The police reports read, “LifeGem…because love lives on.” This was the slogan of the legitimate company LifeGem. The business proposition of this corporation was to provide people the opportunity to turn loved ones into diamonds and make memories last for an eternity. For some reason when death gets involved with money (or diamonds for that matter) cops always get involved.
* * *
“Good morning Ethan,” the mid-aged secretary sighed under her breath while shuffling documents around.
“I’m just thankful to be alive for another day!” the old man grumbled sarcastically as he wiped the sweat from his brow that had accumulated between the walk from the car to his desk. Clutching his chest with a beastly grip Ethan could only think ticker don’t give out on me now, it’s almost over.
On the force this old man was known as Detective Lieutenant Ethan Marks. He has been in the field as far back as any one could remember, counting down the days until his retirement. One week to go until he and his wife would finally be able to take that lifetime vacation they’ve been waiting so dearly for. Marks always bragged about how he had saved since day one on the force for the opportunity to live without any worries of money.
“You’re lookin’ rough today Marks.” a young deputy bellowed.
“Yeah, I was up late last night with your mom.” Marks mumbled.
“Naw, you’re confused, that was my Grandma. Going out with my mom would be like dating the daughter you never had.” the deputy argued back.
“Well I guess I’m a Grandmother-fucker then,” smirked the aged man.
Although Marks was an old man he could talk more shit than anyone in the department. I guess you could say with age comes wisdom. And with enough drunken nights at the bar comes attitude. Unfortunately, this scruffy detective was fond of the bottle and has seen the bottom far too many times. The department was used to the circumstances and was willing to deal with this problem because lets face it he was the best there was in the small town of Elk Grove Village, Illinois. No matter how much schooling a detective has, experience always outweighed an education in this field and he was older than dirt.
“How ya feelin’ today boss? Looks like you had another rough night at the bar. Wife treating you right?” The overweight secretary asked not really caring for an answer, “New case just hit the books, looks kinda creepy, summin ‘bout turnin’ people into diamonds. I dunno it’s your job to figure this crap out, well not only your job anymore. I know you’re gonna hate it, but it looks like they’re stickin you with some intern that seems to be takin’ your place when you finely decide to leave this hell hole behind. Don’t shoot the messenger, look on the bright side it’s your last case.” Throwing the file on the desk, then stammered away closing the door behind her.
Instead of going to the saloon to forget about all the evil shit he’s seen in his days on the job, he was going to reminisce about the good ol’ days in the field. Besides his lifelong marriage, being a detective was the only thing Marks could understand. He was going to miss the anticipation of cracking a new case or the rush of bullets whizzing past his head. It took balls of steel to have gone through the mess of situations he’s had to deal with. One would think being in a small town it would be quiet, but for some odd reason trouble seemed to find its way in.
Marks opened the file and groaned, “This is it, the last one, grand finale.”
While reading through the file his new intern creeks open the door and came stumbling into the almost cleaned out office Marks had called home for so long. The new Boy Scout was clean-cut and cocky. He was dressed as though he was going to church or something; he stood out like a sore thumb in this department.
Marks first thought was this kid must be from out of town, “Lemme teach you your first lesson son, the key to being a good detective is blending in. Lookin’ like that someone’s liable to shoot you for lookin’ like a Narc; they know you’re a pig. Go home, change into something normal, and come back tomorrow.”
“But I just got here!” the newbie pleaded, “and please don’t call me son, my name’s David Mills.”
“Lesson two, I do not repeat myself! Now that’s two lessons in one day, that’s enough to learn on your first day. Go home, SON!” Marks so eloquently spit out.
Mills turned around walked out slamming the door behind him. It’s going to be hard to get through to that kid Marks reflected, reminds me a lot of me when I was a greenie. He turned the page and continued to read the file.
* * *
Unlike the usual, Marks was early to rise after a long night of being dumbfounded about his last dilemma. He hit the office early with a cup of Joe in hand drenched in Irish-cream of course. Every true alcoholic needs a drink in the morning just to get through the day. Although he was up and at ‘em early this morning, the kid was two steps ahead, sitting in Marks’ old chair at what used to be his desk dressed in casual clothes. As the two confronted each other, Detective Lieutenant Ethan Marks was being scraped off the front of the door.
“Check this crazy shit out. It seems these four hometown boys figured out a way to make diamonds out of the remains of cremated people,” sliding the file around as though Marks hasn’t seen it yet.
“Slick, you don’t think I’ve been reading that all night while you were sittin’ at home playin’ with yourself in front of the boob-tube. I’ve read the file front to back several times; it seems that two sets of brothers are living the American Dream running a pretty wealthy company. What’s been puzzling me is where do we come in? We have no warrant or even suspicion on these four boys. The only notion I have is to go take a look around,” rattled off Marks.
After hours of driving into the big city of Chicago, the blue emblazed Charger pulls into a handicap parking spot of the big corporation LifeGem. They hang the handicap parking decal on the rearview mirror and step out.
“Ay, what if a real cripple needs to park here?” defended Mills.
“They’ll just have to deal with it!” argued Marks.
They shuffled into the office as if they were there to purchase something. Really the main purpose was to scope the place out. It was really clean and ritzy. Almost as if it were a millionaires bank or a resort lobby.
“Hello and good afternoon, how may we help you today gentlemen?” questioned the female clerical worker.
Mills thought quickly on his feet, “This is my Grandfather, as you can see he is really old and rugged. There is not much time left for him and our wishes are to turn him into a diamond so our memories with him will last for an eternity.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. That is our purpose here. Let me get you some information,” responded the clerk.
Marks gave Mills a go to hell look and interrupted, “We would really rather speak with the owners, please.”
He rattled off their names after looking at the numerous plaques hanging on the wall which read:
Greg Herro, M.D.
Mike Herro, Ph.D.
Rusty VandenBiesen, B.A.
Dean VandenBiesen, Ph.D.
Almost all of these boys, except the youngest, seemed to have their doctorate in something. This entire visage was very strange to Marks after remembering reading that all four of these young men came from poor homes. Then it caught his eye, four precious diamonds mounted above the plaques, embossed in glass and protected with lasers. What really caught his attention were the names imprinted on the gold plates under the diamonds. Each of the names had the same last names of the owners. This is when business got serious for Marks.
“Sure, no problem, they are always willing to help our customers make the right choices,” squeaked the pretty young blonde.
As she walked away Marks whispers sarcastically to Mills, “I wonder who she had to bang to get into the business,” to lighten and keep Mills mind off of what was about to be said next.
Looking up at the diamonds Marks stated with precaution, “Things are about to get serious real quick. Follow my lead and we she should get all the information we need. You’re about to learn the biggest lesson of becoming a great detective and this shit they don’t teach you in grade school. Are you packin’?”
Mills looked at him nervously, “Ok and yeah,” were all he could mumble out at the moment.
To Marks surprise all four gentlemen walked up to greet them. He thought, wow, this is the best service I’ve ever received; they must really want to sell you yourself. After the greetings, handshakes, and hellos Detective Marks pulled out his badge and asked if they could speak in private. Scared shitless the businessmen agreed.
The executives led the two detectives into a private soundproof office in the back. The six men gathered around the mahogany executive table and set down in the finely cushioned leather seats. Marks broke the silence, “So, how much did this place cost you guys?”
“A couple mil,” the one with glasses mumbled. He seemed to be the financial leader of the bunch. A slender fellow with the best suit, diamond encrusted pen tucked in the pocket, along with the best electronic organizer.
Continuing on with the small talk Mills asks, “I don’t really understand it, how do you guys actually make people into diamonds?” Marks was impressed.
“With the right machinery the process is quite simple really. It takes about 8 ounces of the cremated remains from which the carbon will be extracted. The carbon is then converted to graphite after purification, from which point it is placed in a diamond synthesis press. The diamonds are made via the thermal gradient method by a team of scientists using alloys as a flux at pressures of 5.0–6.0 Pascal and temperatures of 1,600–2,000 °C. The entire process, from cremation to finished stone, takes up to six months for fancy yellow LifeGem diamonds and up to nine months for fancy blue LifeGem diamonds,” rattled off the intellegent one as if he’d learned it as a sales pitch to intrigue the customer. He spoke with a loud, sort of, gasping for air voice that made even his business partners crenge. He was pale with unkempt curly hair and for some odd reason wore a bowtie.
“What ever the hell that meant!” chuckled Marks
“In dumbass terms, it means for a hefty cost we take the remains of your relative and cremate them. Then we place the ashes (which equal carbon) in a machine that gets really hot and has a lot of pressure. Then in due time a diamond is formed,” the smart-aleck one of the bunch spat out. Out of the four he was the best looking in the way that he carried himself. Typical well suited businessman.
“Ok, enough with the bullshit talk, why are you really here?” questioned the rustic dark fellow. He was the youngest of the select few and had a sinister persona about him. Looked as though he could take the position of a grim reaper. He wore all black, but in a respectable manner and his hair was cut into a sleek goatee that trailed back into a finely positioned ponytail.
Marks knew that now was time to pull out the big guns and play his cards right. The whole time he was really feeling out each of their personality type, trying to determine who was who. Once he got his cards straight, he put on his game-face and was ready to play hardball with the big-boys until one of them cracked. He steadily pulled his gun out and laid it on the table as a scare tactic.
“Do you really wanna know? Really? I’ll tell you why, but first I’d like to know how you got here. How does a poor piece of shit like you end up with all this? I’m sorry but money just isn’t written in the books for folks like you. I’ve read your backgrounds. All of you came from impoverished and broken homes. Now how does the scum of the earth end up with all of this! I want to know!” screamed Marks standing up slamming his clubbed fist on the table.
The intelligent one stood up and exclaimed, “Sir, I’m sorry but our business is finished here today. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Without hesitation Marks calmly reconciled, “No problem.”
With a look of confusion on his face, Mills stood up alongside Marks and the two detectives walked out of the building without a fight. The beautiful clerk parted ways with them, clueless as to what was actually going on.
Once they entered the car Mills questioned his apprentice’s authority, “What the hell was that all about?”
After cranking up the muscle car just to hear the engine roar, Marks explained what just happened, “Son, do you realize they could have had us arrested for the shit we just pulled in there? We busted in like we owned the place, without a warrant or anything. I hope you learned a lesson in there son. Sometimes when you wanna make an omelet you gotta break a few eggs. I got exactly what I wanted from them. Did you see the look on their faces? They all had guilt written all over them. I haven’t seen any sick shit like this since the Mendez Brothers case. Did you see the diamonds mounted on the wall? With those and their parent’s journals in the file we can get a search warrant and take them in for a real interrogation.”
* * *
Dusk had settled in just as the streets cleared and people began to settle into their beds. While most people were hugging their pillow, Marks hugged the bottle. It was going to be the usual night for him; sitting in his lazy-boy with the television blaring, with file in hand pondering about the events to come.
“I won’t be home till late tonight; I’m goin’ out to play bingo with the girls. Don’t wait up, hun, bye I love ya!” Marla squealed as she exited the house.
After a few sitcoms Marks was overwhelmed and grogginess overcame him. Like most men, Marks fell asleep on the couch with the remote in one hand and a bottle in the other. Being passed out and partially drunk he couldn’t smell the fire that in a matter of minutes was about to engulf his house. Flames poured through the hallways as if the house was drenched in gasoline. Fire Marshals would later say that the burners on the stove had not been turned off properly.
Marks opened his eyes and woke frantically not knowing what to do. The degree of the room had risen to such a great height that Marks flesh had seared to the sofa. His clothes had melted to his body forming another layer of skin. Gasping for air and some sort of help he gazed out the window. A black van was sitting outside his house. He screamed with excruciating pain pleading for a savior.
“Would you like me to take away the pain?” the man in black from LifeGem asks peacefully.
“What the…How the… Why the hell are you here? Just help me!” Marks pleaded gravely.
“Oh, I will take away your agony, but first let me answer your question of how we become who we are,” he calmly exclaimed pulling out a filleting knife, “You see, when you sell your soul to the devil there is always a catch. As you already know, we were all grimly deprived. Getting a loan became fairly easy when we guaranteed them over a hundred uncut diamonds. We had every loan-shark in the city offering us massive amounts of money. My brothers have always been fond of rocks since they were little boys. They had a theory that time was trapped inside each stone. We later found a way to synthesize real diamonds from carbon. Anything organic consists of carbon. We tried making diamonds from something as simple as a tree to something illegal as marijuana, but very little actually sold.
“I don’t care about your bullshit diamonds or how they sold! Just for the love god help me!” interrupted Marks begging for mercy.
“I’m afraid god is not beside you tonight, but I will take away your pain,” he whispered while taking the knife and carving away the meat around the bones of his legs, “See, no more pain in your legs. The fact of the matter is they would not sell. We were flabbergasted as to how people had no interest in these beautiful jewels. It is sad to say it took a tragic death for us to realize why.”
“I don’t care anymore, please just kill me and don’t hurt the kid or my wife, please,” instead of help he was now pleading for death.
“We won’t hurt them because we know of their innocence. You on the other hand are surely going to die tonight,” replied the dark intruder filleting off chunks of seared meat placing them in a bag. There was very little blood due to the cooking of the body, drugs were even used to keep his heart pumping, “Now before you die, let me tell you what you wanted to know. Instead of using vegetation, we later tried animals or pets rather, and people began to buy these diamonds. We then came up with a new theory; it wasn’t time trapped in the stone, but rather a spirit. People were actually more attracted to the spirit rather than the gem. To prove this idea (and our desperate need of money) all four of us decided that our parents must sacrifice their lives. Conveniently, all four of our parents died in a horrific car accident. Because we wanted their remains, similar to you, the coroner had to peel their flesh from the car seats.”
Blacking out, Marks was no longer responsive. The gloomy associate gave him a shot of adrenaline to keep him alive long enough to hear him out. To get Marks to open his eyes the ominous man slapped him in the face; doing so a piece of Marks jaw stuck to his hand. He shoves it into the bag along with the rest of Marks tissue.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he smiled while patting him on the chest, “We made over three hundred diamonds from their remains. To our surprise we sold them for thousands; to people from little old ladies to big time executives. We then realized it wasn’t the diamond they wanted; it was the soul of the diamond that was so precious. We made millions, bought our degrees, and are now making diamonds out of loved ones. I hope you’re satisfied, congratulations, you’ve cracked your last case!”
The death dealer exited the burning house and entered the van watching the fire trucks pull in behind him. It was too late.
* * *
A courier enters Detective Lieutenant David Mills’s office and hands him a small leather box with the title LifeGem embroidered into it. Mills opens it and pulls out a certificate of authenticity that read: In Memory Of…George Ethan Marks. He laid the piece of paper down and pulled out two 2 carat diamonds that had the initials G.E.M. engraved into them.
“You must have lived one hell of a life G.E.M.,” Mills exaggerated ironically as he picked up both of the rocks and thought to himself, Marks life and burying this case was a small price to pay to have my father Gerald Evan Mills knocked off, as he slipped the diamonds into his pocket.
Case Closed.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Deal With It
At birth you are dealt the hand you will play the rest of your life. During the game of life you’ll be given more cards that can either make you or break you. However, no matter what you are dealt you have to learn how to deal with it. Hopefully, at the end of the game of life everyone becomes a winner because we are all dealt a new hand and start fresh.
Late one night I was sitting at one of the sections of the green felt laid octagon poker table. The group consisted mostly of family, friends, and the cloud of smoke that lingered in the cold night air. The game of choice, like usual, was Texas Hold ‘Em. We played way too much, but not as often as we’d like.
After becoming a pro at something whatever it is your doing becomes second nature. Let’s just say my mind wasn’t really on the cards that night. I don’t know, maybe I watched “It’s A Wonderful Life” too much this Christmas and it was getting to my head. Every hand we played a different thought or memory overcame me.
I am chip leader now. “Look out! He won a couple, he’s gotta ‘nough to push us around.” Shuffle. Deal. Bet. Raise. I call All-In, hoping that either someone would call or I would take the pot.
Very rarely do I get to push people around. As a young boy I always dreamed of being the next Karate Kid. I remember sitting outside the children’s karate classes and in my mind I would be kicking, punching, and bowing to the sensei. In my mind I was as physically fit as any other kid. My parents did not have the heart to quell my ambition, but instead used the excuse that we did not have enough money for classes. Today instead of being physically strong, I know where my real strengths are. So my ambitions have changed and I’ve learned to deal with it.
I could tell they were getting fed up with my occasional starring off into space thinking of past times. “Ay! Are ya gonna play or sit there and act stupid? Jesus Christ!” while slapping the table, dismantling all the chips trying to get my attention.
Everyone at the table knew that I was by no means stupid. Entering public school I was placed in a Trainable Mentally Handicapped class. It took these ‘retarded’ teachers two years to realize they had placed me in the wrong class. My mental status is usually hard for me to prove unless you know me. Most people take one look at me and don’t even give me a chance. They see the chair, hear my slight speech impediment, and jump right to conclusions that I am retarded. Like every other cripple, I’ve learned to blow it off because I look at most of them and think, wow, I bet you wish you had the thought process I have.
I didn’t drag the chips that hand. Shuffle. Deal. Talk shit. Bet. Fold. “I thought you love this game?” They ride me because I fold so much. Any true player knows the old saying, “You gotta know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em.”
Love works the same way. I think the word love has more meanings than any word in the dictionary. I can honestly say I love everyone around this table, including the game itself. Along with love comes trust. To say that you can truly trust someone is the quintessence of love. Now, I would trust anyone around this table with my life. In a card game, on the other hand, there is only two people I trust in this world; one being me and the other is definitely not any one of them. I can’t really say that I have ever loved someone in a sexual manner. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve experienced lust more than most people, but all my relationships haven’t gone any further than precisely that. Some may say this would be the epitome of loneliness, I say deal with it.
We take a break from life. Have a drink. Take a piss. Burn one. Let’s move on… a new hand is dealt. I play this hand out. Stupid move, but I could tell no one else had anything either. “God, you lucky little shit, you always knew how to read people.” I drag a hefty amount of chips.
I was always told that I could read people like a book. Some say I should be a psychologist. I say screw that, I’ve got my own issues to deal with. Although, figuring people out has always been a hobby of mine, sort of. It’s mostly a forced hobby; many hours of sitting in class, day dreaming. It’s really kind of funny because there is always those select few that are in every classroom. There is always the nerdy kid that thinks he knows the answer to every question, but this is a good thing because the rest of class doesn’t need to talk as much. On the other end of the spectrum, there is the dark kid that is usually fond of dressing in black, piercings, and weird hair cuts. However, when you get past the surface they’re usually quite intelligent and are fun to be around. The rest of the class falls in between these two; they are usually brain dead zombies trying to get those credit hours they paid so much for. No matter what our differences may be, we are all alike because we all have our own dilemmas to deal with.
I had a lot of money invested in this hand, but I knew it was time to fold. The spread showed no help for me. “Ay! You do realize we are playing for big bucks now, don’t cha?” Throwing away a good hand is always hard to do.
I hope there will come a time when I will never have to worry about money. I never want to be tucked away in a little cubicle during my occupational years. I want to be able to contribute to society with out being locked away. I am tired of being completely dependent on the government to provide for my financial and medical needs. Independence is freedom. Freedom to choose how to contribute to society is fought for by many disabled people. Our fellow Americans have helped fight wars in other countries for this freedom, yet our government restricts not only disabled people but the impoverished as well. I want a job I love because I feel sorry for those who spend their life working instead of living. Looking forward to the weekend is not my idea of an enjoyable occupation. Unfortunately, this is another forced card I’ll have to deal with.
Another hand was dealt. I play this one out as well. It was a tough hand and took time to make the right choice. “Piss or get off the pot. You’re takin’ forever!” the old man grumbles. I think to myself that he has all time in the world. Or maybe he doesn’t. His time is running out.
Old people fascinate me. I dream of someday growing old and having no worries in the world, to have it all behind me, and relax. I wish to have no regrets because I have lived life to the fullest. There’s something about being told you won’t live to be five that makes you feel old at twenty-one. I hope to one day be able to sit at a local coffee shop and reminisce about the glory days with the young ‘uns. If only people would realize how precious time really is. Spending time doing the things I love helps me deal with the little time I have left.
After the long night of card playing there was one last game to be played. The people around the table drew for high card to see who was putting me to bed. I guess they’ll have to deal with it. This is only one of the many nights that I have played the game of life.
I am drawn to card playing because of the element of risk and its metaphorical associations to real life. Many of the decisions we make in life involve risks and chances. What risks have you taken to create new pathways? What obstacles do you face on those paths? How do you feel about the cards you have been dealt in life?
Late one night I was sitting at one of the sections of the green felt laid octagon poker table. The group consisted mostly of family, friends, and the cloud of smoke that lingered in the cold night air. The game of choice, like usual, was Texas Hold ‘Em. We played way too much, but not as often as we’d like.
After becoming a pro at something whatever it is your doing becomes second nature. Let’s just say my mind wasn’t really on the cards that night. I don’t know, maybe I watched “It’s A Wonderful Life” too much this Christmas and it was getting to my head. Every hand we played a different thought or memory overcame me.
I am chip leader now. “Look out! He won a couple, he’s gotta ‘nough to push us around.” Shuffle. Deal. Bet. Raise. I call All-In, hoping that either someone would call or I would take the pot.
Very rarely do I get to push people around. As a young boy I always dreamed of being the next Karate Kid. I remember sitting outside the children’s karate classes and in my mind I would be kicking, punching, and bowing to the sensei. In my mind I was as physically fit as any other kid. My parents did not have the heart to quell my ambition, but instead used the excuse that we did not have enough money for classes. Today instead of being physically strong, I know where my real strengths are. So my ambitions have changed and I’ve learned to deal with it.
I could tell they were getting fed up with my occasional starring off into space thinking of past times. “Ay! Are ya gonna play or sit there and act stupid? Jesus Christ!” while slapping the table, dismantling all the chips trying to get my attention.
Everyone at the table knew that I was by no means stupid. Entering public school I was placed in a Trainable Mentally Handicapped class. It took these ‘retarded’ teachers two years to realize they had placed me in the wrong class. My mental status is usually hard for me to prove unless you know me. Most people take one look at me and don’t even give me a chance. They see the chair, hear my slight speech impediment, and jump right to conclusions that I am retarded. Like every other cripple, I’ve learned to blow it off because I look at most of them and think, wow, I bet you wish you had the thought process I have.
I didn’t drag the chips that hand. Shuffle. Deal. Talk shit. Bet. Fold. “I thought you love this game?” They ride me because I fold so much. Any true player knows the old saying, “You gotta know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em.”
Love works the same way. I think the word love has more meanings than any word in the dictionary. I can honestly say I love everyone around this table, including the game itself. Along with love comes trust. To say that you can truly trust someone is the quintessence of love. Now, I would trust anyone around this table with my life. In a card game, on the other hand, there is only two people I trust in this world; one being me and the other is definitely not any one of them. I can’t really say that I have ever loved someone in a sexual manner. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve experienced lust more than most people, but all my relationships haven’t gone any further than precisely that. Some may say this would be the epitome of loneliness, I say deal with it.
We take a break from life. Have a drink. Take a piss. Burn one. Let’s move on… a new hand is dealt. I play this hand out. Stupid move, but I could tell no one else had anything either. “God, you lucky little shit, you always knew how to read people.” I drag a hefty amount of chips.
I was always told that I could read people like a book. Some say I should be a psychologist. I say screw that, I’ve got my own issues to deal with. Although, figuring people out has always been a hobby of mine, sort of. It’s mostly a forced hobby; many hours of sitting in class, day dreaming. It’s really kind of funny because there is always those select few that are in every classroom. There is always the nerdy kid that thinks he knows the answer to every question, but this is a good thing because the rest of class doesn’t need to talk as much. On the other end of the spectrum, there is the dark kid that is usually fond of dressing in black, piercings, and weird hair cuts. However, when you get past the surface they’re usually quite intelligent and are fun to be around. The rest of the class falls in between these two; they are usually brain dead zombies trying to get those credit hours they paid so much for. No matter what our differences may be, we are all alike because we all have our own dilemmas to deal with.
I had a lot of money invested in this hand, but I knew it was time to fold. The spread showed no help for me. “Ay! You do realize we are playing for big bucks now, don’t cha?” Throwing away a good hand is always hard to do.
I hope there will come a time when I will never have to worry about money. I never want to be tucked away in a little cubicle during my occupational years. I want to be able to contribute to society with out being locked away. I am tired of being completely dependent on the government to provide for my financial and medical needs. Independence is freedom. Freedom to choose how to contribute to society is fought for by many disabled people. Our fellow Americans have helped fight wars in other countries for this freedom, yet our government restricts not only disabled people but the impoverished as well. I want a job I love because I feel sorry for those who spend their life working instead of living. Looking forward to the weekend is not my idea of an enjoyable occupation. Unfortunately, this is another forced card I’ll have to deal with.
Another hand was dealt. I play this one out as well. It was a tough hand and took time to make the right choice. “Piss or get off the pot. You’re takin’ forever!” the old man grumbles. I think to myself that he has all time in the world. Or maybe he doesn’t. His time is running out.
Old people fascinate me. I dream of someday growing old and having no worries in the world, to have it all behind me, and relax. I wish to have no regrets because I have lived life to the fullest. There’s something about being told you won’t live to be five that makes you feel old at twenty-one. I hope to one day be able to sit at a local coffee shop and reminisce about the glory days with the young ‘uns. If only people would realize how precious time really is. Spending time doing the things I love helps me deal with the little time I have left.
After the long night of card playing there was one last game to be played. The people around the table drew for high card to see who was putting me to bed. I guess they’ll have to deal with it. This is only one of the many nights that I have played the game of life.
I am drawn to card playing because of the element of risk and its metaphorical associations to real life. Many of the decisions we make in life involve risks and chances. What risks have you taken to create new pathways? What obstacles do you face on those paths? How do you feel about the cards you have been dealt in life?
Contract Killer: A Modernization of The Medea
The air was cold and damp when they rolled into the town where spirits lie dormant. After drifting from one road sign to the next trying to escape their previous scandalous endeavors, Lafayette, Louisiana seemed to be the perfect place to reside. There were enough people in the quaint little parish to blend right in with the Cajun mix.
“I don’t think they will ever find us here, we will be able to share our lives here together forever my love…” said the woman who looked as though she had grown tired of running. She never really meant to get into trouble. Immoral acts just seemed to follow her. Whether it was for love, money or outright revenge, Medea grew accustomed to using her cunning skills to get in and out of the worst predicaments.
“Yes, I think this place would be a great home for our family. The boys will do great in school, and with our skills, this town will be perfect,” said the young man as he looked away, ashamed of his own thoughts. Jason had never really been caught cheating in the game of love, but always seemed to love to play in it. He never really meant to do any harm by Medea. He went on scandalous escapades with other women because he thought it was for the betterment of his family.
Just as they pulled into the shanty parish home, an old lady greeted them at the entrance of the home. No one really knew how old this angelic old woman was or even what her real name was. Somewhere in the 40’s, she was dubbed the name Nurse. Nobody knows why or how the name Nurse had come about; she didn’t know a damn thing about the medical field. People think that she may have saved someone’s life a long time ago, but if anyone ever took the time to get to know her they would know this was hardly believable.
Medea and Jason decided to move their family into this home because frankly, the rent was cheap and in Louisiana, the gypsy lifestyle was accepted. Medea always had a way of finding odd jobs in back of little hole-in-the-wall shops. She was a master of the voodoo craft and charismatically convincing people into doing whatever she so desires. Her last victim was convinced to sign over his life savings and to boil himself alive. When Medea wanted something, there was no stopping her.
“Hello and welcome to the bayou. I think you will love it here. Come on in dear children,” said the little old lady.
Everything seemed to be going perfect for this oh-so-loving family. Although, this couple was never really blessed with an extravagant wedding they expressed a love like no other (or so Medea thought). Jason and Medea never had any desire to have a traditional wedding; there were no beautiful flowers, wedding vows, or Medea’s father giving her away at the end of an aisle. Instead, the couple signed their love for one another in a contract that was forever binding. The only thing that could break the contract was death.
The family entered the house only to be greeted with the aroma of a delicious meal already prepared by Nurse. Although Nurse didn’t know much about the medical field she was a master in the kitchen. The people of the town could hardly wait till she threw her annual dinner party. When she started cooking for the party the scent of the luscious food trailed through the neighborhood. It was a pleasure that all the towns people looked forward too. Medea and Jason just so happened to catch the preamble of this rare occasion. The table was already filled with delicacies that a starving man would kill for a hundred times over. It just so happens to be that the night of all nights to remember was about to take place at precisely the time when the sun says goodnight and the moon says good morning.
“Whose house is that around the corner? It seems as though he must own half of Lafayette, not to mention he could probably house a quarter of the population there,” said Jason so coincidently.
“That house just so happens to belong to a gentleman named Creon. No one really knows his last name or where all of his riches came from. It is said that he is a king of some far away land,“ Nurse said waving her arms through the air as though she had told this little fairytale far too many times.
Jason turned to Medea and with a look of sheer greed they had already contrived an evil plan to embezzle all of his fortunes. They didn’t have to whisper a word to one another to know what they were both thinking. Take the money and run.
As the family proceeded to get dressed Nurse had already begun greeting people at the door. “Welcome everyone please make yourselves at home,” gestured Nurse.
When Jason spiraled down the staircase his eyes met with a young lady’s. She was instantly love struck. Their eyes interlocked like two corresponding puzzle pieces.
Jason broke free from lust and moved on to the table where the finest of gentlemen sat. It did not take a genius to figure out who Creon was; he reeked with riches.
With the most eloquent top-hats and tail-coats on, Jason had already figured out how to conduct a card game for the gentleman. The game really had nothing to do with cards at all. It was a game of wit and status, although Jason was not bred into fame and fortune he was quick witted.
The pipe bobbed in Jason’s mouth as he spoke, “Could you pass me the butter for this marvelous bread? Nurse must have slaved over the stove for hours to make something so superb.”
It wasn’t really hard to tell that King Creon fancied playing cards. From the sight of the card propped in the brim of his hat, anyone could tell that he liked to play. Jason was keen on picking up small clues such as this. Jason stirred the rocks in his glass as he looked sharply at Creon trying to determine the fate of his life’s hand.
“I’ve taken a liking to this town and I see you are a man of great fortune. But let us lay all money aside and put something more valuable on the table. I’ve also taken a liking to your daughter. From what I hear no man has put a ring on her finger yet. I’m sure that you can’t wait for your daughter to get out of your hair and leave you alone. So with this hand I bet that if I win I will leave my family behind, marry your daughter, and you must buy us this vary plantation. But if I lose I promise that you will never see my face again,“ said Jason charmingly.
“Are you mad?! You would just give up your family so easily? How dare you! I despise the sight of your face! How do you expect me to turn my daughter over to a man who would abandon his family so easily,” growled Creon as he looked down and saw his hand was blessed with two jacks and three kings. His mustache caught the remnants of spit as he sprayed the words, “Frankly I can’t stand the sight of your face but if I win my wishes will come true. I will never have to see your face again. The bet is on!”
Creon slammed his hand down onto the table and with his other clubbed fist hit the table with such force that his drink nearly plummeted off the table. “I never want to see your face in this town again! Take your family and go.”
“Ah! Don’t be so quick to speak your words wise old man,” Jason said as he spread a royal flush.
King Creon had been beaten hands down.
Medea then pardoned herself from all the girl gossip that swarmed her table and ventured over to the table where Jason resided.
“What’s all this commotion about? “ asked Medea with a puzzled look.
“Well from what I see I just lost a hand to what was once your husband and is now your ex,” said Creon as he looked up at Medea.
“Well damn you didn’t have to say it bluntly. Sweetie I’m doing this for the betterment of our family. Our kids will now have a place to live and we will be treated as royalty,” smirked Jason.
“This was not part of the plan. How could you dare leave me? This is absolutely ridiculous! I thought you would love me for all time and eternity,” said Medea as a tear of hatred rolled down her cheek.
“Oh dear, don’t be such a woman. You know what they say; out with the old and in with the new. Did you really think that I would stay with your forever? I’ve flimflammed a lot less dim-witted people than you. For instance like this bloke in front of me,” said Jason as he shot a look towards Creon.
“I fear to tell you that it is true my darling. This plan has conned us all. Not only is he leaving you but he is also making you leave this town forever. He has enlightened me with some of your past endeavors and if you don’t leave I will have you arrested immediately,” said Creon with a look of sheer disgust.
“How could you! First you leave me for another woman and now you want me to leave the town too? I can’t stand the sight of you. All I ask is that you give me one day to get all my affairs in order and I will leave this land willingly forever,” wept Medea as she walked away in loathing.
Grabbing the keys to her only possession she knew wouldn’t betray her, she headed towards the door. Nurse had caught the troublesome look of Medea from far away and intercepted her path towards the door.
“Dear what troubles you?” asked Nurse sympathetically.
“Jason is breaking the contract. I don’t have time for your sympathetic bullshit just tell me where the local witchdoctor is,” said Medea, as she proceeded towards the door.
“Witchdoctors are a dime a dozen around here. Go to any local convenient store and ask to speak with the Doc and you’ll get what you are looking for,” said Nurse.
Medea then pulled into a convenient store which was run by a Ragin’ Cajun. She knew that she had come to the right place by the sight of him.
“Can you tell me where the local Doc is?” asked Medea, still irate.
“Des seem to be sumpin bothrin ya. Well child yousa have comed to da right place. Mad Man Doc will cure any problem yousa gots. Right dis way,” said the Ragin’ Cajun.
“Welcome child what can I get for you today? Its looks as though something is bothering you,” said Mad Man Doc.
“Don’t try to pull that ‘I’m a witch doctor and I can cure all crap’ with me, I’ve been in the business for far too long. I’ve conned more people with your line of work then the number of years you have been alive,” said Medea with a stern look on her face.
“Then what brings you here?” asked Mad Man Doc.
“I want to rid the world of an evil bitch’s beauty. She has stolen my husband and kids from me,” scowled Medea.
“Well it seems that this woman cares a great deal about how she is perceived. I have a dress sewn by the gods above. No one can deny its beauty. She will have no choice but to wear it. The catch is, as soon as it’s worn a poison is released from the threads that will kill her,” said Mad Man Doc with a look of gratification.
“That is exactly what I am looking for. Do you happen to have a knife so vile that it would bring silence to anyone it touches?” asked Medea.
“What kind of a witchdoctor would I be if didn’t carry such an item?” said Mad Man Doc as he handed her a beautiful dress with a knife laid in it.
Medea paid for the items and headed well along her way. By the time she got back to her house the party was over. The only ones to remain in her house were the soon to be victims. Medea held a collective posture as she entered the home. Creon and his daughter Glauce were exiting the house. As soon as they crossed paths Medea handed the dress to Glauce as they were walking out the door.
“Oh! This dress is so beautiful! Why would you give me such a gift?“ gasped Glauce.
“I wouldn’t want the woman who is soon to be taking my husband to be dressed like a whore all the time now would I? I think by you wearing this, it will be the only way for you t look even presentable,” hissed Medea.
Glauce smirked and took the dress out of spite as she walked gallantly to her car. The night was calm and even the sun dreaded the day to arrive. Not even Father Time could stop the clock from ticking its way to the tragic events that were about to occur.
The next morning the children woke to see their mother sitting on the couch with the look of hatred in her eyes. Knife in hand she walked towards the children without hesitation. She knew that there was no turning back now. She eloquently tossed the knife back and forth from hand to hand as she walked closer to the children. With a swift slit, easier than expected, the knife glided through the air and made contact with the first child’s throat. His blood ran freely.
Out of fear, the next child screamed in terror. The blood didn’t even have the chance to drip before the next child throat was slit. She enjoyed the moment of silence.
As Medea proceeded to pick up the now meaningless dead bodies, Jason burst through the front door to witness his dead children.
“What the fuck?! You are a crazy bitch! How could you! Our children are now dead because of you! How could you do something so vile?” screamed Jason as he ran to tackle her.
With her back towards Jason, he was unaware of the gift he was about to receive. Jason dove right into the blade that still glistened with his children’s blood.
Pulling the knife from his stomach Medea said, “Did you not read the last line of our marriage contract? I believe it read: Till death do us part. So goodnight my love.”
“You k-k-killed our children…” wept Jason as he knelt.
Jason dropped to his knees and like a mere mortal he bled out. Medea then exited the house with her two dead children in her arms. She placed them in the back of her beast of a machine that was decoratively painted with fiery serpents.
The only way out of the town was by passing the Creon Estates. Medea then made her to the houses window where she witnessed Creon trying to save his only daughter. Glauce’s flesh had begun to melt off of her own bones. When Creon held her in his arms, their flesh became one. As the father pleaded for mercy to be brought upon his daughter, he begun to melt into her dead body. Stricken by satisfaction that everyone was dead, Medea then got back into her car and let the fiery serpents lead her to the next town she would reign.
“I don’t think they will ever find us here, we will be able to share our lives here together forever my love…” said the woman who looked as though she had grown tired of running. She never really meant to get into trouble. Immoral acts just seemed to follow her. Whether it was for love, money or outright revenge, Medea grew accustomed to using her cunning skills to get in and out of the worst predicaments.
“Yes, I think this place would be a great home for our family. The boys will do great in school, and with our skills, this town will be perfect,” said the young man as he looked away, ashamed of his own thoughts. Jason had never really been caught cheating in the game of love, but always seemed to love to play in it. He never really meant to do any harm by Medea. He went on scandalous escapades with other women because he thought it was for the betterment of his family.
Just as they pulled into the shanty parish home, an old lady greeted them at the entrance of the home. No one really knew how old this angelic old woman was or even what her real name was. Somewhere in the 40’s, she was dubbed the name Nurse. Nobody knows why or how the name Nurse had come about; she didn’t know a damn thing about the medical field. People think that she may have saved someone’s life a long time ago, but if anyone ever took the time to get to know her they would know this was hardly believable.
Medea and Jason decided to move their family into this home because frankly, the rent was cheap and in Louisiana, the gypsy lifestyle was accepted. Medea always had a way of finding odd jobs in back of little hole-in-the-wall shops. She was a master of the voodoo craft and charismatically convincing people into doing whatever she so desires. Her last victim was convinced to sign over his life savings and to boil himself alive. When Medea wanted something, there was no stopping her.
“Hello and welcome to the bayou. I think you will love it here. Come on in dear children,” said the little old lady.
Everything seemed to be going perfect for this oh-so-loving family. Although, this couple was never really blessed with an extravagant wedding they expressed a love like no other (or so Medea thought). Jason and Medea never had any desire to have a traditional wedding; there were no beautiful flowers, wedding vows, or Medea’s father giving her away at the end of an aisle. Instead, the couple signed their love for one another in a contract that was forever binding. The only thing that could break the contract was death.
The family entered the house only to be greeted with the aroma of a delicious meal already prepared by Nurse. Although Nurse didn’t know much about the medical field she was a master in the kitchen. The people of the town could hardly wait till she threw her annual dinner party. When she started cooking for the party the scent of the luscious food trailed through the neighborhood. It was a pleasure that all the towns people looked forward too. Medea and Jason just so happened to catch the preamble of this rare occasion. The table was already filled with delicacies that a starving man would kill for a hundred times over. It just so happens to be that the night of all nights to remember was about to take place at precisely the time when the sun says goodnight and the moon says good morning.
“Whose house is that around the corner? It seems as though he must own half of Lafayette, not to mention he could probably house a quarter of the population there,” said Jason so coincidently.
“That house just so happens to belong to a gentleman named Creon. No one really knows his last name or where all of his riches came from. It is said that he is a king of some far away land,“ Nurse said waving her arms through the air as though she had told this little fairytale far too many times.
Jason turned to Medea and with a look of sheer greed they had already contrived an evil plan to embezzle all of his fortunes. They didn’t have to whisper a word to one another to know what they were both thinking. Take the money and run.
As the family proceeded to get dressed Nurse had already begun greeting people at the door. “Welcome everyone please make yourselves at home,” gestured Nurse.
When Jason spiraled down the staircase his eyes met with a young lady’s. She was instantly love struck. Their eyes interlocked like two corresponding puzzle pieces.
Jason broke free from lust and moved on to the table where the finest of gentlemen sat. It did not take a genius to figure out who Creon was; he reeked with riches.
With the most eloquent top-hats and tail-coats on, Jason had already figured out how to conduct a card game for the gentleman. The game really had nothing to do with cards at all. It was a game of wit and status, although Jason was not bred into fame and fortune he was quick witted.
The pipe bobbed in Jason’s mouth as he spoke, “Could you pass me the butter for this marvelous bread? Nurse must have slaved over the stove for hours to make something so superb.”
It wasn’t really hard to tell that King Creon fancied playing cards. From the sight of the card propped in the brim of his hat, anyone could tell that he liked to play. Jason was keen on picking up small clues such as this. Jason stirred the rocks in his glass as he looked sharply at Creon trying to determine the fate of his life’s hand.
“I’ve taken a liking to this town and I see you are a man of great fortune. But let us lay all money aside and put something more valuable on the table. I’ve also taken a liking to your daughter. From what I hear no man has put a ring on her finger yet. I’m sure that you can’t wait for your daughter to get out of your hair and leave you alone. So with this hand I bet that if I win I will leave my family behind, marry your daughter, and you must buy us this vary plantation. But if I lose I promise that you will never see my face again,“ said Jason charmingly.
“Are you mad?! You would just give up your family so easily? How dare you! I despise the sight of your face! How do you expect me to turn my daughter over to a man who would abandon his family so easily,” growled Creon as he looked down and saw his hand was blessed with two jacks and three kings. His mustache caught the remnants of spit as he sprayed the words, “Frankly I can’t stand the sight of your face but if I win my wishes will come true. I will never have to see your face again. The bet is on!”
Creon slammed his hand down onto the table and with his other clubbed fist hit the table with such force that his drink nearly plummeted off the table. “I never want to see your face in this town again! Take your family and go.”
“Ah! Don’t be so quick to speak your words wise old man,” Jason said as he spread a royal flush.
King Creon had been beaten hands down.
Medea then pardoned herself from all the girl gossip that swarmed her table and ventured over to the table where Jason resided.
“What’s all this commotion about? “ asked Medea with a puzzled look.
“Well from what I see I just lost a hand to what was once your husband and is now your ex,” said Creon as he looked up at Medea.
“Well damn you didn’t have to say it bluntly. Sweetie I’m doing this for the betterment of our family. Our kids will now have a place to live and we will be treated as royalty,” smirked Jason.
“This was not part of the plan. How could you dare leave me? This is absolutely ridiculous! I thought you would love me for all time and eternity,” said Medea as a tear of hatred rolled down her cheek.
“Oh dear, don’t be such a woman. You know what they say; out with the old and in with the new. Did you really think that I would stay with your forever? I’ve flimflammed a lot less dim-witted people than you. For instance like this bloke in front of me,” said Jason as he shot a look towards Creon.
“I fear to tell you that it is true my darling. This plan has conned us all. Not only is he leaving you but he is also making you leave this town forever. He has enlightened me with some of your past endeavors and if you don’t leave I will have you arrested immediately,” said Creon with a look of sheer disgust.
“How could you! First you leave me for another woman and now you want me to leave the town too? I can’t stand the sight of you. All I ask is that you give me one day to get all my affairs in order and I will leave this land willingly forever,” wept Medea as she walked away in loathing.
Grabbing the keys to her only possession she knew wouldn’t betray her, she headed towards the door. Nurse had caught the troublesome look of Medea from far away and intercepted her path towards the door.
“Dear what troubles you?” asked Nurse sympathetically.
“Jason is breaking the contract. I don’t have time for your sympathetic bullshit just tell me where the local witchdoctor is,” said Medea, as she proceeded towards the door.
“Witchdoctors are a dime a dozen around here. Go to any local convenient store and ask to speak with the Doc and you’ll get what you are looking for,” said Nurse.
Medea then pulled into a convenient store which was run by a Ragin’ Cajun. She knew that she had come to the right place by the sight of him.
“Can you tell me where the local Doc is?” asked Medea, still irate.
“Des seem to be sumpin bothrin ya. Well child yousa have comed to da right place. Mad Man Doc will cure any problem yousa gots. Right dis way,” said the Ragin’ Cajun.
“Welcome child what can I get for you today? Its looks as though something is bothering you,” said Mad Man Doc.
“Don’t try to pull that ‘I’m a witch doctor and I can cure all crap’ with me, I’ve been in the business for far too long. I’ve conned more people with your line of work then the number of years you have been alive,” said Medea with a stern look on her face.
“Then what brings you here?” asked Mad Man Doc.
“I want to rid the world of an evil bitch’s beauty. She has stolen my husband and kids from me,” scowled Medea.
“Well it seems that this woman cares a great deal about how she is perceived. I have a dress sewn by the gods above. No one can deny its beauty. She will have no choice but to wear it. The catch is, as soon as it’s worn a poison is released from the threads that will kill her,” said Mad Man Doc with a look of gratification.
“That is exactly what I am looking for. Do you happen to have a knife so vile that it would bring silence to anyone it touches?” asked Medea.
“What kind of a witchdoctor would I be if didn’t carry such an item?” said Mad Man Doc as he handed her a beautiful dress with a knife laid in it.
Medea paid for the items and headed well along her way. By the time she got back to her house the party was over. The only ones to remain in her house were the soon to be victims. Medea held a collective posture as she entered the home. Creon and his daughter Glauce were exiting the house. As soon as they crossed paths Medea handed the dress to Glauce as they were walking out the door.
“Oh! This dress is so beautiful! Why would you give me such a gift?“ gasped Glauce.
“I wouldn’t want the woman who is soon to be taking my husband to be dressed like a whore all the time now would I? I think by you wearing this, it will be the only way for you t look even presentable,” hissed Medea.
Glauce smirked and took the dress out of spite as she walked gallantly to her car. The night was calm and even the sun dreaded the day to arrive. Not even Father Time could stop the clock from ticking its way to the tragic events that were about to occur.
The next morning the children woke to see their mother sitting on the couch with the look of hatred in her eyes. Knife in hand she walked towards the children without hesitation. She knew that there was no turning back now. She eloquently tossed the knife back and forth from hand to hand as she walked closer to the children. With a swift slit, easier than expected, the knife glided through the air and made contact with the first child’s throat. His blood ran freely.
Out of fear, the next child screamed in terror. The blood didn’t even have the chance to drip before the next child throat was slit. She enjoyed the moment of silence.
As Medea proceeded to pick up the now meaningless dead bodies, Jason burst through the front door to witness his dead children.
“What the fuck?! You are a crazy bitch! How could you! Our children are now dead because of you! How could you do something so vile?” screamed Jason as he ran to tackle her.
With her back towards Jason, he was unaware of the gift he was about to receive. Jason dove right into the blade that still glistened with his children’s blood.
Pulling the knife from his stomach Medea said, “Did you not read the last line of our marriage contract? I believe it read: Till death do us part. So goodnight my love.”
“You k-k-killed our children…” wept Jason as he knelt.
Jason dropped to his knees and like a mere mortal he bled out. Medea then exited the house with her two dead children in her arms. She placed them in the back of her beast of a machine that was decoratively painted with fiery serpents.
The only way out of the town was by passing the Creon Estates. Medea then made her to the houses window where she witnessed Creon trying to save his only daughter. Glauce’s flesh had begun to melt off of her own bones. When Creon held her in his arms, their flesh became one. As the father pleaded for mercy to be brought upon his daughter, he begun to melt into her dead body. Stricken by satisfaction that everyone was dead, Medea then got back into her car and let the fiery serpents lead her to the next town she would reign.
Random Acts of Violence
Chapter 1
No one knows exactly when their time is up. The clock is ticking, seconds slowly dwindling away into nothing. When will it all end? Will we perish from all of our prosperity and vanish forever or will we linger as a legend? I guess it doesn’t really matter, because once you’re dead, you’re dead. No one knows whether or not anyone is going to be there to comfort you after you’re gone. Is there really a heaven or hell? Or does our world go black? Lights out. Silence. No more noise. They say that silence is golden, so in a way I am kind of rewarding them. Rewarding them for what you may ask? I say it’s for putting up with the bullshit of life for so long. I am ridding them of pain, suffering, and all the other melodramatic words you can think of. Christ thought he had it all figured out when he gave them free agency. People think he, if he can even be called a he, is perfection and knows all. But let’s face it no one can control Chaos. And in essence isn’t that what the good ol’ Christ Almighty wanted; Chaos. Bible thumpers will over time eventually shove it in your face that there was a war in heaven between two sides. Some may say that the war was between Good and Evil; Elohim and Lucifer. The war was really between a choice of Order and Chaos. Now the funny question is why did God even let this battle take place? I guess he isn’t as powerful as people think. Well eventually the war of all wars was waged and a third of heaven fell. That’s where I come in. It is what we are, fallen angels. We are not evil. All we are, are mere fallen angels trying to bring Order to Chaos.
***
To them I do not exist. Isn’t it funny how a couple of numbers and a few pieces of papers can determine ones existence? I walk among men unnoticed and virtually invisible. I do not abide by time or obey the laws of the land. I roam with complete freedom. I am not scared as to where my next meal comes from or where I will I lay my head at night, in the end these natural occurrences will eventually take place.
I didn’t know that today would be my first. Today started out as any other and time moved on. I woke as normal striking the off button on my alarm clock. I don’t even know why I own the damn thing at all; the sun always woke me long before it went off. I guess I kept it because it brought some sort of normality in my life. It was part of one of the few routines that I have grown accustomed too.
Like clockwork, I had my daily routine of getting ready timed down to the very second. It took me exactly eighteen minutes to get ready for the day. That is unless I decide to rub one out in the shower, then it takes me nearly twenty-five minutes.
I made my way to the door hoping either the landlord had already left or maybe she wouldn’t see me creep out. I know the damn dog has most likely already sabotaged my escape. As I carefully turned the knob, the door creaked open. I tried to sneak out of my hell-hole of an apartment, trying to go unnoticed. I failed.
One of the worst things about living here was the smell and old décor. The scent came from the use of old generic bars of soap she must have gotten on sale at a flea-market twenty years ago. The soap was probably made from left over animal byproduct. I think I have surely seen the furnishings in an old Alfred Hitchcock film.
“Dante, do you have this week’s rent?” the demon growled through her flaring nostrils.
“No Rose, but I will surely have it to you tonight.” I bargained. I think somewhere deep down she knew that I would someday disappear.
“You better, I don’t mind putting a roof over your head, but I don’t even let my grandkids live here rent free.” The old woman scowled shaking her fist, not necessarily because she was angry but more or less because arthritis had consumed her body. Her hands were now fixated into clubbed fists ready for war.
She lives in a two story home that she managed to get from some kind of scandal with her ex-husband. Some believe that he was murdered, others say he committed suicide. Regardless the poor bastard made out on the better end of that deal.
This house would cast perfect in one of those low budget zombie movies. It was an old country home with a tin roof and big front porch that held a swing. This scary shack I temporarily called home was located behind an old abandoned factory. The sounds that come out the factory were enough to even freak me out. Although the house was two stories, the first floor rests at ground level. The bottom half of the house is embedded into the side of a rather steep hill. This is where I reside; tucked away from the world.
This old lady had to be strong to survive with what little she had. Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t poor by any means, but she lacked the love of someone close. Her house had been paid off for years now and no one really knew how much money she actually had scrounged back. Like me, she decided years ago to disappear from paying taxes on her well earned money by working under-the-table jobs. I gave her a hundred dollars a week for rent, mainly to help her out with basic necessities.
“I get paid tonight and you will be the first to see the money.” I said as I walked hastily to my bike so she wouldn’t have time to respond. I hopped onto my beast and revved the engine so loud that I couldn’t hear her rebuttal. I honestly didn’t mind giving her the money. She was the only one that even knew I existed.
I drove a bike not because it was the cool thing to do, but because they were inexpensive, cheap on gas, and easy to dispose of. I also didn’t have to put up with the annoyance of a side-seat-driver. They also didn’t have radios to cause ruckus, besides with the roar of the engine it was easier for me to think.
On the days I wore a helmet I liked to speed and weave in and out of traffic. And on the days I didn’t wear a helmet, I liked to drive even more reckless, hoping that someday I would hit a rock or clip a bumper sending me plummeting into a tree, ending it all. I longed for this day.
I pulled up to work, if you could even call it work. I am basically the boss man’s little whore, only instead of getting nailed, I’m doing the nailing. I dreaded the day’s long hard work of driving nails into lumber. Being a contractor has its advantages though- you get paid cash and no one asks questions.
“Hey Dante! Did you get the message? About today being our last day on the job. I hear they are going commercial on this building. Turns out this company is going to be bigger than we imagined.” Said the man that had been working with me the past several weeks.
He always wore a hardhat while on the job site. He said he had seen far too many of his friends get hurt over stupid mistakes not to wear one. Around here it was like pre-school; big kids playing in a sand box with dump-trucks and bulldozers. Their slogan was “Safety First”.
They didn’t really understand why I tempted fate so many times. I didn’t really see the point in wearing the safety restraints, because that is exactly what they are- restraints. I figured I was at work to do my job so why should I let anything slow me down. The hardhat causes the sweat to drip into my eyes and the harness holds me down. Was I praying for death? Of course not, I do not pray. They always joke around saying that I must have a guardian angel on my back. I wish this was true, but I knew that this so called angel had abandoned me a long time ago.
“Oh really, that sucks. So are they just canceling mid-contract? I mean we are not even halfway done. Is our next job lined up?” I asked not really caring one way or another.
“Yeah, that’s just it, because they are breaking contract they are going to pay us out the remainder of our work plus an additional two grand per contractor, cash. But the bad part is we are on our own after today. Boss man is gettin’ such a big cut I think he’s retiring or some shit.” Said Mr. Safety.
“That’s not such a bad deal after all. So we will be pulling five g today? No shit, I feel like I just hit the jackpot.” I said trying to show some emotion.
We walked over and begin to pretend to actually start working. I don’t think anybody so much as lifted a finger the whole day, except for when the boss man came around to pay us out. When the money hit their hands they hit the road like it was the last day of school. It seemed like the longest yet most exhilarating workday so far. Mr. Safety and I were perched on the highest rafter of the building waiting to be called down.
I wasn’t much for small talk, but Mr. Safety poured his soul out regularly. Everyone knew that him and his wife had been going through tough times. Some shit about them losing their son, I really don’t know or care.
“How’s Deb?” I simply asked trying to sound concerned, little did I know what I was getting myself into.
“Eh, things could be better for us. It’s been nearly two years since little Jimmy died, god, I miss the little bastard. He would be six last week if he were still here. I wish you could have met the little fucker.” He said trying to sound strong, but the tears forming in his eyes showed different.
He reached to his side and pulled up his lunch box. The best part about this job was that we could all drink while at work and no one gave a shit. He pulled out a homemade sandwich and threw it to me.
“Here eat that, my wife made it for me and she’ll be pissed if it doesn’t get eaten. I’m not much for eatin’ today if you know what I mean.” He said as he pulled out a shiny flask full of whiskey, taking a swig.
All I could think is why did I ask that fucking question, “Yeah thanks, I wish I would have met the little guy.”
“He was tougher than all of us put together. He battled leukemia for nearly two years before his little body finally gave out. That’s how we figured out he had it, he was playing little-league football and at the end of the day when we were helping him clean up we noticed that his entire back and shoulders were black and blue from being hit all day. He didn’t complain once. I think that’s why it hurt Deb so much, she thought he was going to hold on.” He said as his voice began to crack. He took another couple of drinks, it was easy to tell that the liquor wasn’t to quench his thirst but rather to ease his pain.
“Take it easy there cowboy or you won’t be able to make it home tonight.” I said it as though I cared whether or not he made it home.
He choked a few more back and began to rant again, “She stayed night after night crying herself to sleep at night with him in the hospital bed. Day after day he would reassure her that everything was going to be fine.” He said as he wiped a few away and then continued, “We thought for sure he would pull through it, he was so brave that little fucker.” He was trying to be as strong as his son, but I could see he wasn’t going to make it.
I tried to change the subject to get his mind in a different direction, “I’m gonna kinda miss you fellas, this is the only job where I felt as though I was part of a time.”
But he was heart set, “That’s why I chose to work here, betcha didn’t know this was going to be a nonprofit children’s hospital didja? You see after he died not only were we left without our son, but a stack of goddamn doctor bills as well. Yeah, I mean some organization agreed to pay part of the cost, but the bills keep pouring in.” he said while standing from a crouched position never letting go of the flask.
I continued to sit and stuff my face with the sandwich his wife made me. It was so good it almost tasted sinful. With my mouth I managed to mumble a few words of condolence, “Do you need help with the bills?” I asked him as though I was going to do something about it.
The look of despair was starting to fade from his face and anger began to take its place. He ignored my question altogether and continued, “I can’t understand how someone can see my child dying and want to make a profit off of it. We could barely come up with enough money to bury him. Debra somehow thought this was all my fault, that I wasn’t good enough of a father. I decided from that point on I would never let the rest of my family suffer, so I got medical insurance and a massive life insurance plan for both me and Deb. It’s never going to bring our son back though, no matter what I do.”
He hit the wooden beam behind himself and then looked down as though he had lost all hope and given up, “What’s the point in going on?” was the last thing I listened to him say.
He continued on, but I lost interest in the subject he was ranting about. I mean so what kids die every day and in my eyes the bastard caught a break. The words of ‘What’s the point in going on?’ kept running through my head. I realized then that he just wanted all of this to end. He was calling for an answer but no one was listening. He wanted to be set free. I was the only one there to grant him his desire.
I crinkled up the cellophane wrapper that the delicious sandwich had been snuggled into and threw it over the edge. As the wrapper fell it was as though time was almost standing still. Every once in awhile the wind would catch it and the wrapper would float, as if an angel was holding it in midair trying to show me a sign. A sign that this was my calling in life. I was ordained by some higher power to bring order.
I stood up and began walking toward him. I had made my decision and was not going to turn back now. It was his time to go and I was the man for the job. All he wanted was to be with his son again and I could make it happen. When I got close enough to him I wrapped my arm around his shoulder pretending to comfort him. I simply unclipped his safety harness, patted him on the back and said, “Tell your son I said hi.”
It felt as though I barely even had to push, it was almost as if he wanted to jump. We were so high up that no one could see what was actually happening. All they could hear were the screams of shock and horror as his body fell flawlessly down until it reached the end, making a morbid thump as it hit the ground. After he hit the ground all I could think was; wow, that was quick. It was nothing like the bag at all, this felt right. I hurriedly clipped myself to his safety harness, grabbed a wooden beam and slid down to see if there was any life left in the body. I knew there wasn’t going to be, I did the math before I even thought about ending his suffering. There was no way anyone could have survived a fall from that high up, it didn’t matter what kind of safety gear he was wearing.
When I got to the bottom I unclipped and ran to the body before anyone touched it. I screamed “Call an ambulance!” as if I cared or thought he was going to make it. When I was close enough to see the body all could think was that he looked peaceful laying there lifeless.
The boss man pushed everyone back until the paramedics got there. They didn’t act as much more than a cleanup crew now, shifting the pronounced dead body into an extra large zip-lock baggy and then hauled it away.
People all around me were devastated at the loss. All I could think was that I did the guy a favor; I mean he is with his son and his bitch of a wife who had fallen out of love with will now collect his life insurance. It was great for all. Although, I was beginning to wonder if it was worth the hassle of it all. No one would understand the act of kindness I bestowed upon this man.
Soon after the cleanup crew left, the cops arrived on sight. Seeming how I was the only man with him before he died, they made me stick around for questioning and to write up a statement. Now by all means, I wanted to tell them what really happened, how I eased him of his agony, then I thought I could tell them the truth; that the poor bastard practically jumped off and killed himself, but how would that make his wife feel?
“So what your telling me is the when he stood up, he lost his balance and stumbled a little, trying to stabilize himself he accidently unclipped himself and fell?” The officer with a deep voice and beefy tits said.
“That’s right sir.” I replied trying to sound sincere.
“It’s a damn shame this safety equipment never seems to stand up to the test, we get more accidents like this than you can imagine. Sign here and you’re free to go.” The officer said as he spun the clipboard around and wielded the pen toward me.
I did my good deed for the day. The chubby old boss man waddled over to me; I thought for sure he had seen something different from what my story had been, but instead he just handed me a stack of cash and said, “Here is your cut Dante, it’s been nice working with you, it’s a shame it had to end like this.”
“Thank you sir, it has been a pleasure working with you. And about his accident, you know what they say, when it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go.” I said while thinking, but I helped speed up the process.
It was easier for me to crank the engine and salute him a good farewell than to listen to him babble on with his theories about why he had died.
On the long winding road home I couldn’t stop thinking about how peaceful he was. I fulfilled a purpose and felt no remorse. It was the fall season and the leaves were bright orange and occasionally crimson red. Every red tree I passed reminded me of the blood that flowed freely from his body, almost as though his sins were being lifted away. It was a burden he wouldn’t have to bare any more.
When I got home the crypt keeper greeted me, “Dante do you have my money?”
It was hard to refrain myself from the temptation of killing her right then and there. It would have been easier than today’s work. Surely no one would miss her at all and I’d be doing the world a good deed.
The only reason I restrained myself from such temptation was the dog interrupted my scheme. He ran between me and her with a stern force; I am not really sure if he was trying to greet me or protect her. Every time he barked I could see a hence of a smile; almost as if he could sense the good deed I did today.
“Yes Rose, you know you are the only one I care about.” I said as I laid five hundred dollars in her hands. I knew it was well over what rent was, but I am about to leave soon.
“Well I guess this will buy you a cup of lemonade and some dinner.” She said sounding frustrated because she might actually have to do something nice.
We walked inside and I told her about what had happened today- not the truth of course.
I shivered at the thought of normality now, when woke up this morning I thought that today would be like any other. I was wrong; a new chapter of my life was about to begin. They say that today is the first day of the rest of your life, well today I was reborn.
No one knows exactly when their time is up. The clock is ticking, seconds slowly dwindling away into nothing. When will it all end? Will we perish from all of our prosperity and vanish forever or will we linger as a legend? I guess it doesn’t really matter, because once you’re dead, you’re dead. No one knows whether or not anyone is going to be there to comfort you after you’re gone. Is there really a heaven or hell? Or does our world go black? Lights out. Silence. No more noise. They say that silence is golden, so in a way I am kind of rewarding them. Rewarding them for what you may ask? I say it’s for putting up with the bullshit of life for so long. I am ridding them of pain, suffering, and all the other melodramatic words you can think of. Christ thought he had it all figured out when he gave them free agency. People think he, if he can even be called a he, is perfection and knows all. But let’s face it no one can control Chaos. And in essence isn’t that what the good ol’ Christ Almighty wanted; Chaos. Bible thumpers will over time eventually shove it in your face that there was a war in heaven between two sides. Some may say that the war was between Good and Evil; Elohim and Lucifer. The war was really between a choice of Order and Chaos. Now the funny question is why did God even let this battle take place? I guess he isn’t as powerful as people think. Well eventually the war of all wars was waged and a third of heaven fell. That’s where I come in. It is what we are, fallen angels. We are not evil. All we are, are mere fallen angels trying to bring Order to Chaos.
***
To them I do not exist. Isn’t it funny how a couple of numbers and a few pieces of papers can determine ones existence? I walk among men unnoticed and virtually invisible. I do not abide by time or obey the laws of the land. I roam with complete freedom. I am not scared as to where my next meal comes from or where I will I lay my head at night, in the end these natural occurrences will eventually take place.
I didn’t know that today would be my first. Today started out as any other and time moved on. I woke as normal striking the off button on my alarm clock. I don’t even know why I own the damn thing at all; the sun always woke me long before it went off. I guess I kept it because it brought some sort of normality in my life. It was part of one of the few routines that I have grown accustomed too.
Like clockwork, I had my daily routine of getting ready timed down to the very second. It took me exactly eighteen minutes to get ready for the day. That is unless I decide to rub one out in the shower, then it takes me nearly twenty-five minutes.
I made my way to the door hoping either the landlord had already left or maybe she wouldn’t see me creep out. I know the damn dog has most likely already sabotaged my escape. As I carefully turned the knob, the door creaked open. I tried to sneak out of my hell-hole of an apartment, trying to go unnoticed. I failed.
One of the worst things about living here was the smell and old décor. The scent came from the use of old generic bars of soap she must have gotten on sale at a flea-market twenty years ago. The soap was probably made from left over animal byproduct. I think I have surely seen the furnishings in an old Alfred Hitchcock film.
“Dante, do you have this week’s rent?” the demon growled through her flaring nostrils.
“No Rose, but I will surely have it to you tonight.” I bargained. I think somewhere deep down she knew that I would someday disappear.
“You better, I don’t mind putting a roof over your head, but I don’t even let my grandkids live here rent free.” The old woman scowled shaking her fist, not necessarily because she was angry but more or less because arthritis had consumed her body. Her hands were now fixated into clubbed fists ready for war.
She lives in a two story home that she managed to get from some kind of scandal with her ex-husband. Some believe that he was murdered, others say he committed suicide. Regardless the poor bastard made out on the better end of that deal.
This house would cast perfect in one of those low budget zombie movies. It was an old country home with a tin roof and big front porch that held a swing. This scary shack I temporarily called home was located behind an old abandoned factory. The sounds that come out the factory were enough to even freak me out. Although the house was two stories, the first floor rests at ground level. The bottom half of the house is embedded into the side of a rather steep hill. This is where I reside; tucked away from the world.
This old lady had to be strong to survive with what little she had. Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t poor by any means, but she lacked the love of someone close. Her house had been paid off for years now and no one really knew how much money she actually had scrounged back. Like me, she decided years ago to disappear from paying taxes on her well earned money by working under-the-table jobs. I gave her a hundred dollars a week for rent, mainly to help her out with basic necessities.
“I get paid tonight and you will be the first to see the money.” I said as I walked hastily to my bike so she wouldn’t have time to respond. I hopped onto my beast and revved the engine so loud that I couldn’t hear her rebuttal. I honestly didn’t mind giving her the money. She was the only one that even knew I existed.
I drove a bike not because it was the cool thing to do, but because they were inexpensive, cheap on gas, and easy to dispose of. I also didn’t have to put up with the annoyance of a side-seat-driver. They also didn’t have radios to cause ruckus, besides with the roar of the engine it was easier for me to think.
On the days I wore a helmet I liked to speed and weave in and out of traffic. And on the days I didn’t wear a helmet, I liked to drive even more reckless, hoping that someday I would hit a rock or clip a bumper sending me plummeting into a tree, ending it all. I longed for this day.
I pulled up to work, if you could even call it work. I am basically the boss man’s little whore, only instead of getting nailed, I’m doing the nailing. I dreaded the day’s long hard work of driving nails into lumber. Being a contractor has its advantages though- you get paid cash and no one asks questions.
“Hey Dante! Did you get the message? About today being our last day on the job. I hear they are going commercial on this building. Turns out this company is going to be bigger than we imagined.” Said the man that had been working with me the past several weeks.
He always wore a hardhat while on the job site. He said he had seen far too many of his friends get hurt over stupid mistakes not to wear one. Around here it was like pre-school; big kids playing in a sand box with dump-trucks and bulldozers. Their slogan was “Safety First”.
They didn’t really understand why I tempted fate so many times. I didn’t really see the point in wearing the safety restraints, because that is exactly what they are- restraints. I figured I was at work to do my job so why should I let anything slow me down. The hardhat causes the sweat to drip into my eyes and the harness holds me down. Was I praying for death? Of course not, I do not pray. They always joke around saying that I must have a guardian angel on my back. I wish this was true, but I knew that this so called angel had abandoned me a long time ago.
“Oh really, that sucks. So are they just canceling mid-contract? I mean we are not even halfway done. Is our next job lined up?” I asked not really caring one way or another.
“Yeah, that’s just it, because they are breaking contract they are going to pay us out the remainder of our work plus an additional two grand per contractor, cash. But the bad part is we are on our own after today. Boss man is gettin’ such a big cut I think he’s retiring or some shit.” Said Mr. Safety.
“That’s not such a bad deal after all. So we will be pulling five g today? No shit, I feel like I just hit the jackpot.” I said trying to show some emotion.
We walked over and begin to pretend to actually start working. I don’t think anybody so much as lifted a finger the whole day, except for when the boss man came around to pay us out. When the money hit their hands they hit the road like it was the last day of school. It seemed like the longest yet most exhilarating workday so far. Mr. Safety and I were perched on the highest rafter of the building waiting to be called down.
I wasn’t much for small talk, but Mr. Safety poured his soul out regularly. Everyone knew that him and his wife had been going through tough times. Some shit about them losing their son, I really don’t know or care.
“How’s Deb?” I simply asked trying to sound concerned, little did I know what I was getting myself into.
“Eh, things could be better for us. It’s been nearly two years since little Jimmy died, god, I miss the little bastard. He would be six last week if he were still here. I wish you could have met the little fucker.” He said trying to sound strong, but the tears forming in his eyes showed different.
He reached to his side and pulled up his lunch box. The best part about this job was that we could all drink while at work and no one gave a shit. He pulled out a homemade sandwich and threw it to me.
“Here eat that, my wife made it for me and she’ll be pissed if it doesn’t get eaten. I’m not much for eatin’ today if you know what I mean.” He said as he pulled out a shiny flask full of whiskey, taking a swig.
All I could think is why did I ask that fucking question, “Yeah thanks, I wish I would have met the little guy.”
“He was tougher than all of us put together. He battled leukemia for nearly two years before his little body finally gave out. That’s how we figured out he had it, he was playing little-league football and at the end of the day when we were helping him clean up we noticed that his entire back and shoulders were black and blue from being hit all day. He didn’t complain once. I think that’s why it hurt Deb so much, she thought he was going to hold on.” He said as his voice began to crack. He took another couple of drinks, it was easy to tell that the liquor wasn’t to quench his thirst but rather to ease his pain.
“Take it easy there cowboy or you won’t be able to make it home tonight.” I said it as though I cared whether or not he made it home.
He choked a few more back and began to rant again, “She stayed night after night crying herself to sleep at night with him in the hospital bed. Day after day he would reassure her that everything was going to be fine.” He said as he wiped a few away and then continued, “We thought for sure he would pull through it, he was so brave that little fucker.” He was trying to be as strong as his son, but I could see he wasn’t going to make it.
I tried to change the subject to get his mind in a different direction, “I’m gonna kinda miss you fellas, this is the only job where I felt as though I was part of a time.”
But he was heart set, “That’s why I chose to work here, betcha didn’t know this was going to be a nonprofit children’s hospital didja? You see after he died not only were we left without our son, but a stack of goddamn doctor bills as well. Yeah, I mean some organization agreed to pay part of the cost, but the bills keep pouring in.” he said while standing from a crouched position never letting go of the flask.
I continued to sit and stuff my face with the sandwich his wife made me. It was so good it almost tasted sinful. With my mouth I managed to mumble a few words of condolence, “Do you need help with the bills?” I asked him as though I was going to do something about it.
The look of despair was starting to fade from his face and anger began to take its place. He ignored my question altogether and continued, “I can’t understand how someone can see my child dying and want to make a profit off of it. We could barely come up with enough money to bury him. Debra somehow thought this was all my fault, that I wasn’t good enough of a father. I decided from that point on I would never let the rest of my family suffer, so I got medical insurance and a massive life insurance plan for both me and Deb. It’s never going to bring our son back though, no matter what I do.”
He hit the wooden beam behind himself and then looked down as though he had lost all hope and given up, “What’s the point in going on?” was the last thing I listened to him say.
He continued on, but I lost interest in the subject he was ranting about. I mean so what kids die every day and in my eyes the bastard caught a break. The words of ‘What’s the point in going on?’ kept running through my head. I realized then that he just wanted all of this to end. He was calling for an answer but no one was listening. He wanted to be set free. I was the only one there to grant him his desire.
I crinkled up the cellophane wrapper that the delicious sandwich had been snuggled into and threw it over the edge. As the wrapper fell it was as though time was almost standing still. Every once in awhile the wind would catch it and the wrapper would float, as if an angel was holding it in midair trying to show me a sign. A sign that this was my calling in life. I was ordained by some higher power to bring order.
I stood up and began walking toward him. I had made my decision and was not going to turn back now. It was his time to go and I was the man for the job. All he wanted was to be with his son again and I could make it happen. When I got close enough to him I wrapped my arm around his shoulder pretending to comfort him. I simply unclipped his safety harness, patted him on the back and said, “Tell your son I said hi.”
It felt as though I barely even had to push, it was almost as if he wanted to jump. We were so high up that no one could see what was actually happening. All they could hear were the screams of shock and horror as his body fell flawlessly down until it reached the end, making a morbid thump as it hit the ground. After he hit the ground all I could think was; wow, that was quick. It was nothing like the bag at all, this felt right. I hurriedly clipped myself to his safety harness, grabbed a wooden beam and slid down to see if there was any life left in the body. I knew there wasn’t going to be, I did the math before I even thought about ending his suffering. There was no way anyone could have survived a fall from that high up, it didn’t matter what kind of safety gear he was wearing.
When I got to the bottom I unclipped and ran to the body before anyone touched it. I screamed “Call an ambulance!” as if I cared or thought he was going to make it. When I was close enough to see the body all could think was that he looked peaceful laying there lifeless.
The boss man pushed everyone back until the paramedics got there. They didn’t act as much more than a cleanup crew now, shifting the pronounced dead body into an extra large zip-lock baggy and then hauled it away.
People all around me were devastated at the loss. All I could think was that I did the guy a favor; I mean he is with his son and his bitch of a wife who had fallen out of love with will now collect his life insurance. It was great for all. Although, I was beginning to wonder if it was worth the hassle of it all. No one would understand the act of kindness I bestowed upon this man.
Soon after the cleanup crew left, the cops arrived on sight. Seeming how I was the only man with him before he died, they made me stick around for questioning and to write up a statement. Now by all means, I wanted to tell them what really happened, how I eased him of his agony, then I thought I could tell them the truth; that the poor bastard practically jumped off and killed himself, but how would that make his wife feel?
“So what your telling me is the when he stood up, he lost his balance and stumbled a little, trying to stabilize himself he accidently unclipped himself and fell?” The officer with a deep voice and beefy tits said.
“That’s right sir.” I replied trying to sound sincere.
“It’s a damn shame this safety equipment never seems to stand up to the test, we get more accidents like this than you can imagine. Sign here and you’re free to go.” The officer said as he spun the clipboard around and wielded the pen toward me.
I did my good deed for the day. The chubby old boss man waddled over to me; I thought for sure he had seen something different from what my story had been, but instead he just handed me a stack of cash and said, “Here is your cut Dante, it’s been nice working with you, it’s a shame it had to end like this.”
“Thank you sir, it has been a pleasure working with you. And about his accident, you know what they say, when it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go.” I said while thinking, but I helped speed up the process.
It was easier for me to crank the engine and salute him a good farewell than to listen to him babble on with his theories about why he had died.
On the long winding road home I couldn’t stop thinking about how peaceful he was. I fulfilled a purpose and felt no remorse. It was the fall season and the leaves were bright orange and occasionally crimson red. Every red tree I passed reminded me of the blood that flowed freely from his body, almost as though his sins were being lifted away. It was a burden he wouldn’t have to bare any more.
When I got home the crypt keeper greeted me, “Dante do you have my money?”
It was hard to refrain myself from the temptation of killing her right then and there. It would have been easier than today’s work. Surely no one would miss her at all and I’d be doing the world a good deed.
The only reason I restrained myself from such temptation was the dog interrupted my scheme. He ran between me and her with a stern force; I am not really sure if he was trying to greet me or protect her. Every time he barked I could see a hence of a smile; almost as if he could sense the good deed I did today.
“Yes Rose, you know you are the only one I care about.” I said as I laid five hundred dollars in her hands. I knew it was well over what rent was, but I am about to leave soon.
“Well I guess this will buy you a cup of lemonade and some dinner.” She said sounding frustrated because she might actually have to do something nice.
We walked inside and I told her about what had happened today- not the truth of course.
I shivered at the thought of normality now, when woke up this morning I thought that today would be like any other. I was wrong; a new chapter of my life was about to begin. They say that today is the first day of the rest of your life, well today I was reborn.
Monday, March 30, 2009
About Me:
Where do I come from?
I guess anyone could say they come from the lineage before them. If we look back far enough one could surely find out that I am a pure bred Mutt, or in better terms Caucasian. Wouldn’t it be interesting if I told you I was born in a barn, with the northern star shining bright above, from Immaculate Conception? Well, I’m sorry to bare bad news; I was born in a normal hospital, by a normal doctor, because my mother did decide to have sex. I grew up in a loving family of six. I lived in the cold state of North Carolina until I reached the ripe ol’ age of five when my parents moved us to the sunshine state. I love Florida, hate oranges, and never plan on moving.
What do I do in my leisure time?
As you can probably tell I like to connect pen to paper (or in my case pound away one letter at a time on the keyboard). Besides writing, when I’m not blasting away zombies in video-games, I like to throw around cards and slam back drinks. Some may say I have a gambling problem, I beg to differ; I say it’s only a problem when I’m losing. I drink because, well, in that mix of Mutt blood I am part Irish. Hopefully in these leisurely events I will eventually make something of myself.
How long have I enlightened this world with my presence?
I am currently 24 years-old, but that old grandfather clock keeps chiming. I wonder what would happen if that clock ticked backwards? That would be a curious case wouldn’t it? Ah, but that is another tale.
What is the degree of my education?
Honestly, I cannot tell you how many credit hour courses I have taken, how many years I have been school, or what my diploma will read when I graduate. I could care less. Throw all letter grades aside, isn’t it the experience and knowledge that really count? I am currently taking all Literature courses because through time I have discovered that everything is literature. Some may argue and say that Math is the center of the universe and numbers calculate everything. In the theory this is true, everything can pretty much be broken down into some sort of a number. But, after everything is calculated into perfect order, all we have left is our story. I am hoping that someday someone will come along and take the time to listen to mine.
Can I reproduce?
Now how do I answer this question? Do I stay clean or go raunchy with the answer? How about a little of both! Let’s start out by me simply saying YES I can have sex lol. I would love to see the look on your face right now; it’s always fun to see. Now I am still a virgin, yeah I know it’s sad, what the hell am I waiting for? I guess you could say I am waiting for that miracle to come along, weird huh? Now don’t get me wrong I have had my fair share of opportunity, but…. So yes I can! All of my plumbing works well!
I guess anyone could say they come from the lineage before them. If we look back far enough one could surely find out that I am a pure bred Mutt, or in better terms Caucasian. Wouldn’t it be interesting if I told you I was born in a barn, with the northern star shining bright above, from Immaculate Conception? Well, I’m sorry to bare bad news; I was born in a normal hospital, by a normal doctor, because my mother did decide to have sex. I grew up in a loving family of six. I lived in the cold state of North Carolina until I reached the ripe ol’ age of five when my parents moved us to the sunshine state. I love Florida, hate oranges, and never plan on moving.
What do I do in my leisure time?
As you can probably tell I like to connect pen to paper (or in my case pound away one letter at a time on the keyboard). Besides writing, when I’m not blasting away zombies in video-games, I like to throw around cards and slam back drinks. Some may say I have a gambling problem, I beg to differ; I say it’s only a problem when I’m losing. I drink because, well, in that mix of Mutt blood I am part Irish. Hopefully in these leisurely events I will eventually make something of myself.
How long have I enlightened this world with my presence?
I am currently 24 years-old, but that old grandfather clock keeps chiming. I wonder what would happen if that clock ticked backwards? That would be a curious case wouldn’t it? Ah, but that is another tale.
What is the degree of my education?
Honestly, I cannot tell you how many credit hour courses I have taken, how many years I have been school, or what my diploma will read when I graduate. I could care less. Throw all letter grades aside, isn’t it the experience and knowledge that really count? I am currently taking all Literature courses because through time I have discovered that everything is literature. Some may argue and say that Math is the center of the universe and numbers calculate everything. In the theory this is true, everything can pretty much be broken down into some sort of a number. But, after everything is calculated into perfect order, all we have left is our story. I am hoping that someday someone will come along and take the time to listen to mine.
Can I reproduce?
Now how do I answer this question? Do I stay clean or go raunchy with the answer? How about a little of both! Let’s start out by me simply saying YES I can have sex lol. I would love to see the look on your face right now; it’s always fun to see. Now I am still a virgin, yeah I know it’s sad, what the hell am I waiting for? I guess you could say I am waiting for that miracle to come along, weird huh? Now don’t get me wrong I have had my fair share of opportunity, but…. So yes I can! All of my plumbing works well!
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