Three Things - Round 3

Hypochondriac Zombie with OCD that works in a morgue - Twilight Series (books) - Staten Island, NY

            When it all started, people had fled Staten Island, climbing over each other to escape the quarantines being rolled in by the military. The country was in a state of panic and the people scattered in search of some sanctuary. Some stayed behind, to tough it out in their homes, remaining with loved ones or, like Milton, because they hated people.

            Milton Waters lived a quiet life. He woke each morning, showered, brushed his teeth, put on the clothes he had ironed the night before (when there had been power to iron) and walk down the 4 flights of stairs to the street. His office was two blocks away so he would simply walk the distance with his thermos in one hand and his bag slung over his right shoulder. After the diaspora from Staten Island he lived the same way. The walk to work was simply quieter and less crowded, much to his liking.

            Milton worked at the Essex County Morgue. His peers had seen fit to leave, already being surrounded by the dead, they were not keen on seeing people in similar stages of decay stalking the streets. The general fear had been that the bodies being kept would reanimate and consume them. This was not the case. The bodies in the morgue were quiet and kept to themselves. They mostly lay in their beds interred in their drawers while Milton read behind his desk. His drawers and desktop were littered with books and prescription bottles for any sort of ailment. The murky orange bottles were gathered around a diagnostic manual like revelers before a relic

            Working in the refrigerated and preserved environment had its benefits. The dead who wandered the streets saw Milton as one of their own, ignoring him as they shambled from place to place. He could also catch up on all of the culture and literature he had been deprived of when people had previously died and become work instead of managing themselves. Indeed he saw these new “people” as more responsible, they were also very clean despite the haggard state many assumed. He still didn’t dare to near them.

            The few living people who remained on the island had already collected into small militarized camps. They viewed Milton as an outsider, a strange aberration of humanity. Every time he wandered past a camp the members would marvel at his clean dressed and oblivious nature. They would remark that he must one day succumb and die.

            Milton began to have difficulty finding food. He searched through the grocers market for anything that had survived but viewed each possible meal with a disgusted skepticism. “How sick will I get if I eat this?” He would ask the food in question. If it silently responded anything other than a firm negative, it would be replaced on the shelf and mentally noted to have failed inspection.

            Books also became increasingly scarce. Other survivors saw them as a fuel source and began to stockpile them in their camps in preparation for the winter. This is how Milton began to read books that he would normally ignore. It is how 50 Shades of Grey and Twilight found their way onto his desk. He read them in protest. Protest of the survivors and their insistence on destroying culture and protest of things changing in this new world order.

            It was halfway through the third book of Twilight when Milton had enough. He flung the book across the room where it slapped loudly against the vinyl floor. The sound made him wince and he at once regretted it. Noting that he had little else to do, he fetched the book of the floor gingerly and brought it back to his desk where he proceeded to wipe down the covers. This was what drew that the first living corpse into his halls and ended Milton’s existence among the living.

            People continued to see Milton after he turned. His brain was hardwired into that routine. Each day that decaying body made its way down four flights of stairs and into that office where it sat until the end of the day. It would eat the bodies of those in his care, possibly preferring their preserved taste and always wiping his face when he finished.

Three Things - Round 2

Two old friends - Small Island Beach - Discrimination

Young homeless girl - Strand of DNA - Cup of tea

Coming soon...

Three Things - Round 1

Dan Brown’s Davinci Code - Anemic Vampire Detective (Levon Kasabian) - 4 Kilos of Cocaine

                Leon slid into his office and flipped a switch. The light bloomed from the ceiling and the room came alive with color then back to blacks and grays when Leon slammed the switch back down. He cursed beneath his breath and held his head. Vertigo left his head swimming in a daze.

                Once he had adjusted, he moved around the room and pulled a step ladder from against the wall behind his desk. He carefully aligned it under the offending light panel in the ceiling and ascended. The plastic panel wobbled and made silly noises as he lifted and then removed it, gently placing it so that it leaned on the step ladder and was accessible. The fluorescent tube was still warm. Amy must have just left. He grabbed and twisted it so that the contacts were no longer touching.

                Someone cleared their throat below him. He’d forgotten to close the door. “A minute please.” He tried not to sound irritated but this was clearly not going to be a pleasant evening. He reached down for the plastic panel and caught a glimpse of his guest. A dark haired woman with a thick wool coat was standing before the threshold of his door. He wondered if she was like him. He always wondered if clients were like him.

                The plastic panel wobbled again as he lifted it over his head. It slipped back into place and he stepped down. “Come in and turn on the light.” He placed the step ladder behind his desk as the light buzzed on. The room was still quite bright but he could bear it. He dropped into his leather chair and dropped his fedora onto the desk.

                “Jesus you’re pale.” The woman observed. She was small but not thin. Her face had gentle curves to it, similar curves were hidden beneath layers of clothing but he could see she was beautiful. The dark hair was a glossy black falling in curls around her shoulders. He could smell her from across the room, a sort of fruity shampoo with a single spray of something vanilla, possibly a perfume. “Is that because of your,” She couldn’t say the words.

                “No, I was anemic before I turned, but I will say that I was less pale in life.”

                She slowly stepped forward, brave girl. “So then you’re really.”

                He hated this game. The clients who accepted it immediately or disregarded it were so much easier to work with. “Averse to sunlight, yes. Please, sit down.”

                She continued to watch him as she took a seat. He could see hesitation in the tiny movements invisible to the eyes of the living. She wanted to pull her collar closed to cover her neck but resisted.

                “Leon Kasabian. What is that?”

He hated small talk too. “Armenian.”

She nodded and looked away for a moment turning her head to the side. Realizing what she’d done, her head snapped forward and she clutched her collar.

He sighed heavily and grabbed his empty mug. “I’m a vampire. I’m also a leader in my community, a member of the PTA and a Buddhist.”

She chuckled, “Really?”

“No, I’m not in the PTA.” He smiled and she returned it.

“You’re really a Buddhist? Doesn’t immortality mean you cannot be reborn?” This amused her more than his joke.

“No, I do not age. Nowhere does it say that I cannot die.”

 “So it’s true then. You can be killed by things like stakes and sunlight.”

He rolled his eyes, “You need to read less Ann Rice. There’s a copy of the DaVinci Code on my shelf. You can borrow it sometime, broaden your literary spectrum.”

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward, “Listen jerk, this is new territory for me.”

The insult in her eyes was amusing. He leaned forward closing the distance between them. The scent of vanilla was stronger, the fruity shampoo overcome. Her lips were also a marvelous rustic red, the color of dried blood. “Tell me what you want.” He whispered it to her, lacing it with a hint of seductive suggestion.  

Her eyes closed for a moment, a brief second of something flashed in her mind, then they fluttered open and her breathing was heavier. The collar of her shirt hung open. He could smell the perfume now in full bloom. He closed his eyes and took it in and in the stillness, could hear her heart beating.

“I’m performing an investigation.” He opened his eyes, the serene moment was gone.

“You’re a badge.” He sat back.

“I’m a detective.” Her voice was more full now, the confidence of her position lending it stability.

“My door says detective too.” He motioned with a weak wave. Dealing with law enforcement always involved paperwork. The night was getting worse.

“You’re a private investigator.”

“Detective sounds classier and as you can see,” he covered his face with a hand then revealed his mouth, the two elongated canines smiled at her, “I’m very old fashioned.”

There was a tremor in her body, a physical shake to her confidence. “I’m investigating a series of homicides that center on some drug trafficking.”

Leon spun side to side in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. “Sounds very vanilla, why are you here?”

“The people trafficking it are involved in seedy dealings.” Her voice was raised, she was growing impatient.

“Aren’t they all?” He knew there was more but she was keeping him out. The bureaucracy of it was wearying.

“Occult dealings.”

He lowered his gaze and tilted his head, not amused.

“The last thing I can say is that the drugs they sell are not street grade. I have four pounds of cocaine that contains ground bone marrow sitting in evidence that has our techs getting nervous.”

That would make for an interesting high, for one of Leon’s kind.

“You want my experience.”

“I want your insight.”

He snorted, “Correcting me will be one of the things you’ll refrain from doing. You’ll more than likely just be repeating me.”

“You’ll have to fill out some paperwork.” Always with the paperwork.

“If I’m to work with you, I’ll need your name.”

She stood up and put out her hand, “Sandra Doors.”

He grabbed and shook, enjoying the bewilderment on her face as she felt the cold lifelessness of his skin. “A pleasure Sandra Doors.”

Destinations

     I hated geography. I could sit in a classroom all day and I would not learn how the indigenous people of Bolivia lived day to day nor where they were located. This reluctance was shared by a majority of the class but we endured.
     One of those endured sessions found us coloring and labeling a map of South America. Coloring a map was a leave to socialize in the classroom. Our teacher sat behind her desk pouring over a novel and leafing the pages while she ignored our rising voices. This was busy work but it was enjoyable busy work.
     Hung, a young Chinese boy who sat ahead of me, turned with a worried look behind his glasses and asked me with a plea in his voice, "The girls want to play Truth or Dare. Do you want to play?" He subtlely nodded to me.
    We were fresh teenagers in the confusing grip of middle school trying to figure out who we were. Playing games like Truth or Dare with girls was intensly scary and infinetly alluring. I agreed, wondering what questions I would be asked and which I wanted to be asked as I chose a dark green pencil to shade in the Pacific Ocean.
     Stacy's head appeared between the rows with a mischievious grin spread from ear to ear hidden beneath a mane of wirey and wild brown hair. Her light brown eyes still gleamed from behind the tangled mess. Fear seized me as I thought about the questions and things I didn't want asked of me. I froze in the middle of shading Argentina orange.
     "Who else is playing?" I asked nervously.
     "You, me, Hung," she motioned to the next row, "Lisa and Stephanie."
     Lisa was big for her age, her dirty blonde hair covered much of her wide back. She was not fat to the point of ridicule but she was large. Larger than both Hung and myself. She smiled at us and we smiled back. Hung timidly fixed his glasses on his nose and I hoped that I wouldn't be dared to kiss Lisa.
     The other girl, Stephanie, was a transfer student like me. She was a ghostly white and her hair a contrasted deep brown. Here eyes a light hazel that shyly looked over at me and Hung. She smiled. I hadn't formed an opinion of her but since I was a young shy boy, her proximity terrified me. This showed as a deep blush as I looked away from her friendly smile and filled Chile with a burgundy center.
     Stacy, enjoying her ringleader position, began listing off rules. There were no dares that involed something that would get us in trouble, "Only reprimanded." she added. Truths, of course, had to e answered truthfully. Nothing was sacred and anything could be asked. We began.
     After a series of ridiculous dares that involved loud animal noises and strange interations with other students, we had begun to draw some negative attention. Our teacher looked up from her book now and again to direct a stern look in our direction.
    We settled into truths and begain to ask each other probing questions that we had to dig deep into ourselves to reveal. 'What was your most embarrassing moment?', 'What were you most afraid of?' and finally the dreaded, 'Who do you like?"
    The last one is the surprise question everyone expects. Stacy pressed Stephanie with this question. Her insistance cutting through layers of "I don't know" and shoulder shrugs. Finally ready to answer, Stephanie smiled coyly and leaned over the aisle to whisper it to Stacy. For a moment they both looked in my direction then focused on the ground between them.
     Hung looked between them then at me with confusion. I returned his expression and waitied.
     Stephanie sat back and addressed the group. Very slowly she turned her attention toward me and said, "I like you." I stopped coloring. Our teacher placed her book down and called for the maps to be turned in. I had failed to color one country, Bolivia.

     I was seated on what was probably the hardest seat ever made on a bus crossing the town to deposit me at the university. Clouds had gathered outside and threatened rain but only gave us miserable grey weather. The wind was cold and hard breezes swept past the bus. My ears were numb but I could still hear the voice on the other end of the phone call.
     Her voice was light and airy. She was talking about another girl and what her problem with this particular one was. "Yeah, I get it."
     "I know I'm just ranting but thanks for listening." She says.
     "No problem, you know how much I enjoy hearing about those bitches you're forced to work with."
     She laughted, "I'll call you later. You on your way to class?"
     The first sreaks of water appear on the window."Yeah," I reply. The bus lurches to a stop and I'm knocked into a balding hindu man who grunts and dismounts the bus.
     "Alright, love you,"
     The pause is long, I can hear her anxiously breathing on the phone. I look up at an old woman with silver hair arranged in a bun watching me. She smiles at me and I smile back. There's a heavy sigh on the phone. "I can't wait forever on you." Another pause, "I'll talk to you later."
     "Later Elise."
     The lady is shaking her head. I want to tell her to mind her own business but she probably wouldn't know what I was talking about. I close the phone and looked back out the window as the rain began tumbling down. My stop would eventually come up but on days like these it dragged on forever.

     I sat watching the waiters dance around the tables. Their paths crissed and crossed but they never collided. Such accidental choreography is amusing. I drained the rest of my cup and checked the time on my phone.
     A waiter stopped at my table and filled my glass with the wine bottle that stood an arm's length from me. He regarded me and the empty seat across from me, he replaced the bottle on the table and asked, "Are you waiting on a date?"
     I looked up at him and wondered if I was so obvious, sitting here eating alone. He raised his eyebrows waiting for me to respond.
     "Yes." I tried to sound insulted and standoffish. He smiled and leaned over. I was clearly not good at being a jerk.
     "Guy or girl?"
     "Girl." This time I had no problem sounding insulted. Was it my cloths? I had just dressed well.
     He straightened and was a bit distraught. With a tilt of his head and fiddling with the cloth tucked into his waistband he asked, "How late is she?"
     "About an hour." Why was I telling him this.
     With a nod he turned and left. I contiued to sit and stare at the murky red wine coloring my glass. Peculiar evening.A smile tugged my lips and I laughed quietly with the empty seat before me.
     Several minutes passed and I could feel the lightheadedness setting in. I shut my eyes and felt the twinge of dizzyness. When I opened them there stood a woman before me. She wore a navy blue dress, her deep brown hair drapped around her face and an uncomfortable air about her. She was looking toward the kitchens.
     Following her gaze I saw the waiter who had spoken to me. He gestured for the woman to stay and talk to me. When he caught me watching him he smiled, turned and set off without looking and nearly knocked over another waiter carrying entrees for a table of five.
     "So goes the dance." I muttered to myself.
     "Excuse me." the woman's voice drew me back to the table.
     There was a hint of green when the light hit her eyes. "Sorry, I've had a long night."
     She looked away, she had a rough night too. "I'm sorry, I've been waiting for a blind date, he told me not to do it," She glanced at the waiter, "but I sat and waited anyways."
     "I've been waiting too. You can see," I indicated the empty chair, "They didn't show up either.
     "A pity." She grinned, "Two wasted evenings. Probably why Troy insisted that I join you."
     Troy is watching us half hidden behind one of the kitchen doors. He startles and someone pushes past him holding a tray of soups and salads. Troy scurrys away.
     The girl seats herself across from me. She's bold. Scooping up the bottle of wine she looks over the label, "You ordered a better wine than I did, but I only ordered a glass."
     "I planned a good evening."
     She motioned to the nosey Troy to bring her a glass.
     "What's your name?" I ask.
     "Steph." She turned and accepted the glass from Troy who was beaming at his success. He poured her a glass and hurried away. "Have we met?"
     "I don't think so."
     "Strange then." She took a sip of the wine and set it on the table, with a shy smile.

     I turned in my erratically colored map of South America and adjusted my backpack strap. Stacy watched me leave with Stephanie and grinned at Hung. Amused confusion was all he could do in return.
    "I think I like you too." I said shyly. We exchanged timid glances and walked down the hall together.

Rolling

Daniel rolled a can between his palms to give his hands something to do. He had to keep his mind off of how uncomfortable he was. The chair he sat in was rigid and unsympathetic and his suit felt half a size too small. When was the last time he had worn it? His hands paused. Was it prom? Had he really gotten bigger since prom? Probably not, he’d more likely gained weight. What should be more alarming is that he hadn’t bought a new suit since high school.

“I don’t know half the people in here.” Aaron said to Daniel’s left. Aaron scanned the guests again, “Maybe not any of them.” Aaron unbuttoned his jacket and leaned back into the chair watching the guests intently. “Who are these people?”

On Daniel’s right a softer voice spoke, “Is your dad coming, Danny?” Angie asked, ignoring Aaron’s grumbles.

“He said he’d be here around eight.” Danny said, he began to spin the can again and focus on its spiraling top. He was so uncomfortable. The fluorescent lights were also too bright, chasing darkness out of every corner. It made everyone’s clothing look all the more black.

The three of them watched from a corner. The funeral parlor was filled with the quiet murmur of mourning. Bodies moved slowly around the room, pooling into small puddles of conversation.

Daniel pulled at his sleeves hoping that the material would stretch. He placed the can on the floor and tugged hard on the cuffs. The cloth resisted. He’d have to remember to buy a new suit.

An elderly man approached them and smiled sadly. He clenched Daniel and Aaron’s hands and squeezed as though trying to impart strength into them. The man hugged Angie softly and rubbed her back between her shoulders.  He then stepped away from them and moved to the next group and began again.

“Who the fuck was that?” Aaron asked. Angie was rolling her shoulders trying to shake the man’s awkward sympathy. Daniel sat back down and plucked the can back up. He looked at the clock on the wall, which read eight-thirty and began to spin the can again.

Fools and fool

We walked out to the parking lot together. My face ached and I wondered what I was doing walking side by side with Daniel. Everything was going well tonight. Then I began to remember that the fact that I was here, with this girl and her problems, was all a result of things not being alright. I thought about Rebecca and wondered what she was doing tonight.

Daniel and I talked through the walk. I expressed my regrets about the events of that evening and he waved them off. “As long as you didn’t dick her.” Were his exact words. He told me some things about himself, which I didn’t listen to, and I told him a bit about myself.

“This is me.” Daniel said. It was surreal that he was so amicable. Like we’d met at a bar and had become fast drinking friends. I wondered if I had met him in a different life if we could have been enemies. He watched me over the roof of his tiny car. Those eyes of his were still gauging me. Maybe we were enemies and I wasn’t realizing it.

I rubbed my cheek and waved to him. This caused him to grin foolishly. I turned and began walking toward my own car when he shouted, “Take care of your girl Sidney.” While it sounded concerned it had the veil of a threat cast over it. Could he really be intending to visit a similar evening on me?

He ducked into his car and started it. Within moments he was weaving out of the lot. I watched the cherry lights disappear behind a crop of trees and stood for a moment longer wondering if I was a foolish person. I shook myself of the feeling and continued to my car.

Fumbling the keys and still rubbing the ache in my face I heard the sound of someone calling my name. “Please God no.” I begged. The call came again, closer, more insistent. I turned and concluded that I was a fool like no other.

Seattle jogged up to me, her auburn hair bouncing, not to mention a great deal of commotion beneath her shirt. “Please don’t leave like this.” She said though her panting.

“Like what?” I asked. Having been knocked to the deck by someone half my weight? Having to suffer his kindness after being a party to betrayal? Realizing that I’m only continuing to complicate my situation?

“Without letting me explain.” She said. Being the fool I was, I waited to hear it.

*****

Short one tonight.

Shiners and sentiments

               She opened the door slowly, a bit too dramatically. I expected a hulking behemoth to step through, his head bent to the side and still scraping the top of the door. Instead I was greeted by a slender man. He wore a flannel shirt and heavy jeans that made me think of a lumberjack. I had imagined Paul Bunyan coming in. I got his sickly cousin instead.

               “What’s going on?” He asked. His voice was far deeper and harsher than his bent rail frame would indicate.

               Seattle fixed him with her best leer and asked, “What are you doing here?”

               The man slash boy ignored her and studied me. He went as far as uncurling his back as he sized me up. I felt truly awkward being a third party to whatever this event was.

               Seattle watched him, he watched me and I wished I could find a way out. I had foolishly thought that things would be simpler if I stepped out of my life for a second and into someone else’s. Sadly it was the same insanity, different crazy.

               A thin and gnarled hand came up and pressed off my chest. It took me a moment to realize he was pushing me around. I did stagger backwards a little but I did it as he touched me as opposed to him forcing me.

               “Don’t you dare!” Seattle exclaimed.

               The gnarled hand hung in the air for a moment before curling into a fist. I watched this in utter disbelief. I’m not in any great shape but I was sure I could hold my own against whatever scrappy moves this guy could throw at me. His eyes were furrowed and he looked to be pretty pissed. Something told me that I didn’t get the full story with this girl and her ex. His gaze told was not that of a psychopath but one of betrayal. Just what in the fuck did I think coming back to her place would bring?

               He took a step forward and I lost my resolve on fighting back. “Look, there’s been a mistake. I should be going.”

               “The mistake is you didn’t.” He snarled.

               “That I didn’t leave?” I was confused. Was I supposed to be here and just leave early? Maybe he was trying to do a catchy movie line. It felt really weak and dumb.

               During those thoughts is when his fist came around. A couple of lights popped in my head and I found myself breathing the fibers of the carpet. My cheekbone and the bridge of my nose felt like they’d had a door slammed into them.

               “What the fuck?” Someone said. At first I thought it might be the roommate. Then it occurred to me that it was probably Seattle. No one was rushing to my side so I stood slowly.

               “I come back here and find you with him?” The guy asks. With his gnarled finger pointed at me. I wondered if I was someone special or of note. I also wondered if the world wouldn’t spin for a moment so I could stand straight.

               “I’m out there meeting people.” Seattle yelled, “We’re taking a break, he’s taking a break from his girl too.” This was news to me.

               “Maybe I should go and fuck his girl then while he sits here and fucks you. Then we can all be clear headed and know that we really just fucked ourselves.” That statement seemed kind of thoughtful and possibly insightful.

               “Well what the hell do you care?” Seattle continued to yell, “I told you to leave me alone. You apparently don’t give a shit about what I say.”

               With unsure steps I began to sneak to the door. I didn’t make it halfway across the room when Seattle grabbed my arm and threw me out of it. “Both of you just get out.” Her room door slammed shut behind us and we stood awkwardly in the hall next to each other. He stood, I swayed. Seattle’s roommate watched us from the couch. Her feet up on the armrest, tiny pink socks pointed at us. With a blank expression she pointed at the door.

               The guy grabbed my arm and carried me out. He made sure to close the door behind me then we stood side by side awkwardly outside the apartment. With a sigh his shoulders dropped and he curled lower towards the floor. “Sorry about the hit.”

               The transformation left me stunned, “No problem?”

               “She just knows how to piss me off and does it.”

               “You’re not angry at me?” I asked in confusion.

               “Of course I am. But I got carried away.” He stepped closer and inspected my eye. “It’ll be black tomorrow. Put a cool slab of meat on it.”

               “Why are you being nice after that?”

               “Because you don’t know me and I don’t know you.” He explained, “You look like a nice guy, I too am nice. When I don’t walk in on my girl with a guy near her bed.”

               “Understandable reaction.” I imagined walking in on someone with Rebecca. I can’t say for sure that I would react the same way. Sure as hell I wouldn’t be nice to them afterwards. I wondered if that would make me a bad person or if this guy was daffy.

               “Anyways I’m sorry to hear about your girl.”

               My ire rose, “What?”

               “You’re temporarily separated too. At least that’s what she said.”

               My hackles came down as I remembered the muffled conversation. “Right.”

               “Anyways, sorry for the hit.” He extended the hand again. This time it came in an open palm. What a varied night that hand has had. “I’m Daniel.”

               “Sidney.”

We shook hands for a surreal moment. Then he leaned in close and looked me in the eyes. He spoke slowly and harshly, “Don’t go near her again.” And made a point of squeezing my hand.