7days7authors

Saturday - Spinning Wheel - Jacob Martinez

Thursday: "I'm Not a Creep, Just a Weirdo"

Chapter Two

I still found myself parked in front of Cheating Robert’s house. This time, however, I was pointing my binoculars in the direction of BIG J’s front door. Kenneth was whistling in the back seat. The familiar smell of sharpie drifted under my nose again, making me sigh.

“He’s coming.”

“No he’s not.”

“Robert, not Jacob.”

I didn’t even turn to hear the slobbering voice behind me. “What’re you doing outside my house Amelina? Can’t get enough of me can y-” I opened the car door, and the handle hit his no no square, promptly dropping him to the ground. I closed the door again and went back to looking for BIG J.

Kenneth stuck his head out the window to take a look at Robert and giggled. I rolled my eyes and muttered something about him being a child.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Like a job after your aid job at school? Like helping your dad with your family business? Like having a life?” I knew that last part was going to get thrown back at me.

“Right. So says the girl stalking a boy outside his house.”

“So says the boy with the girl stalking a boy outside his home.”

“So says the girl who just hit her ex with the car door.”

“So says the boy drawing on the back seat in sharpie.”

He huffed and finished his drawing. “You love my drawings. Or else you would have told me to stop a long time ago.”

“I did tell you to stop. But only once because if you weren’t going to stop the first time then why should I waste my time with telling you more than once?” My attention wandered back to the door, and I felt my heart flutter when I saw the door open.

As BIG J picked up the newspaper and stood up, he stopped and squinted across the street at me. I saw him mouth some words then wave gingerly at me. I smiled and waved back as he retreated back into his house. Well he looks absolutely yummy without a shirt on.

I sighed and put my binoculars up for the day. “Well I’m done. I guess I’ll take you home now.”

“Yay! Then we can bake some cookies.”

“Seriously. How old are you? Eight?”

—

The next day at school, I stood in the middle of the lunchroom and stared up at the ceiling with a perplexed look on my face. Soon, a whole crowd of people joined me in curiosity and formed a large mob around me.

When I was satisfied, I got in line and bought food for lunch.

“Wait! What were we looking at?” I raised and eyebrow and glanced up at that general direction.

“Oh. That. I was just seeing how many people I could get to stare at nothing and for how long.” I glanced at my watch and grinned. Ten minutes wasn’t so bad for something like this.

When I was sitting down to eat lunch, I saw BIG J shake his head at me (He was part of the crowd too) and leave to go get lunch.

—

During the only class I had with him, History, I kept tally marks for how many times he glanced at me, and a separate tally mark for how many times I glanced at him. His outnumbered mine for a bit, but the information couldn’t be totally accurate.

After class, he waited for me as we walked out of class together. We didn’t say anything, but other girls kept saying hi to him and giving his flirtatious looks. I rolled my eyes as I walked past Robert and the Masochist Girl making out profusely in front of his locker.

“Oh dear. The janitor is going to have a field day trying to clean up that mess.” I heard BIG J laugh beside me and felt a little swell of pride. I really do like this guy. He’s not bad looking.

He’s a lot taller than me, and his hair isn’t too long or short and a dirty blond color. In the winter, he always wore a green jacket which is why I always called him the boy in the green jacket. But now that it was warmer, he didn’t wear jackets anymore, but I still called him the boy in the green jacket.

“Amelina! Emma dear!” I rolled my eyes as I heart Kenneth jog up behind me. “You mom called the office today. Said not to forget about your appointment today.” I took in a deep breath and let it out.

“Right, right. Now leave me alone. You’re embarrassing me.” I left with BIG J, letting Kenneth glare daggers at my retreating back.

—

I pulled on my jogging clothes for my evening run. I usually ran at least three times a week, but lately I had been slacking so I made it a point to run today.

“Be safe, don’t talk to strangers, and look both ways before you cross.” I nodded at my mothers moving lips before turning the volume on my iPod up and closing the front door.

I barely made it to the end of the block before I noticed a yellow hummer following me around as I was running. Just great. There was only one person I knew who drove a yellow hummer, and he needed to get a life.

I turned the corner on my regular route and sighed as I pondered life’s mysteries. Like why Kenneth drove all the way to my house every school morning to car pool with me to school when it’s shorter to go directly to school. Like if alternate universes really exist and what would happen to the world if I saw my doppleganger. Like how I ended up standing in front of BIG J’s house knocking on his front door.

He answered the door with a weird look on his face and raised an eyebrow. “This is new. You’ve never directly been on my property before.” I grinned and pointed to the bushes in front of the house.

“I was hiding there for a while watching you through the window but I got tired of that and decided to ask if I could come in. You have a lovely home.” He opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

“But then I realized it was your house and that I should probably ask permission to come in instead of breaking in instead.” He got a concerned look on his face then and was about to lecture me before I added in a hasty ‘I’m just kidding.’

“The real reason I’m here is that I was going on a jog and this yellow hummer keeps following me around and it’s a bit unnerving.” He leaned out past his doorway and saw the vehicle parked down the street.

“It’s Kenneth.”

I sighed, exasperated and rolled my eyes.

“I know that. But this is an excuse for me to walk into your house with permission. I could always break in through your bedroom window later tonight if you’d prefer that.” He raised an eyebrow again at me and rolled his own eyes.

“Come on in. Ignore the mess, my dad is redecorating the house.” I smiled and skipped into his house.

“By the way, just so you know, I wasn’t kidding about that last part.”

—

“I soaked in every detail as I walked into his house. I memorized the smell, the way the light hit the objects and how hard the shadows tried to run away from their objects.”

“Do you narrate your life often?” He went to the fridge and pulled out a diet coke for me. I gave him a nervous laugh before opening it and taking in a long sip.

“It’d sound more interesting in a British accent.” He leaned against the counter and grinned at me. Man. He could be a male model. I didn’t say that out loud right? Okay.

“Sometimes I say my thoughts out loud and I don’t realize it. Most people just assume I’m talking to myself because I’m crazy.” He gave me a thoughtful look as he took another sip of his drink.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. You’re the head of our class aren’t you? Perfect in every class. And I hear you’re an eloquent speaker.” He tilted his head to study me. I suddenly felt self conscious and averted my gaze to study his living room over the counter.

“You’re just a little… eccentric.” I rolled my eyes and turned back to him.

“So says you, my parents, my counselor, my psychiatrist, my doctor, and my best friend. Everyone else just says I’m crazy.” I finished my diet coke and left it on the counter for him to throw away.

“How did you know I like diet coke?”

“You’re not the only observant one.”

—

It was getting dark when I left his house, but not dark enough for BIG J to drive me home, so I started to jog back when Kenneth in the yellow hummer pulled up next to me and rolled his window down.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“Jogging home. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You know what I meant.”

“No I don’t. Explain to me what you meant.” We turned the corner and I could see the laser beams in his eyes try to slice me apart. He always gets mad when I get interested in another boy. He gets angry for a little while then realizes I don’t really like them.

“What were you doing in Jacob’s house?”

“Talking to him. He has a lovely home. I didn’t see his parents though.”

“Why were you talking to him?”

“To talk to him? Jeeze Kenneth get off my back.” I hit my mailbox with my hand jogging into the drive way and swore loudly as I spun around clutching it into my house.

“See? You got hurt talking about him! He’s not good for you!” I heard the engine cut and the car door slam shut.

“Oh please. And Robert wasn’t good for me. Ritchy wasn’t good for me. Tanner wasn’t good for me. I think BIG J has a lot of potential.” I pushed the door open and heard him close the door behind me.

“I don’t. He looks shady. He goes straight home after school and never comes out until it’s time to pick up the newspaper.”

“Oh. So you have been paying attention when we’re stalking him.” He sat down in a huff on the couch.

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like anybody.”

“I like you.”

“Because you’re just as crazy as I am.”

“We need to stick together.”

“No we don’t.”

“Yes we do! We’re best friends!”

“Because you scare everyone around me off.”

“That’s not true! Take that back.” Now I was starting to get mad. I turned around and leaned on the kitchen counter.

“Kenneth. You’re a twenty year old guy still living with his parents. You drive a ridiculously huge car, and waste more gas driving to my house than straight to school. You work at the school you graduated from two years ago. You do menial errands instead of staying at home and helping your parents with their home business. You deliver my messages personally. It’s like you’re stalking me.” Then it hit me.

“… You are stalking me.” He didn’t say anything and looked down at his hands.

“I’m not. I just really like you.”

“Kenneth. I’m never going to date you.”

“Why the hell not?!” And now he was mad.

“I’m not attracted to you.” That’s when he stood up from the couch and stared at me with rage in his eyes.

“Fine. Fine. I see how it is. I’ll make you like me. Whenever you have no one else to turn to, you’ll come running to me. You’ll see. I’m not going to share you.” Then he stormed off and left me uneasy with his threat.

—

When I walked into school that morning I had people give me odd stares and avoid me with a three foot radius. They usually gave me odd stares but the three foot radius ting was new.

But I just ignored them and headed to my locker to get my things. When I opened my locker though, something came pouring out and I screamed. I wasn’t the only one who screamed though. The whole hallway screamed.

I, however, had a mental breakdown and cried. I ran as far away as I could and crouched down in the corner screaming, tears blurring my makeup.

Marbles. So many marbles.

When I was little, the kids on the playground would tease me and chase me away by throwing marbles at me. They were cruel, and I would always leave with bruises everywhere. One went down my throat once and I almost choked to death.

Every one was tripping on them and laughed, but I didn’t. I was curled up against a corner crying my eyes out. And they laughed at me. They stopped and pointed and laughed, and something inside my died a little bit.

I didn’t notice the arms that wrapped around me, pulling me and taking me outside. I was shaking and my knees could barely support me weight anymore. “Shh, shh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” I collapsed on the ground and sniffed.

There was only one other person who knew besides my parents about the marbles. Now the whole school really did think I was crazy. I had an irrational fear and he was taking advantage of it.

I pulled my knees to my chest and hid my face in them.

“Stab my back, it’s better when I bleed for you…” BIG J patted my back and sighed.

Monday - And We Haven’t the Time to Mince Words, We are Late for Dinner - David McGovern

In twos we would explore the
vices we knew.  Even in the darkest corners

on the dirtiest mattresses I

would still

get sunburned on my temples. On the balcony, drunk and in

my underwear, I spoke to my mother about

my second cousin (thrice removed?)

and his wife, my

co-worker.  In the morning, at work, at

my desk with the ghost of

brown bottles in my

second and third gag-reflexes (Jesus

was right, I’m not

a sword swallower) I was

bothered about the bearings of

marriages, cousins.  For the

second time (that really

sticks out) a woman called me

pale to my face (I know

all Irish are not this

rude).  Mr. Darnielle told me took
”Look up

at the high windows”.  Mr. Brady mentioned “This wasn’t

meant to be no sad song.”  After the remarks

I took my sandwich and headed

towards the lake and

the doorman with eyebrows as big
as Caterpillar mustache children.  Falling
asleep on the train I hoped you would

regain your appetite. I hoped
my contacts would

be unglued from my eye.  I

thought of

old friends.

Sunday - "The Morning After" - Will M.

Val met Caitlyn for brunch at Hugo’s.  They had discovered it a year back when Caitlyn embarked along a short-lived experiment with veganism, but kept coming back afterwards because they liked the food. Caitlyn looked like she was still suffering from a not-yet-ended late night.

“Owen Wilson wouldn’t hit on me.”

Caitlyn had been obsessed with Owen Wilson since her small-town Mississippi days and thought she had spotted the actor the previous night at Skybar.  What neither Caitlyn nor Valentine knew was that it was actually a USC reserve placekicking named Lucas, who’d been on the wrong end of a kick-blocking defensive lineman two weeks previous and was really enjoying the newfound attention he recieved as a result of his epistaxis.

“I’m sorry sweetie. Let’s eat.” Autumn and Val both learned to easily shift conversations away from the subject of Owen Wilson with Caitlyn. Caitlyn was still too hungover this morning to notice.

“I even…oh…shit…I think I flashed him.”

“What?”

“Well, I borrowed that great little dress from Autumn, and then saw him out at the bar, and kept hoping he’d look…and he wouldn’t so…”

“…Yes?”

“I went into the bathroom and took my panties of and then came out and kind of…Marylin Monroe’d the dress at him.”

“Oh geez…Cait..we need to get you some help…or laid.”

The waitress arrived with their food.

“It’s his loss anyway Cait, really it is.  Are you ready for your audition?”

“Oh sure.”

“You do know it’s Wednesday right?”

Caitlyn paused.

“Yes.”

“But you had to think about.  You know today’s Tuesday right?”

“Yes.”  No pause.

“So let me guess, you’re running on maybe…three? hours of sleep?”

“More or less.  I got up, killed some time at the newstand and walked here.”

“Walked?”

“Well, I took a cab to the newstand. It’s too hot to walk.  Plus I had to look through the latest Yearbook.”

‘The Yearbook’ was Caitlyn’s term (actually her best friend in high school, Kelli Miller coined the term, but Caitlyn felt, that as the only one of them to actually follow through on that drunken-weekend-before-junior-prom promise Caitlyn, Kelli, plus this girl Maribel they didn’t actually like that much but who had an older sister that bought them the booze, and Kelli’s younger sister Sarah had made to move out to LA and make it big—“making it big” being vary ill-defined; not surprising given the heroic number of amerreto sours consumed and soaked up into largely virgin livers—that ‘The Yearbook’ and its coingage were fair game for her—Caitlyn—to claim) for US Weekly and all the related gossipy celebrity life-following magazines featured prominately in most grocery store check-out aisles that, despite sharing much of the same store terrain as National Enquirer and its ilk, were somehow seen as somehow more respectable.  Caitlyn surmised the reason was because A. ‘The Yearbook’ was a magazine—cheap paper or no—and didn’t have the icky finger aftermath you get with the newspaperian tabloids plus also B. it was full of color photos whereas the tabloids were stuck with at best blurry color photos on their ink-shedding front page only.  Caitlyn had a near preternatural grasp of subilties and meta-messages inherent in mass media marketing and advertising and on a gut level understood that the message implied by the two magazines’ side-by-side placement was that ‘The Yearbook’ cost more to produce, and with such a heavier overhead, they clearly had more to lose if they ran with erroneous gossip.

Val sighed. “Anything interesting in there?” She doubted there was. Val was a Variety reader if she wanted her Hollywood news.

“Nah. Rumors and innuendo.”

Caitlyn (well, first Kelli) came up with the nickname because they viewed Hollywood—particularly the major celebrities (though who was and who wasn’t ‘major’ was another debate altogether)—as a macrocosmic version of a typical suburban US high school.  There were cliques, fights, popular kids, dropouts, loners, weirdos, druggies, drug dealers—pretty much every sub-grouping but poor kids—only unlike high school, where the events would at worst be blogged about (sometimes) then rarely read about (more often) or recorded in the school paper or yearbook (in highly sanitized form) for posteritiy, in Hollywood all the gossip and backstabbing and behind-the-back catiness (not limited by age or gender) was written down, recorded, photographed, or sometimes outright fabricated, but it all made it into some mdium for everyone outside the metaphorical ‘school’ to see, observe, add to, and pass judgement upon.

Small-town girl though she may be, Caitlyn wasn’t naive enough to think her friend had stumbled upon a perfectly new and unique metaphor for the role she (Caitlyn) now lived in, but she thought the metaphor was apt, and no amounts of eye-rolling, kvetching, derision, faux-snores (an Autumn favorite) or incomprhension (which Caitlyn encountered mostly in the model-turned-actor types that had been ravingly attractive since birth, and probably dropped on the head in a non-outwardly-scaring way once or twice when little, and not read to, and got by on their looks alone while their brains atrophied at a faster decline than job offers for actresses over 50) none of these factors could divorce her from using her favorite linguistic metaphor.

“I wonder how much some of those writers get paid…” Val really felt a sudden urge to go home and take a nap.

“Too much. I mean…fuck..how would you like to get married and then have it go to shit and have people covering the whole thing—spreading who knows what rumors and saying whatever they like about you, because even if it is false and you sue, it’s still publicity for them?”

“Well who would when you phrase it like that.”

“You know what I mean. It’s shit.”

“They cover the happy times too.”

“Yeah. But they don’t.  Unless it’s weird, like Tom and Katie.”

“That might not be the best example of ‘happy’ to use…”

“Still.”

“But what do they say: ‘it’s the price of fame schweethaht’” Val could pull of a passable Bogart impersonation when the mood struck her.

“Maybe. Still sucks though.”

“But wait. Hold on. Don’t you want to be famous?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And you don’t think this will happen to you too?”

“Well…I don’t know…I was kind of hoping to…move to the south of France or something.”

“You don’t think they have paparazzi there? Or are you just hoping to hook up with Johnny Depp?”

“Oh hush. There’s less of them there, it’s less intrusive.  They don’t take pictures of Johnny everytime he goes to market.”

“Does he ‘go to market’ there?”

“Come on, it may be a fantasy, but the least you could do is play along with me here.”

“Fine. But only because you seem over your hangover now.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Caitlyn hoised her second green tea of the brunch aloft in mock-toast.

Thursday: "I'm Not a Creep, Just a Weirdo" by MV

Chapter One

So here I am, parked across the street from his house and staring at him and his current little fling through his bedroom window. I knew he would forget to close his blinds, he always does. I squinted and saw him mouth the words to the song “Dirty Little Secret” to her as he laughed and leaned over her. Pfft. Dirty little secret my ass. I know everything.

My boyfriend wasn’t exactly stealthy when it came to cheating on me. He’s done it multiple times, but I’ve never confronted him. Why should I? It was much more amusing to watch him squirm when I hinted that I knew, but never exactly told him. Poor boy. I’m pretty sure the only reason he puts up with me is because I’m pretty. And damn smart. But with those things comes a price, and I’ll admit it, I’m a bit of a weirdie.

‘Eccentric’ was the word used by the school counselor, but I know they all think I’m crazy. I’m not crazy; I know perfectly well that what I’m doing isn’t normal behavior for an eighteen year old girl. But what else can I do with my time?

Anyway, I can see clothes starting to fly so I put down my binoculars and sigh. I put another tally mark in my book and closed it before sitting back into the seat. I glanced over to the house I was parked directly in front of and noticed a boy from school open the door, grab the newspaper, give me a disapproving head shake, and then go back inside.

Huh. With my powers of observation, you’d think I’d have seen him before.

“Emma! I’m tired of spying on your cheating boyfriend. Can we go home now?” I turned to the back seat where my best friend, Kenneth, was drawing all over them in sharpie. The whole backseat was covered in his drawings, but I didn’t mind. I did mind that he thought he lived with me.

“That dog looks ugly.” He scowled and stuck his tongue out at me before sulking like a child in the backseat. And he was twenty. And the owner of a rather successful small business. But still sulked like a child.

I laughed and rolled my eyes, taking in a deep breath of sharpie fumes. “You know that kills brain cells.” Oh I knew. Maybe that was my ultimate goal in life.

—

“Amelina Lee!” I kept my head down and moved my eyes up to see my teacher looming over me.

“Yessir?”

“Can you answer the question?”

“What question?”

“The one I asked.”

“You didn’t ask a question.”

“Yes I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Don’t sass me!”

“I wasn’t sassing you, I was stating something.” And so on and so forth. This happened every day in class since the beginning of school. Didn’t he understand I would always win? We get into a little roundabout then he gives a speech about the importance of paying attention until class is over. I’m sure someone there appreciates my suffering.

While he was ranting, I lifted my head up and saw the boy who gives me disapproving nods and I recognize who he is. He’s the Boy In the Green Jacket! Or BIG J as I like to refer to him as. The funny thing is that his name is Jacob too.

The bell rings and everyone leaves in the middle of his speech. As always, I’m the last out of class. But BIG J was waiting for me outside and pulled me to the side.

“Why do you do things like that?”

“Because. It makes life a little interesting.” I started playing with my hair and frowned at some split ends I found.

“Like how your supposéd boyfriend is making out with another girl at his locker?” I turned to the direction he was pointing and frowned. Damn. Right in public too. There goes all my stalking fun. Now I have to break up with him or people will think I’m desperate.

“Robert!” I shrieked from my position. I stomped mock angrily towards him and ripped the other girl off of him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She wiped her mouth (because he had a saliva gland problem. Most people put up with that because he was hot. But I only let him kiss me after he was entertaining.) and growled at me angrily.

“He doesn’t want you bitch!” She looked particularly smug until I kicked her into the locker. Then she passed out.

I turned around, still more amused then actually angry, and glared at Robert. Sure he was attractive, but the boy had the brains of a rock. But that’s rather insulting to rocks because they can at least hide something.

“Damn it, you weren’t supposed to know! I swear, I’m so sorry baby!” I flinched when he tried to hug me. Not only because he’s repulsive, and the fact that he was drooling, but I just didn’t like people touching me.

“Right. Save it for someone who cares you cheating asshole!” There was a disappointment in my voice, but only because I had no one to stalk in my free time now. Great. Now what was I supposed to do?

“You can’t talk to him that way!” Ugh. This was starting to be a little bit more trouble than I wanted. Sure my parents would bail me out because I apparently had a medical condition I didn’t know about, but still.

The girl launched herself at me and I just bent down low and hit her across the stomach hard enough to collapse her. Girls. I swear. Well, I’m a girl but these girls are just plain stupid. I mean, would you pick a fight with someone who had just knocked you into a locker with a single kick? If you were me you might, but you’re probably not.

The crowd was huge around us and I knew the administrators were coming so I just turned around and left, passing a stunned BIG J on the way. I smiled at him and sang under my breath, “I’ll keep you my dirty little secret…”

—

I was pulled out of class later and questioned by admins. I was grilled and reprimanded, but left with nothing more than the usual slap on the wrist. Will I ever be punished properly? At this rate, I could probably lay waste to half the school and maybe get a detention. Maybe.

Kenneth was the aid in the discipline office for that period and shook his head as I was leaving. “You get your kicks in an odd way Emma.” I shrugged and smiled. It depressed me a little bit that I wasn’t treated normal, but sometimes it had its perks.

I didn’t go straight back to class, instead, I took a detour to the lobby where the vending machines were and got myself a snack to eat. While I was finishing my drink in front of the machine, I glanced at my distorted reflection.

I guess I was sort of pretty. My hair was long, a little bit past my shoulders, and black. I dyed the under part of my hair bleach blonde because I was bored one day. I wore a lot of eyeliner. A lot. I liked to draw it on thick because it made me eyes look less small. I remember I used to trim my eyelashes because I thought they were too short so they would grow. I ended up just wearing a lot of mascara.

The coke machine gave a red tint to my skin that was unusually pale for living in Texas. And I spent most of my time outside too. I think that there’s something wrong with the melanin in my skin.

I was short. Well, maybe not short, I was only five foot four so I guess I was kinda short? I dunno. I was, compared to the other people at this school. Oh poo.

The bell rang, and I stood next to the vending machines, watching the people flood out of the school. It was a good fifteen minutes before the halls were empty except for the few straying students and teachers running errand after school.

I wandered back to the classroom and saw BIG J standing outside, leaning against the wall next to the door, holding my things for me.

I smiled as I approached him. Hello new stalkee.

Wednesday - Baby Ruth - Brandon

I was born as a c-section on the beach of Malibu. Of course, my mother, a surfer, could never keep herself away from a decent swell. And that day, June 27th, the swell was spectacular. She looked great in that flower print bikini, on her 10 foot pink and blue Carington Foam board, even though she had a baby in her womb, moments away from bursting. As she road the 5 foot wave, and cut the board deep into the ocean’s water, her own water broke, and I beckoned my life into the world.

There on the sand, with the California sun’s rays welcoming my birth, I peeked my little peanut shaped head out and said hello to planet earth and what I, and everyone else around me, would call life.

My mother’s name is Debra. Her bartender friends called her Ruth, because of her fascination with Baby Ruth Chocolate bars. She’d have her bouts with philosophy, never much delving deeper than wondering if the Earth really was round, but one thing she’d always argue was whether that chocolate covered bar of peanuts and nougat was named after the home run hitter or President Grover Cleveland’s daughter.

Ruth. My Mom. The Surfer.

She lived in Venice, California in a small bungalow atop a garage, with a view of the canal. A small studio apartment with a pressure cooker and a tiny little fridge. A mattress flanked the corner next to the only other piece of furniture; a small vanity with large white light bulbs befit for an actress from the early thirties.

Ruth was a beauty, her mouth the shape of Eva Gardner. Her eyes a shade of burnt fire wood. Back in the day she could have had any man or material item she desired, but she only desired the spray of the Pacific and the thought of her son to be - her lil’ baby Ruth.

-walpaper.tumblr.com

Monday - The Disappearance of Forty Dollars - David McGovern

“Well it is fucking shit! Ya hear me? If you’ll pardon the French”

“We are quite fluent in French ourselves,” Clyde replies without a pause.

The cabdriver, Clyde and myself all begin to laugh raucously.

“heh heh heh well alright then!”

I turn and look out the driver’s side window of the van.  The French fries and Coors Light from the Hobby Airport’s sports bar, once airborne and eastward-bound, left my stomach a bit off-kilter.

“So where you boys from?”

“Chicago,” Clyde and myself reply in unison.

“Chicago! I was stationed down in Champaign back when I was in the army.  Used to go down there on the Southside. It’s diff’rnt now though, right?”

Clyde readily took the reigns of the conversation:

“They tore down all the high-rises and are putting condos up.”

“Shit, ain’t that crazy man.  Well, shit, it is happening everywhere.  I got my brother-in-law over in Mississippi and they turning old factories in lofts.  He bought one of them up and it’s fucking nice, but fucking crazy.  Ya hear me?”

“Oh, yes.”

“mmmhmm.”

Both of us agree with the driver’s opinion.   

Ahead, on the left, I see the Superdome, so familiar from news coverage a few falls back.  To unexpectedly see the Superdome’s massive pale concrete rise in the Louisiana humidity takes my breath away.  After seeing something so much on TV still did not really confirm the existence of the building.  I want to tell him to stop.  I want to touch it.  I want to be a Thomas.  Seeing is believing.  This is real?  As if reading my thoughts the cabbie changes topics:

“Ah so ya see right over there?”

He points in the direction I am looking, but a bit behind us.  My eyes are glued on the rapidly approaching Superdome, but I reply:

“Yeah …”

“Ah, so right over there?  Right there is where the first levee broke.  Then, up there,” he motions further ahead of us, “the next broke.”

Clyde and myself remain quiet.

“Shit, all that fucked alot of shit man.  I been living in a trailer in my front yard since then.”

“What part of the city do you live in?”

Clyde picks up the new topic.

“9^th Ward.”

I know the name, not where it is.

“I got a buddy, up north a bit, and he asks me “Say, how much water you get?”. And you know what I said?  I go “Fuck man, ALL of it!””

The car is roaring once again.

“Then, heh, I got the same friend he is doing some work for me now.  And, shit man, these contractors fuck you around so much.  One say he do it in this amount of time and money and then, fuck it, it takes twice as long and twice as much!  Ya hear me?”

“Yeah”

“eh?”

“Yeah.”

“Eh, yeah.  So just the other day he is in there fitting windows and he is sawin’ away, sawin’ away, standing back and looking at his work and then sawin’ away some more.  He takes the glass and puts it into the place in the front of the house.  We got some nice big picture windows in the front of the house.  So we go out to my trailer and take a look at the window.  And ya know what?  That goddamn window is crooked!  My friend goes “Eh, well shit!  I do believe it ain’t straight.” And sure enough it ain’t!”

The driver lifts both hands from the wheel as we continue to drive down the highway to show how off from center the window was installed.

Clyde contributes “You can call it art” but the cabbie hadn’t quite finished his thought and upon realization of the interruption addressed the comment:

“eh, what?”

“You can call it art.”

I look at the Superdome shrinking in the distance now.

“eh? Haha sure.  Sure!  Is that a Rembrandt or a Picasso?! HeHehHA!”

I join the laughing half-heartedly.  As the ripples of the joke subside we pull up to the hotel.

“Ok now boys, get out of the side there.”

He gestures to the side of the car closest to the hotel, the passenger side.  Clyde and myself head out and back to the trunk where are bags were placed.

“Hey y’all ever see that movie D.I.?”

“No.”

We both reply.  I reach for my wallet as the cabbie hands the first bag to Clyde.

“Haha, reminds me of my army days. In training we had a curfew.  And the D.I., the drill instructor, would go on rounds, to make sure we’d go to bed on time.”

He picks up Clyde’s laptop and hands it to him

“So me and the boys we liked to go down to the basement of the barracks after curfew and shoot some dice.  Ya hear me? Ya know?”

He crouches and shakes his right hand furiously.

“Eh heh heh heh.  Anyway, so we down there and I’m getting ready for my throw and let the dice go and I look up and everyone is standing at attention and there I am crouched over the dice I just threw.  Ooooooh boy … he did NOT like that eh heh heh heh.  Oh man, you see what them D.I.s where like if you see that movie!”

Clyde and myself join in again with the merriment.  At this point we both have our bags and we are both standing out front of the hotel just chatting with the cabbie.  Eager to get the night started I finger my wallet and ask
”So how much do we owe you sir?”

“Twenty-nine and then a little tip … please.”

“Sure, sure no problem.”

I take two bills from the wallet and hand them to the cabbie.  He looks down and appears to count the currency twice.

“Thanks y’all you have a good stay! Go rent the D.I.!”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you sir.  Have a good night!”

We turn and head past the valet and towards the hotel’s giant revolving door, shirt already sticking on my back from the southern moisture and a half day of travel.  As we enter the lobby with our luggage I grin and turn to Clyde:

“Fuck man, ALL of it!”

Sunday - Quickly - Will M.

Her eyes were almost perfect — a flaw, like Faye Dunaway’s character in Chinatown, broke the ice blue in the iris of her left eye like the iceberg that downed the Titanic — and it was that near perfection that drew his eyes to her near-perfect ones from across the bar.

It happened fast after that.

He made his way to her — not rushed, but not slowly — with the lights striking each just right. 

The current Billboard Hot 100 single blared from the impressive PA. Neither noticed.

Around them were sweat-soaked, drunken multitudes, yet when he arrived next to her, it was as if no one else was talking.

The banter was inconsequential, but necessary for how these things work.

Still fast.

“Instant attraction” is a term people like to throw around with little regard for the whole “instant” part.

Even 0-60 in a drag racer isn’t instant.  But this was as close to “instant” as such things get.

They talked.

She ran her hand through her hair. He noticed, being a student of Unsubtle Body Language In The 21st Century. Brazen, he ran his fingertips over her arm.

Then: shots.

Tequila.

Set in front of them naked at first.

Downed.

Then refilled and set again, this time with company: salt. Lime.

The wrists: kissed. Shots: downed again.

Again.

Her neck.

They had to go.

Saturday: Glacier - Jacob Martinez

Thursday: "Stopwatch" by Mandatory Volunteer

Chapter the First

Sodium Chloride or sodium chlorate?

“I don’t think that’s a subject you need to be discussing right now.” The chief of police had appeared behind the two newest rookies to the field and watched them mumble apologies before scattering off to perform their allotted duties. “Newbies…” He shook his head and took a short sip of his coffee before he heard his assistant rush in and looking absolutely flustered with papers and files falling out of his arms, his glasses askew, and this air about him that screamed urgent business. In fact, his assistant did indeed scream urgent business.

“There’s been another murder!”

—

Atticus Joseph Stalin. Yes, Stalin was his last name, Joseph was his middle name, after the famous dictator Joseph Stalin, he knew. His parents were thoroughly drunk when they had named him, but Atticus never really complained about his name; it was better then being named Adolf Hitler junior, he’d really catch some flack about that.

Atticus was old. He didn’t look old though, he seemed to be in the prime of his youth, barely to the age of twenty-one, he had chiseled dark looks that everyone either hated or everyone annoying liked. He was forever stuck as an emo boy as the stereotype called it.

He had black hair that he had cut and styled in a spiked version, his bangs were long, but it often annoyed him to have it hang over his eye so he cut it just so it was barely long enough to reach his eye. The longer hairs on the sides of his head were dyed a shocking white, and a dark red at the tips. His eyes were dark blue, and always seemed to be full of mischief, and lazy glances, almost over shadowed by his long eyelashes. His left ear was pierced numerous times and many different hooped earrings were protruding from them, and at the very top of his left ear through the cartilage was a key shaped earring. On his right ear, he had a bar sticking straight up and down through his ears, and numerous studs and such along with some hoops as well as pirate and ninja stars.

His face was pale, very pale, without a trace of tan on it at all, and it was smooth and free of lines, except for maybe the faint traces of crow’s feet in at the corner of his eyes. He had two lip piercings, black hoops extending out over his lips and disappearing into his mouth.

He had on a white dress shirt with the cuffs unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up messily. The shirt itself was wrinkled and the shirttails hung messily over a black studded belt. The white of the belt shone through the fading black sharpie that he had had used to color over it in the first place. His tie was a sleek solid black, and was tied very loosely around his neck.

His hands were crammed into the pockets of his jeans, which were torn and raggedy. The knees were completely gone, and since the edge of the jeans came under his converse as he walked, there were large holes where his heels had worn them away. His shoes were also broken in, and falling apart in a decrepit manner, but he still wore them all the same.

The way he stood and the way he dressed, it radiated a casual sense about him, yet somehow he seemed like an expert at his profession, which he was, and there was a timeless quality, a charm as one might say, that seemed to make people like him. That, or either hate him.

Atticus was currently taking a nap at his desk in his office. He was slumped over, his head leaning on his arms, and one could hear the soft sounds of snores coming out from over the mountain of paper work that he had yet to finish. “Sir? Uhh… sir?” His assistant leaned into the doorway of the quaint little office and knocked gently on the frame. “Sir?”

Atticus’s assistant went by the name of Deidrik Yesvit Hornsfeld, or Ricky as Atticus preferred to call him. He was a man around Atticus’s age, a little more lanky than Atticus was lean, and tended to be more shy and introverted. Deidrik often wore thin black-rimmed glasses, which accented his green eyes. His hair was medium length brown, and flipped out at the ends. He complained about the cold often, so he always wore some sort of beanie over his head.

He wasn’t as pale as Atticus, and quite preferred to be a ‘healthy color’ as he referred to it, and liked his clothing to be a little tighter and form fitting than baggy. To him, that was what comfortable dress was. Deidrik had no piercings, at least, none that he had ever revealed to anyone, and his current dress was a black beanie, a black t-shirt with the words ‘Live to die’ written on it with red lettering, and a pair of tight jeans and skate shoes. He was rather tall, taller then Atticus about an inch to an inch and a half, and radiated this air of cuteness and awkwardness whenever he spoke or just by the way he acted.

“Sir? I- Oh dear….” Deidrik stepped into his superior’s office and promptly crashed into the table and fell back onto the blinds, which made a tremendous crash, and in the process, almost knocked over the moving fan in the corner. Currently, the air conditioning was broken in the office building, and the fans were the only things keeping the building cool in the heat of summer.

Atticus’s soft snores were interrupted with a small sighed as he yawned and sat up from his desk rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms up over his body. “Jeeze kid, try not to destroy my office. I’m not that hard to wake up from a nap.” Atticus smacked his lips together and gave Deidrik an amused grin. His grin bore two elongated canines and always made Deidrik uneasy.

“I’ll keep that in mind sir…” Deidrik shifted nervously in front of the desk while Atticus leaned back in his swivel chair and put his feet up on the desk. He laced his fingers behind his head and popped his neck twice before addressing the other man. “So, what’re you here for?”

“We’ve been assigned a new case…”

—

The Paranormal Investigation Team, or P.I.T as they were commonly referred to as, arrived on the scene of the murder only five minutes later than they had anticipated, which was very timely for the department which was notorious for always showing up much later than they ever predict.

The chief of police was waiting outside the taped off crime scene with his arms crossed waiting for the pair of Atticus and Deidrik to arrive. He wiped away some sweat that beaded on his forehead and shirked away from Atticus when they approached him. The chief was one of the people who didn’t really enjoy the other man’s presence.

“Stalin. Hornsfeld.” He nodded curtly to the two boys and glanced over to the house. “Another single homicide. Parents came home and found her dead on her bed, same MO as the others. Gruesome.” He shuddered again before Atticus raised an eyebrow and adjusted the backpack that was slung over his left shoulder.

“I’m sure it is. Maybe you’ve got a weak stomach chief,” Atticus said as his cold laughter rang out and seemed to make a cold chill go down everyone’s spine that was within hearing distance. Atticus glanced over at the house and he could see the forensics team finishing up in the upstairs room facing the street.

“We won’t be long, Chief. We’ll go in, collect what we need and we’ll get out of your hair. C’mon Ricky.” Atticus took a single step towards the house and disappeared from sight. The chief of police closed his eyes before blinking quickly to make sure he hadn’t gone momentarily blind.

“Don’t worry about it sir. He’s just a weird and creepy guy. What else do you expect from a vampire? Especially one of his stature…” Deidrik couldn’t really imagine the kinds of things that his superior had gone through to get to where he was today, but he could think that it was a long and horrible process.

“Ricky! Could you hurry it up a little?” His voice floated outside form the bedroom window that caused the other boy to jump and quickly head inside and up the stairs.

—

As soon as Deidrik entered the room of the murdered victim, the smell of blood quickly overwhelmed his senses and made his stomach lurch violently before he could calm it down to keep himself from losing his salad that he had quite enjoyed for lunch.

“Hey hey, keep it clean Ricky. What do you see?” Atticus stood at the foot of the murdered girl’s bed with his hands in his pockets and leaning comfortably on one foot. Deidrik was Atticus’s assistant for his powers of observation, his thinking outside the box, and his uncanny ability to piece things together in his mind. He was going to make a great psychologist one day, and soon, he’d be able to have his own office and his own assistant.

“Don’t wander off now…” His voice brought him back to reality as he turned around and looked around the room.

It was a normal teenage girl’s room from what he could see from under the mass amount of blood splatter. Sick freak. He saw the movie posters, and musical posters that lined the wall, and pictures and notes that the victim and her friends had written to each other, a small white desk at the front of the room with a tweety bird clock over it, a nightstand with an alarm clock flashing midnight, and numerous shoes and flip flops under the night stand.

The sheets looked like at one point in time, they weren’t bloodstained, and in fact were white with light colored stars on them. There were various stuffed animals positioned at the top of the bed on the pillows, and a few folded up blankets as well.

His eyes swept over the dead body of the girl, she was pale, laying on her back with her dead cold hands holding open her ribs that the murderer had split clean open. Her internal organs were all in tact, and the blood that had been exposed to the air was coagulating. Deidrik did notice, however, that the insides were dried up a bit and small white grains stained with blood were present on the cracked open ribs. Salt?

He raised an eyebrow before getting closer to the girl to get a closer look. There wasn’t a spot of blood on her except for where she was cut open. It didn’t look like she suffered any, and it felt like she was still there in the room. Deidrik straightened up and hurried over to the mirror next to the bed. He looked into the background of the mirror and saw the girl’s spirit sitting sadly at the edge of the bed with her hands stroking her dead legs.

“Oh gosh… Hey you,” Deidrik said softly as he gazed at her sadly. The spirit in the mirror looked over at him and sighed before heading over to the edge of the mirror. “I suppose you wanna know what happened before I died right?”

“It’d be nice if you could remember anything.” The girl looked at him with sad eyes and pressed her hands against the mirror and leaned her forehead on it. She turned to the side and shook her head. “I was in my room writing my boyfriend a note like I always do. Then something in the window pane caught my attention and so I walked over to it and saw this girl dressed in this beautiful dress, it was raggedy at the end, and the girl was so pale, I thought she was drawn on a piece of paper…” She sank down to the floor of the reflection on the mirror and sighed before she looked up at Deidrik and continued. “She saw me and smiled so happily, like I was a messiah or something and shushed me. Then she walked across the windowpane and then I knew that she wasn’t on my lawn. We had a brief conversation about dreams and the imagination and then suddenly she screamed and that all I remember before… well this.” She gestured around the mirror and the people reflected in the mirror. Deidrik shook his head and let out a long sigh.

Atticus watched the boy work and walked over to the general spot where the spirited girl was sitting and gave the air a pat, exactly where the girl was reflected in the mirror. “I can’t see you, but I feel your pain… I’ll find your killer. We’ll figure out what he’s after.” But in reality, Atticus already knew what the killer was after, and if it was what he thought it was, then things were only going to get harder after this.

—

“It’s the same killer isn’t it?” The silence of the car ride back to the office was broken by Deidrik’s question to his superior. Atticus’s face remained impassive for a moment before he nodded and popped his neck again. He took a right and continued driving down a neighborhood road. There were children out on the streets, on the sidewalks, and on their yards, playing and laughing without a care in the world. It pulled some of Deidrik’s heartstrings and made him ache a little inside.

“It’s heartbreaking isn’t it? The world these children are growing up in. And yet they still retain that innocence that makes them children.” Deidrik shuffled his feet nervously and didn’t reply. Atticus sensed his unease and took a heavy breath in and out. “What do you make of the killer?”

The assistant hesitated at his question for a moment before replying. “The killer is looking for innocence. He probably believes he’s doing these people a favor by killing them before their innocence is stolen by something else.” His mind wandered back to the girl at the murder scene.

“I could feel the innocence radiated from the girl’s spirit in the room. It was pretty strong, almost like a beacon for wayward sailors. That how I found her.” Atticus stopped abruptly as a ball bounced into the street and a little boy and a little girl ran into the road to retrieve it.

Deidrik was thinking it, but Atticus was the one who said it out loud. “Innocence can end any time, any place, and in any way. Be it physical or emotional…” In the rearview mirror, Deidrik saw Atticus’s eyes slide out of focus for a moment as he slumped back into the seat.

“What exactly does this have to do with the killer?” As soon as those words left his mouth, he felt a chill pass over him, and he was afraid of the foreboding answer.

The children who had run into the street earlier were back on their lawn and bouncing the ball back and forth to each other. Atticus watched with sad eyes and processed Deidrik’s question before giving a formal reply.

“Our killer is searching for something; the embodiment of pure innocence. Something, someone that is innocence itself.” He paused for a moment as the two on the lawn giggled while they threw the ball back and forth.

“A child?”

Atticus started driving down the street again and turned to his assistant as he was driving. “In a sense. Do you remember anything about the Dream Scribe?”