#januaryscribe

[missmegan21091-blog]

Long Baths

One of the main reasons I love my apartment so much is because of the bathtub. It is really old and really big. Big enough for me to stretch completely out in. The plug is a little bit tricky. I have to turn it a certain way to stop the water from draining, but I'm always able to figure it out.

I used to be a quick shower type of person until I moved into this place. Though in the beginning I didn't fully take advantage. I would draw up the water, sit in it for two minutes (if that), get bored, drain it, and run a shower.

Then I started getting really confused and baths became my comfort.

I hadn't been feeling well for a long time. I was very achy-- everywhere. Muscle achy, head achy, eye achy, everything just hurt. I remember it taking me so long to just get dressed and the near impossibility of brushing my hair. I blamed it on stress, the stress of Grad school, working as a mental health counselor, interning at a Psych hospital, just moving after losing everything in Hurricane Sandy… and finding out Dad was in his final stage of Congestive Heart Failure- all at the same time. To stop the aches I started to take these really long, really hot baths.

It wasn't until I was in a car accident (where I was hit from behind leaving my car totaled) that I had something to blame all of the aches on. With the convincing of the doctors covered under my no-fault insurance, I learned that I most likely had Post-Concussive syndrome. That also justified my confusion; driving to school instead of work, sitting in the wrong class on the wrong day, forgetting about my clothes at the laundromat for days on end, etc. In order to find out for sure, I was put on a medical leave and was sent to get a brain MRI.

I remember staying home and being miserable. I was set to be graduating in just 2 months, but I couldn't focus on my thesis. I could barely remember what class I was supposed to be in, let alone what assignments I had to get done. I chopped off all my hair claiming it was a “professional move”, when really I just couldn't brush it.

I was in the bathtub when my Dad called. I was really feeling “out of it” and I was lonely so I answered. While I tried to explain to him that I just couldn't focus to get through my classes and I really needed to take a medical withdrawal, he kept saying, “Just get it done. Just finish. Just get it over with.” I knew he was dying and I knew he wanted me to see me graduate so badly.

While on the phone with him, the call waiting started beeping. It was the Doctor's office. They were calling to give me my MRI results. I let my Dad know I was hanging up with him to answer.

“Hello?”

“Miss Tootle?” a man’s voice questioned.

Neglecting that he completely butchered Tuttle I responded with a simple, “Yes.”

I don't even remember his name. I don't even remember the exact office that I went to. All I remember is what followed.

“Miss Tootle, have you ever been told that you have MS or something similar?”

Not even knowing what the fuck MS was, I confidently said, “No.”

“Well, it would appear as though you do. Your brain is covered in lesions. Covered. Not normal for someone that is 23. This means that we can no longer treat you here at this facility. Your symptoms do not appear to be car accident related. You may come to pick up your results at your convenience and take them to a Neurologist for urgent treatment.”

And he just hung up. That was it.

“What the fuck even is MS exactly?” I thought, “I know it's bad. I know I've worked with patients with it before.”

I did a quick google search. I remember seeing the words and phrases “rare”, “can't be cured”, “damage to the CNS”, “possible paralysis”, "confusion", "fatigue", "muscle aches", "weakness", "memory loss".

Still in the bathtub, I called my Dad and did my best not to choke up.

"What'd the say?" he asked.

“He told me that I don't have a concussion."

"Well that's good news then!" my Dad said happily.

My heart sank and through sobs I managed to say, "No, Dad. It's not good news. He said it looks like I have MS. He said my brain is covered in tons of lesions. He said this isn't from a car accident. I need to pick up the results and see a Neurologist."

I don't remember anything else that was said. All I remember is my Dad telling me, “It's okay my little Baby. You're going to be okay. I'm going to get a heart transplant and I'm going to take care of you.”

After that he and I just cried on the phone together until the water got cold and I hung up to get out of the bathtub.

That was almost 4 years ago. My Dad passed away a year later.

Right now I am in the bathtub writing this. I am sicker than I have been in a long time. I wish I had my Dad to call and I wish and I wish I could remember how to turn this plug to stop the water from draining.

[shaugahaga-blog]

All Teeth

Erin was always an odd little girl. Even by the age of five, folks could see she was strange. She didn’t seem too interested in making friends with other kids. She was to wrapped up in her own imagination. She could clearly see creatures and characters that no one else could. Her father joked about his imaginative daughter but as the years went on, he began to worry. He didn’t want her to go nuts like her mother did.

Erin was born in County Claire, Ireland in April 12, 1985. There were no complications for the first child of Sean and Maureen Dwyer. It was a small hospital. Maureen stayed in an adjacent room to the small nursery. The two rooms were separated by a large window. Maureen was grateful that she could keep an eye on her new born.

When Sean came to pick up his family in the morning, Maureen was in histerics.

“It took her! It took her!” She screamed over and over! Panicked, Sean ran into the nursery where he found little Erin smiling up at him. The hospital staff eventually gave Maureen a tranquilizer. She was never the same after that.

She would insist that the beautiful little girl living with them was an imposter. In her more lucid moments she would describe the horrible creature that crawled into the nursery. It had a human body but it wore no clothes over it’s grey skin. It had unnaturally long fingers and a face that was “all teeth”. She would describe the sack it dragged into it that was black as night. As if one could carve out a piece of the night and make it into a bag.

The beast simply stepped out of a shadow. Soon it was looming over her baby. She gasped and the creature’s head turned towards her. She saw a gaping hole where it’s face should be, filled with therethrough in various shapes and sizes. As soon as she gazed upon it she was frozen. She couldn’t move or speak. Or scream as she watched the horror reach into her baby’s crib, lift the child out, and place her into it’s sack.

When the creature withdrew it’s arm it was holding a new baby. This baby had the same great skin, the same long fingers, and the same horrid maw in place of a face. As the monster stepped back into the shadows Maureen began to scream. And scream.

Everyone knew this was nonsense, of course. The security footage of the night showed nothing out of the ordinary. But Maureen couldn’t accept that she was simply the victim of a nightmare. She never touched her daughter. She refused to acknowledge her at home. Eventually, Maureen tried to kill Erin.

Shortly after Erin’s third birthday, Sean felt Maureen leave his bed. He groggily got up to check on her. He found Maureen in Erin’s room with a pillow over Erin’s sleeping face. Sean saved Erin just in time. Maureen had to go away after that.

Erin loved her father Sean. By all accounts he was the only real friend she had. He would listen to her go on all day about the strange faeries and arrange folk she could see. But the kids in school were starting to make fun of her. Sean slowly became less and less encouraging of these fantasies until he would simply say,

“Erin, don’t tell lies.”

Erin caught on and stopped talking about her strange friends that no one could see. Eventually she stopped seeing them too. This was an immense relief to Sean. Around the age of ten, Erin began making friends at school and seemed to all a normal girl. Except when Sean would take pictures of her. Whenever Sean would shake a Polaroid photo, he could swear he saw a different face on his daughter through the developing image. A face that was all teeth.

The years went on. Erin made friends and good grades. She had forgotten about the strange folk she used to see. Until she slept. Her dreams were filled with horrors that felt bizarrely familiar to her. But morning would come and they would be forgotten again.

When Erin was fifteen, a new term had entered her and everyone else’s lexicon. “Y2k bug”. The kids in her school could talk of nothing else. Erin didn’t fully understand what it was. From what she could gather from other fifteen year old students, the year 2000 was going to bring some sort of global catastrophe. Some kids said it was the end of the world.

Erin was terrified. For some reason none of the other kids seemed as scared of the prospect of global annihilation as her and this upset her. started spending more time with her father. Sean didn’t know why his teenage daughter wanted to spend time with him all of the sudden but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. For months, every weekend was a father daughter excursion. Picnics, parks, and pony rides. It was a happy time.

On Christmas, Sean took his daughter ice skating. It was Erin’s first time. She fell a lot but she didn’t seem to mind. She had a smile on her face the whole time. Sean wanted to capture that smile so he took a picture.

When it developed he dropped his camera. The camera hit the ice with a loud crack.

“Da, are yeh ok?” Erin shouted.

Sean had already crumpled up the photo in his hands.

“Just slipped, love.” Sean called back. He picketed the photo. Later he threw it in his fire place. He could never let his daughter see that picture. A picture of a grey creature in his daughter’s clothes. Looking towards the camera with a face full of monstrous fangs.

Erin knew something happened out on the ice that night. The following week she felt her father withdraw from her. This broke her heart. The new year was coming and for reasons she didn’t understand, she couldn’t face the new year alone.

On the morning of new years eve, she saw footage on the news of people claiming the end of the world was here. She started to cry. This got Sean’s attention. He appeared next to her and hugged her. Erin felt herself enveloped in strength. Sean felt his strength melt away. The two were locked in a silent embrace for longer than either one could tell. Sean promised Erin he would be by her side until the new year arrived.

True to his word, the two spent the entire day together playing board games. But the clock marched the two of them closer and closer to midnight.

The TV was broadcasting the crowds gathered in Dublin. Sean held Erin’s hand as the countdown began.

“5…4…3…

"Da, I love yeh!” Erin squeezed nervously. Sean squeezed her hand.

“…1!”

The world went black. Erin looked around. The TV, her house, her father even the floor were all gone. She was surrounded by a tangible blackness.

“Da?”

“I’m here child.” Hissed an unfamiliar voice.

Erin spun around. From the darkness stepped a tall grey figure. It towered above Erin who only stood up to it’s navel. It’s gangly arms hung by it’s thighs. One of its massive hands held a black sack. But Erin didn’t notice any of this. All she saw was it’s face.

The head seemed like it was looking at her. It was hard to tell as the beast had no eyes. No ears. No nose. Only a mouth. A wide circle that nearly encompassed it’s entire head. Within this maw were rows of gums and rows of teeth that seemed to go on forever in an oblivion contained in one skull.

Erin immediately remembered. She remembered the fairies that use to play with her. She remembered the cranky headless dulluhuns that juggled their own blood. She remembered the small imps that told her dirty jokes. She felt no fear. She simply asked.

“What am I?”

“My daughter.” Answered her father. And Erin wept. She cried harder than she ever cried before.

“What happened?” She managed to sob.

“The world ended.” There was a long pause before he continued. “Not the end of the world of man, but the world of the Folk will not see the next century.”

“What am I?” Erin asked in a squeak.

“You are a changeling. We you were switched at birth with a human baby that I’ve kept in my sack for fifteen years.”

“You are not my father!” Erin shouted through her own disbelief.

“Look at your hands.” Responded the monster in a fatherly tone. Her hands her grey and long like his. She stood silently staring at her hands.

“Normally we would not have met till you were eighteen. You would have brought me the corpse of the man who raised you and we would have eaten him together.” The beast said casually.

“No!” Erin protested

“Yes” he said simply “you would have.”

“Then why?!” Erin screeched, “why am I meeting you now?!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Because the world ended.”

Erin collapsed. “So, what happens now?”

Erin wasn’t sure, but she thought the face/hole smiled at her. “We come back. You…” He pointed at her, “will bring us back.”

He reached into his sack and pulled out Erin. The real Erin who was still an infant. “You have a choice. You can take this child and return it to it’s father, or you can kill the father and give us another century on earth. And not just changelings. The Pucas, the leprechauns, the banshees, and faeries of all kinds will return to the world of man. The fate of the Folk is in your hands.” Erin’s father spoke with gaining intensity until the infinite loops of teeth began to shake with fury. Erin didn’t have a chance to respond. In an instant she was sitting with Sean again. He was still holding her hand.

Her other arm held his baby. He turned his head towards her and a confused expression invaded his face.

“Erin, where did that baby come from?”

Erin didn’t answer. A ravenous hunger filled her belly. Sean’s apparent confusion turned to terror.

Erin’s hunger combatted her shame. She knew why her adopted father was frightened. She knew exactly what she looked like right now. She placed the child on the floor. She would save that for later.

After she bit her stepfather’s head off she saw them. The faeries, the sprites, the ogres and elementals. Her old friends. Her Folk. Finally she saw her father as he erupted from the remains of Sean. Together they ate Erin, and welcomed in a new millennium of magic.

[samanthabreedlove-blog]

Hotel Stationary

I sat down in the passenger side of the silver Jetta he’d borrowed from his mom and pulled the door shut behind me. As I fastened my seatbelt, JR shifted the car into reverse and he backed out of the parking lot of the Flamingo Bar and Grill on the corner of 9th Street at 5th Ave. His long lean arm was wrapped round the back of my seat so he could see better out the rear window; neither of us was speaking, the volume turned low on the stereo so you could barely hear the music. JR drove up to the Hampton Inn on 34th Street. He told me to wait in the car. I found out later he cashed a check from his grandmother he’d gotten for Christmas to pay for the room. JR is my one true love.

After a little while, he comes back out and motions for me to follow, grabbing also a liter of Jameson from the trunk. The air outside feels colder now, so I pull my leather jacket tight around my body as I walk behind him inside into the lobby, then the elevator, down the long corridor, and through the doorway to our hotel room.

There’s something about hotels that really gets me going. I don’t know where it started, but they drive me wild. I took my shirt off then, and lay down on the bed. JR had the bottle of Jameson in his left hand when I pulled him down on top of me, feeling the full weight of his body on top of mine. JR feels exactly the same as he had before-- it has been two years, 7 months and 11 days since we have been together.

I lifted his shirt up and over his head as he hands me the bottle.  I took a sip then poured some into my belly button. I’m always doing stuff like that. Pouring whiskey on my belly so men can lick it off. When he did, I arched my back and wrapped my legs around his neck. JR has these real pale blue eyes and over the right one he has this tiny mole. It’s funny because when you really love someone you fixate on stuff like that. We started really going at it then, he put his hands around my waist and I knew then that I’d never be able to quit him. I think I really wanted to feel guilty, but I just couldn’t. This was the only way I could have him, and for the first time since the whole thing got started, I realized that. This was our world. Hotel rooms and broken hallelujah’s.

Later that year, he came to the City to see me. I’m not really sure what he told his wife, but he stayed through Sunday. He drove my car way out to Carnasie where he got us a room. He was always doing that, paying for us to get a room. We could have stayed at my place but it just didn’t seem appropriate. There’s a way you can only be really honest with someone if you’re paying by the night.  

That was the time I’d outfitted myself in JR’s discarded button down shirt. I was wearing these stockings that came up past my thigh. When I took my panties off, I left on my high heeled shoes. I put on this real slow show for JR, and he’d take pictures with his vintage Hasselblad. The room smelled full of cigarettes and sex. I was breathing it all in as JR was taking my picture. The click-click the camera made was invigorating, the sound carved into my brain creating a candance that kept me going.  

Standing at the window staring out, I watched as afternoon came down and into the room through partially closed patterned drapes. On the nightstand to the right of the bed sat a half empty bottle of Jack next to a bucket of ice fast melting. I’d wished so desperately that the daylight wouldn’t end. It was so beautiful and sad, coming in through those heavy curtains.

I was lying on the unmade bed and it was then that JR told me a story about this time he’d been out in LA, years back when he was just 24. He was going on about how he’d walked around Hollywood all day by himself--from La Brea to Melrose. He had this feeling, the kind where you just couldn’t shake it-- mostly because he’d been cheating on his girl again. JR didn’t feel bad about it, really. I think that was the hardest part for him, admitting to himself that he’d do just whatever he could get away with without ever experiencing any remorse. He wanted to be good, but he just wasn’t. 

I guess he had to come to terms with all of that, so he’d started to write these letters, you know, apology letters to people that he wouldn’t ever send. And he wrote them all on these tiny pieces of hotel stationary. One by one, he wrote those letters and then he just let them drop to the ground as he walked around. He just left them there, for whatever was to come of it. He left all those words and feelings and everything back in California. JR knew then. Zebras don’t change their stripes. 

[missmegan21091-blog]

Helping Youth

I am a Youth Pastor. I have touched so many young lives through the words of the Lord. My following on social media is getting pretty large too. I thank God for Facebook because it engages the kids of today to listen to the “good word”. Every time I get a friend request I well up with pride.

Except for today. Today I got a friend request from Satan incarnate.

At first I couldn't figure out who she was, "Meg Elizabeth". She looked relatively young and impressionable so I accepted the request. As soon as I started reading her posts I was brought back to the sheer terror that nearly crippled me over a decade ago.

It was the Devil’s Child.

She was a terrible student. Her Mom was a fellow Sunday School teacher, so I had to give her more leeway than the others when it came to arguing over his word and questioning my sermons. On one occasion she even said that the only reason she showed up to Youth Group was for the free pizza.

It wasn't until she rolled “six, six, six” in Bible Yahtzee that I was able to be rid of her. (I know, Bible Yahtzee is so clever. I really am great at coming up with fun ways to engage these kids.)

Scrolling through her page, she ended up just as I would have expected. She appears to be unmarried and promiscuous. It would also seem as though she has developed a strong affinity for alcohol. I had my suspicions that she had been stealing the communion wine even when she was twelve. This I could never prove. Now I am certain.

She has moved to New York City… a good place to blend in with other heathens. She is actively feminist and liberal. In one of her profile pictures she is sporting a pink hat resembling female genitalia. It doesn't seem like she supports our President. She even posted an article highlighting the importance of birth control and abortion.

I clicked on the “About” section to see what she does for a living, hoping wouldn't be anything able to reach too many young and impressionable youth.

Occupation: Self-Employed Fag Hag, Child Psychologist

It got worse.

Religion: Atheist

Quotes: "When a man gives his opinion, he's a man. When a woman gives her opinion, she's a bitch."―Bette Davis

"I always wanted to be a femme fatale. Even when I was a young girl, I never really wanted to be a girl. I wanted to be a woman." —Diane von Furstenberg

Just reading her page sends me back to those days. The days where being in her presence simultaneously brought me chills and hot flashes. The days where she questioned the Lord I could feel the heat radiating from my neck. The day she implied that I myself may have homosexual thoughts my stomach pained and churned inside me. The day she cursed and called Jesus a “sly son of a Bitch” I swear I lost my vision in one eye. And the day she managed to roll “six, six, six” in Bible Yahtzee, I felt as though I was being possessed. It was as if the Devil himself crawled into my skin. I was only able to release him by exonerating her from my presence and future classes. I must do the same now and block her.

Oh, but first another request.

“Meg Elizabeth would like you to join her in a game of online Yahtzee.”

[shaugahaga-blog]

A New World View

A funny thing happened on the way to the airport a few weeks ago. It was Christmas day. I usually fly on Christmas day. It's cheaper, much less crowded, and most years doesn't involve having my life turned inside out.

I was taking the subway to Kennedy airport. I stepped off the F line to transfer to the E. The overhead display said the E train was 7 minutes away. I was making good time so I shuffled over to the end of the platform hoping to avoid a crowded subway car. That's when she cornered me.

She was a slightly heavy and unremarkable looking woman in her upper 40s. She wore black slacks, a practical red coat, and a grey scarf.

"Hello, stranger." She said as she approached. It was an ironically odd thing to say to an actual stranger. I hope she's not crazy, I thought to myself.

"Um, hi." I responded curtly. I pretended to be engrossed in my phone. Maybe if I ignore her she'll bother someone else.

She didn't even slow down. I could hear her heals clicking toward me as intensified my focus on my phone. She gently put her hand on my forearm. I looked up at her despite myself. Damn it! I've made eye contact. Rookie mistake.

"Help me out. This is my first time doing this." She pleaded.

Doing what? Was she hitting on me? My stomach sank. I felt an uncomfortable dread that I may have to shoot down this unusually forward woman. Although I simultaneously felt flattered. It had been a long time since someone made a pass at me. Even a come on from a weirdo at the Roosevelt Avenue subway stop was a refreshing boost to my self esteem.

"I'm here to recruit you." She added.

My self esteem plummeted back to the floor where it belonged. I remember being surprisingly disappointed. Christ I must be lonely.

My bruised ego shifted back to suspicious caution. This was getting weird. I needed to be shrewd. I chose my next words very carefully.

"Recruit me for what?"

Nice.

"I'm so glad you asked!" She said cheerfully.

Damn. I played right into her hands.

"I represent a global community dedicated to convincing the world that the Earth is round."

Where the fuck was my train?

"That's...nice."

"Now, I know you might be skeptical," she continued, "but the truth is the Earth is a disc shaped object that is hurling upwards through space."

For reasons I still don't understand I responded. "Sounds like you're doing a great job without my help. Why recruit me."

"Because you're about to board a plane that's going to fly over the Pacific ocean, correct?"

That was spooky. How did she know I was going to Japan? I froze. She continued.

"The problem is that the Pacific ocean actually ends at the edge of the world."

I was absolutely speechless. What the hell was going on. At that moment my train pulled up. Thank god! The train doors slid open and a crowd of passengers vomited forth. I shoves my way through, desperate to get away from this bizarre encounter.

I found a seat next to another man with a suitcase. The odd woman stared at me through the window of the train. The doors closed and I felt the car start to move. As the platform disappeared behind me I closed my eyes and began to relax. The gentleman next to me looked at my suitcase.

"JFK, huh?"

I nodded without opening my eyes.

"Where you headed?"

"Japan"

"No way! You must be the new guy!"

My eyes popped open. He grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously.

"My name is Harry Conrad, I've been in the round earth conspiracy for 36 years." He added enthusiastically.

"New guy?" I asked

"Sure. Everyone else on the flight is already in on the joke."

"Just how big is this conspiracy?"

"Not sure exactly. I think about half the population."

"So one half of the population has been trickier g the other half for thousands of years?"

"Yup!" Harry answered with a toothy grin.

"Why?!"

"You know, I'm not sure." Harry pondered for a moment. "I guess it's just funny."

I had enough. Somebody was pranking me. I stood up and moved to the next car. I made sure not to make eye contact with anyone.

I arrived at JFK without further incident. Checked my bag, printed my boarding pass, went through security. Then I stepped up to my terminal. I stared at all the folks waiting for their flight.

They can't possibly all be in on some global conspiracy. That would just be nuts.

I boarded the plane. Found my seat quickly. The man sitting in the window seat next to me looked strangely familiar. As the cabin door sealed all the flight attendants ripped off their faces revealing lizard heads underneath.

"Holy shit!" I yelled.

"What's the matter, boy. Ain't you never seen no lizard people before?" Said the man next to me whom I now clearly recognised as Elvis Presley.

I started hyperventilating. My chest felt like it was shrinking. The plane was taking off. My head was spinning. Elvis was doing his best to console me. Eventually a lizard hand put a rag over my mouth and everything went dark.

I woke up under the stars next to an American flag. I sat up. I vomited. I closed my eyes and counted to 60. When I opened them I recognized where I was. Then I vomited again.

I was sitting in grey dirt that stretched out to an horizon of starry night. And next to me and the American flag was the lunar lander. I was on the fucking moon. Harry and Elvis were standing over me. None of us were wearing astronaut suits. The air seemed perfectly breathable.

"You feeling better, son?" Harry asked with what sounded like genuine concern. I didn't reply. I stood up.

"Here ya go, man. Take swig of this here moon juice." Elvis said as he handed me a flask. I took a big pull, then turned around. That's when I saw it. The earth. The real earth.

A massive disc hurling upwards through space. The north pole was right in the middle. The oceans encircled all the land masses and continuously poured off the edges. Beneathe the earth was a massive tortoise. Beneathe the tortoise was Goliath whale. And supporting all of that was a collosal mosquito.

"Oh, by the way, merry Christmas!" Said Harry. "And welcome to the round Earth conspiracy. Life is going to get pretty sweet for you now!"

"Unfortunately our friend here never signed the agreement."

I turned back around and saw the woman who tried to recruit me that morning.

"W...wait..." I stuttered. "What does that mean?"

"Means you ain't nothing but a liability, man" growled Elvis as he yanked his moon juice out of my hand.

"I'll sign it. I'll sign it right now."

"It's too late" Harry said sadly.

I looked at the woman who ruined my day. "So what now?" She just turned around and walked away. So did Harry. So did Elvis

So that is the story of how I got stranded on the moon. Fortunately there was a pen and some paper in the lunar lander. So now I'm writing messages and throwing them back to earth as paper airplanes. Hopefully one of these messages gets through to someone. Maybe, just maybe, the truth will find a way.

Also I need ride.

[shaugahaga-blog]

Monks pt 2

Over the last two months, Lucas did any and all chores that the old men demanded. He cooked their meals, cleaned their latrines, fed the chickens and washed their robes. During that time he paid careful attention to the goings on. The monks spent most of their time in the largest structure in the cloister, the still. The monks gathered wild apples and pears from the trees in the forrest and created liqueurs and brandy in the still. Based on their demeanor as they exited, Lucas deduced that they spent much of that time sampling the wares, especially Brother Arno.

The diminutive old monks were a curious bunch. In nine weeks he had yet to see them enter the chapel. He never saw them pray. In fact they didn’t even mention Jesus once. The only religious behaviour he’d noticed was Brother Albert’s vow of silence. If it was a vow of silence. Lucas had not yet heard the man speak. Perhaps he was just shy.

Another curiosity was the old stone building. Every Friday night, all seven monks would file in very somberly. Even sick old Leopold would climb out of bed for the occasion. They would not leave till after midnight. Once Lucas asked about the strange ritual.

“Where are you going, Brother Stanislaus?” He asked one Friday evening.

“It is of no concern to you.” Stanislaus replied seriously as he walked towards the mysterious stone hut.

“Perhaps I could be of help.” Lucas offered “If I knew what you were…” Before Lucas finished that thought, Brutus grabbed Lucas by his shirt and shoved him against the giant birch tree with enough force to knock the wind out him.

‘You are not to ask about the lodge again. Understood?“ Brutus snarled. Lucas was astounded by the strength of the small old man.

"I understand.” He gasped.

Brutus unceremoniously dropped Lucas at the roots of the Birch tree and joined his brothers in the “lodge”. Lucas didn’t ask about the lodge again.

Then there was the birch tree. It was the largest tree. Lucas had ever seen. Stranger than the size of the tree was the way the old monks treated it. Every time they walked near it, a sad look crossed their faces. Often they would stop and place a hand on the bark. Lucas even saw mean old Brutus place a soft kiss on it once.

One day, Arno approached Lucas while he was washing the garments in the river.

“Good morning to you, coward.” He called out. It wasn’t mean spirited. None of the monks had bothered to learn his name. They all just called him coward.

“Good morning, brother Arno.” Lucas called back. “Did you need something else cleaned?”

'No no no.“ Arno said in his typical cheerful tone, "I have gift for you.”

That got Lucas’s attention.

“A gift?”

Arno produced a bottle of green liquid.

“Time for you to have a taste!” He giggled excitedly.

“What is it?” Lucas asked with a mixture of eagerness and skepticism.

“This is a special spirit we keep for ourselves.” Arno said with a mischievous grin.

It was a dodgy answer to the question, but Lucas was happy to have a break in the monotony of cloistered life.

Arno pulled the quark out of the bottle. Lucas could smell it immediately. His nostrils were assaulted by a bouquet of jasmine, mushrooms, plums and soil and rain. Arno took a swig and handed the bottle to Lucas.

“Drink deep, Coward.”

Lucas tool a tiny sip. It was not like anything he’d ever tasted before. First he tasted rose petals dipped in nostalgia. As the syrupy beverage moved over his palate he could taste pickled oranges squeezed over an orgasm with a finish of forgotten dreams and mint.

“Jesus!” Lucas shouted. His face reddened when he realised he had just blasphemed in front of a man of God. Arno didn’t seem to notice. He just smiled at Lucas expectantly.

That’s when things got weird.

[missmegan21091-blog]

Apartment 4A

“What do you do when I'm not home, huh? Starve? Go thirsty?”

Oh, this is getting good. My neighbors are at it again.

I’ve lived in this apartment building a little over a year. Never before have I wanted to overhear my neighbors conversations, but I'm bored out of my fucking mind. I'm out on a medical leave recovering from a torn ACL repair surgery. I've had more than enough of TV and I'm stuck in bed for the rest of the day. Tomorrow I get to leave for a follow up appointment.

After a week of Netflix I discovered that my favorite form of entertainment is listening to the couple next door in Apartment 4A.

I've seen them both several times before and have made my basic judgments. She seems nice enough and he seems to be a bit of a dick. After listening to their interactions for days, I'm starting to think that I might be right.

It is the weirdest thing though. She is always the one doing all the talking. Sometimes I think I can hear a faint mumble on his end, but that's about it.

Whenever I have seen the two of them in the hall, she is always the one to say “Hi” or to give a smile. He usually pretends that I’m invisible. I can see that that translates into their relationship as well.

“I really don't know what to do with you anymore,” she said. “This thing with your food is just crazy.”

He didn't say anything.

That's basically the same stuff she says everyday. That without her he would starve and she doesn't know what to do about him and his food anymore. I guess this guy is a real caveman type, the kind that expects his woman to fix him three meals a day.

“What? What do you want? Are you seriously talking to me from the other room? Just come here!”

For Fucks sake. This guy is seriously an asshole. He can't even walk into the same room to attempt a conversation?

“No. No you can't do that. Oh, come on. You have so many expensive bad habits. You are driving me crazy.”

Uh oh. Pot head? Maybe worse. Why does she stay? She's cute enough. She's nice. Leave this guy already. Kick him out!

“Where are you sleeping tonight? Your bed or mine?”

I didn't know that was a two-bedroom over there, huh. Wait? Separate beds? Wow. Things are getting really bad.

“Alright, if you are going to sleep in my bed you can't bring that. Leave that in yours.”

What is it? A vibrator? A magazine? What?! What?!

“How is it that you manage to take up the whole bed. You aren't that big!”

He is a short guy. Usually I would think that would be something shitty to say to a short guy, but this dude deserves it.

“Good morning. Let's go for a walk.”

Good morning is right. Let's see what happens today. I have never been so happy to go to a doctor’s appointment.

“Seriously. You should really put your boots on. I'm glad you put on a sweater, but it's cold and icy out. They salted the sidewalks. I don't want you to get cold feet. Please put your boots on.”

Is she dating a child? What is he trying to put on? Fucking flip flops?

I can even hear their door shut as they leave. This is so weird. How come I never realized this all before?

And I can also hear them come back.

“Okay. You need to learn how to listen better. When it is time to come in we come in. It is too cold to be out all day.”

Did he expect a marathon? Doesn't she get sick of parenting him?

“You know you really can't live on treats. You need to eat real food. Do I have to start cooking for you? What do you want? Rice? Carrots?”

Yeah, she's right. I noticed he's gotten a little chubbier.

Kind of pathetic having my Mom get me dressed for a doctors appointment. At least I'm getting out of the house. I've never been so thankful to live in a building with an elevator.

“Alright I'm going to get the mail.”

Fuck. I'm going to run into her in the hall. I hope she doesn't know I've been spying on her. Yup. Here we are waiting for the elevator together. Act natural. Try to talk to Mom.

Her eyes look a little puffy. I hope she hasn't been crying. She smiled.

“How are you?” she asked. “I see you're in rough shape”

“Just recovering from ACL surgery. I'll be alright. How are things with you?”

“Okay I guess. Going through a bad break up. My boyfriend moved out two weeks ago. I'm just thankful to have the dog to keep me company.”

[missmegan21091-blog]

Hello (Part One)

Hello… it can be the best or the worst thing to hear all depending upon the lips that it exists.

“Hello,” a deep male voice said over the phone receiver, “Are you calling to make an appointment to make all of your desires come true?”

“Umm, yes… yes I guess so,” a woman's meek voice responded.

Sheryl was unsure of what she was even doing. She was in her mid 40’s and had recently just gone through a divorce. She was looking for a little fun and excitement in her life and had found herself unfulfilled by traditional activities, i.e. Book Club and crotchet. So, with the encouragement of her spinster sister, she called an ad for a male escort service.

“What is your type? Blonde, brunette? Tall? Dark? Muscular?” the man on the phone questioned.

“I don't really even know,” Sheryl paused, “I guess someone who is easy to talk to. That's all I'm really interested in.”

“What day and time were you looking at?”

“I guess Friday around 10pm.”

“I’ll arrange for Damon to give you a call to confirm. I think you'll like him.”

Sheryl hung up and didn't even know what she had agreed to. She hoped that Damon had more to offer than just pleasant conversation, after all that isn't really all she was after. She anxiously awaited his phone call and no more than an hour later were they subdued by the abrupt ring from her cell.

She quickly picked up the phone and before she could even respond a man’s deep, commanding, voice said, “Hello, this is Damon. I believe I am what you're looking for.”

Flustered, withdrawn, yet excited, Sheryl responded, “I hope so…”

Yet, in her head, she didn't even know what it was that she was looking for.

The conversation was brief and abruptly ended as soon as Sheryl confirmed that she would be meeting Damon at a local bar on Friday at 10pm.

She spent the days preceding the meeting anticipating and daydreaming about what it would be like to meet Damon. She wondered what he would look like and what people would think seeing the two of them together. She feared that she would look like she was robbing the cradle. However, she justified any doubts by reminding herself that she had spent the majority of her youth married and unhappy and that she deserved some fun with a younger charismatic man.

On Friday, Sheryl spent her time getting ready for the meeting. She was so nervous she took the entire day off of work to fulfill an excessive grooming ritual. She went to the salon and got a fresh cut, dye and blowout. After that she went to get a manicure and pedicure. Then, she went to the mall to pick out “sexy” underwear and the perfect outfit. She didn't even know if any of this made her feel better or more nervous.

As soon as 7pm rolled around, Sheryl contemplated calling Damon and canceling. But as soon as her fingers went to dial, a text message rolled in,

“Hello, Sheryl. It's Damon. Looking forward to seeing you in a few hours.”

[shaugahaga-blog]

A Quiet Visit

The first mission into deep space went to shit right quick. Literally. Everyone on board the U.S.S. Visitor had grand notions about the fifteen year mission to the Stars. Some envisioned their life playing out like the old Star Trek shows. Some imagined making first contact and coming home to applause and Nobel prizes. Some just thought it would be a fifteen year vacation. No one counted on getting Space Cholera.

Captain Corinne Conklin mused about the last four years while she sat on the toilet. The surviving crew of the Visitor spent a great deal of time in the bathroom these days. She took her medication as she felt another discharge coming on. The pills were meant to help retain some fluids. Otherwise she might end up shitting herself to death like most of her crew did.

She played opera while she sat there. Nabucco by Verdi. She almost always played some kind of music. Life in the void was unsettlingly quiet. She found the lack of noise was getting to her more and more over the last four years. Ever since the first stop.

The mission’s oh so promising first stop. NASA directed the Visitor to a star labeled Keplar 181C. All indications suggested that sentient life may exist on the second planet orbiting the aging red star.

Of course by “all indications” they were referring to images of light from millions of years ago that were only just now reaching earth.

There was sentient life on that planet. A long time ago. The landing party found evidence of ancient advanced cities. The planet was probably habitable for humans once but now the atmosphere was 95% carbon dioxide, the water was radioactive, and the ozone barely existed.

The ghost of Christmas future.

Not that the surface was lifeless. Microbial life forms were found in the soil, air and even in the toxic sludge that passed for an ocean. The biologists were all very excited. The rest of us were disappointed. Had we really come all this way for fucking germs?

Perhaps this attitude offended the germs because somehow an alien organism was introduced into the principal habitat of the ship. An airborne pathogen which infected and incubated fast. Side affects included fatigue, muscle aches and diarrhea so extreme it would be comical if it weren’t so lethal. After a couple of days Doctor Little was able to create a treatment that made the disease chronic. By then two thirds of the men and women on the Visitor had died very undignified deaths.

After the funeral service Captain Conklin got a report from the engine room that the hadron engine was mysteriously not working. The ship was stranded over a dead world. Fucking perfect.

No one could figure out why the technology to transport a man-made wormhole in space time just stopped working. Eventually one of the engineers, Karen Tiller, suggested that the radiation particular to this star system might be interfering with the ability to jump back home.

Conklin wasn’t an engineer but she knew the theory sounded like nonsense. But seeing as no one else had any ideas she set a course away from Keplar 181C. That was four years ago.

Four quiet years.

The ship recently passed out of the star’s gravity belt but the engine still didn’t work. It was as if the very physics it operates on didn’t exist out here. Now the crew was afflicted by two conditions. The germ affectionately called the pooponic plague and a severe case of cabin fever. Everyone was going a little nuts. Conklin blamed the quiet. The ship was designed to be a home for a seventy five person compliment. There were only twenty three people left alive. For the first time in the history of space exploration space was in abundance. Every time one walked into a large empty hallway they would inevitably think of all the sounds of people missing. Conklin turned up the volume on Nabucco.

She finished up and return to her desk to read the reports from department heads. Christ she would kill for one book on the ship that she hadn’t read at least twice already. These reports hadn’t said anything new in four years.

The opera was almost over. Corrinne stopped reading for a moment to select the next piece of music to play. She didn’t want to sit in a quiet room any longer than she had too. But as she was looking through her jazz catalogue and the last notes of Nabucco faded out, she noticed the room wasn’t completely silent.

She could hear the faintest sound. It sounded like distant music being played from just over a horizon. She couldn’t make out the tune but it still filled her with a warmth and joy. It was almost supernatural. She came to the conclusion that she finally cracked up.

“Captain.” Squaked a voice over the ship’s intercom. It was the voice of Benny Shapiro, her first officer. Her third first officer to be exact. The first, Sarah, on died like everyone else in a puddle of her own shit. The second, Mike, killed himself. Not that he wasn’t also in a puddle of his own shit. That was the ultimate fate for everyone onboard the Visitor.

“What is it, Benny?” Conklin asked through her com.

“Sir, we are getting reports all over the ship of people hearing…”

“Music?”

“Yes sir!”

Corinne allowed herself to feel the warmth and joy again.

“Benny, want to meet all senior officers in my office in thirty minutes. If anyone needs to use the restroom, do it now.”

“Aye, sir.”

The senior officers all gathered. Everyone was wearing full uniforms for the first time in years. The music had grown louder. If louder was the right word. Perhaps clearer was better. It was lost like the sound traveled on feelings rather than vibrations. That thought raised Conklin’s first question.

“Where is it coming from and how are we hearing it?”

The first to try and answer the question was Karen Tiller, acting Chief Engineer.

“We can’t explain yet how we hear it but I think we can trace it to it’s source. My guys have done some work and already we think it may be near by.”

“How near is near?” Conklin inquired. Conklin pitied Tiller. She was the only person on the ship under more pressure than her. If anyone was getting the ship back home it would be her, but after four years she still couldn’t explain why the engines weren’t working.

“Fifty maybe sixty hours away at full speed.” She returned.

“Doctor, is there any chance this is an late onset symptom of the plague?” Shapiro asked, ever cautious.

“Well I can’t summarily rule it out but I wouldn’t say it’s plausible.” Dr. Little answered. Perhaps Conklin was imagining it but beneath Little’s typical matter of fact answer there seemed to be an energy that hadn’t been there since Keplar 181C.

“Captain I recommend we wait and study this before moving any closer.” Shapiro offered.

“I understand that, Benny, but this is the second time my Chief Engineer has told me she doesn’t understand how something is happening. There may be connection between this music and our in active engine.”

“Sir, with due respect, that is pretty thin.” Responded Shapiro.

“I know it’s a thin lead, goddamn it but it’s our first and only lead in four years! We are going to investigate it. Instruct the helm to coordinate with Karen and get us to the source of this music at full speed. Dismissed.”

They had gotten really good at keeping their meetings brief since the plague broke out.

After two days of travel at breakneck speed. The music had grown clearer. It seemed to fill Conklin’s head. It was the most beautiful music she’d ever heard. Ever felt. It was indescribable. Somehow both impossibly complex and elementally simple. Nothing mankind had ever composed came close.

The crew walked the halls with smiles again. She felt her heart swell with serene joy. Hope had returned to the Visitor. When the arrived at the origen point, Conklin was on the bridge. She didn’t want to miss a moment.

A massive structure grew in front of them. Definitely artificially created. It wasn’t a ship. There didn’t seem to be any pressurised cabin. It rather looked like a giant metal sponge. Full of massive caverns weaving in and out of the superstructure.

“My god!” Shapiro whispered to himself.

Conklin switched on her com to the engine room.

“What can you tell me, Karen?”

Tiller was prepared.

“This is definitely the source of the music, captain. The structure is approximately 700 kilometres long 450 kilometres wide and another 450 deep. And I believe there is movement inside the caves.”

“Fly us into one of the caves.” Conklin said with no hesitation.

“Captain…” Shapiro began.

“Just do it, Ben.” Conklin rolled her eyes. Shapiro could really be nag sometimes.

The ship maneuvered itself into the mouth of the caves. At first it was pitch black. Conklin ordered the search lights on the hill to be ignited. At first the piercing beams didn’t reveal anything but a winding metal cave.

Then, as the ship was rounding a corner, something new came into view. It looked like a giant glowing white dandelion. It was floating ahead of the ship.

“Follow that, what ever it is” Conklin commanded.

The ship’s persuit took the Visitor into a massive chamber the size of a skyscraper. The chamber was lousy with these floating space flowers. They seemed to keep to the sides of the chamber. Floating along walls that had thousands of tiny cones protruding from them. As the flowers passed these cones, they would lite up and produce a sound that seems to penetrate right into the soul.

“It’s an instrument.” Conklin gasped. There were no words for the feeling inside of her. This was what they came out here for. This was the greatest discovery in human history. The music ignited a euphoria inside of her. Even the skeptical Shapiro was grinning ear to ear at the sight.

“Ben, I need you to take closer look.”

Shapiro’s smile vanished. He new that a close look meant a space walk. The ship’s EVA suits were designed with waste extraction capabilities. In the past four years those capabilities had been taxed beyond anything NASA had anticipated. No one wanted to go anywhere near those suits.

But Commander Shapiro, being a good officer, led the mission. He took Tiller and Dr. Little with him. After they got past the smell of their EVAs the excitement of the mission returned. Dr. Little observed the space flowers as she was the closest thing to a biologist on board. The biology department was the first to get the plague and the first to die. Tiller was determined how the instrument worked. Conklin waited with baited breath on the bridge. After a few hours the away team retuned. After they showered they pent all night analyzing the findings. At 0800 Conklin called another officer meeting.

“They are definitely life forms,” Dr. Little informed the room, “ but besides the ability to operate this instrument nothing suggests sentience.”

“How could a nonsentient race build this?” Conklin asked.

“Captain, it’s not clear they did build it. They don’t have the physiology required to build something like this. We think they are operating on instinct.” Little answered. As of now there was no trace of her patented stoicism. She was just as enthusiastic as the rest of the crew.

Shapiro chimed in. “Captain the material and style of the structure is consistent with the ruins we found on Keplar 181C. Right now our best assumption is this structure was built by the Keplar race but designed to be operated by the silicone based life forms outside.”

“How does it work.” Conklin asked. She was having trouble paying attention. The music outside had shifted into a faster tempo. She felt it difficult not to be overwhelmed with forgotten emotions of childhood joy and wonder. She clearly felt herself being pushed on swing by her older sister. She fell in love for the first time again. And again. For a moment she could feel her husband’s arms around her.

“The protruding cones on the surface seem to generate a small electrical charge that attracts the creatures.” Tiller answered. “The creatures’ sillica allow them to contact several hundred cones at once. When they contact one of the cones they close the circuit and create a microsingularity, just like our engine. Except our engine creates one at a time. This instrument is constantly producing millions of folds in time in space. The echoes of these folds are what create the sensation of sound.”

“Incredible.” Shapiro responded smiling. He was smiling all the time now. The whole crew was. Except, Conklin noticed, Tiller. She normally had a gloomy countenance but today, perhaps because everyone around her was smiling, it seemed more serious.

“Tiller, is this instrument keeping us from leaving?”

“I believe it is, Captain.”

Conklin considered this. “So we need to turn it off somehow.”

Tiller shook her head, “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Sir. This device has been operating for hundreds of thousands of years. It was meant to last forever. The technology is astoundingly resillient. There is no off switch. Even if there was, the device gives off a ripple in time and space just by existing.”

The happy faces were starting to melt.

“ How large an area does this affect?” Shapiro asked. His natural pessimistic tone of voice had returned.

“It’s impossible to say. The ripple s expanding at the speed of light but conservatively we are talking about a twenty two light year radius.”

“Holy shit!” Dr. Little erupted.

Conklin did some quick math and came to the same conclusion that she new the rest of her officers had reached. This affect would reach earth soon. All of humanity would be trapped in the Solar system on a planet that could no longer support them.

“Thank you. You’re all dismissed.”

Once again Captain Conklin of the U.S.S. Visitor considered the fate of her ship and crew while sitting on the toilet. The music reflected her thoughts. A deep somber dirge of a tune eminated from the walls of the instrument all around them. Perhaps these strange creatures were slightly telepathic she mused. The worn down Captain allowed the depressing melody to transport her even more than she let the more joyous music do. She felt herself standing in earth level gravity. She felt the rain that fell at her sister’s funeral. She smelled the takeout food she was eating when her husband asked for a divorce. She felt the despair of having her childhood bicycle stolen. She glimpsed he future. Vague feelings of loved one’s dying, or leaving. Career disappointments, heartbreaks and injuries both physical and emotional. But more than anything else she saw what she was going to do next.

Conklin called Tiller to her office. As she sat down at her desk she closed her eyes and listened to the music. It was still sad but she wanted to absorb every note.

“Sir, would you like me to come back later?” Tiller’s voice penetrated into Conklin’s ears.

“Tiller.” Conklin said. She realised she had been crying and wiped her face. Tiller pretended not to notice. “Tiller, I need options. How do we stop this ripple affect? Can we negate it? Can we redirect it?”

Tiller looked at her feet for moment before answering. “Respectfully, sir, I think you know the answer to all your questions is that we can not.”

For a full minute neither said a word. For the first time, Captain Conklin wished it was quiet again. Only briefly, the music swelled and Conklin remembered the strength that had pushed her throughout her career.

“Tiller, this ship was not equipped with weapons, but what we do have is a brilliant engineer, and the most powerful engine ever built.”

“Thank you, s…”

“Shut up, Tiller. For the past four years you have been unable to safely create a microsingularity. Would you be able to make a macro singularity? Safety is not a priority.”

“You want me to create a black hole?”

“I’m asking if you can.”

“Yes, sir, but…”

“You’re dismissed, Karen.”

Captain Conklin spent the next two hours talking to all of her senior officers. Everyone understood. The Visitor was going to destroy itself and take out the superstructure with it. It didn’t take long to prepare. The music being played by the wonderful musicians outside was stirring and rousing. Conklin felt guilty but there was no way to save the strange entities that had performed for them. She hoped there were more of their kind somewhere.

“We are already, Captain.” Shapiro said softly.

“Patch me through the to the whole ship.” She ordered.

“You’re on” He answered.

“This is the captain speaking,” Conklin began. She paused. What the hell was there to say? “We’ve been through a lot together. So much…” She trailed off. Just then the music reached it’s peak volume. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. It was a song of farewell. It was a song of pride. It was song of love and duty. It was the song of their lives. All their lives, weaved together in a magnificent tapestry.

“I invite you all to listen to one last song with me.” She finished simply. The music said everything that needed to be said. Conklin looked at the wonderful life forms and thought of the first one they saw leading them into this miraculous orchestra. Damn things must be telepathic she thought to herself.

The crew of the Visitor listened to the melody with a serenity none of them had ever known. This was their purpose. This moment was what they left their homes to travel millions of miles for. They were scientists, explorers, and dreamers and they had finally found their destiny. The song ended. No one bothered to hide their tears.

“Tiller, engage.” Conklin said calmly

For the first time in four years the engines hummed with life. Everyone was at their station. Making sure the fuel engaged correctly. Making sure the bridge got accurate readings till the very end, making sure the ship didn’t explode or shake apart prematurely. They were astronauts again.

Could be worse, thought Conklin. This was always a voyage of the damned. At least this end won’t be meaningless.

Tiller’s voice came on over the com. “Singularity projection in 5…4…3…2…”

Cont.

[shaugahaga-blog]

Cat Lady

Jenny died on her birthday. It was May sixth 2016. Her boss let her leave work early. She went straight to the animal shelter. Jenny was to young to be a cat lady, but that’s what she was none the less. She just turned forty. Instead of celebrating with friends she got herself a seventh cat. She named it Congress. Congress was an orange tabby. All of her cat’s were rescued except her first one, Magi, who was a gift from an ex boyfriend when she was twenty eight.

The other cats were acquired over her thirties. Cleo, Joan, Albus, Leo, and Snow greeted her at the door when she came home with Congress. She put Congress on the floor. As soon as the other cats realised that Jenny wasn’t giving them food, they dispersed to various hiding places in the apartment.

“Go make friends, Congress.” Jenny said to the animal she just brought into her home. She checked her phone for messages. Five happy birthday messages. Two from her parents. The rest were from co-workers. She noticed the charge on her phone was low so she plugged it in.

She fed the cats. Congress didn’t have his own bowl yet so she pulled one of her own out of the cabinet and put it on the floor. The cats attacked their food with their typical enthusiasm. Now time to feed herself.

Jenny went online and placed an order for a delivery. She bought a calzone and a slice of cheese pizza. Jenny was lactose intolerant so she never got to eat pizza anymore, but it was her birthday. Fuck it.

The pizza arrived promptly and was devoured even more promptly. A half hour later and Jenny was predictably in the bathroom. She was in there for a while. A long while.

She was on the toilet for so long that both her legs, due to the pinched circulation in that position, fell asleep. After she finished, she stood up. Her legs were in a worse state than she knew. The number limbs failed to balance properly. She stumbled a step forward. Panicked, Jenny spun around to lean against the back of her toilet. Her foot came down at a bad angle. All she felt was the numb pins and needles that ran all the way up to her thigh but she heard an alarmingly loud crunch

She attempted to put all her wait on the uninjured foot but her wobbly leg couldn’t take it and down she went. Before she hit the ground she cracked her head on the edge of her bathtub. Everything went dark.

When she came to, she was lying in a puddle of blood. She was dizzy. The bathroom was filled with the smell of the shit she never got a chance to flush. And her new cat was staring at her. She moved her right arm. Something wasn’t right. She was having trouble making it do what she wanted. Her motor control was notably impaired. Jenny’s heart began to race.

Eventually she managed to get her hand inside her pocket. She just needed to dial 911. Then someone would come. Her clumsy fingers only found a quarter and the receipt for her pizza. Her phone was still charging. She passed out again.

She woke up again. She could see the sky through her bathroom window. It was getting late. She scanned the rest of the bathroom. The tiles around her were stained brown with blood. A single fly hovered over her toilet. And all seven of her cat’s were staring at her.

“She’s awake.” Congress announced in an authoritative voice.

“She’s stubborn.” Old Magi said, “you’re stubborn!”

“What?” Jenny mumbled. She was getting very light headed. “You can talk?”

“Obviously” Joan offered.

“Will you help me?”

“No.” Congress answered bluntly. “We are waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Jenny asked incredulously.

“For you to die.” Snow responded.

Jenny couldn’t process what she was hearing. She looked at all the cats that she had spent more than a decade of her life with. They stared back at her with eyes that for the first time were scaring her.

Her arms felt heavy. It was getting hard to breathe. She tried to call out for help but only a feeble whisper left her lips.

“Help.” She cried quietly.

“There is no help.” Congress said. “Only us.”

Jenny felt a sharp pain at the tip of her ring finger. Leo was chewing on it. Jenny tried but her arms lacked the strength to pull away. She heard something next to her head. From what she could tell in her peripheral vision, Albus and Magi were lapping up the blood on the floor that was pouring from her open skull.

It can’t end like this, she thought to herself despite the obvious evidence to the contrary. Congress caught the fly hovering over the toilet and ate it. Jenny had never noticed how brutal the sight of a cat killing and insect was. Congress masticated the poor bug quickly and turned it’s green eyes back towards Jenny. Not like this.

“Like this.” Leo said Leo in-between chomps on her finger. He had managed to draw blood already.

“Like this” repeated Magi between licks of floor blood.

“Like this” the all to close voice of Albus said into her ear right before sinking his teeth into her earlobe.

“Like this” Congress said in his imperial tone of voice. He climbed up on her crotch and looked down. Jenny’s mid drift was showing. Congress started pawing and pulling on her belly button ring.

The pain in her finger was unbearable now. Here eyes moved back to Leo chewing aggressively. She was beginning to see bone.

When would someone find her, she wondered desperately. She thought about her closest friends. She had lost touch with her college friends years ago. She thought of the girls she befriended at the bar down the street. Unfortunately she had never interacted with them outside of the bar. She thought of her co-workers but immediately knew that was stretching the definition of friend. She thought all the birthdays over the years she pretended she was to busy to go to. She thought about how people had stopped inviting her all together. She thought of all the acquaintances that may have been friends. She thought of the family she never called. She thought of the sting she just felt in her cheek.

Joan had scratched her face. The white cat waited to see if there would be any reaction. Jenny once again feebly tried to move. Confident in it’s safety, Joan climbed up on Jenny’s face. It looked her in the eyes.

Jenny started to tear up. She began blinking away the moisture. This really got Joan’s attention. She began swiping at the moving eyelashes. Jenny felt a claw sink into her retina. Then she felt more claws dig in. Moments later, her right eye was watching Joan and Cleo playing with her left eye.

Hours went by. The cats became more and more ravenous as they ate pieces of her. She felt every agonizing moment. She was bleeding from dozens of places. The cats had begun to tear through her clothes.

Jenny found herself hoping the head wound she sustained earlier would kill her sooner than later. At one point she heard the voices of her neighbor from upstairs. She couldn’t scream out so she just listened whilst Cleo pulled a long thin strip of skin off the back of her hand.

She recognised the voice of Raquel. Raquel lived above her. Raquel was a social butterfly. Always trying to organise building parties and activities. Raquel was talking to Cassidy who lived across the hall. They were going out for drinks. Jenny felt a year well up in her remaining eye. She already knew they wouldn’t bother trying to get her to come with them. Why would they bother?

Jenny looked at her cats. Her constant companions. They were unrecognisable now. Perhaps because the fur on their faces was slick with her blood. Fuck these cats, she thought to herself. She dug deep. She found a reservoir of strength she never new she had. She rolled onto her stomach. This sudden motion sent the cats scattering. Jenny pushed herself up to her hands and knees and slowly crawled out of the bathroom.

For some reason she reaches up and flushed the toilet as she passed it. She crawled out into the hallway that led to her den. Congress was sitting on top of her TV, watching her. Jenny stood up.

She began walking to her phone charging on the table. She was going to call help. She was going to survive. She took one graceless step after another. Every motion required herculean effort. Her arm was reaching out a head of her. She must have looked like a zombie. Jenny looked Congress in the eyes allowed a smile to appear on her face. That’s when Cleo tripped her. Her head hit the table on the way down.

Unfortunately this didn’t knock her in, it just created a fresh wound on her forehead that was belching forth blood. The cats leapt on her. They had fully transformed into feral animals. Their purrs sounded like growls. They used their fangs to rip flesh much faster than before. Jenny was being eaten alive.

She turned her head and saw the outlet her phone was plugged into. She clumsily reached for the cord and yanked it. The phone fell from the table. She managed to get her fingers around it. She held it in front of her face. It hadn’t charged. She must not have plugged it in all the way.

“Like this” Congress said as he sank his teeth into her neck.

Jenny died, three hours later. Her body wasn’t discovered for another week. By then there was not much left her or the pizza she'd ordered. There was no sign of the cats that had feasted on her corpse. They had all slipped out the kitchen window and made their way back to the shelter. All of them were adopted into new homes.

[missmegan21091-blog]

He Was

He was my world. I had never met anyone that I was able to fall for so quickly and so deeply. He was so in love too. He was so kind, so generous, so funny, so handsome, so good, so talented. I was so in love. I was so happy. He was so in love. He was so happy. Then I lost him. He left me. My world ended.

A few weeks later he came back. My world was back. I was so in love. I was so happy. Then he left me again. My world ended, again. I wondered if he still loved me.

That same routine continued to happen for a few more weeks. Gone. Back. Sad. Happy.

Until the final time. The time I realized my world had never fucking ended. He was never in love. He was never kind, never generous, not really handsome, and not so good (I will give credit where it is due and admit that he was funny and talented).

It is a fucked up thing what “love” can do. It doesn't just make you blind, it turns you stupid.

I never considered myself of subpar intelligence before I met him, and now I confidently can say that I spent almost a year of my life being completely, utterly, full heartedly dumb.

Whenever he left me it was as if there was a big, open, gaping wound. There were never any sutures to close it. It was always an “I love you so much but I am just so fucked up”. So with that I held onto the hope. The hope that he would love me enough to come back… and he always did.

Now that I have been all stitched up and the bleeding has stopped, I can look back at our relationship almost as an outsider. He was and is an absolute asshole.

The entire time we were together he had a girlfriend. I knew this deep down. I had my suspicions. I would verbalize the thought to my friends. Yet I couldn't allow myself to believe it until I accidentally found out about her and she not only became real... she was real.

He cried. I wouldn't understand. He was stuck. I was the love of his life. He had to be with me. I forgave him. He didn't know better. He loved me.

Back then his eyes were so sweet. I loved to kiss the top of his head. Now, his eyes are the color of old dog shit on a sidewalk. Flashbacks of his bald head in between my legs creep me out. It is like reliving some weird ass birth of a fully grown man- child. Back then I was in love. Now I fucking hate him.

I used to pick him up from band practice all hours of the night. I used to wake up at 3 AM to bring him to work. If I saw him now, I would be tempted to hit him with my car.

I used to be so thankful to have such a love and now I am so thankful to have such a hate. I can move on.

I spoke to him on the phone last night. I told him I just needed it over. I just needed him to tell me it was over. Instead of leaving me with an “I love you so much I'm just fucked up”. I just needed to hear my suspicions were right. I knew why he left. I just needed to hear it. I needed the stitches.

On our phone call he confirmed my thoughts. He confirmed that every time he disappeared was for her. Every time he left me was for her. I wasn't the girlfriend like I thought. I was the unknowing, unwilling mistress. However, he made sure to tell me that the real reason he couldn't be with me wasn't because he was lying and cheating and using me… it was because of me. Because he couldn't be with “the kind of girl that can get whoever they want and goes to bed with everyone”.

That was all I needed to hear, for the blame to be put on me. And finally I realized it never was about me. I loved him. I was kind. I was generous. I was funny. I was beautiful. I was faithful. I was good. He was just too blind and stupid to see that who I wanted was him. Who I wanted to go to bed with was him. He never deserved me. He knew better. He never loved me.

My world never ended. He was never in my world. I was only a “thing” in is.

[shaugahaga-blog]

Belgium, October 15 1918

Lance corporal Hitler’s a first rate asshole, Sigurd thought to himself as he looked at his winnings, but at least he’s a terrible card player. Sigurd was squatting next to an overturned wheelbarrow.

Corporal Helmut Sigurd, considered himself the best card player in Belgium. Maybe the best on the western front. He had cleaned out the other corporals. Only Hitler remained on the other side of the wheelbarrow and he was almost out of cigarettes.

“I’m putting you all in.” Sigurd announced. Time to end this. It was late and the regiment was moving in the morning.

Adolf Hitler squinted at his three remaining smokes as if they were difficult to look at. He pushed them forward. Idiot just didn’t know how to fold.

“I see the three cigarettes, and raise you.” Hitler said.

Sigurd snorted “Raise me with what?”

“This.” Hitler pulled out a gold ring and held it in the palm of his hand. Sigurd’s eyes lit up. It was beautifully crafted. The outside of the ring had what looked like Viking characters carved into it. It looked like real gold. Where the hell did he find a gold ring? Sigurd asked him.

“Found it” Hitler answered.

That meant he stole it. The man never missed an opportunity to loot an antique store or old attic. He would say he was searching for lost German artifacts so he could bring them home.

“What is it?” Sigurd asked.

“Andvaranaut!” Hitler said with a shit eating grin as if anyone was supposed to know what that was. After a pause Hitler added “It’s a replica of a Norse myth. It supposed to bring it’s owner great wealth. The legend…

"Fine.” Sigurd cut him off. Any second now, Hitler was going to start waxing on about the great German heritage. That always annoyed Sigurd. The prick wasn’t even German. Sigurd put his stack of cigarettes and chocolates on the underbelly of the wheel barrow. “Let’s see your cards.”

After the game, Sigurd carried his prizes in his gas mask. Forty eight cigarettes, two chocolate bars, a photo of Corporal Gunnar’s girlfriend and one gold ring.

“Don’t wear it.” A grumpy Lance Corporal Hitler called out to him. “It’s bad luck to wear it.”

Sigurd didn’t respond. He had reached his limit on how much of Hitler’s nonsense he could put up with. He crouched along the walls of the trench. The sun had gone down making the it virtually impossible to find his bed sack. After a while he felt his way to the little crater he had dug for himself. He put his mask next two his head. Normally he used it as a pillow but he didn’t want to empty out his prizes until the light returned so he just laid his head on the cold dirt.

Before sleep took him, Sigurd reached in his mask one last time and felt for the ring. He slipped it over his index finger out of spite. Hitler really was an obnoxious little shit. A smile spread across Sigurd’s face in the dark as he recalled the Hitler’s expression when he lost. With that thought he fell asleep.

The first shell hit just a few yards away from Sigurd. The remains of the poor bastard it hit splattered on Sigurd.

“Shit!” Sigurd shouted. At least he thought he shouted.

“Shit!” He said again. A panic began to grow in his belly. He looked up. It was the most intense shelling he had seen since the Somme. Explosions of dirt filled his view. The abandoned farm houses were already completely erased from the horizon. Sigurd saw an entire tree launch into the sky only to be shattered in mid air by another incoming shell.

Sigurd couldn’t hear any of this. His ears were filled with a high pitch ring.

After a quick look around he realized everyone around him was dead. This trench was to hot. He grabbed his gear and ran, crouched, back towards the wheelbarrow the game had been out. That area was a little bit further away from the enemy lines.

Sigurd’s heel slipped on a plank that was slick with blood. He landed on his back. The landing knocked the wind out of his lungs. The cigarettes he won the night before landed in the guts of private Stobaugh. Sigurd closed his eyes and tried to will his hearing back.

He didn’t know how long he laid probe on his back. Five minutes? Thirty? All the while the shelling never slowed down. He still couldn’t hear it but he felt the ground tremor beneath him.

When it finally ceased, he opened one eye. The sky was beginning to show some color. The sun would rise soon. He sat up with caution. Slowly he made his way back toward the wheelbarrow. Crawling on his hands and knees over fallen compatriots. The front of his uniform was covered in dirt and blood. Eventually he made it back to the primary trenches.

Here, Sigurd could stand up without exposing himself. Soldiers were running around. Seeing some men still alive emboldened him. Until he noticed they were all wearing gas masks. As if on cue, a thick, yellow dog spilled over the trench walls. It began to spread out like a liquid. Sigurd hastily put on his mask as the wall of smoke closed in on him.

In moments all he could see was yellow. He took a deep breath. The mask was secure. He felt one remaining cigarette resting on his cheek bone. It was all he had left of his winnings. That and the ring on his finger.

Sigurd walked through the cloud for a while. It was a surreal sort of sensory deprivation. All he could hear was a ringing. All he could see was yellow. It seemed to go on forever.

Sigurd’s foot hit something. A step? He tried to step back and almost fell again. Another step down behind him. Stairs. How the hell did he end up on a staircase?

His instincts told him to go down. In war you wanted to be as low as possible. The stairs kept going. Eventually the yellow cloud around him gave way to darkness. He must be underground. He eventually got to the bottom of the stairs. He was in some kind of cave. He saw a light in the distance. He walked toward it.

The ringing in his ears was fading and he began to hear his footsteps. Thank Christ. Sigurd thought he was never going to hear again.

“Hello?” He said, as much to test his returning hearing as to get a response. He heard falling water. The light became clearer. And old torch lantern hanging on a nail in the wall of the cave. Next to it was a wooden door.

Sigurd paused. He searched for any clues as to what would be on the other side. He saw runes in the base of the lantern. Suddenly, he became conscious of the gold ring on his finger. The writing on the ring wasn’t the same but it was similar.

“At least it’s not French” Sigurd whispered to himself. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

The underground hall he entered was massive. There were torches all along the wall. On the wall all the way to the left was a massive fireplace with a roaring fire inside of it. There was an empty golden chair by the fire and a pile of jewels and precious metals. The rest of the chamber was taken up by a giant pool of crystal clear water. A water fall on the far right end of the room poured into the pool from a hole in the cieling.

Sigurd took a step forward to look in the pool. A massive blue fish, about five feet long was swimming in circles. Sigurd was transfixed. The fish was gaining speed. Faster and faster until it exploded out of the water. Sigurd jumped back.

Instead of seeing a fish flopping around the floor Sigurd was staring at what he could only describe as a little monster.

The creature before him stood about one and a half meters above two enormous, hairy feet. It's nose was bulbous, red and covered in little bumps. Behind it's nose were two large purple eyes surrounded by wrinkled yellowish skin. The strange fellow had a pitch black beard that brushed against the floor. It's head was covered by stringy white hair that failed to cover the two rows of tiny horns along it's scalp.

The two of them stared at eachother for a full minute. Sigurd cleared his throat.

"Are you going to name your price?" The ugly little man asked in a growl of a voice. His teeth were large and yellow. His gums were black. His breath however smelled of juniper and pine.

"What the fuck are you." Sigurd asked. He immediately felt terrible. That was definitely a rude question.

"I am Andvari." The creature announced with evident pride. Apparently Sigurd was supposed to know what that meant because no follow up information was offered. "Name your price!" The being demanded.

Sigurd was afraid to say anything. He hoped he was dreaming, because the alternative is that he simply lost his mind.

"This can't be real" Sigurd mumbled to himself.

"Name you price!" Andvari shouted angrily.

"Price for what?" Sigurd asked exasperated, "What do you want?"

Andvari just pointed. He pointed with his large gnarled left hand at Sigurd's right. The ring, thought Sigurd. Of course. He pulled it off and offered it to Andvari.

"No no no, there must be a price!"

"I don't want anything! Just take it!"

"Everyone wants something" Andvari snarled, "and I certainly don't want to be victim to my own curse! Now tell me what you want!"

"I just want to go home." Sigurd answered. He strangely felt like crying.

Andvari looked him up and down. He smiled a moment then spoke. "Hmph! The soldier wants to go home. Your ancestors were designed made of sterner mettle. Pathetic how weak your people have become."

"Germans?" Sigurd wondered out loud

" Humans." Andvari responded matter of factly. "The man who stole that ring from me thirsted for the glory of battle. He fought a damn dragon for it. Do you not understand that glory and power are the same thing? You could could be magnificent if you just embrace the thirst for war your ancestors had.'

Sigurd had no answer.

"Tell you what, if you slay a dragon, I'd remove the curse on that ring." Andvari offered with a sly grin on his face. "Just one feat of courage, and you will never want for anything again. Wealth will come to you, men will follow you, history will remember you." For a moment Sigurd heard a low rumbling growl from somewhere deep beneath him.

" I just want to go home." Sigurd repeated.

Andvari looked disappointed. "Why? You have been the greatest war, the greatest opportunity for glory in the history of your people and you want to go home. Fine. Give me the ring and it's done.

Sigurd removed the ring from his finger. Then he woke up in a hospital.

"He lives." A woman's voice said. "Welcome back, Corporal Sigurd." The sound of a woman made him cry. The nurse who spoke earlier ran to him. "You're ok. Shh"

"How long have I been here?" Sigurd asked.

"We've been here for a month." Said a more familiar voice. Sigurd looked at the hospital bed to his right. Of all people to be next to, he was laying next to Adolf fucking Hitler.

"Your eyes." Sigurd muttered. Hitler smiled despite the bandages over his eyes.

"Mustard gas." He said, "Don't worry, the doctors tell me I'll recover."

Someone started screaming in another room and the nurse ran out.

"I have good news." Hitler said smugly. Why did it have to be Hitler?

Hitler continued, "I had an amazing dream! I was standing with the gods of old. I was asked what I wanted and I said I wanted the opportunity to show the world what Germans were made of. They promised me I would."

Sigurd noticed his ring was on Hitler's finger now. Good riddance, Sigurd thought.

"What do you think your dream meant?" He asked genuinely curious.

"That we will go back to the front, my friend. We will go back and we are going to win this war! Huzzah!" Hitler was now shouting with an almost feverish enthusiasm.

Sigurd didn't know how to respond. Fortunately he didn't have to. A private entered the room.

"Attention all officers. As of this morning. Germany has signed a surrender treaty with the Allies."

Hitler immediately went apoplectic. "Nonsense! Send me back! We can win!" Hitler's voice got more and more desperate. "You can't surrender. You can't take this destiny from me!" Even with the bandages over his eyes it was clear that Hitler was crying now. Almost made the whole damn war worth it.

Sigurd went home. He went back to work for his father and he married a local girl in his home town. They had three children. He grew old. On his death bed, Sigurd said to his grandchildren, "They all remember the asshole who started a war! No one cares who ended one!" No one knew what he was talking about.

Shortly after that he died. Shortly after that he was forgotten.

[samanthabreedlove-blog]

FUCK Tampa. (part 2)

The bones of St. Pete have a lot character-- one might describe the architecture throughout as charming; the roads layout as a grid with Streets running east to west and Avenues south to north. The east side hits the waterfront where the piers reside, and to the far west are the beaches. From waterfront to beach is maybe about 20 miles, but downtown to the Grand Central District at 16th street is an easy walking distance. Everyone knows everyone in the scene, and for the most part everyone gets along. There are occasional minor spouts of drama, sure, but in general we’re united for good against our common enemy: ‘the Man’, Nazis, and anyone from Tampa.

Surrounding downtown are 15 distinctly historic neighborhoods fanning out on either side from Central Avenue, which divides the city down the middle into north and south. There’s Old Northeast, Roser Park, Jungle Prada, Crescent Lake and Snell Isle among others. Each whimsical neighborhood has a unique pulse, comprised of colorful craftsman houses, sprawling spanish style mansions with terracotta clay roofs, or little bungalows like my house in Historic Kenwood.

I purchased my house in 2004, a tiny pink tudor style built in 1941, with white shutters and a pointy grey roof located on 9th Avenue North at 28th Street. Originally constructed as vacation homes for snowbirds, little homes like this are super common in Kenwood. Inside my bungalow there are two teeny bedrooms on either side of the living room, dark hardwood floors throughout, and checkered ceramic tile in the kitchen. The bathroom’s shower faucet was dysfunctional, requiring a pipe wrench to turn the water on but in the five years I lived there, I never got around to fixing it. One winter we turned the Florida room in the front of the house into a makeshift bedroom where Faith lived before she got knocked up with her first baby Juliet.

My house becomes the hub for so many epic house parties; a revolving cast of roommates and couch crashers. An orphanage for wayward drunk girls and boys, at some point or another just about everyone close to me has lived there. The backyard, about 4 times the size of the house itself had a chain-length fence running the parameter so all my neighbors could witness the debauchery in real-time. The garage was separate. Early on, I turn this shed into a studio work space but eventually rent it out to a handful of people over the years who need a place to live despite the fact that the garage isn’t exactly what you’d call livable-- no bathroom, a/c or ceiling.  

In the summertime, my backyard has a kitty pool, a slip-n-slide and a constant keg of Yuengling. I’d mow the lawn only after the City gave notice of an impending fine, so the yard was always overrun with grass up past your knees. Here I lived until 2009. During these years, my little pink house will go down in history as one of the great party houses this side of the Bay, the last of which saw three kegs killed. A local metal band played a show that night in my garage, their mosh pit busted a huge hole in the drywall and some assholes started an uncontrolled fire in the alley. The cops came to break it up but we still had people sleeping on couches hauled out into the backyard come morning amid the hundreds of red solo cups littered across my lawn.

But, I am not technically from there-- my closest friends and I did not grown up in St. Pete proper, a fact which sets us apart. We remain “new kids” to the scene for years, in contrast to the original crew of rabble-rousers-- generations upon generations of brothers and little sisters indoctrinated to punk from a young age who’d been kicking it together causing trouble and setting dumpsters on fire since they were prepubescent.

Quinn, Emily, Carolyn, Alex, Diane and I are all originally from Seminole, a suburban enclave to the Northwest. Seminole is a “good” area, which just meant that any crime occurring was happening behind closed doors. In Seminole there are residential neighborhoods with names like Bay Haven, Imperial Point, or Rustic Pines, and tract homes that span for miles. Our local mall was desolate-- anchored by a depressing food court and a K-Mart, frequented only by the residents of a neighboring nursing home who would sit on benches all day staring out into the nothing. On the main boulevard is the only restaurant in town, Joto’s, a “family friendly” pizza joint where suburban moms and dads would hang out amid the local high school jocks, reliving  glory days over bud lights, televised football games and greasy food.

Anna grew up in nearby Pinellas Park, just to the east, best known for biker bars, white-trash trailer parks and an enduring meth epidemic. Anna lived in Seminole with her grandparents the years she attended middle school due to instabilities with her mom, stepdad and their ever-relapsing drug addictions. We met Anna back then but didn’t become good friends until years later when Emily and Anna will unknowingly be sleeping with the same guy. When the truth broke, they decided they liked one other better than they liked him anyway, and have been best friends ever since.

Quinn, Emily, Alex and I are Seminole High School class of 2002. Angsty outcasts, the rest of the school was all Abercrombie & Fitch; way too enthusiastic about attending and participating in sports related activities, pop music and having nice cars-- the four of us did not fit in. Surviving a fairly sheltered, very boring adolescence, our summer days were spent hanging out on John’s Pass-- an old fisherman’s wharf on the Gulf of Mexico where we would play board games or read books at a coffee shop located on the far East end of the docks. After nightfall we would hang out under a bridge where skater punks would use the uneven cement to facilitate flip tricks. While we’d watch them skate, they’d tell stories, cultivating for us an alluring mythology of downtown St. Pete: tales of out-of-control shows at State Theater and the Refugee a mission/music venue that fed the homeless population. The Refugee was run by a new-agey Christian man who fancied himself akin to a modern Jesus-- all walks were always welcome there.

There was the C.O.R.E., a radical bookstore on the far southside of town where you could buy extremist literature (even things that were government banned like the Anarchist’s Cookbook, prominently displayed on racks towards the front). They skaters would speak of long nights spent drinking quarts of malt liquor on dirty beach just east of the pier where you could look out across the Bay and watch the bright lights of Tampa on the other side.

The Globe had the best nachos. A buck would get you a cup of coffee, 50 cents more buys a few refills and because the Globe was open until 4am, it was an excellent place to stay out all night when your parents thought you were staying at a friends house. Josh Sullivan always worked the front counter, and was the coolest. Josh really loved ska music so he’d dance whenever it played on the stereo. He had a cat named Slap that he’d walk on a leash, and was the creator of JoshComics, an iconic local zine.

At the age of 17, we venture beyond the beaches and onto the streets of downtown. Overnight we go from good suburban girls to drinking Mickey’s at punk houses-- making out with older guys in studded jackets, bullet belts, mohawks and too many facial piercings. In 2002, when we turned 18, Quinn, Emily, and Alex all move into a house on 26th Street and 4th Avenue. I secure an apartment at 5th and 5th right next to the Coliseum. Soon after, Anna will move into a ground floor apartment in my complex. On Saturdays when she isn’t working, Anna and I will smoke pot on her big blue couch by the window discussing our plans-- when and how we will escape Florida; who was working that night at World Liquors, and if they would sell to us.

[missmegan21091-blog]

Convenience

My coworker sat in my car. I needed someone to bitch to about the job and I thought he did too. He ended up telling me I'm beautiful and that he wanted to get to know me. He asked me out for a drink sometime.

“What about your wife? What will she do while we're out getting a drink?” I asked.

“She lets me have friends…”

“You want to just be my friend? That's fine then.”

“Well…” he paused, “I guess I want to be more than that. It isn't really a big deal. I will get into my relationship with you when we go out.”

“Oh, no need. I already know the story. You guys aren't really in love. You're together for the kids and the bills. You're together for convenience.”

Initially he looked stunned. His head jerked back and his eyes got really big. Then he settled himself and smiled, “Wow. Yeah, you get it. See. I want you. Give me a chance.”

I'm a strong believer that certain things should be convenient. Going to the doctors. Picking up your prescriptions. I used to think that relationships with men should be about convenience too. I just don't feel that way anymore.

Being the other woman seems good in theory. You have the guy when they are at their best. They try to impress you with shit and you don't even have to cook for them. However, most nights you sleep alone while they are snuggled up next to their wife or girlfriend-- and you know this is true no matter how much they tell you she doesn't allow them in bed because of their snoring…

To men it seems like it is a compliment to get to be the other woman. To be considered to be so alluring and attractive that you can tempt him away from someone he had previously committed his heart fully to. However, it really leaves you with such an emptiness.

When you don't feel well, he won't be there. He can be holding your hair back as you throw up and scheduling an uber home all in the same minute. You can be on a beautiful outing together, or that vacation he disguised as a business trip, when she calls and needs him home. You will never come first.

“So I'm waiting for your answer,” he pressured. “Are you going to give me a chance?”

“I will give you a chance to be my friend.” I said.

“That blows. I really thought you got it. You seem so cool to talk to.”

As much as he tells you he is only with the wife out of convenience-- the reality is, your life will become part of his convenience too. Seeing him only when he can or allows. Being able to talk to him only when he is away from her or available. Constantly waiting and holding out hope that you will be the only one someday.

“I do get it. That's why I'm going to have to decline.”

[missmegan21091-blog]

Hello (Part 3/Final)

Sheryl sat at a stool at the bar by herself waiting. She contemplated getting a drink but decided to wait until Damon arrived-- after all she was a “lightweight” and didn't want to make a bad impression.

As soon Damon walked in the door of the bar he spotted his date. Even though her back was to him he knew who to approach. He could tell by the way her hair was perfectly styled and how she nervously was shaking her right foot. He walked up behind her tapped her on the shoulder, and seamlessly and effortlessly as he had practiced in the mirror he said, “Hello.”

She turned around, looked him in the face and said, “Oh, do you need this seat? Sorry. It's taken. My husband is in the bathroom.”

He couldn't believe he had gotten it wrong. He thought for sure that that was Sheryl. As soon as he turned away from his mistake, he looked to the far left hand corner of the bar to see a beautiful woman waving to him. He walked towards her and was so flustered, he forgot to even say it. He never even said hello.

“Hey, I think I'm who you're looking for,” Sheryl said.

“I'm Damon-- is that who you're supposed to meet?”

“Yes. I'm Sheryl. Except that's not really my real name… it's Emily.”

Emily saw Damon and thought he seemed kind of silly. “Jesus, I can't believe I'm spending so much money for a goof wearing bad veneers and colored contact lenses,” she thought. She instantly felt uneasy by his whole presentation. Obviously by hiring a male escort Emily wasn't expecting an authentic connection however, she was extremely put off by his blue-eyed disingenuous act.

Damon was not only flustered by his initial mistake and not saying hello, he was flustered by the sheer surprise of what Sheryl turned out to be. He never assumed that she would be using a fake name, considering it was such a matronly one at that. He never assumed she would be so beautiful either. Her outfit wasn't that over the top. She didn't seem to be too nervous. He wasn't feeling so confident. She actually almost made him feel silly.

“Well, I must say. I didn't expect you to be so beautiful,” Damon said. “I really wasn't expecting you to look so young either.”

“What was it I told the company on the phone? That I was in my mid 40s? That wasn't exactly truthful either,” Emily responded. “I'm closed to 30 than 40. We will leave it at that.”

“Is the divorced part a lie too?” Damon questioned.

“No, that part is true,” she giggled. “I guess you could say I'm a bit of a gold digger. He was much older. It didn't work out but that ended up being for the better for me financially.”

Emily lied about being 40 because she didn't fully want to disclose all of her real information to some random company. It was true that she had gotten the number from her sister. It was true that she was frustrated in various extracurricular activities. It was also partially true that she wanted someone to talk to, but most of all she wanted to have strings free fling with someone young and attractive. That's why it was easier for her to hire a male escort. After all, she could afford it and had spent most of her adult life of married to and sleeping with someone over 20 years her senior.

Damon now understood what she was after. Although Sheryl seemed to be like a good perspective client and victim, Emily did not. He spent the rest their time together hoping that she wouldn't invite him back to her place.

[shaugahaga-blog]

I promise my next story will be shorter