The noise plastered the walls.

“SO AFTER HE HANDED ME BACK THE ASSESSMENT…” She was yelling over the music. “HE FLIRTED WITH ME A BIT IT WAS SOOOO FUNNY.” A glass breaking caught her attention, if only for a minute. “HE DOESN”T KNOW I LIKE GIRLS.” She covered her mouth with her hand and belted out a chuckle. “ISN”T IT LIKE OBVIOUS?” She questioned.

The girl she was speaking to, Barbara had little in the way of the conversation, only squeezing out tight-lipped “yeahs” and “oks.”

“YEAH IT WAS FUNNY. SO HOW ABOUT YOU? WHAT DO YOU, LIKE, DO?”

“I’ll be right back.” Barbara excused herself from the bar and tip-toed to another girl, a brunette, slim and tall.

Kelly just sighed and turned towards the bar. She wasn’t so good with the ladies.

It was another night out, and not one of any note-worthy compliments. Kelly’s best friend. Monica, was exploring her heterosexual side by being pounded alongside some feminine man who may as well have been gay himself (for he had the body of a twelve year old school girl and less facial hair than a manatees belly).

Kelly has only been hitting the nightclub strips as of the last few nights, only being pressured into it by the wildly successful Monica.

“You know what YOU need to do?” Monica questioned.

“I know where you’re going with this, and I’m fine just chilling here.”

“Stop it, you need to get LAID girlie, you need a sweet beautiful woman caressing your backside…” Monica rubbed her left hand in a quick circle around Kelly’s back. “Not me though sweetie, that’d be weird.” Monica sat up and put her hands to the side. “Tomorrow night, you+me.”

She didn’t give Kelly an option. She was heading out tomorrow night.

Kelly severely underestimated the ease of picking up woman at the night club/bar.

“HEY WHAT”S YOUR NAME?”

The loud hip hop beat pulsed throughout the room, making Kelly’s hands ever-so-noticeably with each thumping point of the bass. The music made reasonable communication utterly impossible. It was only in the favor of Kelly that everyone who goes to the clubs has established the screaming portion quite firmly.

“I FEEL REALLY SILLY SCREAMING AT YOU LIKE THIS.” Kelly, though, was unaware of this understood element of the scene.

“WHAT?!” Her hearing wasn’t accustomed.

“NO I DON’T GO OUT MUCH.” Kelly made it all obvious.

“OK. HOPEFULLY I’LL SEE YA AROUND.” The woman Kelly was talking too got up and walked to the bathroom. Kelly sat there confused and gaping for quite some time until the bartender distracted her.

“Need another drink.” Her voice was subdued but still powerful, clearly heard over the uhntissuhntissuhntiss of the music channeling the walls and floor.

“Ummm…NO. NO I’M FINE THANKS.” Kelly turned off to the side but a tap on her shoulder stirred her back to the front table of the bar.

“Why don’t they pick a side?” the bartender questioned.

“HUH?”
“Pick a side. They play rap, they play techno…I mean which will it be, there’s a war here.” The woman tilted her head to the side and smiled while picking up a mostly empty glass from her left.
Kelly only smiled awkwardly back.

“See that girl their?” the bartender quirped. Kelly and the bartender leaned forward closing their ears beside each other and skewed their vision down the center of the club. “Stay away from her, she’s straight.” Kelly put a confused look on her face. “Don’t let her fool you.” Kelly gave the bartender a quick glance and looked forward again.

“And that little devil there with the white coat. That bitch is crazy. She’ll ask for a hand job first night, no question, and you ain’t gonna get nothing in return, I don’t care how pretty your hair is or how much your camel toe creases.” Kelly placed a well-timed smirk upon her face, a little less nervous than before.

“Aren’t you not supposed to call other girl’s bitches? It’s against, like, girl ethic?”
The bartender laughed explicitly and leaned back over the counter into her typical position and put her hand forward.

“Name’s Raquel.” They shook hands. “You’re far too new to jump right to Molly Brown’s. You need to try a more…amateur club first sweetheart.” Kelly just nodded and squeezed out a displaced “thanks.”

“Oh what the fuck!” the bartender looked up making Kelly turn her head around and analyze her rear. “Those security pricks are SO fucking blind sometimes, HEY!” Raquel smacked her hands against the table top.

“Get those guys OUTTA here girls! No dicks allowed!” Two men, one with shades and a hood up and another looking more feminine than a Victoria secret model were escorted out of the club by a nice collection of scantily-clad woman of the outrageously masculine angle.

The bartender was indeed right. Molly Brown’s was simply a level too high for our nightclub virgin Kelly.

Kelly, called her mom. After a lengthy conversation about mostly shit, some other stuff most people would FIND shit, and a few gossip-infused facts about celebrities (and shit) her mom did offer one small bit of advice.

“You need a new approach…honey.”

It echoed in Kelly’s ears every few minutes.

“Your mom just wants you go to date guys.” Monica retorted upon hearing of the conversation Kelly had with her mom.

“That’s not what she means. She means like, don’t meet chicks at the club, they ain’t gonna be my type anyway.”

“Fuck that.

“Listen to me for a second. When you look for girls in a trashcan, all you’re gonna find is trash.” Monica’s face fell flat. “See, you can go to the club and try to find a girl who ain’t trash. And you could very well find one, I mean, people sometimes throw away stuff that is valuable and shit. BUT, when you go to that girl and try to get with her, she’ll assume YOU’RE trash too and no one is gonna get anywhere.” Kelly paused and Monica just stood still for a brief moment, confused.

“Jesus Christ Kel chill out. You know how much of a blast the club is, and I met, like, all my friends at the club.”

“Exactly.

“Exactly what, Kelly?”

“The club sucks and I’m not surprised you met all your equally sucktastic friends there.”

“Like who Kel?”

“Like that one crazy chick, Reena or whatever.” Monica just gave a quick glance up to the ceiling and back down. She nodded and began walking over to the couch.
“I was fucked in there Monica.” Kelly laid back on the couch, arms crossed and face sealed.

“So you, like…DIDN’T want to get laid?”

“I do but not like that.”

“Kel, any of those girls would have had sex with you. Shit, I would if it wouldn’t be so, like, weird or whatever.” Monica sat down at a coffee table beside the couch.

“You’re missing the point.”

“The point of what?”

“Monica, don’t you want a, like, COMPANION? Someone you can kiss and hug and go to the mall with and Disneyworld and all that shit.”

“That’s what you’re for.”

“And what if I decide to go with my girlfriend and not you?”

“I call you a bitch and slap you in the face.” Monica tilted her head and smiled. “Plus don’t kid yourself, you ain’t never getting a girlfriend.”

Kelly crossed her arms even tighter across her body and bit her lip. “Anyways, weren’t you supposed be my, like, wing-girl in there or something?”

“It only works like that in the movies.” Monica shrugged and sat up from the coffee table and went off to the kitchen. “Want any up-your-mass?”

“WHAT? No. Monica shit I’m pissed as hell over here. You left me hanging in the club last night, I looked like a fucking idiot.”

“Now you know what it feels like to be a guy.” The blender erupted and Kelly’s following words were quickly drowned it.

“Yea bgheeeebutbgheeeee I don’tbgheeeeee deserve thbgheeeeat crap…”

The blender stopped. Monica grabbed the handle and poured some thick white up-your-mass into a murky cup. It drooped to the bottom.

“What?” she blurted out after pouring the whole glass.

“Nevermind.” The evening dawned quickly over silence.

After a few nights of less social interaction than even the most isolated of men, Kelly gave a bright idea a shot.

Online dating.

She dubbed herself a tag name, KellyMagic2, and logged in appropriately. First was the picture. She picked one from the club the other night. Kelly was mildly frowning but that was of no matter. It defined her personality.

It began easy. Name, age, city, favorite color (as if someone’s gonna see the profile and say “green? Ew, I hate green, fuck that girl.”)

But then it got harder. The infamous page, the only one that truly matters (next to favorite animal). The “About Me” page.

God. Damn it.

About Me: I like to go out and have fun. I’m relaxed and chill and like to have a good time! Looking for a sweet person to meet and hang around with. I love to spend time with friends. Message me and say hi!

It was disgustingly vague. What is ANYONE gonna gain by reading this? Kelly closed the screen in frustration and walked out the door on a Taco Bell run. Chicken Burrito. Maybe just a simple soft taco. Hard tacos suck. They always crumble and break and you always drop some meat.

That’s what she said.

She left the house, the door smacking against the wall on the way out.

Kelly’s phone rang.

“Hey…” her voice just quipped out quickly.

“KEL. HEY GIIIIIIRRRLL. I NEED YOU TO UMMM….” Some voices boomed in the back and Kelly heard one she recognized. “I NEED YOUR ASS DOWN AT MOLLY’S…” Monica laughed a distant laugh and brought her face back to the phone. “BITCH YOU COMING?”

Kelly was gonna ask why. Why, at 2:30 a.m. she had to head down to Molly Brown’s, easily the most uncomfortable social spot in all of the city. She knew it was futile. She hung up quickly.

“Can I add another Beef Burrito to my order?”

The sign for Molly Brown’s was just creeping out at the end of the street behind a Subway, and as Kelly drove closer the front of the building came into appearance. The M from Molly was flashing on and off, and if one caught it at just the right time they’d see “olly Brown’s” which sounds like a black’s only diner from the 50’s.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Or something…

Regardless, Kelly drove into the parking lot and narrowly missed a group of chubby black girls leaving early (which in and of itself, blew her mind). She parked towards the back right underneath the neon Heineken sign, and paced herself to the front of the club.

“Excuse me, I’m here to pick up a girlfriend?”

“Is it that drunk blonde who’s been vomiting all over the counters?” Kelly shied away awkwardly. Apparently the security is more than familiar with Monica.

Kelly nodded and the security behemoth slid out of the way.

She was immediately swamped by the uncomfortable familiarity of the previous night, and was at once distressed and frustrated at Monica bringing her back here.

She eyed the bar, her most common place, and spied Monica tossing her tits up upon the counter and waving her left hand in the air.

Raquel, noting Monica’s enthusiasm, walked over from the other side of the bar. The three girls met in the middle.

“Kelly WHATSSS UUUUPPP GIIIIRLLLL?” Monica let a nipple slip and Raquel grinned.

“I made her call you. She’s way TOO out of it tonight.”

“I”LL GET HER NO PROBLEM.” Raquel motioned her to the counter with the tips of her fingers.

“Come closer” she mouthed and Kelly listened. “Now you don’t have to scream.” Raquel smiled and pulled the strap of her outfit a little off to the side.

“Well yeah…” Kelly didn’t know what to say.

“HEY BITCHES IM GUNNA GO TO THE LITTLE LADEES ROOM.” Kelly and Raquel barely faltered their gaze from each other while Monica got off the counter and tripped away and around the corner.

“I have a taco in my car?” Kelly shrugged her shoulders and smiled warmly.

“A taco?”

“Yea it’s kinda mushy but oh so yummy.” Kelly’s smile widened and Raquel gave her a heartening look.

“HEY GIRL CAN I GET A DRINK OVER HERE?”

“FUCK OFF!” Raquel launched the insult across the bar and the girl tossed herself off the counter and walked out of site.

They leaned in closer. “How about we forget the tacos and you come over to my place?” Raquel’s stare heightened.

“Now?”

“I get off now.”

“Monica?”

“Drop her drunk ass off. I’ll write down the address.” Raquel reached into her pocket, pulled out a notepad and jotted down some numbers and words.

“Here. Now don’t take too long. She blew a kiss and spun to the back of the bar, just as Monica was stepping side to side meandering outside the bathroom- planting her chest down on the counter and begging for another drink.

Kelly made another stop for tacos.

An hour passed and Kelly had very little time to think over the situation. Monica was beyond any exemplified levels of obnoxious, bordering on downright criminal as she tossed her drink into the front seat of a car while at a red light, and vomited between the seats overtop the emergency brake of Kelly’s car.
After Monica was dropped off, Kelly only briefly hesitated, as heading over to an essential stranger’s house was a tad out of character. But she couldn’t resist those thin smooth lips, those glaring blue eyes, the hair- brown…long, whipped off to the side in an organized fashion and highly charming.

Kelly had very little reason to deny the highly charming.

Knock. Knock. The scent of something wild (strawberry mango and a little dead cat) protruded from the cracks in the door and Kelly winced. But as soon as Raquel opened the door she returned to a nice greeting posture and personality.

“Well hey.” Kelly looked past Raquel’s eyes and towards the back of the room. “Is that…”

“Don’t mind them. Come on in.” Raquel smothered Kelly’s hand and put it up to her face. “You’re so chilly sweetheart get inside get inside.”

There have been situations in life where your expectations were reasonably high. Kelly, with all logical conclusions, expected to get laid. Respectfully, it was the exact reason Raquel made Monica call her, and it was the exact timing of Raquel getting off.

The boot fits.

Those expectations were validated. But it is to be understood that some situations cannot be resolved with all expectations intact. Why was this situation dire? What drives the human mind?

It is indeed these questions which drive the curious nature of living.

Four babies in cribs (one on the ground) lined the left wall below an open windowpane. They were crying (except the one on the ground) and one was black.

A crying black baby. It was beyond foreign to Kelly.

“What’s up with the babies?”

“Oh let them be. Beatriz? BEATRIZ?” A stout Spanish woman came peeking around the wall of the kitchen and smiled nervously.

“HEYO HEYO Miss Roco. I am making lasagna for Yoooou.” She returned to the kitchen and Raquel walked over in her direction. I hovered by the door, until Beatriz walked out of the kitchen, grabbed her coat from the closet and gave me a smile on her way out.

“Thank YOU Miss Roco and have a wonderful evening.” The door closed behind us. Kelly let her
face hang open and she briefly winced.

I’m sorry that was a bit awkward. She watches the children, makes me food. “Raquel paused for
a moment and relaxed her face.” We’re going to head over here and pray.”

It was at that gracious mesmerizing point that the sweet grinning Raquel, her tender lips, her illuminating hair when the light from the overhanging bar lights hit it just right, and her exceptional stride with long legs, luxurious ass…her melted ocean beach eyes…all of it was a fraud.

“After some moments of meditation we’ll exercise. You look confused? Don’t worry, it won’t last long, I know what you’re here for. It’s ok. I wanna read your cards too. I read Tarot cards but I don’t need them to read you. You’re a very readable person, I can tell by the creases in your forehead all the feelings you feel. And don’t mind the scent. It’s supposed to suppress the negativity. I know I know, it sounds silly, but it’s all true. It was in a book…here. You should read it.”

Raquel hands a book from the shelf, small and blue, into the less than open hands of Kelly who frowned and only read the back half, half-assed and only continuing to frown further into unrestrained disappointment.

“What the fuck? I mean seriously?” Kelly sat imbedded into the couch and sulking her waist and legs straight parallel to the floor.

“I have the most fucked up headache now Kel why’d you call me over here?”

“Last night! Raquel! She’s fucking crazy…”

“Whoa girl wha’d she do?” Monica drifted slowly to the couch and planted her body beside Kelly.

“She had like babies and shit. Four of them all crying. Then we did like a prayer thing and she straight hands me this fucking book…” Kelly pointed to a tiny blue book in the corner below the tv laying comfortably on the ground. Monica, sat up, gripped it tightly and tossed it back to the floor.

Reinventing the Mind: One Orifice at a Time

“That’s so creepy. I’m sorry Kel.” Monica stepped towards the front door. “Look I gotta go, we can talk about it later.”

“Leaving already? Why?”

“I’m going out with Sammy. We’re gonna go shopping or whatever. I’d invite you but…”

“It’s shopping…” Kelly interrupted. “Isn’t he that surfer fag?”

“I can’t hang around with guys now?” Monica retorted.

“You can I just don’t see the point.”

“Gay guys have more girlfriends than any of those bitches at the club. They know all the girls.”

“You already know all the girls.”

“Oh fuck off Kel, I’ll catch ya later.” The door smacked shut leaving Kelly alone once again. She slid out of her reclination and stared out the window for a few minutes. She collapsed her hands over her face and thought.

Thought.

The day couldn’t be wasted. What to do? How to recover?

She snapped open her laptop and began cycling through pages, random shit, shit that ate up time.
The gears spun. She opened a site that has remained unopened for some time now. The screen popped up, she logged in. it took some time for Kelly to navigate the pages properly but she soon found out the fruits of her curiosity.

“Jesus Christ.” She said it out loud although no one was in the room, like the movies. She realized her silliness and covered her mouth in awe.

It was an eye-opening experience. Kelly spent the next many hours circulating through hundreds of pages of messages from men, women, and everything in between in astonishment of how much fucking and loving and hanging and hugging could possibly be obtained.

The loneliness seized. A well burst.

“And what do you do…Kelly?”

“Do?”

“Like for a job, for fun, for a hobby, you know…what makes you…YOU?” He smiled extravagantly, and for a gay woman, Kelly felt a little tickle of butterflies.

“Well I’m not working now. I’m sort of applying a lot. And I write, and I go out a lot.” That was a lie. Kelly never goes out.

“You go out a lot huh?” Charlie tipped his chair back a bit and took a quick glance along the dining hall. He was very tall, surprisingly tall for Kelly’s expectations (expect anything) and had this chilling demeanor. Not a haunted house and ghosts and witches demeanor (like he prayed and held babies hostage to milk their blood or anything) but a demeanor worthy of holding close- his chill simply demanded body heat.
“So what made you respond to me and not all the other guys?”

“There weren’t any other guys.”

Charlie laughed. “No other guys? You’re an intensely attractive woman, and you expect m to believe I’m the online sane one trying to you date online?”

“It’s the green eyes.” Kelly smirked.

“So green. And your outfit…simply luminous.”

“That’s a big word, you sure you can handle it.” Kelly flirted.

“I hope so. But you seem manageable enough. Not very tall and all…”

Kelly crossed her arms. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Wouldn’t dare.” Charlie grinned and took a sip of water. Kelly smirked back and kept her gaze into his.

“You know, I heard about you before.”

Kelly winced. “Go on.”

“I heard you…” he hesitated. “I heard you play guitar?”

“Do I now?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you before.”

“Don’t tell me…” Kelly planted her hands over her face, again, and blushed.

“that café on 11th. I forget the name…”

“It’s a Pita Pit.”

“Oh. They do music there?”

“When I ask nicely.” She smiled. “That’s amazing you recognize me from that.”

Charlie blushed himself. Two plates dropped onto their table miraculously and stunned Kelly who was so involved in the discussion she failed to notice their presence until Charlie pointed it out (kindly of course).

First impressions are rather polarizing. In many instances, they can determine your entire judgment of a person’s character. Kelly was never one to relish her ability to read people, but it was at this instance that she inherently doubted the capabilities of understanding the human motivational drive. What was causing this man to act so kind? What drives him at this table, in this discussion, taunting the immobilized heart of our young friend Kelly?

A woman, looking a bit younger than Kelly and arguably less attractive (her face creased in all the wrong places) tossed a cup of water in Charlie’s face.

“You MOTHER FUCKER!” the staff of the restaurant scurried to the back and returned almost immediately to the floor.

“You think you can get AWAY with that SHIT you…” she stopped herself. “Don’t listen to this FUCK-UP, he’s got a kid at home and left her. Cheated on me…” she pursed her lips and dropped her purse. “Didn’t the fucking judge tell you to skip TOWN or something?”

Voices disturbed the exchange. “MA’AM. MA’AM. YOU MUST LEAVE.” Another redcoat trampled out to the floor and touched the woman on the shoulder.

“I’m LEAVING don’t TOUCH ME.” Her voice seemed to echo and the woman gave a quick spat in Charlie’s face and left his presence.

“Is she gone?” Charlie wiped his face down with a towel and returned his gaze to Kelly. She sat stunned, taken aback by the sudden outburst of resentment. What a tease this whole situation was. The times Kelly tried to succeed in the game of social dynamics and was disrupted by acts outside her control. She was on the verge of a redefinition of character. Yet, tossed asunder by the trivial nature of the human drive- she finds herself distant…asking questions…and asking them again.

For once, life has become grossly unfocused.

Men? Women?

Success? Excitement?

Money?

Love?

With such characters like the man who took her to dinner, who had a history of trouble and betrayal…Raquel, the sweet bartender, who turns her drive into an outlet of bizarre practices and collect-a-thons of children- her tense friend Monica, exploring the experimental nature of life while ignoring time and loyalty.

They all had a drive, and yet they were oh-so flawed.

Her drive…?

What drove to Kelly to continue on?

“So where were we?” Charlie grinned and placed the towel on the table.

Kelly sat on the patio nearly expecting Monica to come pulling on up with a whole bus full of woman (to make her smile of course).

It was a silly dream. Her mind was far from such outrageous expectations. She nodded her head off to the side, then to the other, and rocked the chair back and forth. It was very reminiscent of the actions of a grandmother, waiting for something to happen, expecting nothing to happen- waiting for the right one to trample on up and showcase his or her everlasting devotion and love.

She was getting off track. Grandma’s had plenty of time to find love. Kelly, in all her confusion and bewildered expectations and naivety still had plenty of time to find that one she chooses to love.

Kelly was spent. Exhausted. Her mind weak from all the thinking. Thinking of…

Thinking of how she can be satisfied. Thinking the time is ticking and Grandma is waiting just around the corner of another few decades.

Kelly kissed her palm and crossed her arms, drifting into sleep. Even the ring from the phone inside, Monica calling from the bar, wasn’t enough to wake Kelly from a driving slumber of rehabilitation.

Tomorrow will come again. Maybe love will come as well.

This has spawned a bit of research on the topic, of course, and I have seen a recent surge in that infamous word…productivity.

So here it goes. My personal statement to life. Well for one, i want to be successful. That’s a bit vague.

How about happy.

Hm?

This is a bit hard, so I’m going to try a different route. I want to have a lot of money and I want a companion that I can enjoy it with. Someone I love, respect and like being around. This girl should have these four very notable qualities- smart, intriguing, cute

I have to be attracted to her physically, as well as her being intelligent and worth being around, hence the intriguing.

Regardless, it’s hard to find a girl with those qualities, so I’ll give no time line for that specific goal. But beyond finding someone I love to be around, there needs to be more…

I do not necessarily need to leave the city, Orlando, for any particular reason. That specific decision will ultimately be persuaded by the actions of my two closest friends, my two only friends.

I think my success as a human being would be directly worsened without them.

Long term, I need to be healthy and wealthy. Without these two massive upheavals of existence, I would find life horribly difficult.

I need to build a metaphorical portfolio of my accomplishments, for I understand quit clearly that my biggest fear is being old and thinking…”where has all the time gone?”

I need to prepare myself mentally for that time, and understanding that physical accomplishments can work wonders for derailing that thought.

I want to be close with my sister and father.

I should be prepared for the bad news in life. the catastrophes. i understand their immanency.

There are quite a few things in life that i am slowly trying to come to terms with. This is no surrendering to the psychological elements of life. Understanding where I stand as a person, as in the social implications of what i do.

Who do I want to be?

I want to be happy, have a family that is close, friends that are closer, and the healthy will and body to do whatever is necessary to supplement my happiness.

I think the most strenuous task will be understanding that hard work is necessary. I have the mentality that I am superior to most people, and because I have many things missing from my life, I deserve these things to come.

They won’t. They just won’t. And I am slowly coming o these terms.

I also have a problem balancing out my selfish nature with the selfless. i often want nothing but happiness for myself, and then on the other hand, I pity, feel guilty for being sad, and overall, feel that I should not be upset- for their are those who have it worse.

And then I hate myself. And so on…

There is much mystery to life, but there is also so much that is obvious- solved for you by the pasts of those who lived before.

I have a weekly goal sheet that will be evaluated daily, as far as my yearly goals, they range from awfully specific to the frighteningly vague.

But they all can be accomplished. I realize, with confidence, that flaws can be patched, and I am all but a flawless person, but being able to counter the entertainment and passions of my life with the goal-oriented building blocks of life is…a tender act of discipline.

My mission statement concludes with this: understanding who I am and what i need to do is not only absolutely necessary, but I will live an unfulfilling life without it.

having a portfolio of hobbies
having a network I trust
being successful, mentally and physically
understanding myself and growing
enjoying life

can be accomplished with these goals

short term (by the year)

have a website, personal and business (blog)
complete a short film
find a partner
make music, draw, art
grow panicpop clothing, and work at it
learn real estate, stock market- be the businessman!
appreciate music, learn an instrument!
read read read love learning
write a novel
keep friends close
network
continue going to live music events

as well as long term…

have a popular website of my own
understand film- work in it
uproot a family comfortably
work on art, buy art, draw, make music
be a wealthy business owner
be an investor
play drums well enough to impress
continue learning, reading
be an author

be close with those I love
know people of many skills close hand
host live music events

With all this in mind, and goals set and established, now comes the hard part.

Getting at it.

-ryan merkel-

The Egyptian Pharaoh stirred to life out of his relaxed state and stared towards the temple entrance. He stood up slowly and the man fell to his knees and placed his hands over his face.
“Pharaoh Archos please I have news to bear.”

The Pharaoh just stared intently, the two men on his side waiting for his order.

“Your news better be plentiful.” The Pharaoh reclined back to the seat in the middle of the temple, brushing off the women around him. They scampered away accordingly. He pulled his nemes off his head and onto a gold pedestal by his side. The servant glanced around the temple walls nervously.

“My time is valued servant, proceed with this news.”

“Yes, we found it.” The pharaoh paused. After a brief moment he lifted himself out of the seat and stepped forward. He arched his back up- right into the servants face.

“If you dare come in HERE and force LIES into my temple I will remove your eyes from your skull you thievish devil.” The servant cowered backwards and begged.

“No lies pharaoh it is TRUUE. My men and I, we were skewering the Agor lands down by east arena of the Nile…” the servant stopped speaking. It was an intelligent maneuver. You speak in portions around the Pharaoh.

“CONTINUE.” The Pharaoh only forced the one word out and the servant leaned forward.

“It’s silver. The color.- and a LIQUID. It’s beautiful. We did not take any for fear of disturbing. But I am SURE it is what you seek…” The pharaoh grabbed the servant’s arm and tossed him to the ground.

“You come into my TEMPLE announcing LIES, and NO proof to defend your words!”

A voice came from the wall of the temple. “I have proof.” It was dark and lapsing, making the Pharaoh stir from his tension.
A man swept into the temple slowly, creepily, and placed his hands in front of his chest. As he spoke he slowly extended the space between his arms until they were wide across the span of his torso.

“What this servant says is truth. I have some here.”

Once the man hit the light from the torches in the back of the temple, his face illuminated and the pharaoh grinned.

“Vizier. You can defend this servant’s words?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to me.”

The Vizier reached his hand forward. His hands were ash-ridden and weak, and barely able to grasp the container in his hands. He let his fingers loose and the container fell into the grip of the Pharaoh, who grinned across both his cheeks. The Pharaoh then slowly, with ease, lifted the cap off the container and dropped his nose into the now revealing hole of the top.

It smelled cold and musty. He held the container forward and reached his other hand across the lip of the cup and down into its center. As his finger approached the center a sinister tranquilizing liquid graced the tip of his fingers.

The Pharaoh grinned wildly and pulled his hand out.

“That arouses me Vizier.” The Egyptian women lined the walls behind the Pharaoh.

“Announce to the city we will have a gathering- outside the temple. I want everyone to witness the earning of my immortality.”

“Do you think it will work?”

“You have your doubts Vizier.” The Pharaoh just froze his words and stared at the Vizier. “Di you touch it? The liquid inside…did you touch it?

The vizier stared back intently. “Yes.”

“Then you should know.”

The Vizier nodded and left the entrance to the temple. A moment of silence protruded across the temple, the women began grabbing their breasts and the Pharaoh just eyed the container up and down, the hieroglyphics on the outside glossened.

“You are proud of me Archos, yes?” the servant quivered. He just stood, strong, and put his beady attentive eyes right into the iris of the servant- black and cloudy, hungry and persevered.

“Yes. I am.” The Pharaoh waved his hand into the air and a man from behind a curtain tossed him an apple. It fell conveniently into the Pharaoh’s hands without him having to take even the smallest step.
Archos dropped the apple into the hands of the servant.

“You get a talent like that young slaveman, you can join the temple.” The Pharaoh licked his lips and continued. “with the elite…”
The servant nodded and scampered out behind him knowing his time was better spent outside the Pharaoh’s grip. He admired the apple, and the offer for success, but he was far less talented than that elite being and was just satisfied with leaving the temple alive and compliment in hand.

The Pharaoh stood, both hands to his side, and stared outside the temple at the city below. He then placed the container next to his white crown and reclined back in his seat as the women collected around him, tops revealed and their hands on his chest in unison.

The men were scattered in clusters beyond the horizon, of all sizes and all origins. It was the Egyptian reign, and it was the Pharaoh who stood defiantly above the legions of servants he forced to follow his bidding orders.

He stood with insistence at the foot of the temple, gleaming across the horizon with a sizable chalice cusped between his fingers. It was a quite a spectacle. Most of the men were unabashed at the exact details and occurrences of the Pharaoh’s reasoning for this collection of all the men in the city.
The main portion of the temple stood above 35 feet of rock surface slab created to elevate the center of the temple above the minions and servants below. It crested at the top with a giant gold circle overlooking the remnants of the city. It wasn’t quite pyramid shaped, more dome-like in structure, with ridged stone edges that gave it a powerful and formidable look. This intimidated the city dwellers. None the less, the temple was the grace within the city’s walls, the pyramids outside of that being all tombs for previous Pharaohs, all who were found insufficient in the eyes of Archos.

“THIS IS IMMORTALITY.” The leader reached his hands and the cup towards the sky, and the sun’s rays glistening against its surface, reflecting pioneering beams of light throughout the fields of men clamoring at the scene.

It was an enlightening afternoon. The Pharoah stood, arms wide open, and the men, the many men, the servants the workers, the shepards and the good and the bad. All collected,, united, in a haphazard conglomeration of admiration and inspiration.

They all liked the Pharaoh. But they were also the children of the Pharaoh, and they didn’t have a choice.

“I WILL DRINK THE CONTENTS OF THIS CONTAINER OF LIFE. PRAISE MY IMMORTALITY.” He announced, his voice spreading wide beyond the stage and out to his minions. The men throughout the desert launched their bodies forward and moaned his name- out of habit. A resonating phrase…”Archos”…muddied but booming, spread like decomposition across the arena and, inevitably, into the hollow ears of Archos himself.

“YES MY MEN. IMMORTALITY IS OBTAINABLE… BUT ONLY FOR ONE.” The pharaoh declared. The men continued chanting. They were one as well- not THE one, but one as an individual…a mass of individuals.

The Pharaoh’s personal obelisk shined and reached its shadow out to the plethora of men, most cradled around their chest and nervous, anticipating the hyped overreaching of the forbidden Pharaoh’s claims to immortality.

A thundering, rolling boom echoed from beside the temple, and the Pharaoh lurched his hands forward for one more announcement, one more claim to the body of a mortal.

“DEUS SO LADORADA!” the Pharaoh placed the chalice to his forehead and turned his neck, opening his mouth. The liquid contained inside was thick, and it took quite some time for it to seep, ever so slowly, from the middle of the chalice to the edge. After a moment, the liquid singed his lips. The Pharaoh stirred, but ignored the inept cold.

The booming still continued, heightening in speed and thumping, leaving the men chanting along faster and faster. Many of them stood, complacent, trying to get a view of the Pharaoh and his slow rise to immortality.

The chalice emptied. The Pharaoh allowed it to drop to the ground and crack, rolling along the temple’s side and off the edge, dropping into the hands of a mid-level servant man.

The booming stopped. The men quieted. The pharaoh stood straight.

His eyes were wide, his lips blue and scorched. The Vizier at first looked quite surprised, but after a brief moment he took a quick last glance at the Pharaoh and smugly paced back into the temple.

The Pharaoh fell forward, his arms flailing behind him, as his face plummeted right down onto the surface of the temples entrance. The men surrounding the temple were quiet, shocked, and failed to respond.

As the fall of the Pharaoh became apparent the men stirred to life, all rising forward and breaching the entrance to the temple. Their eyes, as a collective scanned the area. To the left- to the right- to the fallen body of the Pharaoh to all the troubled men at the foot of the temple.

All these men, with no leader…what would they do now? Who are they?

The Pharaoh, Archos, died that afternoon, a tomb built for him to honor his name amongst the legendary greats of the Pharaoh’s time.

After many years continued to edge on by, and many Pharaohs followed Archos, it was revealed, by a friend and another friend (and a little science), the contents of the chalice…mercury. The silver element. The same poison used for centuries to tell the temperature, whether cold or hot, whether dead or alive.

Archos drank Mercury for immortality and it killed him on the spot. A true leader.

The room echoed with a sort of distant and mild chatter, spreading across the cafeteria floor. You could pick up specific muddled conversations highlighted across the span of the room, but all in all it was a murky field of voices, all less distinguishable from the rest.

We stood in the back of the stage. Some arms folded, some leaning up against a slab of wall only available for a few feet

You could pick out the smart ones. One girl sat in the corner reading a book, and another younger boy, barely looking like a 5th grader, was cleaning his glasses with the bottom of his shirt and wiping his brow with his sleeve.

It was the group of five in the corner, all good friends and lingered in close proximity due to nervousness.

You just knew they couldn’t spell.

But the majority of us were circling the room with our eyes, trying to pay attention to something beside the inane chatter from the cafeteria. We were all nervous to some extent. Even the girl with the book looked up every few moments towards the ceiling and then planted her eyes back into the pages of the novel.

It was a nerve-racking affair, and only the prolonged length of waiting…waiting…waiting to spell and waiting to see those chattering faces quiet and anticipate your every letter.

A voice crawled to life. It was the principal of the school.

“Welcome parents and students. This is our seventh spelling bee hosted by the school and we have 28 fifth graders, some even fourth…” the auditorium laughed a little exhausted laugh. “but most fifth, and they’ll be playing for a chance to travel to the national level spelling bee in Tallahassee and…” the lady extended the words for the sake of tension…” and a $1000 prize!” She grinned and scanned her eyes around the auditorium. There was general silence, beside a cough by a faculty member from the back. The walls grinned back.

“So we’re going to go ahead and get started. Now I will introduce you to one of the most exceptional members of our team here at Maple Oaks Middle School, Mrs. Bumbler.”

A lukewarm applause spread its germs across the auditorium and a skinny middle aged woman stepped slowly up a small set of stairs at the edge of the stage, and rocked her body to the mic.

She tapped it and a small rumble went off. Dum. Dum.

“Hello. This works yes?” She paused.

“Ok, were going to go ahead and get started. Everyone a round of applause to the fifth graders of Maple Oaks…” Applause interrupted her words and they faded, as we started slowly walking onto the stage taking our place at our respective seats lining the stage in nice comfortably rows.

I sat right out front, noting again, that I was second up. Just like most things, I’m not the type to get tossed into the fire first, but I’ll be damned if I’m not far behind.

“Hello students. Now to go over the rules for your family down here, they…she paused, hesitant at her phrasing. …”you are allowed to use the word given to you in a sentence by simply asking me, and you are allowed to ask for the definition of the word.” She nodded to the crowd. “ As well students, once your eliminated you walk to the side of the stage on your left and make your way to the first open seat in the first row of the cafeteria.”

As soon as she said this, my eyes became aware of an empty row of seats lining the front of the cafeteria, 26 seats…for each eliminated student.

“Does everyone understand?” The students mainly froze, except for a few who were glancing erratically around the cafeteria looking for their sisters, brothers, and parents…

My grandma waved at me from the back row. She must have come in late. It did not bother me that my sister is much older and thought the spelling bee was super lame and that my dad was working. It didn’t bother me that my mom thought only slightly more of the spelling bee than my sister and was busy…cleaning or shopping…or something.

“Ok then we’re all set. First up, Kimberly Dossen.” A few people in the crowd applauded, notably her parents, but I can only assume they were still figuring out if you were supposed to applaud BEFORE a student spelled a word. Kimberly moved lightly up to the podium and stood on her tip-toes to reach the mic which hung low and brushed against her cheek ever so softly. The audience made some noises and smiled.

“Ok Kimberly your word is auction.”

Her voice squeaked. She reached her mouth up to the mic. “define please.”

“A public sale in which property or items of merchandise are sold to the highest bidder.”

Sounds awfully boring. I place my hands together and leaned forward. Maybe she’ll be the first out? I hoped.

“Auction. A. U.” She paused. I prayed she would say K. Please say K please say K.

“C. T.” she took another brief paused and I sighed. “I. O. N. Auction.” Kimberly grinned wide and the audience clapped alongside her smile. She placed her hands behind her back, stuck her chest out, and then returned to her seat giddy and grinning clear between her cheeks.

“Ok. Austin Plummer. “That was my name. It was my turn. I lifted myself off the seat and stood in front of it for a brief moment trying to catch eye contact with my grandma. My brow pulsated. What if I got a hard word? What if all that studying was just…for nothing? I stepped out from in front of my seat and took quick heaving steps up to the podium. I was a bit taller than Kimberly so my head stuck out the top of the podium more clearly.

“Austin. Your word is…Gingerbread.” Gingerbread? What a silly word. I felt a brief level of intensity relaxed itself from against my forehead. Despite this relief, I was sweating, shaking, nervous…so nervous I thought the words were unable to come out.

“G. I. um…I froze. I made a mistake.

“Gingerbread. Gingerbread. G. I. N. G.” It was E.R. I knew it was E.R. Why was I pausing, why don’t I just spit this out.

“E. R. B. E. A. R. D.” I smiled and recited the word to close my turn. “Gingerbread.” My eyes opened again and I looked out towards the audience. They all stared so blankly. So despairingly. I caught my grandma in the back with her hand over her mouth. She ignored my glance and looked down.

“I’m sorry that’s incorrect; please take the first seat in the front row.” I gulped. Incorrect? Gingerbread?!

I went off to my right and Mrs. Bumbler’s voice erupted over the mic.

“Over here Austin.” She pulled her mouth away from the mic and motioned with her hands the stairs by her feet. I walked over to her, in front of her, then down the few steps necessary to get to the surface floor of the cafeteria.

The front row was wide open, and I planted myself down on the first available chair. I didn’t look back at the audience, but they all looked at me. I could feel their gaze sweeping and rubbing my back, running their grimy hands down the side of my skin.

I recoiled in my chair and stared down at my feet.

“Ok, Rebecca Wise, your turn.” Mrs. Bumbler’s voice agitated my ears. I covered them with my hands and sulked further into embarrassment.

Gingerbeard. I spelled Gingerbeard.

The words, the applauses, the words, and the awkward silences continued throughout the rest of the two hours I was stuck planted in a seat that was nothing but memorable, nothing like being onstage, and more nervous and disappointed than I would ever be, ever will be, ever could be ever.

The people there were exceptional. Townsfolk lined the walkways reciting chants, shuffling along curious and intertwined in the city that they love. They smiled, held hands…failing to be evaporated by the influential forces beyond the walls of the city.

It was no disrespect to the other cities up and about in the thirteen colonies, but there was something special about Richmond and Virginia that left it notable and exceptional…a place to prosper for the white man, without the overextended reaches of the politician’s greedy mittens.

The war brought intensity to these people. Richmond was no longer used as a hub for creativity but a capitol to react effectively against Northern assaults.

Richmond inevitably was destroyed.

Carl blinked, recollecting the story from his friend during the evening of that battle. He no longer knew where his friend was, but before they split the friend made Carl very well aware of the events at Richmond.
Even though this was Carl’s first time in the city, he was haunted.

Carl was a Southerner, and after word spread about the eclipse of the war, he felt a sensational feeling of exhaustion and relief. He was one of only a few now who survived the greatest Civil War in history.
Despite the war being off to a close, a large portion of the civilians were still unaware of its end. It has only been a few days, and it was only now spreading throughout the soldiers. Most of the South knew- it was the larger union army who was now becoming aware of the end.

Richmond, after its destruction, was largely evacuated by the North. The North stirred the civilians out of their homes, mostly woman and children, and of course, the hiding man or two who has beaten on and shamed for their cowardliness.

Carl could just smell the scent of those union bastards beating on his fellow Southerners, and yet Carl was no coward- to some degree, they deserved it.

There were very few people in Richmond but the first few people began trickling into the city, it slowly being filled back with its citizens. Once a glowing city, now Richmond is fueled by the waking tender ashes of those who perished and those who sought its creativity for an everlasting and breathtaking life.

Richmond was dead. It would take the energy of its citizens to drive a resurrection.

The ashes, still burning, stung Carl’s eyes. He paced slowly, meticulously, eying the ravaged buildings willingly smothering the front of the homes with his gaze.

Carl was in Richmond. It was not his choice to visit such a ravaged city, but confederate orders were still fairly intact, and Carl was a loyal man.

The signs dangled broken, interrupted, and quite useless. A carriage lay sideways, wasted, up against the side of a brick wall. It was emptied, thieved of all its resources.

Richmond, on this foggy and dilated night, was utterly miserly.

Carl had two other men with him. It was a trio. They were all armed, one man holding a pistol in his pouch, and Carl containing a nice little piece given him by his grandfather who fought in a previous battle.
The superiors doubted the existence of any extensive resistance still wandering about the city. The South left it in shambles, thieving any necessary components of its vitality into their own grubby hands and reminiscing. But they were nervous that indeed a few renegade union soldiers were sitting idly by, waiting for the confederates to drop their guard and kill a few for glory.

Despite the close of the war, death was still a far-reaching bastard.

Carl saw it. The home he came out to find. He saw the red fence (though most of the planks were burnt and scattered) and he saw the garden outside. He saw the large oak out front now down-sized to a small half-lit tree, and the gate out front completely ram shackled off its hinges and dug into the dirt-infested ground below.

Despite its outwardly appearance, it was one of the largest homes in Richmond.

Carl nodded his head to his two fellow soldiers and they began walking up to the house. They were cautious, taking small intimate steps until they hit the front door. Carl nodded again to the fellow on his right, and he backed off.

The other two stepped up a few short steps.
Carl approached the door. Only a brief moment passed, and a woman answered.

“Yes?”

“Hello. My name is Carl Larney.” Carl frowned.

“Sir?”

“Are you the wife of…James Stuart?” Carl paused, barely able to press out the words. “You are Eve right?

She nodded quickly.

“I have news to bring to you and your family.”

Eve looked alerted. “Is he!?”

“The war is over.”

She awakened her eyes.

“I heard I heard sir. Is he?”

Carl looked down towards the ground, unable to contain eye contact. He looked towards the right where his partner stood with a gun over his chest.
The woman cowered on the ground and cried.

She mumbled recklessly under her hands, and a young girl came creeping out to the front door. The woman reached her hands up to the girl, presumably a daughter, and they both cradled each other, rocking back and forth and settling on nothing but the imminent despair of their companionship.

Carl turned his back to the door and began walking away.

“Wait.” She reached her hand from the ground below and grazed Carl’s hand.

“How did he?”

Carl glared, intently down below at her.

“I don’t know.” Carl spoke and continued walking…

“Did you see what happened? Did…”

Carl turned around. “Ma’am I am sorry. There will be others coming soon but now we are only in the early stages of recovering…”

“Mr. Larney.” The woman was clearly distressed, shaking, her daughter barely able to hold her body up as she was crouching and twisting, her torso, though her hands were limp and off to her side.

“Please come in. Talk. Your men too.”

Carl looked pleased. “You have no responsibility to quarter us ma’am we will be on our way…”

She interrupted him. “Come in come in I show you…” The woman slid herself back up to the door and held herself up, her daughter staring intently.

Carl nodded to the other men and they all inched inside, patiently and with ease.

“I have soup.” Eve told the men. She then whispered to her daughter and she shuffled off.

The house looked worse on the inside. Many of the walls were knocked in, and the rooms were empty, completely rid of all the belongings. Many of the larger objects, furniture and such were smashed and torn open. It smelled intense and vivid, animal feces lined the edge of the walls and floor, and made the entire atmosphere riddle of a sense of abandonment.

A rat shuffled under a hole in the floor.

The men sat, rounded around a table, the woman placed a wooden bucket of soup on the table and some wooden ladles.

“I do not have separate pots.”

Carl nodded and thanked the woman nonetheless. She leaned against a counter.

“Thank you for this…”

“It’s fine Mr. Larney, anything for a friend of my husband.”

He was a fine man. This is not the first time I’ve said this as well.” Carl paused and put the ladle up to his mouth. “These men over here, they both met him personally. I’m sure they can answer any questions you have far better than I could.” The men nodded and ate some more soup.

“I believe my friend here fought with Stuart at Bull Run.” The man nodded again and returned to his soup.
“Well gentlemen. I hope your meeting of him was pleasant.”
They both, again, nodded complacently.

Eve was still quite shaken up, but the mere attention and presence of the soldiers, who were more than relatable to her own dead husband, were enough to keep her grounded for now. She smelled their familiarity, their tone, image… and she was perplexed by their attitude.

Especially Carl.

I would like to show you his living space if I could…” Eve stuttered. “Carl?”

Carl looked over at her and smiled calmly. “Ok ma’am.” He pushed his seat back and stood up. “My men?”

“They are fine staying here aren’t they? Of course we will be back in just a moment…”

Carl looked towards his men in mild confusion. Under normal circumstances, he would have denied the request, or at the very least, invited his fellow soldiers along with him. But due to the awkward encounter of the evening and the fragile state of the woman in mind, he felt cooperating was in the interest of everyone in the home.

They couldn’t walk upstairs for the stairs were fallen through and in shambles. Carl’s curiosity only briefly peaked, but it was none of his concern and he simply followed the woman down the hall.

“We’re heading to his work room…his library.” Eve continued walking down the hall, keeping her eyes straight and barely skipping her steps despite the frantic nature of personality just moments before.

She stalled in front of a room. There was no door, but it was very dark. They stepped inside, and Carl could smell the scent of paper. He could see the walls were lined with books, shelves and shelves of text. It was quite an impressive collection. Perhaps a thousand books littered the room, enough to satisfy the needs of many schools, and enough knowledge contained in one room to please the education of decades of younglings.

“You see how smart he was?” The woman asked. ‘He was the smartest man in Richmond, probably the entirety of the South. But we all know how intelligent Lee and his men are, eh?”

Eve gave a frustrating glare over at Carl who was eying the room calmly, placing his hand up against a wall and rubbing it down the side, the wood chipping off uncomfortably and giving Carl a splinter.

“He appeared to be a very intelligent man.”

“He was shot dead. A union bastard shot my husband, didn’t he? My husband is far too strong to die of some ridiculous illness.” Eve pointed her finger at Carl’s face, her fingernail scraping his chin. “And it wasn’t the fault of the North I tell you, no not the North.”

Carl was confused and suddenly taken aback.

“Oh no no no it was the South that started this war and it was the South that made my husband die.” She took another step towards Carl who was now plastered up against the wall, Eve’s finger pointed deeper into his cheek.

“Eve your husband was a great man…we all had loses in this war…” She lost it. Eve took her hand and smacked Carl. Carl put his hand to his face, but only for a moment. Eve continued smacking, again and again, yelling out blasphemies and cursing the South.

“You killed him, you killed my husband!” After a moment he managed to grab both her hands and hold them at bay. Eve’s swinging immediately halted.

They both stood there, Eve’s wrists grasped tightly by Carl, whose face was crumpled and aggravated, as well as red from the few hits that made it clear across his cheek and a cut that ran below his eye.

“I killed no one ma’am.”

“You killed a blue coated man didn’t you Mr. Larney?”

“War will do that.”

Eve spit in Carl’s face. Carl tightened.

“Are you going to hit a lady, Mr. Larney? Are you going to hit the wife of a general?”

“A dead general ma’am.”

Eve’s eyes widened and she loosened her body. Carl slowly let her hands fall limp to her side and Eve just stood there, torn and evaporated. Carl stepped outside the library quickly.

“Wait Mr. Larney!” she yelled.

Carl stopped and turned around patiently. “We are leaving ma’am. I am sorry for your lose.”

“Wait!” she yelled again.

Carl took a step forward towards Eve and looked down at her eyes. They were full of an intensity that Carl was very unfamiliar with. Sure, he spent years beside soldiers, most were dead, and who had eyes languishing in sadness and desperation, eyes darker than any regular man. But there was something about Eve in that hall, something about her limp weak body and begging posture. There was something innately horrific about her place in life. Eve pressed forward and hugged Carl. Her warmth was enticing, and Carl returned the hug.

“Will you stay with me, Mr. Larney?” She paused and tears swallowed her pupils.

“I have my own family.” Carl closed his eyes and pressed himself off of her grasp. “I have a wife. A daughter too, just like you, one that I miss very very much.”

Eve stepped back and tears simply erupted around her.

“Why would you do this to me!? Why would you let me…?”

Carl showed his back to the woman and walked down the hall rounding the corner and coming out to the kitchen. His fellow soldiers sat there comfortably, and Carl nodded in their direction and directed them to the front door. Carl leaned down towards the daughter and drew his hat to his chest.

“Good day ma’am.” He patted her on the head and smiled. The daughter, black hair, petite nose, opened her lips wide and grinned her teeth.

“Thank you sir.”

The three men continued out the door and placed their hats on their head. As they made out just beyond the red fence one of the men looked towards Carl.

“What did she want? I heard her yelling…” the man asked.

“It was nothing. Let’s go.”

The three men walked side by side, hats on their heads, and frowns strewn across their faces. Carl took a quick glance back and saw the front door the of the white home, the silhouette of a woman crouching by the door could barely be made out against the darkness of the sky- only her tears glistening lightly.

After seeing his daughter, Carl would cry in front of her for the first time in his life.

And Carl would never visit Richmond again.

“I’m gonna do it. You better be ready boy, I gonna do it.”

Boy clamored for an item a few feet to his left. A wrench? A shovel? A pickaxe? Whatever the item was, the chances of it being grabbed and used more effectively than the hammer in Tim’s hand was unlikely. Tim was faster, Tim was efficient, and Tim has whacked many a boys with hammers despite his rather novice notoriety in the whole “gang mob” scene.

But Tim preached he was a natural. He knew it.

“Don’t you crawl away from me!” Tim smacked the boy across the chest with the hammer and the boy cringed, grasping his gut like a newborn child covered in butter.

“If you wanna fuck with me I’ll fuck with ya. I love me so fuckin!” Tim now kicked the boy and his body slung over to the side.

“Why aren’t you pulling your pants down boy, I thought you wanted to fuck?” The boy, confused and at this point beyond the mark of startled, was aroused by a woman stepping out of the town car a few meters to his left.

She spoke. “Tim, let’s go. We gotta get back.” Tim without looking behind him responded in angst. A rather individualistic man, controlling him was a rather upsetting task. He hated being bossed around but further, he hated the nature of the woman telling him what to do, when to do it, and how it should be done.
Tim leveled the hammer to the boy’s face, cursing under his breath, and nailed it against his head enough times to count on two hands.

Tim placed the hammer into his back palm and smiled.

“No one’s gonna fuck Timmy unless it’s her.” Tim lifted his hands towards the woman by the town car.

“Come on let’s go Tim.” She responded back with an unwittingly irritated grin and sat back down in the front seat behind the steering wheel.

Tim, sitting beside her in shotgun, laid the hammer down into the glove box. He glanced over at the woman.

“I got shotgun this time, Twila.” He smiled, and she returned it with agitation.
“You always have shotgun.” They both stared off in opposite directions, and Twila accelerated out of the docks and onto the highway.

Tim sat, spread out, and legs up on the opposing seat.

“Why so early? Doesn’t Raff know last night was drinking night, god I have no time for his shit.”

“What night isn’t drinking night?” Twila retaliated. Tim just shrugged and stood up.

“Alright, hold on let me get my coat.” Tim stepped beside a closet by the door and grabbed a long black coat, made of a thinning fabric, and coated it between his chest. Twila stood by the front door, arms crossed, glancing around the house eagerly, and waiting on Tim to hurry his preparations to leave.
He scrambled around the room a bit, eying each section of the house and feeling his pockets up and down. “I’m coming I’m coming.” Tim was looking for something. Maybe a wallet? After a moment, Tim stood still and stared at Twila.

“Why do you always look like such a bitch?” Tim smiled and continued his business. Twila crunched herself up off the wall and left the front door, smacking it against her palm on the way out.

“You leave without me and you know what Raff’s gonna say bout that?” Tim announced out the front door. Twila just rolled her eyes and continued her paces down to the front seat of the car.

After a few minutes Tim climbed into the passenger seat and reclined it, trying to place his feet up on the dash yet failing due to his size.

“What the fuck?” Twila, aggravated, looked over at Tim. “Why you gotta be yelling Raffie’s name outside the door this late, and why you gotta be trying, every mother fuckin time, to recline on my seat when you KNOW you be too big?” Tim just smiled and continued looking out the window. “I mean seriously Tim, what the fuck?”

“Bitch yelling at me. I don’t know why Raff wants us teamed up all the time, its fucking bullshit.”

“You call me a bitch one more time and I’ll rip your testicles out with my bare fucking hands.” Twila turned towards Tim and tensed her fist.

“I know you could, Twila.” Tim uttered.

Twila, obviously on edge, tried breathing in hard and ignoring Tim’s incompetencies. She just sighed and squeezed out a curse word under her breath.

As Twila began driving down the driveway Tim interrupted the silence. “So what are we doing?”
Tim’s questioned hearkened back on what exactly they WERE doing. She thought about the last conversation with her boss Raff.

“Twila. I need a favor- something small.” Raff didn’t smile. His face hard, rough, resisting any sort of pity for the task he was about to give Twila. I need you to pick up some money for me.”

“Stop.” Raff tossed his hand against the desk in frustration. He spoke slower this time, each word echoed across the room. “Pick. him. up.” Twila only nodded again and left the office to pick up her partner in crime.

“So we’re picking up a delivery for Raff? From who?” Tim questioned.

“He handed me an address. It’s the Yellows.”

Tim chuckled. “Those fucks don’t know a Monopoly bill from a crispy one hundred. They must be in some deep shit.” Tim paused and smirked, giving Twila a cold stare. “…and what if they don’t have it?”

Twila said nothing, only sliding her head slowly to the side facing Tim and blinked. Tim returned his eyes forward and grinned even deeper.

“Oh I’d fucking LOVE to nab me a Yellow.” Tim reclined his seat further until it clunked to the bottom and put one foot up by the dashboard.

Twila looked frustrated. “There’s one more thing Tim.” Tim never moved. “Raff says you call him “Raff” one more time he’s gonna cut your tongue out and plant it up your ass.” Tim chuckled.

“You really think I can call him Raphael with a straight face? He’d kill me anyway!” Tim just made a distant laugh and gave his eyes to the outside window giving the finger to the Italian group hanging outside “Molly’s Dance.”

They saw their destination in the distance. It was a warehouse, a bit worn and to any outside force, particularly the police, a cliché-ridden stop that only reeks of suspicion and dirt. But the police hardly ever gave it much bother, as the Yellows have been fairly quiet recently. Well, in the eyes of Tim they were always pansies who couldn’t get a damn thing done, so it was no surprise to Tim that the warehouse was unkempt and suspicious. Cops wouldn’t bother anyway.

“Don’t they wanna clean up a bit. There’s like enemy blood dripping from the rafters and shit.” Twila ignored him. Tim continued. “I mean, it’s not as if Mr. Master Sargent, protector of the city really gives a fuck about some raggy Yellow hoodlums. Their basically niggers with shinier guns.” Tim leaned back and let out a wide laugh.

“You just trying to get a stir out of me? You just EAT UP my attention don’t you?”

“I’d eat up a lot more than that if you gave me the chance.” Tim turned towards Twila with a wild grin. “Oh the sexual tension…”

Twila accelerated even quicker and they pulled up to the warehouse.

“Haven’t been here in awhile.” Tim grinned, adoring the excitement and potential to bust up some Yellow face. “You think it’s Jelly that owes Raff?”

“Shut up.” Twila quipped and Tim tensed with surprise. She pulled up beside the warehouse and pulled the emergency brake, jerking the car forward and forcing Tim to place his hand forward to stop his body.

“Christ Twila you crazy cunt!”

Twila raised her eyebrows, and clenched her fists. “You want me to smack the fuck out of you, boy?” She reached to her side and gripped her pistol. “You have a better chance of getting shot by me than those Yellows.”

A man emerged from the warehouse. Twila continued. “You make baby-sitting two retarded babies easier.”
Tim lifted his hand in response but hesitated and opened the door. Another man was leaving the warehouse. Twila mouthed “let me talk” from across the car and Tim just nodded.

The man approached the car. The wind caught the end of his beard and it waved in the air a bit, making Twila chuckle.

Twila put her hand up. “Stop there.” She paused and eyed three guys standing alongside the warehouse, one slouching comfortably against the side wall with a cigarette and a flannel top.

“Why are we outside?” Twila stepped forward right up to the man and grabbed his shoulder. “Let’s go inside boys.” The man only complied and followed beside Twila right into the warehouse.
They disappeared towards the back and Tim, a bit far behind, was almost left outside when the Yellows closed the warehouse door keeping all their business inside and away from peeking eyes.

At least they were smart enough to do the dirt inside.

“Where is it?” Twila snapped. A man in the back recoiled. She continued. “You know WHY I’m here right?”
The lead Yellow just nodded and went to shake hands with Twila. “Riley. It’s been awhile.” Riley looked off to eye Tim tugging a cig from his pocket. “And Tim, of course. How you been?” Tim froze.

“How’s your ass feel?” Tim snarled. Twila rolled her eyes.

“This isn’t business. You owe Raphael a package. You give us package. We leave. You don’t die.” Twila retorted. “And if you don’t…” Riley only stared puzzled. “If you don’t…” Twila paused and coughed. “If you don’t I will.” She stopped again. Tim looked up from the ground and dropped his cigarette. “…I will skullfuck you.”

Tim burst into laughter and began walking towards the two. “Who wouldn’t want to be skullfucked by Twila I mean LOOK at that body, and she has the biggest dick of any girl I know.” Tim patted his hand against Riley’s back. “I mean shit kiddo; you should just burn the money now.”

Riley stood straight but turned his head to the side in frustration. Go away Tim, I’m talking to an adult.”

“You little faggot…” Tim pulled his pistol out and smacked Riley in the side of the head knocking him to the ground.

“Tim!”

The other Yellows lining the building tensed and grabbed at their sides, pulling pistols out the air and facing them out to the face of Tim.

He cringed.

One of the men yelled. “Drop it mutha fucka!”

“You ain’t gonna make me say please?” remarked Tim. The men just stared. Some time passed. Tim let his pistol smack to the ground.

Twila inched her fingers around her own gun.

“Hey bitch I saw that!” A man from around the side pointed his pistol squarely at Twila. She let her hands drop.

Riley, still holding on to the side of his face, straightened his legs and stood up.

“You can cut the tension with a butter knife.” Riley smirked. “You’re all like a bunch of grown straight men watching gay porn. Could we make this…” he paused. “This OBLIGATION any more awkward?” The Yellows looked confused.

“Lower your guns mutha fuckers Jesus what is sarcasm not in your vocabulary?” Riley put an arm out to the side and pressed it back towards the armed Yellows behind him. They obliged and Tim relaxed.

“So are you guys gonna see who can waste the most time or you gonna give us Raff’s money?” Tim questioned. Riley took a step forward letting his hand graze his face and leaned in towards Tim who was as relaxed as ever.

“See that red spot? That’s from you. It’s pretty right? Look at it shine…” Riley pointed to a spot on his skin but Tim just smirked.

“It was a gift. From yours truly.”

Riley just smiled comfortably. “You’re a funny guy Tim. And you know, I fucking LOVE gifts. My men give me all sorts of gifts all the time.” Tim actually startled himself a bit. What’s that even supposed to mean?

Twila took a step forward towards Tim and Riley and placed her hand out to the two.
Riley tensed up a bit. He waved his hand in the air and a man from the back disappeared behind a wall and grabbed a bright red duffel bag. Tim’s eyes brightened. The man stepped forward and dropped the bag to the floor between the three.

“That’s the bag friends. That’s for Raphael of course, and please make sure he gets it.”

Twila gripped the bag and quickly began stepping out of the warehouse. “Let’s go Tim.” She announced as she walked between two Yellows standing by the warehouse entrance.

Tim looked in her direction but just stood. Riley glanced up at him. “You better listen to the boss.”

Tim shrugged. “You better listen to your throbbing face. Need an icepack?” Tim smirked and began walking towards the door.

Riley yelled as he was leaving. “Hey Tim!” Tim turned his head off to the side. “Tell your partner to leave the skullfucking to the real warriors.” Riley waved his hand nonchalantly above his head and turned back to his fellow Yellows.

Tim just mumbled under his breath a cuss word or two…something about how all Yellows are faggots and how Twila’s a bitch.

Tim slid into the passenger seat unharmed, albeit frustrated.

“Didn’t I say LET ME TALK.” Twila questioned. Tim just smirked and reclined in his chair.
Twila shrugged uncomfortably and tossed her pistol below the seat. She pressed on the gas, off to drop the package into the grimacing hands of their trusted boss Raphael.

“You not gonna ask if I want anything?” Tim smirked. Twila faced him and shrugged her shoulders.

“I ain’t your momma Tim. What do you want? A soda pop? Some baby food?”

“How about a condom?” said Tim. Twila brushed him off and turned towards the station. “No seriously…condoms, pack of lights…” Twila never turned around and continued walking away leaving Tim sighing behind her.

They were stopped off at a rough barren Texaco station to fuel up after Tim wanted to take a quick stop at a friend’s house. Twila, reluctant, but endeared by Tim’s friend, decided it was harmless. Twila likes the boys.

“I wanna stop at a friend’s. Pick something up.”

Tim pointed his hand to the right. “Exit here.”

Tim leaned up against the town car, arms folded, waiting patiently for Twila to exit the gas station. He was fascinated by Twila’s interest in visiting Rocky. They were known to take little side quests before, during, and after jobs, but it was different to involve another person, and especially contrived considering the recent intensity of Raff and the bag of cash lying in the back. Sure, Twila was a little annoyed and probably wanted to get home earlier than later to hang with the girls or give Raff a hand job (though Tim could never confirm any of those). But Twila liked Rocky as much as she liked a night with the girls and she was bound to suspend her interests momentarily.

She’s a short-term thinker.

As Tim leaned comfortably against the Crown Vic he thought about his conversation with Rocky earlier on the phone.

“I got a call from Twila. Raff has something for us to do today.”

It was Twila.

What was taking Twila so long? She was in the gas station for quite some time. Maybe searching for the best brand cigs. Maybe she’ll even buy a pack for Tim who would be more than enthusiastic for a dozen or so cancer rods.

A whistle stirred Tim forward. “Hey you.” A woman, 23, maybe 24, paced toward the Victorian. Tim looked with the corner of his eye and dropped his cigarette to the ground. She was average. Quite average. Yet pretty enough to garner the attention of Tim who was well accustomed to mediocrity when dealing with women. She wore a turquoise tube top that hugged her large breasts and formed creases around her chest. Tim liked her tits. But for most guys, it was the only attribute worth noting. Her face was worn by a mix of the hot summer days and the cold chalking winter. Her body was well-developed, but a bit chunky along the sides- what many may call a muffin-top formed along her waist.

But for the atypical, for the guy that is every guy that isn’t of high class, it was a well enough specimen of the female form for a nice quick lay- something to tell the buddies but not to attach to- to marry- to hug and fondle and adore.

It wasn’t too long for the girl to worm her sexual mind into the equally sexual brain of Tim, who was now pounding his way into her fleshy vagina. Pound. Pound. He dug it. She dug it. It was just like Tim to have sex with a woman he just met at the Texaco gas station off exit 46 on a nice bristly Monday afternoon.
Twila returned to the car. Tim was nowhere to be found, and the bag was gone. Gone.

Gone? Twila recited it in her head. Tim fucking ran out on foot with the goddamn money!

That twisted son of a…!

Tim stepped out of the janitorial closet at the side of the building pulling up the zipper on his pants. A woman, 23, maybe 24, followed behind him. Tim looked straight out to the Victorian and saw an absolutely irate Twila screaming.

“The bag! The fucking bag Tim!” Tim looked confused. A blue Chevy screeched up behind Tim and a woman, bra dangling off her shoulder, her panties pulled to the side as if they were tugged down just moments before dove into the Chevy screaming “drive drive!” The Chevy accelerated. Tim’s cheeks flushed. It was in that brief moment that he put two and two together. We put the female as a thief. He put the bag as missing. And most importantly, he saw Raff as having his balls to a meat cleaver. Maybe a skullfuck?

A screech made Tim waver. “GET IN HERE!” Twila’s blood was pulsing, her hips shaking- and not in the sensual way.

She was absolutely baffled. The Victorian screamed, and Twila gunned it before Tim even had a fair chance to slip into the backseat, enough room with the bag missing.

“Tim you mother fucker, are you kidding me?!”

“What the fuck was taking you so long in the gas station!?” Tim yelled.

“Well can you keep your dick out of a girls mouth long enough to wait for me!” Twila leveled the car out of the station lot and down the strip she saw the Chevy escape down.

“If we lose them Tim I swear to Christ!” Twila failed to see the Chevy ahead. She got nervous. Raphael would have her head. “And you leave your gun in the car!?” Tim looked ashamed.

“You keep those eyes out the window!” Twila cried. Tim nodded in anxious agreement. Twila ran past a stop sign narrowly missing the front side of a Mercedes that was cruising comfortably down 11th Ave.

Tim screamed, “Turn here!” and stuck his finger to the window.

“I saw it.” Twila crushed her foot against the brake, tapping it up and down ever so slightly and drifted her away around a bend and towards 14th where she saw the Chevy pacing down the road.

“We’ll catch up to those little fucks. You watch.”

Tim tried to climb his way up to the front seat but a drift by Twila sent him thrown behind the driver’s seat, smacking his head against the side door.

“Seriously Tim, what is wrong with you?” Twila, clearly entertained by this whole spectacle in an odd out-of-character sense, was teasing the stupidity of Tim. I mean, how dumb could the guy be? As she came out of the turn, she saw the blue Chevy a few blocks down rambling down the road at a leisurely pace, probably confident that they lost the two buffoons who once had possession of the bag.

“Whoa.” Twila slowed the car to a crawl and meandered it quietly into a parking space.

Tim reacted. “What? What the hell…”

Twila interrupted. “Keep your head down, their getting out.”

“Well fucking get out WITH them. You gonna lose them.”

“Wait wait, we can’t just go out there now guns blazing in the middle of the goddamn day Tim.”

Tim agreed but didn’t make Twila aware of it. He just peeked out the window in silence, eying the street and trying to get a read on their location.

“They walked into a building.”

“How many?”

“Just the two. The girl you fucked. Some guy…” Twila gave him a dirty glance from the front seat.

“What kinda building?”

“An apartment building.”

“What kind of apartment building?”

“It’s red. Fucking nasty. Old.” Twila froze. “Wait.”

Tim tensed a bit and leaned his head forward just above the window.

“The address is umm…” Twila paused again and squinted. “1200…”

Tim jumped out of the car and slammed the back door. He leaped forward and pocketed his pistol right into the side of his pants.

“What!? What the fuck Tim?”

Tim moved around the front of the car and leaned his head into the driver seat.

“Twila.” He lowered his voice. “That’s where Rocky lives…” He pointed his hand forward toward the apartment complex.

“Rocky? THE Rocky?” She thought about it for a moment. “How did he?”

“I talked to him. Told him I had a job to do and I would head over after. He told me to stop at the gas station to pick up something. He must’ve told that gal and that brown haired fucker to do us like this.”
“Tim…”

“Let’s go come on!” Tim leaned off the Victorian and Twila followed suite, grabbing a handgun from the glove box and smacking the car door shut as she left.

“So what’s the plan Tim?”

“Shoot them in the face.” Tim still stared straight towards the complex.

“Tim this is reckless.” Twila doubted. Tim stopped walking and turned his body facing her.

“Oh ok and you want to sit out here and think it over when their inside counting all of Raff’s money?”

Twila paused. “Well…Yes. Yes I do.”

Tim just sighed and continued walking.

“Tim Jesus just chill out a second.”

“Twila. Rocky is a guy that you think is the sexiest mother fucker on the planet and he just skullfucked you. I know I know, it sounds kinda hot, but when it costs you all the Yellows indebted money that is SUPPOSED to be Raff’s, and Raff has no problem pissing down your throat while you’re awake, and making you eat shit from his dog’s ass because he finds it amusing…is it still cool? Do you STILL wanna sit out here and plan it out?”

Twila was caught off guard. Her face tensed, the grip on her handgun tightened. And, without any words or outward angst, she agreed.

“Lucy.” Rocky yelled from the couch. “Lucy!” A young woman, 23, maybe 24, paced down the stairs and walked right up to the end of the couch, standing insistently in front of Rocky, who was comfortable, reclined.

Lucy smiled, ears intent, and Rocky pulled out a piece of paper.

Fortunately for Tim and Twila they could enter fairly quietly. Tim was already confident of the room number, unless they were stashing in another room, which, for all intensive purposes, would have been vastly more of an intelligent move for the inadequate thieves. But Tim doubted their intelligence, perhaps with a little intelligence of his own. It was room 27. Floor 2. Tim peeked his eyes around the corner and there wasn’t anyone standing outside the room. He lucked out. They stood there for a few moments, anticipating any sort of movement. Someone leaving. Someone entering. They heard a sound. They lined up against the wall and inched just a little further. Twila kept nudging Tim’s back.

They crept to the door. Slow. Slower. Slowly. They stopped. Sounds. Laughter echoed and boomed from room 27. In the beginning it was hard to make-out. It was just murmured laughter- weighted and murky. After a few more paces, the sweat bobbing on Tim’s head, he heard it as explicitly as ever.

Rocky. He heard Rocky laugh.

Tim whispered. “That’s it, let’s go.”

Twila and Tim quickened their pace and came right to the front of the door. Tim stuck is hand out and placed three fingers up.

He closed one.

He closed another.

Twila kicked the door down. Screams erupted throughout the room. Twila took a shot at Max and he fell to the floor. Thunk. Lucy ducked behind the couch and covered her ears with her hands, howling.
“Fuckin grab her Tim.” Tim jumped over the couch and grabbed Lucy by the hair, covering her mouth with his hand and pacing her towards the front of the couch.

Rocky sat on the couch hands up. “Max said he wasn’t followed.”

Twila laughed out loud. “You got a handgun to your head and you question your dead friend?” Twila stopped talking and took a step towards Rocky. “You have five seconds to put the money in the bag.”
Rocky leaned off the couch, slowly, and began brushing the money off the table and into the red duffle bag that sat on the floor.

“Go on.” A lot of the money was loose, no longer bundled up, so many of the bills were alone and the ceiling fan began picking some bills up and tossing them around the room.

“Let’s go faggot!” Twila yelled and pressed the gun to Rocky’s head.

“Oh dear you know I’m anything but…” Rocky mocked.

“Hurry UP!” Twila yelled. She knew what he was doing. He was stalling. Someone was bound to have heard the shot that killed Max and of course the yelling. The police were probably on their way.

“Tim knock her out. Let’s go.”

“Even if it wasn’t real you were a good lay.” Tim smacked his pistol against the side of her face and she collapse to the floor, hitting her head even further against the wood paneled surface.

“And you…” Tim walked right to the edge of the couch where Rocky was sitting and put his handgun against his head.

“If you wanna fuck with me I’ll fuck with ya. I love me so fuckin!” Tim yelled. Rocky slid to the back of the couch.

“Oh you crawl away from me. I thought you wanted to fuck?”

“Tim let’s go!”

A police alarm ripped through the air. It was closing in on their spot.

“Let’s fucking GO TIM!”

Tim spit in Rocky’s face and followed Twila out the door.

“Stay safe kids.” Rocky remarked sarcastically, and kicked the table in frustration.

His half-assed plan failed. What a surprise.

Twila and Tim descended the stairs and shuffled out a back exit only known because of Tim’s previous endeavors at Rocky’s place. The cops came into the door only moments after Twila and Tim exited out the back, and they made it to their car with enough time to see three cop cars parked outside the apartment.
For all reasonable expectations, Tim and Twila should have never been able to escape. They lucked out. Again.

The wind rustled around the car comfortably and Tim and Twila smiled and whistled along beside it. They were headed back to base, to where Raff lived to bring the debt from the Yellows. They weren’t concerned whether they were getting a cut tonight from the package or would be paid later down the road. It wasn’t uncommon for Raff to short them, hence Tim’s short temper with the man on occasion.

“So Tim. Why were you headed to Rocky’s anyway?”

“I told you. A guy…”

“But what guy? Like, what did he do? Or has…or…” Twila stopped herself knowing her question was as elaborate as it needed to be.

Tim stared out the window, at first hesitating to answer question. But he thought his partner, of all people, should be aware of this particular, guy…

“A job interview.”

“A huh?”

A job interview. I had a job interview with this guy.”

“What kind of job interview?”

The guy owns this like, chain of bakeries, and he’s offering me a job to help run them.”

Twila smiled. “A fucking bakery…”

“Yeah girlie. Like a real job ya know…”

Twila smiled and continued driving; now hitting the beginnings of a bridge.

“I should count the money, at least make sure it’s damn close to what the Yellows owe.” Tim zipped open the bag and pulled out some wrapped up bills, breaking them open making the bills loose.

“Tim just wait till we get…” it was too late. The extra wind from being over the bridge rustled the loose bills out of the bag and into the air where they circled a few times around Tim’s head and blew out the window. Tim panicked. Even more flew out the window.

“What the fuck?” Twila questioned to herself and slowed down the car alerting attention to the cars behind her, now openly aware of the money flying out of the car window.

“Zip up the bag Tim!” A large gust of wind caught the extent of the bag and a whole healthy handful of bills flew further out and beyond the walls of the bridge. Twila stopped the car.

They both stepped out. Others from behind were rushing out of their vehicles, waving their hands in the air in attempt of catching a nice twenty, maybe a hundred if they were lucky.

It was futile. Twila and Tim stood at the edge of the bridge watching the wind catch heaving’s of their money being swept away to the ocean and beyond.

“You know Tim…remind me to kill you.”

“Shut up Tim.” Raff remarked.

“And get Twila.”

But the beach was rather empty that evening. A boy and a dog walked just minuites ago, and two couples, one jogging, the other grabbing shells came by in the past hour- though now, it was dark and curfew became imminent.

Beth didn’t care. She shoveled a collection of sand and broken shells between her hands- back and forth- until it all seeped between her fingers and back down to the collective surface of the beach.

The wistful nature of the beach wind caught waves of her hair, leaving the satin brown meandering in the wind, complacent for every whimsical breath mother nature makes.

The sun caught up to the horizon. The dark nature of the sky reconciled across the once light blue canopy.

“Hello.” He sat down. “Nice shades.” Beth turned towards the source of the sound. A boy, with tender skin sat, smiling with strength across the canvas of his face. “What’s your name?”

Beth hesitated before forcing out an answer. “Bee. It’s Bee.”

“Your name is Bee? That’s just a letter?” The boy, confused by the origin of her name, bit his lip, nearly regretting the situation he oh-so-pleasantly invited himself into.

“Well my real name is Beth. That’s a nickname.” As Beth said it aloud she only hinted in her expression the absurdity of what she said.

“Well Beth, that’s not really any shorter. Nicknames should be shorter.” Beth, realizing this began defending her point.

“Some boys made it up when I was little.”

“You ARE little.” The boy leaned backwards and placed his hands in the sand behind him. He smiled. “Anyway, that explains it.”

“What’s your name?” Beth asked in return.

“My name is…” the boy interrupted himself and leaned forward, staring at the bright neon shades brought forward by Beth. “Ben. But you can call me Bee.” Beth smirked.

“So Beth, what do you like to do?” Ben questioned. Expecting a delayed response he looked away from her and out towards the beach where he found comfort.

“Well I like to go to the beach. It smells nice.” She breathed in a prolonged breath and breathed out. “See?” Ben doing the same, agreed complacently.

Beth hesitated but soon continued to converse. “Well I like the birds that fly around- pick bread out of your hands. I can hear them all around me. And the rumble of the waves.” Beth pointed forward. “…going WAY out there.” Ben lifted his hand up to follow hers and pointed forward as well, trying to curve his hand as to show how truly far the ocean spread.

“I like the sand and how it feels yea?” Ben responded. Beth grinned and again picked up a pile of sand, echoing it back and forth between each hand before they vanished and, again, slipped out and lay amongst the rest.

“Yeah, the sand is cool. I like the beach a lot too.” He paused, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to grasp something new to their conversation. “See that?” Ben rose his hand up again towards a boat on the horizon. “See that big boat, I bet it’s a cruise ship going to Jamaica!” Ben, now with enthusiasm grinned. “I want to go to Jamaica.”

Beth only nodded and leaned back towards the sand.

“Beth? You seem really cool.” ben stopped his speech and stared towards the ground a bit, contemplating his further words and hoping for reciprocation from Beth. She reamined focused, intent, and ill-informed of the mannerisms of nervousness and hesitation placed forward by Ben. Ben, lacking options, continued. “Want to be friends?”

Beth nodded again, this time following a smile, and looked towards her left.

“Great!” Ben stood up and gestured Beth the same. “Stand up, now that were friends we can go do something fun.”

“I want to sit here and enjoy the ocean Ben. This IS fun.” Ben, realizing his mistake, sat back down and continued racking his brain to further his conversation with Beth. Ben knows, full well, the longer he stays with Beth the more time he spends happy and interested. He liked Beth, he liked her strawberry scent resonating to his nose beyond the intensity of the beach in all its shining glory. He adored her weaving hair, as the wind tore the strands separately towards the sky, each playing off each other like the rhythm’s of a classical piece. Ben had a few of these features on his own, yet most were only visible through time- his traits were more discreet.

Beth’s skin, lathered and soft, only felt soft when Ben came intentionally close, brushing his arm against her’s in an attempt to get the best seashell on the beach.

“You missed it. There was a great shell right beside you!” Ben handed the shell to her. She grabbed it as their hands touched.

Beth smiled. “Thanks!” She began rubbing the shell, itching at its creases and grinning softly at its shape. After a moment she again returned straight ahead towards where the sun was just a few moments ago.

Her voice, even in such small phrases, illuminated the imagination of Ben, who was only drawn in to the complimentary arousal of the ocean and the whimsical sound of her voice.

Despite all this, Beth showed little in return. Beth found the beach a fantastic place to be, one that made her thoughts tender and comforting. She enjoyed the beach despite the eager Ben, more so eager to show his own fascination for the friendly and young Beth.

Grains of sand stay stuck to specific spots on her legs. He wished he had the nerve to rub them off, but did not want to distress a nervous situation with his agear nature manifesting at such a quick pace. But oh her legs, so genuine, Beth placed her own hands on top of them ever so often. Beth only continued to smile, disinterested in furthering her conversing with Ben, albeit lacking the nerve to take a stand against his presence.

Though truth is, she likely enjoyed his company. Beth always does.

“Hey Beth. Can I ask you a question.”

“You just did.” Beth, believing herself to have just upped the young Ben, comforts him with a sarcastic smile. “Yes, you can ask me a question, Ben.”

“Why are you wearing those neon sunglasses. There’s no sun. It’s dark and you maybe can’t see when you wear those…” Ben, perhaps hoping that his question did not disturb Beth halted his talking and settled his eyes onto the sand below.

Beth began, hurriedly, laughing and grinning. She took the shades and put them in the hands of Ben after he placed them forward beside her wrist.

“I can’t see. I can’t see the beach. I can’t see the water. I can’t even see those shades.” Ben, misunderstood her initial statements and only stared at the neon shades in disillusion.

“You can’t…”

“I CAN’T see.” She laughed a nervous and interrupted laugh. “But my dad says that’s ok and he tells me how pretty the world is anyways.”

“Beth! BETH!” A loud voice resonated up by the pier and Beth called back. “Coming Dad!” Beth stood up, and looked down towards the left where she expected Ben to be sitting. “You can have those. I have a lot.”

Beth followed her father’s voice up to the boardwalk as he continued announcing her name. Ben, for a few minutes, sat comfortably glazing his eyes over the neon shades.

After a few minutes he closed his eyes, placed the neon shades above his noise, and meandered around the beach, tripping over ditches in the sand and stepping on rocks and shells as he clamored towards the boardwalk. Ben realized it was much darker with the shades on.

The sky lit up, if only for a bit, long enough for Ben to skip his way across the sandy terrain and up towards home, just before accidentally dropping the neon shades upon some crushed shells and sand.

Seattle lit up rather dimly in that afternoon no more dim than any other opposing afternoon, but still dim enough to make any outsider realize the dim nature of the city- the dim nature of it all.

Kevin sloped even deeper into reclination. His grizzly hands landed complacently against the concrete floor below. A pebble smacked his face with enough pressure to stir Kevin to the side. Maybe it came from a tree? Maybe it was thrown by a boy? Maybe the wind picked it up and carried it upon the velvet surface of Kevin’s deterred old face?

Kevin again, unabashed by the brisk Seattle air, leaned further into the bench, still as comfortable as before…as whimsical as any. The rain let up a bit and Kevin let his hood relax, showcasing even more of his reptilian nature to any unsuspecting street civilian who just so happened to pace on by. It was a rather entrenching position to be in. The awkward nature of being in the vicinity of a homeless man is always one to question, but even heightened when that man is Kevin. A large, encompassing man, Kevin stood tall. Though slouched as if his back was unable to uphold the pressure of his head and skull, he still contained height intimidating to a Seattle citizen. His hands were drenched in hair, thicker than his skin, and his beard gripping like handles around the side of his face only further embodied the stereotypical style presented. Kevin’s eyes hung heavy, a ditch in a field, they dug in concave and surrounded by webbing and raw skin.

Anyone who walked by took that ever precarious step towards the street remaining as far as respectfully possible without alluding attention to just the level of uncomfortable they held tight. Kevin was not one to approach. If Kevin came, arms outstretched, smiling deeply, even the other homeless would be disturbed by his image.

Kevin was aware of this. Though it bothered him in the beginning, with his unsettling stares at those who are disturbed by his style and look, he begin to dissuade such rude behavior. “They don’t know me?” They just don’t understand. They will come around when they meet me.” Kevin remarked to himself. Though he never spoke these things allowed- an insane homeless man is monumentally more precarious.

Though Kevin was undeniably aware of the typical reaction he recieved, that failed to deter him off that bench and down the street, into the market to apply for work, into the station to collect cash for tricks. Even a quick shave could be obtained from a few friends he met during his stint as a homeless man…those friends who now had an apartment and were struggling towards solidarity.

It was uneventful to be homeless in Seattle. The winter and fall were enduring times, and only a thick-skinned peach like Kevin could outlast the sneering and resting cold air of the early year. He always thought of moving South, down into the valley or into the irregular confines of California suburbia.

Perhaps it was Seattle’s pretty skies that kept him loyal and intact.

Kevin became hungry. He began stirring along the bench, switching sides periodically, turning ones to face forward towards the sidewalk, startling a family of three who were walking ever-so-slow to their destination. He turned back around, putting even more pressure on his shoulder- he preferred to face away.

It was getting much later in the day and the sun began slipping across the windowpane of the sky catching momentum as it rounded the level top. The growls of Kevin’s gut were disturbing his attempt at reconciliating sleep. He leaned forward, feeling upright, and stretched his arms back beyond his reach. He yawned. He yawned again. Feeling an urge to simply rest back down along the bench, Kevin slipped over to the side a bit before catching his weight with his left arm and containing himself up at an awkward and irregular angle.

After a few moments of unrest, Kevin slid his body to a stand. His height, as noted before, was all but an exaggeration. Kevin standing made citizens cross the street to avoid his presence, afraid that the bearded man with the coat will hunt them for their remaining dollars and self-esteem. Though unbeknownst to the typical Seattle city-goer, they could outrun the rounded Kevin and earn their freedom from his evil grasp.

Kevin began pacing steadily, placing one front in front of the other in standard grizzly bear fashion. One. Two. One. Another. Kevin heaved and rocked his body up along the sidewalk, being passed presently by more whimsical and speed-conscious Seattlites. A woman and her child in particular brisked along and beside Kevin, the mother giving a quick vertical glance at his face and yanked her daughter along. “Mommy look at him..,” followed by a quick “let’s go come on.”

Kevin tackled eye contact.

After some limitless time, Kevin stopped. It was an unusual place for Kevin to be. He faced forward away from the street and stood with confidence in front of an unsuspecting bakery. Cookies. Chocolates, and Kevin’s personal childhood favorite, the vanilla fudge. Treats and snacks plagued the windows and stands of the bakery. It was the enveloping smell that saturated any desire for food whilst also whiping clean any self-control any easily persuaded individual had. The smell seemed to encompass the shop, the arousing chocolate brownies begged to be purchased and inhaled, as well as the pretentious birthday cakes, coated in that flourescent and witty cream topping. Kevin could read what was written on top. He didn’t.

Kevin stepped inside, the door already open wide.

He just stood, with ease, in the middle of the bakery, masking his senses with the auroma of intense chocolates and fudge being hand-made in the back, just in sight of any customer curious as to its creation.

Oh what a tease. What a silly tease the smell must have been for any Seattle citizen who passed by the open bakery door with mounting bills and not a dollar to spend on extraneous natures of the oh-so classy vanilla fudge. Kevin, with such setting comfort, still stood in the middle of the bakery’s aroma and smiled- a new smile, one unnerving and relaxing despite his size and posture. Kevin grinned even further and seemed to give in.

Kevin was interrupted. “Hey guy, are you going to buy, because you can’t just stand there…” Kevin caught the eye of the baker who spoke but quickly looked away. The baker, knowledgeable of Kevin’s presence in the city, retaliated.

“Look I can give you a sample but you got to leave. Don’t make this harder.” The baker began stepping outside his register and over to the side counter leaning down as if grabbing something from below.

Kevin placed a hand further covering the face of our young baker friend. “No, No. Not necessary.” The baker paused as Kevin took a step forward. Just one. He froze himself to grasp another wistful wave of fudge and brownie, inhaling extensively and letting it drop through a dragon-like exhale. Kevin stood in front of the register and the baker, who looked confused. Kevin, enthralled by his surroundings, was quite unaware of his vast size in comparison to the bakery, who’s measly interior could be encapsulated by a single grizzly-like man.

“You want something? You can pay yeah?” The baker questioned Kevin. Kevin simply ignored the comment and smacked a hand against the counter. “Vanilla fudge.” The baker became startled by Kevin and took a step back. Perhaps nervous the baker replied with pause. “Do you want…uh…two pieces or…” The baker interrupted himself and simply leaned below the counter to grab a nice chunky piece of vanilla fudge. He placed it in a wrap and positioned it at the bottom of a tiny bag. After this tedium, the baker dropped the bag on the counter. Kevin gave it a quick glance and smiled. His thoughts could have been transcribed with ease. He grabbed the bag and clenched it within his fist, nearly wrapping the entire package around his fingers.

“It’s $4.88.” The bakers hands shook and he placed them upon his waist, nerved by asking money from Kevin, such a large and intimidating name.

Kevin reached into his coat pocket, and with large enveloping hands grasped them around a bill, restlessly placing it on the counter and turning his back to his baker friend.

The baker, now slightly more relaxed only became more distressed at the recieval of the bill.

“This is a…sir…you gave me too much!” The baker gave further inspection to the money, confirming his initial suspicions. The baker, stood aghast at a soggy one hundred dollar bill in his hands, as Kevin paced himself outside the bakery walls and around the corner of an old silver Seattle street.

There is a slow collapse going on within all people. Sure, they made hold on for plenty of time, enough time to start a family and love that family, enough time to prosper extraordinary or fail miserably…but despite this time line of their life making itself known each night and every morning, when you sleep and when you awaken.

It eventually catches every one of us. Whether near birth, or on the deathbed.

It makes life a frightening beast. One that cannot be predicted. When will the pain hit me worst? You think

So what can you do? Ignore it?…fight it?

Be the exception?

As long as you are aware of it, it won’t catch you off guard. Maybe you can recover efectively. Maybe you can lay down in peace. Maybe its inevitably won’t eat at your head each night before sleep- if you get any at all.

I have been quite aware of this collapse for quite some time, and it has hit me pretty viciously recently. I could go into the details, but it’s overtly non-essential to the occurrence at hand. I have no expectations of people and future. Because of that, I should not be disappointed- prepare myself for the worst. I expect to be shit on, and not even those I care about to pick me up. People just disappoint to an almost incomprehensible level.

There’s not enough social interest in the world. My advice?

Care about someone. It’ll keep you sane.

And let the brighter days be remembered with ease.

It’s not all dark. If you find someone you care about, with your low expectations intact, the days will shine brighter and the world will run smoother.

Until then? Hang in there…

I had to shake it off. If I allowed it, I would slip into sleep and never awaken. The thought frightened me.

It was the smell that caught me first. The putrid scent began raping my senses, my sinus’ pulsing, then stalling, as if shocked into submission. I quickly shunned my eyes to a close despite previously aware that they may never open again. I squirmed. I knew the smell. I knew it all too well, and yet its intensity only ran me uncomfortable and frightened.

It was the rampaging stench of rotting human flesh. Only naturally, it was raining, the murky water pelted my face, sliding alongside the curves put in place by my age. My hands, numb and coated in mud, were shaking. The bone felt ill, as anyone with half their senses would notice quickly the starvation bleeding into my skin and bones. I was hungry. I was cold. The smell only acted as a mild distraction.

A pain disturbed my side. I lifted my shirt, briefly showcasing a wound, intense as any, burning into my gut and revealing a gaping hole of my own- the blood puttered out slowly, drooping with aplomb. I convulsed. Now that I was aware of it, it only hurt further.

I gave a quick wrenching glance at a few of the bodies lining me. Most were drenched nearly entirely in a few feet of mud, only a limb or the rough edge of clothing was seen visible above the devouring surface. My own feet were not visible until lifted considerably out of the mud. I had barely enough energy to do so, only lifting each foot once to confirm they were still attached.

I quivered over to a slight corner against a dripping wall. I questioned my whereabouts- giving the sky a quick glimpse and a quick retreat as rain splattered the curves in my face. Of course, mud plastered my cheeks and hands, so the rain only helped to alleviate this temporary dilemma.

I placed my right hand right above my eyes and angled them upwards, trying to get an idea on my location. Where was I? I questioned again. How did I get here?

I could see the sky above a slight lining about quite a ways up. Far too high to reach with a simple jump or vault, as if I had enough energy to do so.

It was obvious, at this time, my location. Though I doubted the specifics, perhaps denied them, I was in a hole.

Now that I had a fair understanding of my surroundings, I noticed the thumping agitation in the left side of my head. I placed my hand against the surface of my head and cringed. A lump. Massive. It could be ignored for now.

I sighed and gripped onto the side of the hole. My stomach pounded at the lack of nutrition, the side of my chest shaking in pain from a wound, a bullet if I recall, and the intense aching coming from my skull. My environment, littered with bodies that failed to live as long as I. The rain smacked my face, then dribbled down my cheeks and into the mud.

I needed a plan.

Against my better will, the rain continued throughout the night.

Morning

My eyes stirred. The mud, now slightly dryer, clenched my face, and flakes of dirt crumbled off my cheeks as I blinked and lifted myself from my reclining position against the side of the hole.

After the initial shakes of any morning, I began to notice my body compulsive. Hungry. Thirsty. Weak. I needed some sort of salvation earlier than later, and of course, some strong desire to get out of this pit- out of this horrible horrible place.

The bodies steamed ever so slightly from the drier air and morning sunlight, so I clambered on over to the closest one, reaching in its pockets. Nothing. Another one displayed itself on top of a smaller body and I checked both of those, dragging my side along. Nothing in either.

Nothing in any of the bodies besides a rag, which I quickly coated over my wound, and a homemade pocket knife, mostly wooden, which I coveted and locked beside my pants. The hunger intensified and I flinched. The pit, due to the over indulgence of bodies, was coated in a thin layer of bug manifestations. Cockroaches were most common, but maggots penetrated the corpses with cooperation, and ants simply lined the walls of the hole, carrying little pieces of leaves and some of the bigger- flesh.

The ants were easy to grab, taking scrambling paces right into my open hand. As my hand filled with ants I placed it up to my face and licked them clean. It would do for now.

It was the bigger game, the cockroaches that were difficult to catch. It would take me hours to grasp one of the bastards in my hands and even then, they crawled out my throat. My bites had to be thicker, my crunches through their torso were not enough to incapacitate the cockroach. I got a smaller one after many failed attempts, though it did little to alleviate my intense hunger. The ants, though easier, were simply not too my character.

evening

The wound simply stung beyond reason, and I slowly furthered in my dizziness, feeling the woes of an infection close by. I needed something- something to waiver the pain.

An idea intruded. I stirred myself forward, taking quick glances left and right trying to find the closest body most decomposed and easy to pick through. One in particular at my left was most applicable. I grabbed the bodies leg, mostly decomposed, the bone’s visible below the bit of shorts hiding some of the bone.

The leg bone, at first, was hard to grip, but once a firm grasp was earned, I pulled the bone right out of the socket, gripping it comfortably in my hand with a mild sense of triumph.

A noise came from above. I pressed myself against the wall of the pit, and recoiled. What was that noise?

Talking. I heard people conversing in another language. Sounded German. It was too faint to pick up it up for fact. Shadows began appearing at the surface of the hole, one- two- maybe three men. I heard laughing louder now, some quick quips and a yell from farther out of the hole. I couldn’t understand what they said, but by God I now recognized that language. It gave me goosebumps and I cringed. It was the enemy.

My eyes tensed at the bottom of the pit, quick clips of the moonlight grazed my skin, but I remained hidden enough to not be found- at least this time around.

A dark shadow enveloped the top of the hole and became enclosing over me. I covered my head with my hands and shuttered my eyes.

Crash. I remain unmoved. A few seconds later it occurred again.

Crash. The chatter from above turned quieter, until it evaporated with the darkness of the night sky. The crashes left me frightened and I remained covered. What was that loud crash? I kept my hands crunched over my head, still pulsing considerably from the pain before, and I rocked back a few times to help steady myself.

Minutes

A groan stirred me to life. It came from my left. I took a peek with the crease in my eyes and blinked a few times to get comfortable with the mild light blinking through to the top of the pit.

The groan occurred again. That time it was unmistakable. I removed my hands from around my head and knees and took a look at the source of the sound.

It startled me. A man! Could he talk? Could he understand?

I asked him a question.

“What?” he asked back. I repeated my question.

“You’re…French? Yea?” He looked at me, the glare in his eyes illuminated. “Fr…,” the man stuttered and his voice faded. After speaking the words he leaned his back against the walls of the pit and closed his eyes, relaxing his arms to the side even further. He was an American. He would not understand my words.

Some time passed and the man gave me a few glances and looks. “How have…” he coughed. “Alive, friend.” I failed to understand. But this new addition to the pit only distracted me for so long. I grabbed some wet mud from the side and put it against my lips squeezing the softer pieces down my throat and the thicker mud hanging below my chin and sliding down my neck. The man sighed and laid his back further than before.

Hours

The bone I originally collected before was quite vital. I took the pocket knife from before and sharpened the bone a bit, just enough to make it below the wound of my skin. After some intense pain, yelling, smacking the wall, and all, I removed the bullet from my chest. The influx of pain made me sweaty and faint, and I passed out beside the American.

Once I awoke I felt a bit better, the pain from the wound subsided. After some more bugs, and a tiny cockroach I continued collecting bones from the bodies that lay dispersed around me.

My bone collection was now a healthy four of five, mostly limbs, the most suitable to my goal. I placed the bones to my side, grabbing two in particular and placed them perpendicular. I tugged at a string holding one of the bodies now obsolete pants up. Many of the bodies had tug strings around their waist, pivotal to my project.

I struggled with the bones and string for a few moments, trying to tie a knot with the fragile and deterred ends of my fingers, wrinkled and worn.

A loud screech disturbed me. I forced my body back in fear at the presence of a large vulture, swooping down over the American from before. I had to help. I pushed my body forward to the other side of the pit and waved the vulture off yelling, distressed and visibly upset, hands flailing around. The vulture stopped and flew away, just before grabbing an arm from the man and lifting himself up with powerful wings. As the American’s body lifted alongside his arm, it was only a matter of time until it snapped off, and his body clashed back down to the bottom of the pit.

The vulture escalated out and beyond the walls of the pit, free and vibrant to fly wherever he pleased.

The American lay limp, his eyes vacant. He was dead long before the vulture came, probably some time in the evening. I failed to notice.

I relaxed me tension, and went back down to my bone collecting and string tying.

The night

I could not keep my eyes open. My vision faded in and out, my bone collection seized to make any progress until I was aware enough to move my fingers. I would die here. It was inevitable, and the hunger became so beyond comprehension that I was unaware that even food would satiate my unwillingness to live. The ants were far less frequent, and I had to result to eating maggots to earn enough energy to continue my work. Even I was repulsed. I grabbed a few, maybe four or five from the chest of a dead white man, and dropped them down my throat. One clung to the side and I had to shake my head up and down for its grip to falter and fall into my stomach.

My head fell to the side, my eyes just catching a quick glimpse of my old friend. Friend. He was only dead for a day, the most recent of all the bodies in the pit.

The most acceptable. I remain fixated on the man’s corpse for some time, never moving, staying eyes strong right at the body. My mouth tensed, my lips pursed.

I put my hand forward, fingernails snapping from the smack against the bottom of the pit. I pulled my body forward, only inching forward. My body lay flat. Too much energy to make it over. It was impossible.

I tensed again and inched forward. Progress. I was making progress. I made it a pattern, tensing my body every few minutes pushing myself forward across the bottom of the pit, only being further stalled from a pile of bone and clothing which blocked my clean slide to the man.

I finally caught the end of the man’s boots and tugged at it. I simultaneously tugged at his boot and tensed my frail body forward making even greater progress towards the corpse.

After some time I was there, displayed over the American who once lived and spoke, the American who could help me- beyond the grave.

I gripped his wrist raising it up to my chin. I hesitated. It would be the only time.

I opened my mouth and bit into his wrist. Blood only dripped out slowly, mostly thick and dark, the intensity of the smell was dulled considerably. I took another bite. Another. Another, until the bone clacked against my teeth. I moved further up his arm until I fell back against my head and smirked an almost sinister smile. My life here felt better, if only for that moment.

The next night

The rain from the afternoon gave me an opportunity for some necessary liquid, albeit minimal and in mud form. The American still sat, lively as ever, but decomposed to the point of no return, and used of all his value. The maggots beat me to the right leg.

It was night, so I was slightly less aware than usual, drifting in and out of consciousness and unable to work on my bone collection due to the lack of any light, the moon only rarely creeping its presence anywhere near the bottom of the pit. Only one night if I recall, though naturally, they blended together.

There was no missing the laughter. A noise I have only heard once since being here, a noise that last time gave off rather promising results. Again the Crash.

Crash. Crash. A mild pause. Crash. There was a third. The men from beyond this world spoke some more, all above my understanding, and faded their voices towards the horizon and back to their family.

I sat still for a few minutes, eying the left, the right, forward, each direction with only the whites of my eyes. No groan. Nothing.

All these men were dead. This would make it easier. I crawled along the bottom of the pit and lifted the cloth off one of the mens’ chest, displaying his arm. I gripped it firmly and bit in with force. He was fresher than the last- tasted better. It was only a few hours until I satiated my hunger and placed all the redeemable bodies in the same corner for easy access. It was my kitchen. The pit was developing. I smiled and returned to my now sizable collection of bones.

Days

The sun rose and dove many times, too many to count, and I often became frustrated and disturbed. For one, the bones I was collecting kept snapping and ruining the collection. I often ran out of string to tug the bones together, and had to wait many risings of the sun for more bodies, and more string. And even more distressing was the bodies themselves. Sometimes it would be quite some time before any were dropped, and even if they were, they were often too decomposed for any sort of food- only valuable for their belt.

When a good healthy body came falling down I salivated. I knew for one it would progress my bone collection as well as supply me with enough meat for a day, maybe even two. Of course, I had to be very picky with what I ate, knowing that even small amounts of the wrong limb could give me intense pain, and down here, enough to kill me. I could only eat the meat from the limbs, having to stray away from any organs. Doing this also gave me an opportunity for a leg bone, which were stronger than the arms and less viable for breaking.

The body drop-offs only occurred at night, a fortunate occurrence as any daytime drop-off would undoubtedly give me away. When the men came I hugged the wall and closed my eyes, usually gripping my head and cowering, in case a body landed right on top of me, a rare but possible event.

And of course, my wound once landing in here has been healing steadily, now no longer a threat.

In truth, I craved healthy bodies. I craved their skin sliding against my lips and being penetrated. Penetration of any kind was ideal.

My wish came true one usually uplifting evening during a drop-off. The moon shone brighter than any night previously. I had to be especially careful, as I was nervous the men would see me at the bottom. They made the expected drop, just two bodies this time. One a Polish rebel who must have thrown too many rocks, and one a vagrant Asian.

An Asian girl. I smiled and crawled with my hands and knees over to her. She was only dead for a few hours from a stab in the chest. It must have happened right outside the pit though that world was none of my concern. It was only the pit, the angry aggressive dog-eat-dog nature of the bottom of this hole, the bodies building, the walls only getting tighter.

I pulled her sundress up over her head and dropped her underwear down below her knees. How beautiful a girl. So pretty, even in death. I grabbed between my legs and pulled my own trousers by my ankles. I pretended as if she was alive, though it did not effect me either way. It made for a more interesting evening.

Next day

My bone collection had to be set aside and it was difficult hiding it from the impending drop-offs. I had to press them into the mud and even then they stuck out considerably. But a drop-off was last night, so I had some time before another. This may be my last chance.

The Asian girl’s corpse sat tossed by the other edible bodies. She was headless, as I cut off the head and placed it on a stick right next to my usual spot. Though her eyes sulked, and her hair was matted and bloody, it was still a better alternative to the others lining the pit, and it only motivated me further to continue my bone collection and continue pursuing an escape.

While cradling the Asian woman in my hands I asked the girl a few questions. If she wanted to escape with me? If she loved me? If she thought I was crazy?

She didn’t respond. I slammed her head back onto the stick in frustration. If I had to do it all myself…

Last Day

The sun crested hours before, and I felt the approach of the drop-off. It would be tonight. They haven’t come in days, and the weather was warmer than usual. It was an ideal to dispose of the enemy.

I had to hurry.

I collected the extra bones off to the side, no longer of any great value, and pulled the usable bones out of the side of the pit as they were pressed into the mud.

I stood up. Gripped my hands and set the bones up accordingly. I stared upwards and smiled. It was my creation.

It was a ladder. I made the steps with the sturdiest bones of the bodies, and tied them together with various belts and strings from the trousers of the soldiers. The only issue was the weight of my body breaking the bones, which left me nervous if one snapped towards the top.

Before beginning my escalation, I gave my Asian friend a quick glance, her head rolled off the stick holding it up out of the mud, perhaps too decomposed to keep shape. Half eaten bodies laid formidably against the far wall, maggots and bugs nesting in the remaining meat.

I placed one foot up on the first bone. It held. I smiled. I lifted another foot on the second bone. It held equally as formidable. I smiled again.

This continued for the large portion of the bone ladder. I attempted to place the majority of my weight against the mud wall to keep the weight off the bone, but this only became more difficult as the wall steepened and I get well above the height of my body.

But I was precarious, keeping one step ahead. If one snapped, I would already have my foot lifted to the next step, enough weight being placed to counteract the break.

I became nervous. It was already dark, meaning the drop-off could occur at any moment. This was the first time I wanted it to came later than earlier.

The moon gave off quite a bit of light, enough to shine upon my face and startle me. I had to focus. I still had a few more steps.

My gaze peaked above the pit. I could see the surface! The grass, albeit mostly dirt, was patchy and more colorful than anything I have seen! I lifted my head a bit further. I could see off into the distance! A building! There was life here!

I smiled and heaved. I had finally been free.

A ladder step snapped and my body pressed downward. No! I thought quick. No! It couldn’t end here! I had failed to prepare myself appropriately for the next step, becoming distracted by the visual of the surface.

My hand grasped the edge of the pit, digging into a clump of dirt thicker than expected. The ladder kicked to the surface of the pit and snapped into pieces upon its collapse into the much narrower surface. I took a quick glance down. If I fell now!? If I fell now I would break my legs, I would die here!

I had to have strength! I had to pull myself up beyond the edge of this pit, before my weight brought me crashing down to the Asian, to the American, to the bugs, to the bodies and the death and the insanity of the pit- the pit which took my soul.

I tossed my other free hand to the edge of the pit, and using the strength of both, lifted my torso against the grass. This relieved my hands enough to pull my legs beyond the pits encapsulating tug.

A grin coated my face. I was free! The air smelled fresher, instantly catching me off guard as the encompassing stench of rotting flesh engrossed my last few weeks. The air, oh the air! I was a free man. I steadied my legs trying to stand, using my knees to lift my body upwards.

I was free! The moon glossed over my entire body and I reached my hands up, enveloping its offering of life.

I had no time to spare. I smiled and returned my arms to my side. I had to run. I had to leave this place. I had nothing on me to alleviate the weight on the bone ladder, including clothes, which left the air rather crispy against my skin.

It was a mild concern. I was free once again, and life erupted with possibility. Perhaps I would use my second chance to better myself.

I began pacing away from the pit with a grin. I hurried my pace accordingly, stretching my muscles that have spent so long incapacitated.

I was nearly sprinting away from the pit in full glee, catching in my wake a sound of laughter coming from the pit. The drop-off was occurring, but there was no longer anyone there to take advantage of it.