad Misses Shawn Gelneez. Shawn got good deal. Pay low moneys. Katya, uh, how you say, on sale.”
Blood rushed to Shelley’s head, “…and how much exactly did you pay for Katya?”
“Well it was in foreign currency but it didn’t look too expensive.”
“Twelve thousand,” Katya again displayed her wonderful dimples.
Shelley roared, “US DOLLARS??”
Katya nodded affirmative.
“Shawn you did not bother to figure out the exchange rate to US dollars?!?!?”
Shawn slouched. He knew he had forgotten to do something. He recalled concluding the order quickly when a call came in over Skype. He could not believe what was happening. He stood there speechless, glancing between Katya and Shelley, searching for something he could say to remedy the situation.
The doorbell rang. “I’ll get that,” Shawn approached the door wanting to crawl under a rock. Whatever news awaited him on his front steps had to be better than his current conundrum. The delivery man stood there once again. “Mr. Gelinas?”
“You didn’t tell me you had a model with you…” Shawn pointed accusingly.
“I have another package for you.”
“Oh no, don’t even go there…”
The delivery man stepped aside, revealing TV personality Ashton Kutcher. “Shawn Gelinas,” Ashton extended his hand. ”You’ve been Punk’d!”
Katya and Shelley laughed and clapped behind him. Ashton pointed out hidden cameras. Shawn reddened in embarrassment. His wife orchestrated the best practical joke he’d ever witnessed. And worse, televised it.
Shawn placed the newspaper down on an end table and moved briskly to the front door. Who could be ringing the doorbell during the dinner hour? He gazed through the peephole. A distorted image of a bulky delivery man awaited his response. Shawn swung the door open.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Gelinas? I have a package you’ll need to sign for,” he extended a clipboard with a delivery form and a pen clamped under the hinge. Everything appeared legitimate enough. The large brown van parked on the street matched the color of his uniform. Shawn passed the form back, looking around for an absent package.
“Thank you sir, you’re all set!” The large man tucked the clipboard under his arm and left the front steps. In his place, a young woman stepped forward. Bright green eyes gazed playfully under dark, long eyelashes. Her lips were full and glossed, catching the light as if they were wet. Straight blonde hair draped aside her defined high cheekbones and rested on smooth shoulders. Her curves at the bust, the waist and the hips were nothing short of majestic. She wore nothing more than a leopard print bra and briefs. Shawn’s jaw conceded to gravity. A blonde strip of well-groomed eyebrow raised and her welcoming lips formed cute cheek dimples as she smiled. “Hello, Mizzer Gelneez, I am Katya,” her soft voice hinted at a strong Russian accent.
“Uh… hi Katya,” Shawn blinked intentionally to cease ogling. My God, there was a half naked Russian model on his front steps! There are families in his neighborhood with small children! He glanced down the street; a basketball game between the neighborhood boys had come to a grinding halt. “Please please come inside,” Shawn stepped aside, holding the door open. He escorted her into the living room, “Katya, might I ask what you’re doing coming to my house in lingerie?”
“You order zis, no?” She rolled her arm as if presenting herself.
“I ordered… what are you saying?”
“Online order. Lingerie site from Belarus. Remember? You order zis online.”
Shawn jogged his memory. He did place an order a few weeks back for some lingerie for Shelley’s birthday. Of course he opted for an online purchase, buying lingerie in person was one of the most uncomfortable things a man could do. He looked Katya up and down. She was wearing the exact lingerie he had ordered! He recalled the blond in the photo, wearing the lingerie with such a sultry pose. He remembered thinking the message in the margin, ‘As advertised’ was somewhat out of place.
“You like Katya picture online. Your order here now Shawn Gelneez.” Katya winked and sat herself on the couch.
“Katya I ordered the lingerie only, not the model too! You can’t stay!”
“But Katya come from Belarus for you.”
Shelley appeared in the doorway. “Shawn, why do we have a mail order bride in on our couch?” She spoke through gritted teeth and flaring nostrils.
“I, well, uhh… you see, I ordered you some lingerie dear…” Shawn shrugged hopelessly.
“Shawn order from lingerie model site. I am Katya,” she waved innocently at Shawn’s wife.
“Shawn there had better be a good…”
“I told you I only ordered lingerie,” he scurried for some leverage in the argument, but understood how bad this looked to her.
“No need for mad Misses Shawn Gelneez. Shawn got good deal. Pay low moneys. Katya, uh, how you say, on sale.”
Blood rushed to Shelley’s head, “…and how much exactly did you pay for Katya?”
“Well it was in foreign currency but it didn’t look too expensive.”
“Twelve thousand,” Katya again displayed her wonderful dimples.
Shelley roared, “US DOLLARS??”
Katya nodded affirmative.
“Shawn you did not bother to figure out the exchange rate to US dollars?!?!?”
Shawn slouched. He knew he had forgotten to do something. He recalled concluding the order quickly when a call came in over Skype. He could not believe what was happening. He stood there speechless, glancing between Katya and Shelley, searching for something he could say to remedy the situation.
The doorbell rang. “I’ll get that,” Shawn approached the door wanting to crawl under a rock. Whatever news awaited him on his front steps had to be better than his current conundrum. The delivery man stood there once again. “Mr. Gelinas?”
“You didn’t tell me you had a model with you…” Shawn pointed accusingly.
“I have another package for you.”
“Oh no, don’t even go there…”
The delivery man stepped aside, revealing TV personality Ashton Kutcher. “Shawn Gelinas,” Ashton extended his hand. ”You’ve been Punk’d!”
Katya and Shelley laughed and clapped behind him. Ashton pointed out hidden cameras. Shawn reddened in embarrassment. His wife orchestrated the best practical joke he’d ever witnessed. And worse, televised it.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
This week of 3ww
The Cortez Case series has moved! Please visit this page for the ongoing story, as well as the collected past installments.
The Cortez Case
The Cortez Case
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Wayne Status (3 word Wednesday - abuse, cramp, hatred)
“Day 100. Can you believe it’s been 100 days Dustin?”
Ugh, Wayne. Not Wayne. It’s too early in the morning for Wayne’s psychobabble. Dustin gazed at his computer monitor, attempting to check his Email, and hoping that Wayne would stop talking to the back of his head. Wayne looked over Dustin at a distant wall mounted monitor displaying close captioned CNN headlines. Dustin wished he were deaf, at least he could watch CNN in peace.
Every office had a Wayne. A Wayne was someone that loved to hear himself talk endlessly about nothing; someone people avoided eye contact with. A Wayne had such a reputation that would encourage subtle assistance from co-workers to save one another from the misfortunes of being cornered. Here was the office celebrity, the “Wayne of all Waynes” in all his glory, an unwelcome visitor in Dustin’s cubicle, reciting CNN as if Dustin were illiterate and not thoroughly exhausted of hearing about the Gulf oil spill.
“Did you know Tony Hayward is getting replaced? I think it’s about time, don’t you?” His nasal voice spiked hatred in Dustin, but he withheld enough to reply with rigid politeness, “I can read Wayne.”
The muted news anchor had moved on to an Iowa dam break, and Wayne followed suit. “Did they explain what caused the dam to...”
“’Scuse me Dustin can you look at this ticket for me please?” It was Crystal, right on cue, sparing Dustin from further abuse. She maneuvered her stout torso around Wayne and pointed at a blank piece of paper until Wayne departed.
“Thanks,” Dustin smirked and returned to his monitor. Crystal spoke in a gossipy mumble, “Geez he’s wound up today ain’t he? There’s a full moon out can’t you tell?”
“Yeah I saw it last night.”
“I think it’s really making people extra wacky because Venus is in retrograde which is odd for the early phase of Leo…”
Oh God. Don’t go into the zodiac stuff again Crystal. Don’t do it.
“...if you saw the moon last night, you could also see Mars if you had a clear sky, it was just off to the…"
“Shucks, missed it,” Dustin spoke with deflating enthusiasm. It was too late. Crystal had claimed Dustin’s only pencil and was sketching the planetary locations on the blank paper. He put his hand to his temples, perhaps she’d understand he really wasn’t following her, nor cared to. His distant expression only provoked Crystal further. Blah, blah, blah…
“Pardon me sir but did you see Jeopardy last night,” a deep male voice broadcasted over Crystal. Dustin knew what Guy was doing. Crystal had reached Wayne status, and Dustin was offered another life preserver. The bubbly Sage of the Zodiac retreated, leaving Guy in her place. The short man folded his arms; Dustin nodded in gratitude, faced his screen, and began to type. Finally, some peace and quiet.
“No I’m serious, did you see it?”
Oh come on, still here? “No Guy I did not see it, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me all about it…”
Guy explained with the energy of a sports commentator, “This one contestant was unbelievable! Shakespearian Characters, nailed it. Canadian Provinces, nailed it. African capitals, a personal favorite… nailed! Then he gets Periodic Table and meets his match! Who knows the capital of Burkina Faso but cannot get the obvious hint of Argon? I mean, come on…”
Dustin hoped Guy’s diaphragm would cramp from not stopping for oxygen. He patiently rubbed his temples, wondering whatever part of him that was emanating ‘Come babble to me’ could be located and maimed.
Guy ceased his animated rant when a woman with bloodshot eyes stepped alongside him.
“I need to talk… I’m sorry…” the woman welled up, fighting tears. Not one for drama, Guy placed his hand to his ear, “Is that my phone? Sorry I’ll let you two…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
Dustin grimaced at Tabitha, his latest train wreck of a visitor. “Ohmigod what happened,” he made his strongest effort to not sound monotone.
“He (sniffle) hasn’t returned my text yet,” Tabitha whined as a tear rolled down her cheek.
“When did you text him?”
“Two hours ago. He doesn’t normally take that long,” she wiped her eyes, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to come over and start (sob)…” She crumpled her face and pointed at her eyes. Dustin would have gouged out his eyes and eardrums right then and there if Crystal hadn't made away with the pencil.
Dustin frowned. Yes you do. You know you meant to come over here and cry. You always do. And you cry to me because I am the only one that will look like I’m listening. Dustin offered a tissue, as was the normal routine with Tabitha. “Look Tab I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you’ll have to excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
Tabitha leaned on his desk, clearing her eyes. Dustin really did not need to go, but sought an excuse to leave. All he wanted was a little peace and quiet; simply check his Email and do some work, uninterrupted. He walked across the office, ignoring two other counts of people trying to bleed their woes to him, before arriving at the mens room. He splashed his face with cold water and fidgeted with his hair. The furthest stall produced a flush, and the door unhinged.
The nasal voice pierced his soul, “Can you really believe it’s been 100 days?”
Ugh, Wayne. Not Wayne. It’s too early in the morning for Wayne’s psychobabble. Dustin gazed at his computer monitor, attempting to check his Email, and hoping that Wayne would stop talking to the back of his head. Wayne looked over Dustin at a distant wall mounted monitor displaying close captioned CNN headlines. Dustin wished he were deaf, at least he could watch CNN in peace.
Every office had a Wayne. A Wayne was someone that loved to hear himself talk endlessly about nothing; someone people avoided eye contact with. A Wayne had such a reputation that would encourage subtle assistance from co-workers to save one another from the misfortunes of being cornered. Here was the office celebrity, the “Wayne of all Waynes” in all his glory, an unwelcome visitor in Dustin’s cubicle, reciting CNN as if Dustin were illiterate and not thoroughly exhausted of hearing about the Gulf oil spill.
“Did you know Tony Hayward is getting replaced? I think it’s about time, don’t you?” His nasal voice spiked hatred in Dustin, but he withheld enough to reply with rigid politeness, “I can read Wayne.”
The muted news anchor had moved on to an Iowa dam break, and Wayne followed suit. “Did they explain what caused the dam to...”
“’Scuse me Dustin can you look at this ticket for me please?” It was Crystal, right on cue, sparing Dustin from further abuse. She maneuvered her stout torso around Wayne and pointed at a blank piece of paper until Wayne departed.
“Thanks,” Dustin smirked and returned to his monitor. Crystal spoke in a gossipy mumble, “Geez he’s wound up today ain’t he? There’s a full moon out can’t you tell?”
“Yeah I saw it last night.”
“I think it’s really making people extra wacky because Venus is in retrograde which is odd for the early phase of Leo…”
Oh God. Don’t go into the zodiac stuff again Crystal. Don’t do it.
“...if you saw the moon last night, you could also see Mars if you had a clear sky, it was just off to the…"
“Shucks, missed it,” Dustin spoke with deflating enthusiasm. It was too late. Crystal had claimed Dustin’s only pencil and was sketching the planetary locations on the blank paper. He put his hand to his temples, perhaps she’d understand he really wasn’t following her, nor cared to. His distant expression only provoked Crystal further. Blah, blah, blah…
“Pardon me sir but did you see Jeopardy last night,” a deep male voice broadcasted over Crystal. Dustin knew what Guy was doing. Crystal had reached Wayne status, and Dustin was offered another life preserver. The bubbly Sage of the Zodiac retreated, leaving Guy in her place. The short man folded his arms; Dustin nodded in gratitude, faced his screen, and began to type. Finally, some peace and quiet.
“No I’m serious, did you see it?”
Oh come on, still here? “No Guy I did not see it, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me all about it…”
Guy explained with the energy of a sports commentator, “This one contestant was unbelievable! Shakespearian Characters, nailed it. Canadian Provinces, nailed it. African capitals, a personal favorite… nailed! Then he gets Periodic Table and meets his match! Who knows the capital of Burkina Faso but cannot get the obvious hint of Argon? I mean, come on…”
Dustin hoped Guy’s diaphragm would cramp from not stopping for oxygen. He patiently rubbed his temples, wondering whatever part of him that was emanating ‘Come babble to me’ could be located and maimed.
Guy ceased his animated rant when a woman with bloodshot eyes stepped alongside him.
“I need to talk… I’m sorry…” the woman welled up, fighting tears. Not one for drama, Guy placed his hand to his ear, “Is that my phone? Sorry I’ll let you two…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
Dustin grimaced at Tabitha, his latest train wreck of a visitor. “Ohmigod what happened,” he made his strongest effort to not sound monotone.
“He (sniffle) hasn’t returned my text yet,” Tabitha whined as a tear rolled down her cheek.
“When did you text him?”
“Two hours ago. He doesn’t normally take that long,” she wiped her eyes, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to come over and start (sob)…” She crumpled her face and pointed at her eyes. Dustin would have gouged out his eyes and eardrums right then and there if Crystal hadn't made away with the pencil.
Dustin frowned. Yes you do. You know you meant to come over here and cry. You always do. And you cry to me because I am the only one that will look like I’m listening. Dustin offered a tissue, as was the normal routine with Tabitha. “Look Tab I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you’ll have to excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
Tabitha leaned on his desk, clearing her eyes. Dustin really did not need to go, but sought an excuse to leave. All he wanted was a little peace and quiet; simply check his Email and do some work, uninterrupted. He walked across the office, ignoring two other counts of people trying to bleed their woes to him, before arriving at the mens room. He splashed his face with cold water and fidgeted with his hair. The furthest stall produced a flush, and the door unhinged.
The nasal voice pierced his soul, “Can you really believe it’s been 100 days?”
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Unemployment Rate (three word Wednesday - bait, jump, victim; and Flash Friday)
Hank had no reason to expect company at nine-thirty in the morning. Date and time had not meant much to him in over three months. He threw a plaid robe over his boxers, made a feeble attempt to push his hair back, and answered the knocking at the front door. A clean cut man in a grey business suit nodded and extended his hand.
“Mister Hank Rowan, I presume?”
Hank scanned the younger man quizzically through sagging eyes. Hank knew he looked like shit; his face was scruffy, his hair awry, his teeth not brushed, he had not been graced with a shower in two days. Still the suited man did not look phased by Hank’s unkempt presentation. He leaned on his door and croaked, “What do you want?”
“My name is Walter, I am from Domestic Services.”
“What can I do for you Walter?”
“I understand you’ve been unemployed for awhile now,” Walter claimed the briefcase resting against his ankle and maneuvered his way around Hank. The living room was as maintained as its occupant. Taken aback by Walter’s aggressive jump indoors, Hank spoke slowly, “I was victim of a layoff in March.”
“Sorry to hear that. How has your search for re-employment gone?”
“It’s a tough market out there. I’ve sent resumes, I’ve looked online. Temp agencies. Nothing. Been collecting for about seven weeks.”
“Maybe I should discuss my reason for the visit. I believe I can help you, Hank. The Presidency has been very concerned about the nation’s unemployment rate being so high. A small group of individuals like myself were hired by the government to see what we can do to remedy the situation. Think of my visit as a job interview brought to you.”
Hank rubbed his chin. He had never heard of such a thing. Still he was willing to hear Walter state his case. Almost anything Walter proposed could be better than eating Ramen noodles two meals a day, and still facing a foreclosure. Walter interpreted his doubt, “Our organization has succeeded over the second quarter in bringing the rate from 9.9 to 9.7. It may not seem like much, but it’s thousands of individuals we are talking about…”
“Your group is taking the credit for the improvement?”
“You said it yourself Hank, it’s a tough market out there.”
“Alright then,” Hank took the bait, “What does your group do exactly?”
“Hank,” Walter pointed quickly and smirked, “I’m glad you asked. We look for unemployed and financially desperate individuals, such as yourself, no offense... and place them where they are no longer dependent on government funded support. This is creating a turnaround in national profit because we have reduced those relying on welfare.”
“Sounds like you’ve definitely done your part against the recession.”
Walter placed his briefcase on the filthy coffee table and unhinged the braces, “In fact, I guarantee I can get you to work by the end of the day!”
“That would be great! What kind of work? Do you need my resume?” Hank scanned the room, failing to locate his resume folder.
“No resume necessary Hank,” Walter revealed a .38 Magnum from the briefcase.
Hank froze in his footsteps, “You’re not really from the government, are you?”
Walter grinned, “I promised you some work. How are you with a shovel?"
“Mister Hank Rowan, I presume?”
Hank scanned the younger man quizzically through sagging eyes. Hank knew he looked like shit; his face was scruffy, his hair awry, his teeth not brushed, he had not been graced with a shower in two days. Still the suited man did not look phased by Hank’s unkempt presentation. He leaned on his door and croaked, “What do you want?”
“My name is Walter, I am from Domestic Services.”
“What can I do for you Walter?”
“I understand you’ve been unemployed for awhile now,” Walter claimed the briefcase resting against his ankle and maneuvered his way around Hank. The living room was as maintained as its occupant. Taken aback by Walter’s aggressive jump indoors, Hank spoke slowly, “I was victim of a layoff in March.”
“Sorry to hear that. How has your search for re-employment gone?”
“It’s a tough market out there. I’ve sent resumes, I’ve looked online. Temp agencies. Nothing. Been collecting for about seven weeks.”
“Maybe I should discuss my reason for the visit. I believe I can help you, Hank. The Presidency has been very concerned about the nation’s unemployment rate being so high. A small group of individuals like myself were hired by the government to see what we can do to remedy the situation. Think of my visit as a job interview brought to you.”
Hank rubbed his chin. He had never heard of such a thing. Still he was willing to hear Walter state his case. Almost anything Walter proposed could be better than eating Ramen noodles two meals a day, and still facing a foreclosure. Walter interpreted his doubt, “Our organization has succeeded over the second quarter in bringing the rate from 9.9 to 9.7. It may not seem like much, but it’s thousands of individuals we are talking about…”
“Your group is taking the credit for the improvement?”
“You said it yourself Hank, it’s a tough market out there.”
“Alright then,” Hank took the bait, “What does your group do exactly?”
“Hank,” Walter pointed quickly and smirked, “I’m glad you asked. We look for unemployed and financially desperate individuals, such as yourself, no offense... and place them where they are no longer dependent on government funded support. This is creating a turnaround in national profit because we have reduced those relying on welfare.”
“Sounds like you’ve definitely done your part against the recession.”
Walter placed his briefcase on the filthy coffee table and unhinged the braces, “In fact, I guarantee I can get you to work by the end of the day!”
“That would be great! What kind of work? Do you need my resume?” Hank scanned the room, failing to locate his resume folder.
“No resume necessary Hank,” Walter revealed a .38 Magnum from the briefcase.
Hank froze in his footsteps, “You’re not really from the government, are you?”
Walter grinned, “I promised you some work. How are you with a shovel?"
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
To whom it may concern (three word Wednesday - gentle, praise, vulgar)
Dear writers,
I am writing this in good conscience that I need to make my voice heard on a subject that has been of great concern for awhile now. I am deeply worried that the subject of vampires has been overused in today’s movies and literature. Look, I know there’s a dark, mysterious danger that the vampire character offers to your fiction. Hollywood has cast us as a cold and savage species. It’s not like that at all. We are not so vulgar as to hunt down you humans for blood. Quite frankly, it’s far too messy. Everyone seems to have some sort of GPS these days. Next thing you know, the cops are all over you. Then it’s all this explaining, all this paperwork, possible arrest or even getting shot at. And what vampire likes to get shot at? Not yours truly, my friends.
Hollywood has recently made us an anti-hero. This has worsened our lifestyle truthfully. I feel it has impinged on our anonymity. Everywhere I go, humans want autographs. It has also become an unbearable nuisance with the paparazzi. Don’t they realize I will not show up in photos? I am no role model and certainly no anti-hero. I feel the praise and attention we receive is simply not justified.
I would furthermore like to set the record straight for bats. Bats have really got a bad reputation through the whole vampire infatuation you humans have going on. Bats are not after your blood, they hone in by sonar. If you don’t want them to bother you, then stop making noises! They are a pretty gentle animal overall and should be considered for domestication. If you were the first in your neighborhood with a pet bat, I am certain you’d be the talk of the neighborhood. Untapped potential here, people. It’s no more difficult than owning a ferret. Less odorous, too. Think of them as small, blind ferrets with wings. What’s not to love?
I go to the blood bank and pay for my meals like every honest hard working vampire. I sleep the sunlight hours away, so please stop knocking on my door during the daytime hours. I am not interested in your life insurance or your girl scout cookies. Just let me sleep people. A little privacy is all I ask. If you are awake in the wee hours of the morning, you can text or Email me, even follow me on Twitter. I’d rather you not visit in person though, I’m a bear if you interrupt my DVR’d Oprah.
Respectfully,
D
I am writing this in good conscience that I need to make my voice heard on a subject that has been of great concern for awhile now. I am deeply worried that the subject of vampires has been overused in today’s movies and literature. Look, I know there’s a dark, mysterious danger that the vampire character offers to your fiction. Hollywood has cast us as a cold and savage species. It’s not like that at all. We are not so vulgar as to hunt down you humans for blood. Quite frankly, it’s far too messy. Everyone seems to have some sort of GPS these days. Next thing you know, the cops are all over you. Then it’s all this explaining, all this paperwork, possible arrest or even getting shot at. And what vampire likes to get shot at? Not yours truly, my friends.
Hollywood has recently made us an anti-hero. This has worsened our lifestyle truthfully. I feel it has impinged on our anonymity. Everywhere I go, humans want autographs. It has also become an unbearable nuisance with the paparazzi. Don’t they realize I will not show up in photos? I am no role model and certainly no anti-hero. I feel the praise and attention we receive is simply not justified.
I would furthermore like to set the record straight for bats. Bats have really got a bad reputation through the whole vampire infatuation you humans have going on. Bats are not after your blood, they hone in by sonar. If you don’t want them to bother you, then stop making noises! They are a pretty gentle animal overall and should be considered for domestication. If you were the first in your neighborhood with a pet bat, I am certain you’d be the talk of the neighborhood. Untapped potential here, people. It’s no more difficult than owning a ferret. Less odorous, too. Think of them as small, blind ferrets with wings. What’s not to love?
I go to the blood bank and pay for my meals like every honest hard working vampire. I sleep the sunlight hours away, so please stop knocking on my door during the daytime hours. I am not interested in your life insurance or your girl scout cookies. Just let me sleep people. A little privacy is all I ask. If you are awake in the wee hours of the morning, you can text or Email me, even follow me on Twitter. I’d rather you not visit in person though, I’m a bear if you interrupt my DVR’d Oprah.
Respectfully,
D
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