From one writer to another...

I wrote this for a beautiful, wonderful writer I had met.  It was just something playful to help inspire her to not give up on her writing dreams.  I had almost lost it in my mountain of email, so I wanted to rescue it.

He gently untied the knot and removed the scarf from her eyes.

“You can look now.”

She blinked and stared around.  Her right hand went out to touch the walls of the room.  “Where are we?”

“You are in my story.  This -- ”, he swept his hand, “is one of my stories.  I’m giving it to you.”

“What?”  She raised an eyebrow.  “You made this?”

“I’m actually making it right now.  You are experiencing this place as I write.”

She laughed.  She looked at all of the pictures on the walls as she stepped through the room.  Her eyes returned to him, her anchor in this strange world.   “These are so beautiful.  You painted these?”

“In a sense, yes.  These pictures are what I am seeing in my mind right now.  You are connected body and soul to my mind while you are in this place.”

She marched up to him, and placed her hands on his chest, “That doesn’t make sense.  I can feel you.  I can feel your heart beat.”  She grabbed his hand and placed it against her cheek.  His eyes closed.  “I’m real, can’t you feel me?  I’m not one of your characters in your stories.  I’m flesh and blood.”

He breathed slowly.  She looked at him, pleadingly and whispered in a small voice, “I’m real.”  She reached forward and kissed his lower lip.  “Don’t you feel me?”

Confused, he pulled back.  “You are real.”  He played with his fingers, “ I know this because I’ve spoken with you before.  You tell me things I could not possibly have known.”  He glanced around the room, “You are real because I’ve held you before.”

He reached out and held her face in his hands.  She stepped towards him and placed her own hands over his.  He moved his lips to kiss her brow and then whispered into her ear, “You are very real to me.  I don’t give into making worlds for phantoms.”  He kissed her ear, “but out there, you would never allow me to do this.”  He kissed her cheek.  Her heart was pounding as he held her securely.  His hand went to her shoulders and then he lifted her arms and placed them above her against the wall behind her.  “Or this.”  He hovered above her lips.  Her eyes closed and her mouth hung slightly open.

He let her go.  She didn’t move.  Her mind would not allow it.  Her body ached.  It was this place.  She thought, “How can this not be real?”

“It’s real because it is in your mind.  Right now, there is someone reading this, and you are, for the moment, real in their mind as well.”

“Who’s reading this?”

“Could be any number of people, there is no way of telling.  It could be you for all I know.  I would hope though, that you would be able to recognize yourself.”  He chuckled.  “But honestly and truly, it is beyond the things that I can possibly know.  The only thing I know for certain is that I was here at its creation.”

He ran his hand up to hers and curled his fingers around hers.  Her eyes fluttered open. “I want to show you something.”

The place in which they stood unfolded in front of them.  New machines rose from the ground.  To one side, tendrils rose from rocks, reaching for each other.  Several, then several hundred, then uncountable thousands poured forth into one another, wrapping around each other.  What started as a mound of overlapping leathery tentacles became more defined, forming the cushions and armrests of a chair.  Stone broke from the floor and formed a desk.  Dust trickled from the top until the surface was smoothly polished.  He led her to the chair and motioned for her to sit.

“I made this place for you.  This desk in front of you is yours.  You can come here any time you want.”

She peeked across the desk.  It was empty except for a single sheet of paper.  It was plain white, but as she watched, black spidery ink poured across its surface, and it read, “How is this happening?”  She gasped.

He laughed, “No no, it’s ok.  You are here to create.  Anything you imagine can be replicated here.  That paper simply records your thoughts.”

She turned to him and cocked her head, “My thoughts?”

“Yes.  In this place you can create anything.  All of the poetry and writing and pictures that you have every imagined or could imagine can be made real when you are here.”

“But I thought that you were writing this story.”

“This story, perhaps.”  He pointed at the papers on the desk, for already there was a small stack.  “Those, however, are yours.”

She turned to the desk, and leafed through the ream that was so neatly stacked before her.  Beautiful pictures.  Awful Pictures.  Dreams and nightmares from her childhood.  "How can these be?"  Some of them were all too familiar.

He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.  “You have to write now.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’ll be here whenever you need me to be.”  He placed his final kiss atop her head and released her, “You have to write now.”

She turned around, but he had disappeared.

“Wait.  I don’t want this to end.  Wait!  I’m real!  I’m real, aren’t I?”

Bertrand's Buffet

Weeee!  Did this in about 20 minutes!  I didn't realize it was part of "Tapestry" until I was at the end.  I wrote this to show to a certain someone (named 1more) that I didn't have to be dark all the time.  But apparently I do.  (sigh).  But not too much darkness this time.

Adam clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth, “Jesus, how long has that dude been eating?”

“He got here at ten.  Goes to the restroom every five minutes, I swear!”  Allie was fidgeting with her apron.  “Probably purging what with all the food he’s gone through.  I would hate to be the one to have to go in there after him.”  She scrunched up her face at Adam.

He waved his hands, “Oh no, I’m not playing.  That’s just gross.”

“Well, your shift is starting, go do your thing.”  Allie turned back to her duties.

Adam approached the man’s table, which was fortunately off in a corner of its own.  No, this was not a man, but a behemoth.  No, that’s not fair.  He was not so much a behemoth as a big slob.  He was large, to be sure, but it was the layers of clothing that affected his “look”.  He was a  slob covered in terrycloth -- stained terrycloth.  He was hunched over feverishly devouring a plate heaping with food piled on top of more food.  A wide brim hat hid everything but his bearded chin and lips, seeking their next bite.  His gloves had the fingers cut off, but they were as covered in sauce as his fingertips, stained black with soot and food.

“Eh—“, Adam stood next to the table, transfixed by all of the plates heaped to the side.   He cleared his throat.

The large man did not stop eating, but did turn to the side to stand up from his table.  He took the last fistful of potatoes from his plate.  He lifted his head enough to see the young man, smiled and pushed the last of the potatoes in his mouth.  His words were muffled, “I’ll be back.”  And with that, he lumbered off to the restroom.

Adam took several of the plates from the table and walked them back to the kitchen, laughing to himself at the things he had just witnessed.  Along the way, he was stopped by a well dressed man and a young, casually attired woman.  “Whoa, she’s pretty hot” he thought to himself.

“Looking for a man.  Big.  Likes to eat.”  The man said, looking through a satchel to retrieve a picture.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen him.”  He motioned his eyes to the dishes in his hands.  Then he flicked his head back in the direction of the restroom, “It’s taken a break, but it will be right back for more, I’m sure.”

The girl looked at the plates and grimaced.  “Really?  He’s our key?”

The man thanked Adam.  “Claire, don’t let Bertrand fool you.  He’s quite powerful.  Even if he is—“ He looked up as Bertrand exited the restroom and walked up to the buffet for a new helping.  “—cheap.”

Bertrand got back to the table with two large plates full of meats and starches.  He eyed his two guests, and sat down without an introduction.  He began to eat.

“Hey, Bertrand.”

“Geland.”  He muttered.  He took another mouthful and chewed. “I don’t see food in front of you, so I assume you are in the wrong place.”

Calire sat with disgust.  “Really?”

Bertrand stole a glance at Claire.  He cleared his throat.  “Pretty.  Where’d you snatch her from.”

“She found me.”  He looked at her, “sort of.”

Bertrand laughed, “I’d warn ye to stay away from this one, li’l girl.  Bad karma follows him.”

She wasn’t amused.  She just stared at this thing eating.  “How can he help anyone but himself.”

Geland tapped his fingers on the table, “Looks can be deceiving.  Our friend here –“  He waved to Bertrand, “is a time traveler.  One of the few who haven’t gotten themselves killed.”

Bertrand laughed, “I have a system.  You need a system to make it work.”

Claire burst out laughing, “Ha!  What a load of nonsense.”  She scowled, “So as a time god, you sit here and stuff your face?  That’s what a time traveler does?”

Bertrand looked at Geland, “When I am in this sanctuary, this is what I do, yes.”  He grunted, amused with himself, "A man has to eat sometime."

“You are a slob!”  She looked sickened, “You are a disgusting glutton.  This is pointless.”  She got up to leave.

“No wait.”  Geland called to her.

“Let her go.” Bertrand spoke above his chicken wing.  “Her home is doomed anyway.”

Claire spun around, “What did you say?”  She was fuming, “How dare you.  You don’t know me.”

“Maybe I don’t Claire.  But I know of you.  I know of the town, and of the collapse.”

“Who in the hell are you?”

Bertrand pulled a napkin and wiped his face.  He set it on top of his plate and looked at Claire, smoldering.  He removed his hat.  “I end lives.  I save souls.  When I am awake, I fight.  I scheme against your churches and your institutions.  I do not sleep.  I have seen the beginning and the end of your world.  I have seen the ones who work the threads.  I have hated since time began, and I have loved for twice as long."  He stood up from the table, “And for five minutes of each day.”  He motioned at the table, “I eat.  So, enough games, girl.”  He turned to his friend, “Tell me Geland.  Is this the one you’ve chosen.”

Geland looked at a speechless Claire, “Yes.”  He reached for her arm and turned her wrist to show Bertrand.  Colored thread was sewn into a strange symbol.  “He marked her.”

“Well then, Claire.  It seems that while fate may smile fondly on the rest of us, he seems to have taken a more personal interest in you. ”  Bertrand retrieved his hat and put it back on his head.  “Let us go now.”

Claire, still in shock, red faced with anger and now with embarrassment, she leaned to Geland, “Wait.  So he comes to a New England buffet, to the same place, to eat his meals?”

Geland smiled, “I told you he was cheap.”

As the three left the diner, Adam smiled and looked over Allie, who was scrunching up her face in delight to see this saga over.  He walked to the table and cleared it of dishes.  As he walked back to the kitchen, he did not see Bertrand walk in from the restroom.  He didn’t see Bertrand pile food on two new plates.  He did not see Bertrand proceed to eat.  But he would, soon enough.

The Bad Thing

Wrote this first back around 1995.  It gets edited and updated now and then.  It is the opening of my Circle book.  This is Benjamin from some of the other stories.  Now originally, I told this in first person.  Reading over it today, I cannot imagine what I was thinking.  I know that originally I identified with Benjamin in some strange childish way, but I've grown since then.

Poor Harry.  Get out of the city.  Was it really that hard?

He ran his stubby fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to catch his breath.  The lights cut through the shadows, but everything seems so hidden, so foreign.  He bent over and choked, squeezing and massaging his stomach.

Peeking around and seeing nothing, Harry stepped out from the alley into the street.  Some newspaper flipped and blew down the street, but no life.  It was dark, and only the soft whistle of wind could be heard.  His right hand relaxed, letting the trinket shift in his hand.  Color flowed back into his hand as he flexed his fingers.  He could smell the water.  Almost over.  He panted excitedly as he huffed and limped his way towards the city drawbridge.

Far above Harry, tucked neatly out of view, was a dark creature, a bad thing.  It watched him with a forced smile, smelling the air.  One claw scratching at the other.

Harry’s footsteps echoed as he left the concrete and stepped across the metal grating of the bridge.  He lost his footing and tried feebly to grab the railing as a hacking cough shook his body.  He put his hands on his knees and spit a small pool of blood between his feet.  He wiped the drool from his mouth and looked around again.  He whimpered as the adrenaline finally left him,  “Too much.”  He used the rail and started his final walk to the center of the bridge.  A mist began to fall.   The moisture beaded up on his clothing.  Harry was oblivious to the droplets collecting on his cheeks.

The bad thing dropped its shoulders and crouched forward onto its hands.  It began to choke and grunt.  With a few final gulps, it stretched its neck and spit up a small object covered in drool.  It was a ring.  It shot out onto the roof, where it rattled and rolled down the slant and, in a resounding ding, skipped up and over the edge, vanishing into the dark.   Moments later it could be heard bouncing far below. 

Harry looked back towards the harsh wet lights of the city.  A police car was patrolling in the distance, but soon it was gone.  What was a calm drizzle was picking up into a light shower.
The bad thing skittered across the roof.  With a short leap it pounced into a low crouch and kicked its legs, thrusting itself high into the air, spreading skeletal wings of translucent skin.  It did not come back down. 

Harry peered over the edge of the bridge and pulled the medallion out of his pocket, holding it in front of his eyes for one final look.   He could barely make out the engravings beneath its blemishes.  He had no idea what they meant, and he didn't care.

The water was starting to come down quickly now, and Harry lifted his arm, shielding his eyes from the rain.  The sounds of the winds were unsettling, like hundreds of children crying out, "hush".   Gathering his wits, Harry gritted his teeth, poised to pitch the amulet over the railing.  "To hell with you."   All of his might went into that throw, and his body continued the momentum, smacking solidly into a force – stopping him abruptly in mid-swing. Harry's heart stopped.  Everything was in slow motion.   His heart bleated out a slow thump, giving rhythm to the rainfall, allowing Harry the time to count each one colliding with his forehead, welling up in his eyes, and dripping from his nose.   His lungs began to expand, pulling in his next breath.  He slowly turned around, unsurprised—uninvolved.  His eyes started at his shoes, working their way up his body and out along his arm to see that, indeed, something was holding him.  His eyes followed the grip to its dark limb and up to its coarse presence, finally resting on its face.   At least it should have been a face.  "Imagine that." The man casually thought to himself. 

Like a rattlesnake, the other claw of his assailant flung out and snatched something from just below his chin.   As he fell to his knees, he heard the dull thud of flesh hit the street.  As the trunk of his body fell forward, his face smacked the cool cement of the bridge, bouncing once, and then coming to a rest sideways, staring across the bridge.   He could see a small river of blood forming somewhere nearby, pouring out in a little stream to a curb, where it met with rainwater, sluicing downstream.   His eyes focused on a small mound of blood.  "My throat." 

He felt his imprisoned arm hit the pavement, no longer holding the amulet.  A lullaby from his childhood began playing as he lazily watched through blurry lenses.   He felt a pressure on his back, and then motion. The thing hefted him onto his back, his head twisted at an odd angle, not quite pointing up.  Euphoria slowly spread through his body, the scene faded from his eyes, the voice of his mother singing him to sleep.  "What am I supposed to do now" he thought to himself as his lips convulsed, mouthing for the oxygen they would never receive. 

The creature brought its face close to its prey, smelling its work, tracing the man's face with the backs of its hands and knuckles.   It caressed his face tenderly with its yellow fingernails, finally resting them just above his forehead.  With a sharp exhale of breath, the thing shrieked, raking its nails down Harry's face, tearing the flesh off the skull, leaving behind a surprised grin.   The creature stood to leave and looked back across the body, which lay in an irregular, almost comical pose, still alive, wondering what was to become of it.   With a growl, the bad thing grabbed the man's chest sharply and heaved it up and over the railing, flinging it into the water far below.

Serial Killer - Lily

My serial killer story has two serial killers... the emotionless psychopath from the bus, and then this ball of unrealized hatred.  The two haven't met yet.  I'm not certain that this is Lily's first introduction, or if that's even her name yet.  Probably isn't.  I just wanted her to be the arm of wrath.  She is careless, but she tries to be reasonable.  When I think of her, I think of "May", just much more physical.  She's into the whole rape with blades thing.  I can only imagine why  (butter allergies?).  Just as before, I can't edit what I have.  I just have to produce quickly.  For future ref: this took about 30 minutes to write.  Edit: Fixing some outrageous grammar issues.  :-)

“Fill her up, Doug.”  Frank stepped down from the truck and took a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket.  He smacked out a single smoke for himself and tucked the pack away again.  “I’ll be right back.”

Doug was a big, baby-faced lug, but better company than nothing.  He lumbered around the semi and began pumping gas.  He looked off dumbly into the under lights of the station.  Thousands of bugs swarmed in from the night, plastering their little bodies over everything like an insect meet and greet.

Frank was lighting up while walking towards the front door of the deli.  He passed by a girl sitting at a small picnic table directly in front of the store, sipping on something from a Styrofoam cup.  Her glasses hid her eyes, and a drab hoodie covered her head, but the headlights from his rig betrayed several red scrapes across her cheek.  He chuckled, “Trick gone South, eh?”  She did not react. He stopped next to her.

“Don’t say nothin’?”  He reached out to turn her face towards him, but she lifted her hand and flinched.  He laughed again and spit, “You know de customer’s always right?  Well,”  He sucked a puff from his cigarette and blew smoke in her direction, “It ain’t what’s comin’ outta’ the mouth as impo’tant as what’s comin’ in it, ‘eh sister?”

Typical.

She could hear the bell ding as soon-to-be-not-Frankwalked into the diner.  “Well, Hello, Maggie.  You alone?”

Poor Maggie.  Alone with that piece of shit.   The door closed behind ex-Frank, so there was no telling what heartfelt renderings Maggie might behold.

She watched the idling tractor.  She watched big, stupid Doug.  He squinted and his eyes chased moths while his mouth hung open.  Was that maw supposed to be a fucking runway?  Lily could feel the bruises as her mouth creased into a semi smile.  Oh, Doug, how many hearts must you have launched with those boyish charms?  Not one, I’ll bet.

She looked back down at her notebook, scribbling her words.  She looked at them and concentrated, mouthing her lips to remember what she had written precisely.  She smiled and looked up at Doug again before returning to her meditation.

“Hey, Doug!  Doug!”  Doug looked around, wondering where the noise was coming from.  “Yo, Doug!  Over here!”  Finally, eye contact.  Good job, Doug.  “You hungry?”

“I—I want a hot pocket!”  Doug called back.  Delightful cuisine.  Bon Apetite, Doug.

“Doug, now, I told you no more of those!”  Wise words, ex-Frank.

“I want a hot pocket!” Doug insisted.

“I ain’t gonna argue with ya, Doug.  They ain’t got Hot Pockets.  I kin get ya a sandwich or some—“

“Baloney and cheese!”  Doug shouted over the motor.

Ex-Frank walked out a little ways to catch Doug’s words.  “Doug, I can’t hear ya over the motor.”

Nice pants.  Ex-Frank had his belt undone.  Lily turned her head slightly to catch a glimpse inside.  Maggie’s smock was on the counter, but Maggie wasn’t visible.

“Oh, now you see somethin’ you like?  Well, dah’lin’. Let me just squirt my load up in Maggie in there,”  He thumbed back at Maggie, “then you can have a fuck.”  He grinned wide at her and reached across her to smash out his cigarette in the tin foil tray, “Now how’d that suit you?”

She turned back and shrunk.

As he pulled back from her, he closed his eyes and inhaled her.  “Yeah, that’s some natural shit right there.  You can earn your twenty in about five.”

He looked over at Doug, who was busy waving hello.  He waved back and went back inside.  Twenty dollars?  What the hell?  I’m worth at least a hundred, Lily thought.  “A hundred.”  She said to no one.  She covered her mouth and looked around.  No one heard her.  I’m worth at least a hundred, you cheap shit.

Lily fetched a cell phone from her jacket pocket.  She tapped out a little pattern on the numbers, a practice dial.  She looked at her paper and mouthed a few words.  She looked at the phone again and at the paper.  Finally she pressed the numbers and made the call.

“Hello?”

She paused for a moment.  Say something, stupid.  “Hello?  David?  Is this David Messing?”

“Yeah.  It’s kinda late, who is this?”

“It’s um.  It’s, Erica, David.  Hi.  It’s Erica.”  She looked at her paper again and got her composure back.  “You and I have an appointment tomorrow morning to look at some of the new homes in Cherry Bay.  I am conform—“, she stuttered, “confirming our appointment and would like to extend my deepest sincerity for your time and consideration of me as a present and potential client.”

“Whoa, “ David chuckled, “Erica, it’s not an interview.  We put you on the books and I’ll show you the houses, ok?”  He yawned.

“Yes, David, and thank you.  May I get directions to the houses in question so as to…”

“Erica, hang on.  Hey.”  She was trying to stick to the script, but he could sense she was nervous.  “Look, meet at the office ok?  I will meet you at 8 a.m..  Don’t worry about anything.  Think of it as a relaxing ride looking at some houses."  David yawned again, "Look, I'll drive you everywhere and take care of everything.  Is this your first time?”

“First time?”  She was taken by the question.  First time at what? What was he implying?

“First time shopping for a house?  Exciting isn’t it?  So hey look, I’m going to.  Wow.  It’s late.  You should get some sleep, ok?  Long day tomorrow.”

“I don’t sleep much.”  She said feebly.

“Well, ha ha.  Ok, well, I’m going to get a little more sleep and then we’ll meet, ok?”

“Ok, David.  I sincerely thank you again for everything.”

“Bye, Erica.”  And the phone disconnected.

All in all, “A” for effort, Lily.  She smiled, sincerely happy.  She did it.  David was going to show her houses tomorrow.  She stood up with a little bounce.  I hope the houses are nice, she thought as she walked across the street to the gas pumps.

David was so nice to spend the whole day with her.  She reached under her coat.

Doug had finished and was walking in front of the truck to her, “Frank is getting me the Baloney and.”

“Cheese” She helped him complete his sentence.  He wasn’t going to be saying much with that foot long spike slid up underneath his ribs.  As he tripped backwards she pushed that serrated screwdriver as far up inside Doug as  she could go.  She must have punctured something good because Doug was not doing too well catching his fall.  She had filed the makeshift blade down far too much, though, as it broke apart inside of Doug when she tried to pull it back out again.  She had barely three inches left sticking out of the handle, but more than enough.  She threw herself on top of the pile of Doug and hammered down onto his head and neck, decorating his soft parts with holes. Doug let out a tremendous cough of blood which seemed to trigger each hole of his ruptured throat and face to bleed out at once.

She got up to her feet and climbed up into the cab.  Oh, she wasn’t going anywhere in this rig.  She released the parking brake and slid the gear into first.  A cacophonous grind alerted ex-Frank, who was still inside, pulling his pants up and hobbling to the door.  But she had found second.  Ex-Frank barely got his last obscenity out of his mouth before she drove the gore of Frank’s smashed carcass through Maggie’s screaming bitch face.

The cab made it completely through the diner and was now parked calmly, ignition off.  Lily checked the last of her messages while she was climbing out of the cab.  Her little yellow Charger was waiting for her.  She pulled a long trash bag from under her coat and opened it up.  She stripped down to bare skin, laying everything into the plastic bag.   When she was done, she tied the bag shut and double bagged it.  She thought that she wouldn’t mind having a pool so much, but that she’d love some yard.  Maybe a dog.  Maybe not a dog.

She pulled some fresh clothes from the trunk, and dressed up.  She hopped into the front seat and adjusted the mirror.  She laughed when she saw all of the blood in her face.  “You are a lousy criminal,” she said matter-of-factly.  She wiped her face into some towels and threw them behind her seat.

She drove the car out onto the street, made a left, and travelled on.  The sun would be coming up soon. We can’t be late for David.

Benjamin confronts the church

More from the Circle book.  Benjamin is starting down a dark path which will ultimately spell his doom and get him a thousand years of demon crazy.

"I'm afraid that what you are asking is out of the question."

"You do understand that your position will make things… difficult for you in the eyes of the council"

Benjamin stared intently into the eyes of the cardinal.

"Do not dare to threaten me in my own house, I'm well aware that I am in the minority.  But last I checked, we were here to do God's work, not the work of some woman we hardly even know."

"Look," cardinal Salisan sighed, "I know where you are coming from, believe me."  Running his finger across a tapestry, "and you know I respect you.   You should really have one of the servants clean this-"

"Respect?"  Scoffed Benjamin. "You can't hold my gaze.   You refuse my summons to meet with me."

"We're meeting now."

"Are we?  Or is this simply your new duty as Lucretia's lapdog?"   Gazing into the far corner of the chamber, Benjamin twisted back to face Salisan, "You haven't even the spine to meet me alone."

Salisan hesitated and looked back into the same corner.  A slight guesture with his chin brought motion.   A dark hooded figure moved forward from the shadows.  "He's my assistant, that's all.  A mute, but a fine—"

"You insult the both of us."

"Fine." Salisan sighed.  "Leave us."  Salisan waved at the figure.   The visitor nodded and silently exited the room.

"Ok, we are alone now."  Salisan returned to Benjamin.   "Please reconsider."  A look of worry overcame the cardinal, "You are a good man, and no one doubts your integrity.  But things are changing, and if we want to survive, we have to learn to adapt."

Benjamin laughed, "Oh, my old friend, I will be around long after you have departed our fold.   You are intoxicated with the thrill of secrecy, but so bored with the responsibility of loyalty.  I am ten years your senior, and I have seen change in the wind.   But this woman is a fleeting element in the equation.  Her promise of a new church is nothing more than the segregation of good people.  You and I once saw alike on this.  The church and I once saw alike."

"Is that why you left?"  Salisan dropped his stance, showing real compassion for the first time in a while.

"I never left.  I simply could not perform duties so contrary to my beliefs.   Besides, from my position here, I can do more good for the people than I ever could under service of the holy church."  Benjamin recognized the change in tone and put his hands on his friends shoulders.   "I love you and yours, Salisan, and if I could do anything for them, you know that I would.  But what you are involved with is wrong."

Salisan gave a bleak smile, "I may be in too deep, my friend."  But as suddenly as the light shone through his face, it disappeared.   He knocked Benjamin's hands from their position, "You have to realize my position.  The council will have heard what has transpired here."

Benjamin walked over to a window and peered out across the town.  "Do as you must, but do it of your own will."   He looked back over his shoulder, "You promised to serve these people too."

"I – I'm sorry Benjamin.  I wish things could be different."   He bowed low and retreated from the room.

Alone in the chamber, Benjamin relaxed his shoulders, exhaling.  He had been speaking against the council for quite some time.   Ever since this woman came into town, though, he felt that he was losing a lot of the support on which he depended.  He walked out of the room, taking a moment to blow each candle out.   From far away, he thought he heard children.

"Sire, I believe the last of the ministers has left the hall.  Shall I bolt the door?"

Benjamin looked across the Great Hall to see his squire.  "Of course, Antonius."   He smiled warmly to his trusting pupil, with whom the last seven years had been a refreshing test of his devotion to instruction.  He approached Antonius, who had just put the locks in place, and with a fatherly guesture, put his hand across the boy's shoulders.

"You are growing to be a fine man.  Let not the drudgery of politics nor the acumen of religion change that."

"Sire?"

Benjamin rubbed his cheek.  "Son, I have a task for you.   Accompany me."

"Yes, Sire."

Benjamin reached into his sleeve and produced a worn parchment, flaked and browned with age.

"Find the rest of this book."

"I – I'm afraid I don't understand sire.  How will I know where to look?"

The pair rounded the hall, ascending the stairs.

"You won't have to look far.  From the writing on this paper I hold, I gather its owner will divine my theft and soon come to retrieve it.   But she will not find it, will she?"

Antonius stopped and shook his head, confused.  "She?"

"When I am discovered, you will know the owner and you will follow her.  The library from whence this treasure comes is ancient, and, I am certain, well secluded."

Resting a finger on Antonius, Benjamin spoke in hushed tones, "you will find the nature of this library, and from it retrieve to me this book.   I do not know the reaches to which my one-time peers conspire, but at its heart lies a dangerous deception, one intent on corrupting the minds of the learned and the strong."

They continued walking.

"You fear Salisan's mind has been won over?"  Questioned Antonius.

Benjamin closed his eyes and looked upwards as he paced.  "I no longer fear that which I have long since known."

"Then why do you permit him access to your solitude, my Liege?"

"I would not, except that I knew he held this."  Benjamin cupped the parchment with his hands, and with a slight motion, spread apart his fingers.   The note had disappeared.  With a sly grin, Benjamin reproduced the note from the folds of his accoutrements.

Antonius smiled back as he opened a wooden door, "Were you not so good to me, I would turn you in for witchcraft."

"That which frees a man from the power of men is considered witchcraft."

Antonius looked suddenly serious.  "You believe Lucretia to be a part of this."

Benjamin grasped Antonius by the back of the neck, "You would be wise not to mention her name aloud.   I fear her spies are everywhere.  Her power is great and, I am certain, derives from an authority far beyond that of the church in which she nests."

As the two entered the chamber, Benjamin stopped and began to whisper.

Antonius fell backwards as he saw smoke flow from his master's lips.

"Fear not, Antonius, for I am incorruptible and devoted to the Father."  Benjamin traced imaginary figures in the air and spit words in a harsh dialect.   From the air, Benjamin seemed to snatch something.  Turning up his palm, he showed Antonius a black stone.  "I have a few tricks up my sleeve for this group, this circle."

Around the stone, Benjamin wrapped the parchment.  "Do not leave this stone behind, lest you be found and all of my risks amount to nothing."

Antonius was visibly shaking.  "Master, have you gone evil?"

Benjamin smiled.  "Antonius, it is of great consequence that I studied the scripts of mine enemies, knowing that to destroy them, I had to learn from them.   But in the end, I will not be turned to evil.  I simply use the fire of my enemies to burn them."

Tower Race

Her hand burned as she threw open the front doors of Sidhe Towers.  Looking back, Sam spied the shadows skittering across the alley along the far side of the street.

Closing the doors, she could see the eyes of three seekers, fixed directly on her now.

She muttered the words and pulled a burin from her boot.

The hooded figures walked slowly, with dark purpose, towards the citadel.

Sam etched into the glass of the doorway an inscription surrounding an inverted triangle. "No passage."

The figures approached the door.  Each was white as bone. Each mouth hung open in agony.  Each fixated on the sigil, contemplating it. One of the creatures slapped a hand against the metal frame, the skin of its hand loose fitting and wet.

Sam stepped backwards, flailing her hand behind her, her fingertips finally catching the elevator buttons. Her chest was hurting, burning from the adrenaline. The machinery of the elevator engaged, and the whirring sounds competed with the whispers of the three gaunt creatures outside.

The wraiths stopped whispering and, the center figure approaching within inches of the glass, peering within,attempting a glimpse of its quarry.

Writhing fibers fell out from the vestments of the center ghool, and bony long fingers pushed through the skin of its hands, tearing through the fleshy gloves like razors.  It was the scarecrow. It pulled the face from its eyeless skull, smooth except for the teeth which spread from the space its mouth should be, but spread at all angled, as though stabbed into their sockets.  In a perverse tongue it cursed at the symbol and the glass upon which it was engraved shattered into a mist.

“Come on, come on!” Sam whispered, repeatedly stabbing at the elevator button.

The scarecrow stepped through the destroyed portal, and Sam recoiled.  The scarecrow began to scream, and other voices shrieked from within its body.  Voices of hate. Voices of ecstasy.

With a ding, Sam exhaled, and one of the tower elevators slid open. Sam stepped backwards into the elevator, resting against the rear of the car. The door did not close. “Shit.” Sam whispered to herself as she reached forward to stab a random floor.  Scarecrow broke into a run, its gate uneven. With a deep bass of a creature much larger than the wraith, she could hear the celebration.

"Your star has fallen."

The ground around the scarecrow rotted into green ichor and spread violently from its footsteps.  The doors began to close, but the creature was crossing the threshold, disease permeating the metal and rubber and tile.  Its claws curled at broken angles around the edges of the door, and she could see the outline of mismatched bones beneath its rags.  The scarecrow’s arms were strong, though its limbs appeared brittle. It’s mouth shaked violently as straw belched from its open shrieking mouth and the horrid sound filled the cabin.

"No!" Sam screamed, blocking her eyes with one arm while pressing the fingers of her free hand into the golem’s chest. The air shook as concussive wave blew her and scarecrow apart from one another. The doors slid shut and the elevator car rose.

She made it only to the tenth floor when the car jerked and lurched. The lights flickered. She wasted no time, and pulled open the elevator doors. She was caught between floors, but she quickly scrambled to the upper floor. A green taint was overtaking the car behind her and she could see the car plunge downwards.  The shaft was pungent and she could hear a strange children’s lullaby, sung through ragged vocal chords. She found her footing and pushed through a double set of doors into a stairway. Adrenaline kept her going, and from behind the walls around her she could hear children crying, close. She knew the dread creatures would be on top of her at any moment.

Two flights further up and Sam heard the crash of the creatures, who know had her scene.  A whispering manic cadence and occasional giggles, mocking the children’s moaning. The malice was palpable as the tendrils of putrid grew upwards along the stairwell.

Sam pulled a 9mm and fired it into the jamb of a door leading out of the stairway.  She lifted her boot and shoved hard. She tumbled forward, but used that time to releasing the clip from her gun and reload. Producing a second handgun, she rolled onto her back just in time to see a white seeker leap above her. Unloading with all the speed she could muster, she riddled the creature with gunfire. It lost its balance and continued its uncontrolled dive over her crashing hard into the floor. With a kick, she pushed the stairway door shut, slamming it hard on a hand grasping the frame. She sent a flurry of bullets at the hand, which retracted with a howl, and with another kick, the door was shut. She rolled back on her feet and began to run down the hall just as a hand from the crumpled wraith reached out, grabbing her leg.

Sam hissed an incantation against the creature and stuck her burin into its claw.  The crescendo of children screaming in pain accompanied the wraith’s own hawl as its hand burst into flame.  

She yanked her leg free and continued running. One of the seekers had reopened the door.  Not scarecrow. It shambled past its accomplice, who was shaking and contorting as its borrowed form went into a seizure. The prone beast tore the skin from his face, letting its true form show through. Unencumbered by its disguise, It lept to its mismatched feet from mismatched animals.  It galloped down the corridor after Sam. It was fast and driven. Wings opened from its back as it leapt to the ceiling, and inverted, clawed its to Sam, clawing its way to tear out her throat.

Sam took a sharp corner, and the beast, unable to adjust, overshot her. "No passage," Sam yelled as she produced a ceremonial dagger and shoved it sharply into the stucco of the hallway.  It wouldn’t hold the scarecrow, but it should restrain its minions. She reached the central area of the floor and caught two elevators open and waiting. Behind her she could here a low voice, “This swollen Earth longs for you." Scarecrow man was close. Sam took her knife and sliced her hand, flung a small pool of blood into the elevator car, and pressed the button sending it to the lobby while taking the second elevator herself to the 32th floor.

On the way up, she removed her jacket. "Benjamin, I need you. Help me." Tearing out some of the lining, she fashioned a bandage which she wrapped tightly around her bleeding hand. None of it could touch the ground, or the seekers would see her immediately. It would be only moments before her ruse was discovered. The screaming far in the distance corroborated this.

When the door again opened, she was in her office suite. It was silent.  Undisturbed. No sooner had she stepped out of the compartment than the lights went off. Emergency lighting flickered on instantly, and provided a meager illumination.  The power had been cut, and she was blocked access to the safe room.

Suddenly a wind, unexpected, blew across her face and children could be heard hushing in unison.

One of the seekers had foreseen her move, and was in the dark, waiting for her. She could see the shadow play across the wall as the thing moved in, but she had no hope of seeing the creature itself. It's breathing seemed familiar.

"Benjamin?"

The creature stood upright in front of her. "No." It sighed happily and pressed its claws against her forehead, preparing to take her face its trophy.

With a shriek, she fell backwards, slipping a dagger in between its ribs. It howled and reached towards its side. She muttered a quick incantation and the dagger burst into a jet of blue fire, and consumed the flesh of the creature. Without its mortal cage, it would be fierce, but also susceptible to the spells. As it giggled, screamed, and lumbered at her, she ejected an awkward syllable while striking the beast with her fist, sending the creature reeling. She wasted no time counter attacking the beast with a raking motion of her own, and with another incantation and a thrust of her palm, fired the creature through the suite and through the outer window, into the night air.

Retreating into the stairwell for a second time, she made her way up to the roof. She ran across the gravelly surface towards the edge, stopping short and flailing her arms. She stared thirty-three stories straight down to the streets below. Where was he? Sam’s hope sank. “Benjamin, where are you?” Her throat was ragged from the workout, and she seemed unable to throw off her scent. Scarecrow man was with them, and she was unable to get the devices from her office. She turned towards the door she emerged from and caught herself in a half sob. She looked around for possible rigging. Anything.

But there was nothing. She could hear the voices of children. Countless children whispering “hush.” She had read about this moment, about the children. Her hope was depleted.

Sam produced from her satchel a small vial. “Fuck this.” If she broke the glass against her skin, she would be doused, and would be a living bomb. Any seeker that touched her would trigger the reaction, and the entire roof would be obliterated.

As she eyed the vial, the door swung open. There stood three seekers, one still disguised as a man, but two now contemptuous monsters, wings spread agressively. Scarecrow passed between their ranks and tipped his hat towards Sam. "End of the line."

Sam raised the vial and as she began her death sentence, a form rose behind her, grabbed her forcefully and fell backwards, pulling her with it off the edge of the building. She lost her grip on the vial which spun upwards in an arc. One of the creatures desperately flew forward to catch the vial, but underestimated its fragility and it burst. A wall of flame exploded from the creature, cutting off her pursuers As she fell, she felt vertigo, and the creature which held her unfurled large wings which he beat, tearing her away horizontally at immense speeds.

"Benjamin?"

"Yes"

Poems? Lynched + Esape

Not my usual fair. I just need somewhere to tuck this away for now. It's really late and I'm really tired.

Lynched

How long have I been here?
I can barely breathe.
I’m only wearing one shoe.
The ground spins slowly back and forth.
How many men were there?
At least four I think.
It was all so dark.
I wonder if that girl was ok.
They roughed her up pretty badly.
I remember they were pointing at me.
I wasn’t paying attention.
There is a ringing in my ears.
Oh, there’s someone now.
I can see his shoes.
I can barely hear him.
Everything is turning red.
Hey, he’s wearing a star.
He must be a deputy, or a sheriff.
He just spit at me!
What did I do?
He fades from view.
Everything fades from view.

Meh... I wrote this on my cell phone. Seems interesting enough to keep

Escape

There was a man who stayed in bed
Hey had no body, just a head
The rest was fed to pigs you see
When she who from downstairs broke free

"Tapestry" - Prologue

I thought of this while at Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights. I had thought about if Fate was an incarnation, what a strange horrible job it would be. Who are these servants that they would be allowed to control the strings freely? What would happen if they disobeyed. The spiderweb might be an interesting image I would use later in this story, but for now, I think embroidered skin seems a lot more personal. No longer could the Fate be impersonal, for their own skin would bear their work. And it also makes the fates finite and replaceable as they become more and more covered.

The silhouette of his small house could be seen between the trees. Snow had fallen a few days earlier, and the ground was soaked.

“It is not my place to judge.”

The path leading back and forth up the hill was littered and lined with fist sized rocks. No matter how often they were pushed to the side, the earth insisted on coughing up more of them.

“We have always been content to write.”

The trees became thick along the path, and one had to duck to squeeze between them. Though dirt covered the majority of the path, a thin, golden tracing could be seen peeking out here and there.

“We do not touch ink. Our gift was always with needle,”

The path became very tight – almost lost among the branches which reached to one another for support.

“And thread.”

One must crawl the last several meters or suffer the scratches of the pines.

“The lines and the messages are written out for each generation. Those whose names I bear are measured and cut. All of this done unquestioningly.”

The door into the abode is heavy, cracked wood. The house itself formed of the same rocks that filled the path below. It is as though the mountain gave birth.

“The people down there believe in fate. The people down there believe in destiny. Not I.”

The door pushes inward, its large black iron bands providing it strength and weight. The floor inside is a cobblestone of pebbles. The shading provides an intricate pattern that cannot be grasped from this vantage.

“I make the fate. I give the power.”

An impossible distance forward, impossible given the dimensions of the home from the outside, is a fireplace.

“But I have always obeyed.”

In front of the fireplace is a cloaked figure. His arm reaching upwards, hovers, then gracefully descends.

“I have always followed the plan. The plan they give me.”

In his hand is a needle. As one approaches, the man’s flesh can be seen beneath the cloak. His skin seems riddled with scars.

“But they are corrupt. They are not worthy to guide my needle. Today, I disobey.”

But they are not scars. Upon closer inspection, one sees that they have pattern. They have rich colors and textures. They are embroidery, beautiful and horrifying.

“Today I write the name of my choosing. Today I change it all. Today fate will be ripped from the cloth.”

The figure pushes the needle into his bleeding skin, feeding red and gold thread back and forth across the wound. He is writing a name into his palm.

“Today I fear, will be my last.”

He completes the name, and bites the thread with sharpened teeth.

“Claire, I have chosen you.”

He drops the needle, and as it hits the floor, a baby cries out.

“Congratulations, Gina, you’re a mother!”

The doctor pulls the baby free and the nurses attend to her.

“It’s a beautiful girl, Gina, you’ve done it!”

Gina smiles, exhausted, and receives her husband’s affection.

“Have you picked a name?” Asks one of the nurses.

The mom, through tears, cries, “Yes. Her name is Claire, after my mother.”

“Well, good morning Claire.” One of the nurses sings, as she brings the newborn to her mother.

The baby makes a little cough. And then another. The nurse, concerned, checks Claire’s mouth with a finger. “Oh, the poor thing has a—“ She pulls a small length of string, red and gold. “That’s strange.” She puts it on the table without much more thought.

“She’s going to do great things.” Her proud mother exclaims. “I love you, Claire.”

Mara Engulfed

This is the same Mara from the other story. This is part of a prelude when Mara is still a child.

Flames engulfed the hallway, boiling up the walls and across the ceiling.

“Mara! Answer me, where are you?”

Phillip held his hand over his mouth, calling down the hallway and up the stairs.

“Mara! Daddy can’t find you! Call to me baby!”

She wasn’t in her bedroom. Phillip flipped her bed upright and shoved her dresser to the side, frantically tearing apart her room, hoping he had overlooked something. The smoke was overpowering, and Phillip bent over coughing and wiping wet soot from under his eyes.
Wait. Was that her? The flames drowned out the other sounds.

“Daddy!”

That was her! But it was useless, her voice seemed to come from all around him.

“Mr. Burgess!” A voice called from below. “Lie close to the ground, we are coming for you.”

“No!” He ran out of her room and darted into a guest room, keeping low. “Baby!” He was dizzy and gasping.

“Daddy!” The scream was piercing. Don’t let my baby burn, he thought to himself.

He heard stomping of feet and looked around frantically. “Mara? Please honey. God, please baby, tell me where you are.”

Two firemen were walking up the stairs on hands and knees, testing the floors, making their way to him. “Mr. Burgess?” One man put his hand on his boot while the other threw a fire blanket over his head. “We got you. We have to move, now!”

“No! My daughter!”

“We’ll get her sir. Stay close to the ground. “ He called into a microphone, “We have the father. Daughter still unaccounted for.”

“Don’t let go of Cappy’s boot. The floors could give out.“

He was marched down the stairs and escorted out the front door. Now he could hear sirens and horns that were so muffled by the inferno behind him.

“Phillip!” His neighbor Amelia and her husband ran to his side, helping him out of his blanket. “Where is Mara?”

Phillip, having regained some sense, looked at the house. It was enormous. A house several sizes too large for just the two of them. “She’s still in there!” He fell to his knees and forward onto his hands, coughing. One of the firemen standing near him helped him back to his feet and leaned him against the rescue vehicle, slipping a mask over his face. “You’re gonna be fine.”
A voice crackled on a walkie talkie. “I can’t see anything in this shit storm!”

“She’s not in her bedroom.” Phillip coughed out to them.

A fireman shouted into his walkie talkie, “You boys are going to have to hurry. The south side is done for.”

“Oh god.” Amelia’s face was twisted and she was gasping in panic.

Mara was in her mother’s craft room. She could hear the fire right outside the door and knew enough not to open it So she grabbed the little cloth bear her mom had been sewing for her, and nestled in the closet. She could feel the smoke when she breathed. She was scared, but she knew that she would get to see mommy. She cried and held her bear close as the smoke filled her lungs.

Phillip watched helplessly from the ambulance, oxygen in hand. Amelia and Doug were close, and all of the other neighbors were coming out to the streets to watch the commotion. Another fire truck had arrived and was currently spraying large jets of water into the fire. Pin pricks of sensation spread through his legs and up his body. “What–“.

“No luck yet.” A voice spoke.

Phillip rose to his feet and looked at his hands, turning them over and back again. He looked at Amelia and spoke, “Mommy’s room.”

He swatted away the paramedics’ hands and ran right through the entrance which had been torn open with axes.

“Where the hell is he going?”

Without a word, he went up the stairs and took the first left, keeping low but moving swiftly. Two rooms down and on the right. Look at all this fire. Phillip pulled the blanket close and charged down the hall and with a grunt, threw himself through the door. Flame blasted into the room, greedily sucking down this new source of oxygen. He went directly to the closet and opened it, looking down at little Mara. She looked asleep except that she was completely the wrong color. He picked her up and cradled her under the blanket with him.

The heat and fire had now spread throughout this room. “Mr. Burgess!”

The tip of a pick broke through one of the walls. Then a larger hole. A dark face peeked in at them, “Some folks just can’t get enough. Let’s get you two out of there.”

Cappy had finally made the hole large enough for Mara. Phillip lifted her through and then stepped through himself, squeezing as best he could while the fire overtook the room he had just left.

Sampson smashed the rear window with an axe. “Don’t worry sir. I’ll take good care of your little girl here.”

Sampson nodded to Phillip as cupped the unconscious body of his daughter. He called some order into his intercom. The top rung of a ladder appeared in the window. Cappy tied Sampson’s rescue rope to the top of the ladder and Sampson spun around and descended. When they were safely on the ground, Cappy tied himself to the top of the ladder and went through the window.

“You’re next.” Called Cappy. “Second time is the charm. Stay close.”

Phillip dutifully crawled out the window onto the ladder and worked his way down, with Cappy just below him. Cappy untied himself, “You’re a lucky man. “ He shook his head, “Let’s check on your daughter.”

They made their way back to the vehicles out front. Paramedics already had Mara on a stretcher, administering oxygen. He coughed hard and walked over next to his daughter, grabbing her fingers and looking at them.

Doug was looking over at Phillip. “She’ll be ok.”

“I know. “ He turned her hands over and looked at her fingertips, and then studied his own fingers.

Phillip kneeled down and smiled. His face then changed into a gasp, as if he had been holding his breath for some time.

“What just happened?” He coughed and searched his surroundings. “My baby!” He turned back to the house.

“She’s here, she’s right here!” Amelia called, looking over at Doug.
Doug knelt beside Phillip. “Are you ok?”

“Where is Mara?”

“Right here, right in front of you!” He stood his friend up.

“Oh Mara!” He fell across his little girl. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at her father from under her oxygen mask.

“Daddy!”

Serial Killer

I've cut loose with some rougher language than is usually my style. I think it fits. Skip this one if you are easily offended.

“That’s some kind of fucked up, you know that?”

“I’m sorry, I wanted to be honest—“

“You wanted to piss me off is what you wanted.”

“I wanted”

“Shut up. It’s always what you want, isn’t it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“God you dumb bitch, what you meant was to fucking piss me off. Well good job. Congratulations.”

Sara was sobbing and leaned her head against the glass, looking out the bus window into darkness speckled with tail lights.

“Jesus, I don’t know why you are upset. I’m the one who has to fix your fucking shit. I’m always fixing your dumb shit.”

The other passengers, what few there were, minded their own business. The black woman, shaking her head and working on her puzzles. The torn old bastard drinking from a paper bag, talking to himself about sports scores or food recipes or some other triviality. The mop headed teen sucking on a lollipop studying the couple from behind. He looked around continually, wondering if anyone else was getting as much entertainment out of the spat as he. He smiled knowingly to the lean individual near the back, who seemed oblivious, choosing instead to listen to music on his earphones.

Presently, the bus arrived at a quiet stop and the door slid open. Brad was already out of his seat, flourishing his hand in front of himself, “Any day now.”

Sara, lonely and beaten, slinked out of her seat and moved down the aisle. Brad caught the disapproving eye of the black woman up front. “Mind your business.” Brad flashed a menacing smile and looked at the bus driver, whose eyes darted after the girl and then at Brad, and then at the passenger behind Brad, shambling along behind the two, drowning out the world with his music.

Sara put some distance between her and her boyfriend. “Sara, slow the fuck down.” Brad called after her, “Don’t be fuckin’ makin’ me look bad.” He grabbed her arm and she whimpered, “No.”

“No? What the fuck you mean, ‘No’? Ain’t I got a say in what happens? You fuck around and get fucking pregnant?”

“With you!” She looked at him horrified.

“With shit,” He spit. “You supposed to tell me when it’s that time o’ month. Don’t think I’m payin for it neither. “ He looked over his shoulder at the other passenger. Though he was walking the same way, he was obviously giving the couple a wide berth. He leaned in close to Sara, “You pull extra shifts or whatever you gotta do.”

In a moment of ego, she lashed back, “Why don’t you get a job and help out? I’m aready working—“

“I don’t do no nine to fives, bitch.” His hand raised up and across her cheek with a sadistic smack. He pulled his hand back and looked around. “‘Sides, I have to take care of your ass. God.” She was recoiling in horror. His face softened as he realized what he had done, “look baby. I didn’t mean to hit you, but damn, you just get me fuckin’ frustrated. You know I love you right? C’mon baby, you know I love you.”

Sara, shaking, shrunk back from Brad. “I hate you.” She whispered.

“What? “

“Nothing.” Her eyes looked down.

“No. What the fuck you just say? Yo, Buddy. chill.” He raised his palm to the other passenger, who was looking at his own feet, living in his own world, oblivious. “Say that again, bitch?”

“Nothing!” She shouted. They were stopped and squaring off against one another. The other passenger was approaching closer. “I hate you!”

“Well Fuck you then!” Brad shot in low and landed a fist solidly into her abdomen, forcing all of the wind from her, leaving her in a twitching crumpled heap. He pointed at her as she clutched herself defensively into a tight ball, still unable to catch her breath. “You fuckin’ asked for that shit. You don’t fucking tell me—Hey back the fuck up buddy!”

Brad didn’t see the blade until it had passed in front of him once. He barely registered the arterial spray, fixating instead on the tip of the blade, watching it unflinching as it plunged back into his staring eye socket. His mouth just hung open like a brainless idiot, and his head followed the blade forward a little as it was retracted. Brad fell to the road like an empty trench coat. The other passenger stood above Brad and looked down at him, studying him and taking him in. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a Polaroid and tossed it onto that once living pile of shit.

Sara’s eyes were wide and she gulped for oxygen, watching her problems evaporate in front of her. She saw the passengers shoes in her field of vision. First they faced away from her. Then they turned towards her. He kneeled and studied her. She saw his eyes, and accepted her fate. He reached out and ran a finger through her hair, gently pulling a lock forward. He slid his knife close to her face. She saw it was still covered with gore. She closed her eyes. She heard the blade slide and cut, but there was no pain. She opened her eyes again, and watched the passenger walk away from her down the street. She saw a small droplet of blood in her hair, now one lock less. She closed her eyes and passed out.