The Quiet Life of Paul Rudolph, Pages 6-10

It may be hard to understand pages 6-10 out of context with 1-5. The first 5 pages are up here in two separate entries. Leave a comment, even if it’s a critique. My skin is thick. No, literally, it’s like a rhino’s.

Paul closed his eyes for much of the last few songs. The white circle with the secant line. Words mostly absent from his thoughts. Synesthesia: beats turned into shapes. The final chords of the final song were played, and Skip and Paul coordinated the big ending.

Two hours passed like a thought. Sweat. Blister on right index.

If I could stick a knife in my heart—suicide right on stage. Would it be enough for your teenaged lust? Would it help to ease the pain? Ease the pain..

Paul loaded his green Mercury. Tahyler came out carrying a vintage, wooden guitar case. Yellow and blue jogging pants with a red sweatshirt—
“That was pretty rocking,” Tahyler said to him. Maloccluded grin. Long, dark brown hair dangling around the stubble on his face and chin.

”I know it’s only rock n roll, but I like it,” P.R. said.

Tahyler tittered.

“You ready to rock next Friday?”

“Yeah, man. Nice playing today,” Paul said.

“Thanks. You, too.”

“We sounded better than we did on Thursday night.”

“Yeah. ‘Reckless Masturbation’ really sounded good today.”

 

“True. We played it a little faster; I think it needs it.”

 

“I hit a wrong note in ‘Torture the Robot’.”

 

“Oh yea? I didn’t notice.” And P.R. didn’t notice; he was a drummer.

 

“Yea, in the bridge. I’ll listen to it this week, though. It’ll be good. See you Friday, Paulie. Gonna kill those motherfuckers!”

 

Anathemising the audience? Tahyler toddled to his brand new Civic. What a gait! A takahe with a central nervous system injury.

“See ya, man,” Paul called out after him.

Tahyler drove off. Paul lit a cigarette. Musical chairs. Third guitar player in as many months. Consistently inconsistent. Bands as brittle as rods of pure iridium…or is osmium the most brittle? Most dense, I think. Ten years. Playing in groups of all sorts. A few years ago—The Conniving Hermit Crabs. Still the longest lasting band. Toured almost the whole country. Bus. Colleges. Living with Cynthia back then. Expected to stay faithful on the road? Knew my fidelity would be determined by the appeal of my opportunities.

Twenty-Seven years and nothing but failures and promises that I couldn’t keep, Oh Lord.

The studio door opened and slammed.

”Paul!” It was Skip.

“Yo.”

“Can I bum a smoke?”

Paul handed one over and stared at him squarely: inquisitively.

“We’ll use him Friday and then probably find someone else. Don’t you think?” Skip said.

 

Kevin and Keith came out. Skip had something to say to Keith.

 

“What’d you get into last night?” Kevin asked Paul.

 

“Inflamed my liver. We went to NorthBeach and then R-Bar.”

 

“You need a new one?”

 

“New liver? Yea, I probably do. My cytokine levels are increasing. What about you?”

 

Kevin laughed and said, “No, you know, I haven’t been drinking all that much lately.”

 

P.R. grinned, “I mean what did you do last night?”

 

“Ah. Just hung with the old lady. I don’t like going out to bars anymore unless I’m playing.”

 

“I know what you mean, but I still do it.”

 

Skip and Keith approached and the parting niceties took place. Less fumbled were the fist bumps. The musicians entered their cars. They crept toward the exit.

Another release. Paul called Rose. She didn’t answer. Leave a message? No. He dialed for Olivia while driving again on Mansell Street. Think she said something about today. Before whatever I did. Was flirting with Tonya in front of her? Glad Rose did not come? Or is it genuine apathy? The debaucher dialed.
“Hello?” Olivia said, as if she hadn’t looked to see who was calling.

“Hello?” he mocked her questioning voice.

“Hi.” A small giggle escaped.

“What are you doing?”

 

“Oh, just watching TV. I just took a run.”

 

“Oh yea? So, did you have fun last night?” he asked, fishing.

 

“Not as much fun as you had.”

“What do you mean? I thought it was kind of boring.”

“You were a mess last night.”

“Nah, I was fine.”

“You were so drunk.”

“Just blowing off some steam.” Echoing cliché for excessive englutting.

Right. So what are you doing?” She asked.

“Trafficking rocks to the community.”

“What?”

“Plating tanzanite with rhodium.”

“Uh huh.”

“Just finished rehearsal. I’m going for a quesadilla from El Faralito. Are you hungry?”

“No. I ate a huge breakfast with Tonya. She stayed here last night, just left.”

“Well at least somebody took care of you last night. Why didn’t you take me home with you?”

“You were too busy with that blonde.”

Blonde? Blonde Russian? Another visage in his mind: Svetlana? Got her number?

“Whatever,” he said glibly. “Well, do you want to come over and watch me eat? I’ll swing by. I have the Maltese Falcon at my place. Have you seen it?”

Olivia giggled again. “No. What time?”

 

“Be there in fifteen minutes.”

 

Tonya was there all night? Tittle-tattle of little lasses. Menu. Contacts. S, Svetlana. There it is. She was cute, I think. Check the camera. Call Randall.

Paul stopped by the taqueria and proceeded to Olivia’s. He double-parked in front of her three-story building while trying to gluttonize his overstuffed quesadilla. He texted, I’m here, with Linus’ Blanket, for the second time that day. He wiped sour cream from his chin.

 

The busy intersection of 23rd and Valencia served as a place to watch passersby. Tall dark man with white sweatshirt and blue jeans: rare raiment: pink stitching around the pockets. Asian woman. Loving lovers. Hands lovingly clasped. Little, short, white dress. Mild weather for such apparel. Decent figure. Skinny ankles. Laughing. Their eyes met his simultaneously. They passed his parked car.

 

Plant in the window. Shrub? Short with blue flowers. Shrubby sage? Cadger, don’t come over here. Won’t give you fifty–five cents or whatever random amount you want. Always asking for some small specific sum. Given enough to the impecunious.


And I worked hard for every little bit I got, the things I got are gonna stay.

 

 

He looked down at his phone to avoid the panhandler’s eyes. He dialed Randall. Randall reassured him. They spoke briefly about the upcoming evening, Paul explaining he needed a quiet night at home.

Olivia: fell for her fast and thought it would last. Thought I could thwart off temptations. I can resist anything but temptation. Thought it wouldn’t even matter in ten or twenty years, when the wrinkles came, when the sagging began. The sparkle in her eyes doesn’t mean that much anymore. The kisses have lost their tingle. Already after a couple months…already pining for others and lying to her and worrying and feeling guilty. Not as if I killed Alyona Ivanovna.

Where did it go? Was there ever it? Many infatuations, many romances. Never empty love? Never consummate love? Can fly, do the loopty loop, but can’t land.

Olivia came to the car and climbed inside, tossing a small bag in the backseat. Little five foot five frame coming toward me, sitting by me, smiling at me. Light brown hair swathed round to make her face appear heart-shaped, like her posterior. Paul shifted the automatic transmission into drive and pulled onto Valencia. The car approached Cesar Chavez. He looked at Olivia’s pale blue eyes. The Triangular Theory of Love.

 

“Who’s the greater Renaissance man: Leonardo da Vinci or Benjamin Franklin?”

“Franklin wasn’t in the Renaissance,” Olivia said.

“Right, but who achieved more great things in more fields?”

“Da Vinci, definitely.”

“But what about the lightning rod? The…”

“Well, da Vinci was a great artist,” she said. “You know he’s my favorite.”

“Yes, that’s why I said him. But Franklin was a diplomat, inventor, philosopher, scientist and…”

“da Vinci was an inventor. And, I mean, the Mona Lisa! Come on!” Olivia interrupted, “And the Last Supper; he drew the Virtri…, ah, Vit…”

“The Vitruvian Man.” Paul completed.

“Yea, VitruvianMan. And those flying machines he came up with, those were way ahead of his time.”

“Franklin was sort of famous as an inventor. He invented bifocals and the Franklin Stove: both still used today.” Count Rumford. Massachusetts. Franklin and Thompson. Fireplace innovators. Different sides. Two Benjamins.

“So you want to argue about Ben Franklin today?”

Her little nose wrinkled, and her large eyes squinted.

Devil’s defender. Dialectics, darling. Octavian and Mark dueling over power after the break in the Triumvirate.

“No, but we can arm wrestle at my place.”

 

“I’d kick your ass,” she said, smiling widely and caressing his right leg.

 

Rudolph grinned insincerely.

The car made a slight right and went down Mission St.

can_we_possibly_be_friends_again_or_conflicted_codependent

Being male, I wander

Mom dares not wonder

What kind of monsters she birthed

She brought her own equipment

I was aggressive but shy

 

Her womb is the most magnificent

Temple I’ve ever visited

There is nowhere else I want to be

Sister insisted

I stiffened then gave in

 

Children tease, squeal, scamper

Adults know unspeakable reality

Dizziness of first love

Mayhem, murder

Solemn whisper of infinity

 

After an uncertain age,

No one wants you anymore

Old women bond

Confer their anger

Old men tread alone

 

She knew from moment he laid eyes on her, she had him. She wore no make-up, anemic complexion, chin and jawline slightly broken out with red spots, cobalt blue irises, aquiline nose, hair dyed dark, fuzz-balled scarf, light blue fluffy sweater, big buttons, canvas shoulder bag, skinny jeans, leather boots, little boney black dog with ashen appointments. Instantly he fell in love. He confessed, “Your Chinese Crested pup stole my heart.”

 

In doggie-style position, neither lover sees other’s face. The top sees backside. The bottom sees what? He didn’t know.

 

She unlocks the door. He enters room. She tells him what to do, making demands. He follows her orders. She questions, “Why do we dance to these tunes?” He answers, “I want to smell your smells, suck, drink your darkest juices.” She articulates, “Stay,” then kisses him goodbye. She wakes wearing his ring, around her neck. They are each other’s slaves. Ceiling leaks, floor creaks, light beams through window as they waltz arm in arm.

 

She demands, “I want roast rack of lamb, or thinly sliced Serrano ham on buttered toast for dinner. And then I want to go home alone. I need some down time, away from you. I don’t belong to you, god-damn-it!” Deep in financial debt, he hands the waiter his debit card.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Day that wasn’t so Fine

 

A Day that wasn’t so Fine

 

On a summer Friday evening, Sanjeev , a smart  6’3 tall with straight hair was coming back from Pune to his home town which was 7 hour journey , he used to go  home on weekends every 15th days. He was wearing a costly rollex watch and dress in formal as he is coming directly from office.

Sanjeev as a child thought of studding with Fine arts then as it always happen mostly to all, he start his career as copy-writer in a small company, then shifter to advertising and then finally into Marketing Then he thought of turning marketing into a Fine Arts, he become the Marketing Zonal Manager for enter Maharashtra Region. He has made a good name and fame for himself in a short span, his manager’s always praise him for his achievement in such a small age of 28.

Last month he bought a Maruti Swift Vxi, and for the first time he is taking his car to his home town to show it to his parent. In home he has his Father, age 69 but always remain sick, mother 68, He has his younger brother studding BBA  in Delhi, Sanjeev, is still a bachelor, his parent has always tried for wedlock but he always refused and keep the discussion incomplete.

It’s around 11.30 PM , he is felling little drowsy ,  as he is driving for nearly 5 hours moreover had a lot of work in office today and since he has taken leave for two days till Tuesday so he need to complete some extra work also, further he don’t have a habit of driving such long distance constantly.

As he drives, he remember regarding  a short cut path, which was rarely used by other public vehicles as they don’t get much passengers in this way, and this roads meet the high way near the toll gate, moreover this road is bare and he can drive fast, this road will make his journey short by almost 1 hour.

So in the next turn he turned towards the short cut way, after  going for  half an hour or so, his car suddenly make some weird noise, that was very unusual for a new car only one and half month old.

Sanjeev, stop his car is was dark outside as purnima had just pass and nights are dark with no moon beam to support. He open  bonnet of his car and keep the head light on, as he has no knowledge of car repair, he kept look into  the engine try to get some hint .

But all effort in vain can’t able to identify the problem.

 

With fret in his eyes, as he know it’s hard to find  help in this road and the time is around 12 pass 10 by now ,he thought of walking ahead, if he can find any help or any Garage nearby he started to walk. He lighted his cigarette with new lighter , he don’t smoke much, but as he known’s it will be a long journey so he bought a pack of Gold Flake.

After walking few yards, he found a house with low bulb glowing outside, this brings a smile to his face because he hardly fine a fist of people In this entire short cut road he crossed.

As he walks towards the house, he saw someone is sleeping outside as always happen in India during summer.

He reach near the person , he is short guy hardly 5’4, with dark  complexion wearing a grubby cloth with lot of black stain, he is sleeping in a Charpai , a small bed made up of Ropes.

He is having a sound sleep look like a good sleep after long day work;  Sanjeev, awake him , “Bhaisahab” means Brother.

The man woke up hastily, give an annoying look at Sanjeev, and asked “Who are you?”

Sanjeev, told him about the glitch with his car and asked him if there is any Garage nearby, the man told him that he is a car mechanic, and this an only garage in this road.

Sanjeev took a deep breath as he can reach home by today,  Sanjeev smiled and asked his name. He told “Hari, Sahab”.

Sanjeev told, “Hari, you have to fixed the problem immediately as I have some 150 km more to go, I will pay you some more on top.

Hari asked about the car, Sanjeev showed him the car which was standing  few yards away, Hari, took all this equipments and start walking towards the car.

Sanjeev is now relaxed, took out one more cigarette from his pant pocket and search for his Lighter but, he can’t find it, he might have kept it in the car.

So, he asked, Hari whether he has got any light, Hari took out a match box and give it to Sanjeev. Sanjeev, light up his cigarette and gave one cigarette to Hari as well.

The head light was still ON , Hari, quickly examine the car and said “Sir, there is problem with the radiator it will take around 30 min, and asked Sanjeev to sit inside the car, or can have a cup of tea in a nearby tea stall that not far from the road  .

Sanjeev saw a small house, with a muddy banner hanging outside, he can’t read as it was dark. He wonders how he missed this house when he first stops his car here.

Anyway, Sanjeev thought of having a cup of tea will worth in such a situation, so he told Hari to call him once the work is done.

As Sanjeev start walking towards the House , he saw one villager walking towards him, as the person came nearby, Sanjeev, saw a man in his 50s with Lanthan , a kind of night lamb, in his hand.

The man asked  “Where are you going, sahab” , on reply Sanjeev told, to have a cup of tea in that tea stall, as his car is being repaired and will take some time.

The Man told, “Gayatri’s House“ now ,are you crazy ‘Babu’ Go back. Don’t go there. And, the man left.

 

Sanjeev got stunt and can’t understand the reason why the man told not to go, But he quickly get rid just what happened, and walked towards the house.

He knocks the door,’ a voice of aged women came” Who is it?”

I am stranger said Sanjeev, want a cup a tea, “can you please open the Door”.

Women said “Sorry we are closed come in the morning. We don’t open door for Stranger’s at night.

Sanjeev said ” My car had a problem, and it is being repaired, I need a cup of tea, sorry for bothering you. Thank you anyway I am leaving.”

Wait! Sahab, a voice of a young lady came, Sanjeev heard voice of two ladies whispering “Mother, that gentleman seems well-mannered; he really might need some tea”.

Then again, came the aged ladies voice,” Sunita, you know your Brother and your Father, they don’t like any strangers coming to our house at night, you still ….”

Sunita” No mother they are not here and also it will take just few minutes, I am opening the door you make tea for him”

Sanjeev heard sound of the opening Door, he saw a Girl in her 20s, long hair well tied, slim figure, beautiful eyes, wearing a salwar quite old threads started to come out of her dress but still sparkling, came out.

The girl, asked sanjeev to come in, with a smile in her eyes. Sanjeev, thanked her for her kindness and goes in.

The house has two room cleanness welled maintained, but by the first look anyone can say, they are deprived.

The Girl greets Sanjeeb and close the door and offer him a chair, Sanjeev, got charmed by her first appearance, He asked “Your name is Sunita” she nodded her head, says “yes”.

After a while the Sunita’s Mother came with a cup of tea, and give it to Sanjeev, she told “My husband and my son don’t like visitor’s at night, and often create trouble”.

As the discussion was going on suddenly sanjeev heard, “Open the door now, we want the stranger we will kill him how dare he “. Sanjeev , heard cacophony of voices a outside the door, among them two voices are prominent.

Again the door bang continues, “Let him out”, otherwise we will break the door”.

Sunita’s mother whispered “ I knew it will happen, God help us, please not again “. Sunita’s Mother asked sunita to take sanjeev to the next Room. She told “I will take care of them”.

By saying this, she shouted “ He is a good man , he had a problem in car , so I called him to have some tea, please you all leave, not again anymore”

A husk tone came from outside,” You Fool , His sort of High society people, always make fool of us, they come , and with some sweet talk, make relation with our Daughter’s and then Disappear forever, he bamboozle you ,Don’t you remember “Megha”, she had to commit suicide.

Sanjeev could not understand anything, what’s going on, So he asked Sunita.

Again, the sound came , “Let him out” voice of young man . Sunita told Sanjeev, that the persons outside, is her Father and Brother along with some other Villagers, they often comes at night and if they find any strangers in their home, they kill them.

Sanjeev asked “ what about the police , these people are murderess and should be punished, why don’t police take any criminal proceedings ”

Sunita,” Police sahib, Punishment, but they have already being punished, my father and my brother was hanged six years back”.

Sanjeev , stood up “What! they are  dead?”.

Sunita once again nod her head, By the time Sunita’s Mother came in, and said “ Sahab, you please stand inside the Circle, she showed Sanjeev a circle inside the room, again she added, you will be safe here, they can’t attack you , This is the place where their bodies were kept before the rituals.

The Banging of door continues, hard and hard, Sunita mother said” I think they are going to break the door today, God help us”.

Sunita’s Mother asked sunita to take sahib, from back door to Banwari’s uncle House, she will try to stop them here, Fast bete, and she added “Before anything wrong happens”.

Sunita hold Sanjeev hand in her hand and ran towards the back door, It was small 3’’ feet door, Sanjeev had to crawl down to get out.

It was dark outside, Sanjeev could hear the bang in front of the house, and they both ran towards Banwari Uncle’s house.

On reaching there, Sunita knock the door hard, a sound came from inside “Kon hai” a sound a elderly man came . Sunita replied “ Sunita, uncle please open the door.”

Banwari Uncle, “Wait, I am coming” He opened the door.

He said “what happens to you, is your mother ok “Who is he? He asked by look at Sanjeev .

Sunita replied,” he is a stranger passing by, stop to have a tea in your house, but my father and brother came, you know the rest; please help him allow us to stay here for sometime”

“No, you can’t stay , I don’t want to plunge  into it ” Sanjeev saw a lady may be Banwari’s Wife came out, and shouted at Banwari “ You Know all , but still, I can’t allow this happen”.

Sunita requested Chachi, means aunty, please help us.

And then suddenly, the horde sound came outside Banwari’s house, a voice “ Banwari, you was my friend , please don’t allow us to hurt you, let the stranger out.”

Sunita said,” Father is here, what do I do”?

Banwari said, “Bete, I can’t stop them, I better you take Sahab to the Kali temple, the pandit kaka will be there , asked him to give Maa Kali’s tilak to both of you, Once this is done that sprit can’t do anything, God is still greater than the Ghost.”May God be with you”. Now don’t think hurry up.

Sanjeev , don’t understand what to do he was Scared , he has never in such a situation ever, He prayed to God to save him, He also started to be fond of sunita, and her efforts to save him.

Banwari open the back door and said “ Sunita , take care, now hurry”and give an axa

Sunita again hold Sanjeev’s hand they ran, sanjeev followed sunita, he don’t have habit of running, his breath fastened. He still ran fast as he could.

They reached the temple; it was closed as the clock says 12.45 AM by now.

Sunita knock the temple door, “ Pujari ji, she shouted “Open the door please”

After few loud shout by Sunita “ Pujari Ji, replied “Wait I am coming”.

Pujari ji open the door and says “ Sunita, you now what’s wrong” then Sunita showed Sanjeev and narrated him the whole story, and asked pujari ji to give Maa Kali’s Tilak to both of them.

Pujari ji rush inside the temple and brought some Sindur, a kind of red powder considered as holy in the Hindus.

He put the Sindur in their forehead , and spell a Mantra, a prayed to god. And then says “ Sunita , Babu, your both are safe now, no evil spirits can’t do any harm to you, God is with you now “

A small relax smile came in both their faces, a feeling of relax, Sanjeev hold Sunita’s hand and thanked her for saving his life, and also told her there he will never ever forget her. Sunita replied him with a smile.

As they turn back to return , Sunita shouted “Baba!”, Sanjeev saw a group of people with Axe and Stick waiting outside the temple, and laughing at them, One of them shouted Sunita, “Move away from him”.

Sunita told Sanjeev that this person is her brother and asked Sanjeev to hold her hand tight, she said” Sunil Bhaiya, You can’t do anything to us now, we are in the temple with Maa’s Tilak on our forehead, and you don’t have power to fight with God.”

After Hearing Sunita, they all started to laugh loudly saying “ Temple, A place of God”.

Sanjeev could not understand why they are laughing neither do Sunita, Sanjeev looked at Pujari ji , and find him laughing too, in a strangely manner.

Then Sunita father replied “ Look Darling where are you standing”,  to a utter surprise they suddenly found them near a bamboo bush, surrounded by Ghost villagers, the pujari ji turned into a Pale villagers with no eyes.

Sunita shouted “Sanjeev, Run, this way”,

They ran , and the ghosts followed them,  they ran into the bushes , suddenly a men came in front of Sanjeev with Stick in his hand, Sanjeev couldn’t understand what to do, he took his axe give by Banwari kaka, and hit that men on his head, Spring of blood came out, the man fall down.

Sunita Shouted Sanjeev “What have you done, he was not among them, he was a living villager came to help me, and your killed him”

Sanjeev stood still, saying “ I Killed a person, I am a murderer, I should confess this to police”

Sunita said, “No time to think now, just run save yourself”

And Ran again, suddenly sunita called Sanjeev “ Sanjeev , look there is a bicycle you take it, and ride as fast as you can get out of this village”

Sanjeev denied saying “No , Sunita, I cant live you all alone here like this, you have to come along with me”.

Sunita “ No, that is not possible, I can’t come with you, beside I don’t have any threat they wanted to kill you not me, I am safe here, you run and save yourself, I will be fine,” she added “ there is police station half a kilometer from here, you can asked them for help, now please go”.

Sanjeev hold sunita’s hand a told her I will come to take you wait for me. By saying this Sanjeev ride the bicycle fast as he could.

After riding for a while he saw a signboard “Police Station, Kunda”

He parked the bi-cycle, and when inside the Police station, the police station was old with lot of black patches in the wall, sanjeev saw two constable and sub-inspector seating, and talking among themselves.

Sanjeev rush inside said “ Help me Sir, I have committed a murder”

Inspector stood up by hearing the word “Murder”

Inspector, said” Murder what, what happen, tell me in details”, the inspector asked his constable to give a glass of water to Sanjeev.

After having a glass of water, Sanjeev stared tell him the whole story.

Inspected   shouted at Sanjeev suddenly“ Are you dunked, are you out off your mind, what you saying”

Sanjeev replied “ Sir, what you are talking  about, it’s all true, I have killed one villager accidently”, and the girl Sunita life is in danger they might kill her, you have to help me”.

 

Inspector said,” Cool down, Sanjeev there is no village nearby, I am posted here for last eight years”

Sanjeev Uttered “ what” , then what was that, sanjeev can’t believe what he is hearing , he said to the inspector , Sir Sunita save my life, it is because of her I am alive she gave me the bi-cycle to run.”

Inspector told “Where is the bi-cycle can I see it?”

Sanjeev  “ yes, I have parked it near the gate, I will show you ” they walked towards the police station gate where he have kept the bi-cycle”.

Inspector asked Sanjeev ” Is this the bi-cycle”, Sanjeev saw a old bi-cycle with no tier and no sit, not possible to ride at all.

Sanjeev asked inspector, to believe him, he just now came this bi-cycle it was good condition.

The Inspector laugh and asked Sanjeev to have a sit, then the inspector tells him  the history of this place.

There was once a village there 10 years back, the villages always loves to do theater in their village all villagers participate in it, once while performing a play the village caught fire it was huge fire and almost all villages died in that incident.

But, now also they didn’t led the acting talent fail, they often design a plot and if any strangers come or pass by the play begins.

The Inspector added “They are not harmful, they will never harm you, take my word ,check your car it will be working fine by now”.

Sanjeev can’t believe the inspector at all , with contradicting to what he has seen, so asked  inspector to please come along with him to the spot.

The Inspector agreed, they all went to the village in police van, Sanjeev got surprise , there was nothing no village , only few burn broken house, his hair stood up,” how it could happen” he think in his mind, he can still fell the smell of Sunita.

Sanjeev stood still for a while , then back to his senses , by now he understand the whole drama, he laugh at himself of being one of the lead character in their drama, He went towards his car and try to start it , Good God, it got started in one self only.

Sanjeev came out of his car, and turn to the inspector to say “Thank you” But strange there was no one, the inspector, two constable and also the police van all disappear.

Sanjeev understood that the play has not been ended; He drove his car fast ………. Until he reach home

Dark Angel. Prologue

The world conquered by two races, Angels and Demons. They always waged war against each other. The King of Angels, Angelo and King of Demons, Kromeus make a deal then. They given a set of territory across the world to maintain so that no war will rise again. But, Kromeus has better plan. He will kill Angelo when no one aware and take control as the World God.

Messenger of Angels, Inor, foresee a child that will bring the end to the conflict and joined all the races. The child will be Savior for both Angels and Demons. Angelo happy to hear this and waiting for the child. The child will born under the blood of Angelo and his wife, Mikarna.

This news reach the demons and also their king, Kromeus. Kromeus decided to make a arrangement of sort to lure Angelo and Mikarna and when they are not aware, Kromeus will kill them both.

Kromeus sent a letter of invitation to Angelo and Mikarna. Angelo and Mikarna then prepare themselves for the arrangement. But, when the day before the arrangement come, Mikarna give birth to the Savior. He named the Savior with human name so that Savior can socialize and make friends in the world. Mikarna and Angelo decided to name it Donny Saviolus.

The day of arrangement come and Kromeus prepare all the traps. Unknown to him that Savior already born to this world. In the meeting, Kromeus succeeded at killing them both. The Angels race destroyed and demons ruled the world. Only Donny is able to fight against Kromeus. The remaining survivor, Mandorga will train Donny to become a true Angel and fight against Kromeus. Donny will be the next Angel King and the Uniter.

The Quiet Life of Paul Rudolph, Chapter One, Page One and Two

I hope to deliver this as literary greats such as Charles Dickens and Thomas Hardy once delivered their novels: periodically. This is a bit of the first chapter. The novel is a combination of a linear narrative and stream of consciousness from the main characters’ POV. It will also, I hope, be a guided tour through one of America’s greatest cities. Lyrics of some popular songs are used to emphasize emotions of the character(s). The novel is set in 2007. I hope to publish this and become the next big thing, but for now I only want to let my friends at MyMorningStory take a peak and possibly share some thoughts. Here are the first two pages, unedited.

 

The Quiet Life of Paul Randolph

 

Paul Rudolph awoke from forgotten dreams to find himself, surprisingly, in his own bed. He had a headache and an inkling that he was transforming into a monstrous pedant; he knew he was a drunk. He hurried to his garage. It was there. He knew he had been out the previous night but could not remember much else. He’d driven home in the depths of a terrible blackout. His car was safe again, though. Lucky lush. Foggy scenes from the night before began to take shape.

 

Someone angry? Maybe I was embarrassed. In front of…who was there? Olivia? Tonya? Chris? Justin? Not Rose. Randall. Said something off-putting to Olivia? Tonya? Said what I was thinking earlier—before intoxicated. Something I knew not to reveal. Someone’s upset.

Woke up in the morning and all my friends hate me……… What Happened?

 

 

Started in NorthBeach: The International and La Rocca’s. Then where?

He came from the garage to the landing, walked up the steps, and entered his apartment. Laborious chores for this languorous state. He took the hall to his bedroom, stepped inside and looked in the mirror. Shirtless man-child wearing rhinoceros-cartooned boxer shorts. Short, brown hair inert on ellipsoidal head. Itching—left arm. Scar still tactile. More ink? Why? Two koi fish scarred in red and yellow swimming in the foliage of a Japanese Rush across my right calf. What about this medieval etching on my back? What’s the use? What does it mean? Wanting some identity? What identity? A person is the Ship of Theseus.  Rummaging the Internet for some symbol or emblem or image or sign or crest or mandala which represents my beliefs or interests or ideas or fancies or principles or essence or nature or something. Clear your mind.

He recalled the drinks from the previous night: beer at home and a shot of cognac before driving to NorthBeach. More beer at The International and a shot of something blue and free from the L.A. 7 behind the bar. Then La Rocca’s for Fernet shots with gingerbacks. After that? Downtown? Yes.

 

Paul Rudolph remembered, vaguely, standing outside of Vertigo. Least favorite bar in that section, six blocks from Nob Hill. Only end up there in a blackout. Time traveling. Not in my body. Completely unaware but still functioning. Talking…Thought I was there. They didn’t know I had anterograde amnesia. That I had a two-minute-memory. How many people have conversed with me in that state? How many dialogues have been forgotten while fluttering in the deep dark space of lost time? Should at least finish Swann’s Way. Not able to find everything in my memory. Must memorize more mnemonic methods. Myriads of them. Mnemonics will do no good. Time travelling, it’s like.

Had shots at Vertigo. Shots of what? Fernet? Tequila? Whiskey? Yes. Suddenly, his mind sculpted the interior of the R-Bar. The cherry wood and long, narrow frame. The mid 20′s to mid 30′s crowd trying hard not to care. The barmen feigning attentiveness to each evenly but attending to females of particular beauty, face and figure, ever so cordially.

He wobbled to the bedroom doorway wondering if the phantasm was from the night before. Corroborate gray matter. Yes, R-Bar. Last night. He took the corridor to the kitchen. That was where Randall and I ran into the others. Last night. The Fernet bottles on the wall. Glasses of beer on the bar. Two girls sitting close by. Randall taking a photo of the girls and me. Only Randall had not taken a photo. The camera was set to video mode or something. Said something droll. Made them laugh. They were interested. I didn’t care. Overwrought laughter indicated lubricious inclinations. What did I say? Why so bewitching when obliterated by booze? Could charm Nefertiti after a shot and a beer. Could dethrone her romantic, monotheistic diplomat with some combination of sword, hand, and a seated man doing something with his mouth. Everyone is like that. No one is like that.

Earlier last night: Randall, Rose and her girlfriend (Jessica?), at my place for drinks and a smoke of the nuthastuff. I forced philosophy into the conversation somehow: an obscure reference like Avicenna. Dropped his name casually like he’s a modern-day celebrity. Trying to impress. Brought up his thoughts on motion? Medicorum Principes. Large, powerful, enduring canon. Dietitian. Sad we don’t study him or Al-Farabi much in the west. Translated Aristotle far before Europe’s Renaissance. Discredited alchemy and astrology a thousand years ago. Was perturbing. Impressing? Drunken wit. Then later: a stupor similar to senility. The stages of drunkenness are like the stages of life. Peak somewhere in the middle. Never discussed Averroes and monopsychism or the ‘ud tuning of the peripatetic, musical Arab: Al-Kindi.

Went to the R-Bar after Vertigo. Rose was supposed to come but didn’t. Then homeways? Yes. Maybe. How did I drive? Can’t remember the…Glad to be not in jail, safe, alive.

I broke every single traffic rule………

 

 

What happened? He put on the coffee. It was Saturday, July eighteenth, the year two thousand seven. What to do? Ah, yes, practice. Less than two hours off. Why think practice but say rehearsal? Only when talking to someone. It sounds more professional. Commode sounds better than toilet, but nobody says commode. Nobody says toilet either. Everyone says bathroom or restroom. I need to go to the bathroom or restroom.  I have to use the bathhouse, the outhouse, the lavatory, the john, the head, the pot, the potty, the privy, the latrine, the loo, the sandbox, the throne, the washroom, the water closet… need to void excrement. Need to take a leak, drain the lizard, piss, pee, wiz, urinate, defecate, shit, crap, shit or get off the pot, drop the kids off at the pool, conduct a fetid experiment in the scientific lavatory.

Morgana’s Revenge

Morgana’s frigid soul burned for revenge every Halloween, and tonight she would finally have it. It had been ten long, lonely years since those dirt-grubbing mortals stole the life of her sister, Morla. Only pure luck had enabled them to lure her into the flames of their bonfire and make it blaze green with her destruction. Morgana would not present such an easy victory.

 

Over the years, many plans had been made; potions rendered and spells devised. A wicked grin cracked Morgana’s age-worn features as she imagined those shrieking farmers scurrying for cover as she soared above them. The soft glow on the horizon marked where the battle would take place.

 

By tomorrow’s morn, it will be they whose hearts are heavy, thought Morgana. Her death-black cape flapped and fluttered behind her as she rode the twilight winds. Further behind her, cloaked in darkness and shadow, moved another evil. It flapped with the heavy beat of leathery wings and that sound was of an army.

 

The glowing was brighter now and she could make out the barns and buildings of the village. Morgana cackled with delight as she spied the assortment of blazing bonfires that dotted the rolling countryside. “The fools do my bidding and don’t even know it,” she laughed and tossed her raven-haired head back with glee.

 

Within seconds, she was upon them. A hail of flaming arrows welcomed her arrival and she dove to meet them. “Achleios Retardo,” she called into the darkness and the arrows graceful arcs abruptly ended and they dropped harmlessly to the earth. However, Morgana had a second, more devilish, purpose to attend to. She reached into a heavy pouch on her right hip and pulled out a small gray-white orb. “You fancy fire do you mortals?” she said with a lilt. As she neared one of the bonfires, she suddenly pulled up from her dive and hurled the sack toward the flames. The instant it hit the burning wood it exploded into a sickening yellow cloud, spreading a vile fog of poison across the fields. The farmers’ livestock dropped dead the moment the fog made contact with them.

 

Shouts and curses erupted from the angered villagers. Gunshots followed and Morgana felt a bullet whiz by mere inches from the tip of her nose.

 

Rage filled her black heart at their arrogance. “Decendo Vermer!” she shrieked at the top of her lungs, and with a rush, the black-winged army that had remained out of sight lunged towards the village like a swarm of angry bees. The turbulence caused from their sudden descent nearly ripped Morgana from her broom.

 

Screams of panic and horror could be heard as the legion of bats poured across the village. Barred doors proved little defense against these creatures that fearlessly smashed through windows and swooped down chimneys. Morgana flung several more poison sacks into the bonfires and swept skyward to await the results of her latest barrage.

 

The air was heavy with acrid smoke and fuming poison. The exploding bonfires had caught many of the nearby barns on fire and the resulting blaze lit the entire countryside in flickering tongues of yellow and orange. The sight brought a rare feeling of warmth to Morgana. In that moment, self-assured that she was in total control of all she surveyed, she let her guard down to the possibility of something even more powerful than herself.

 

A sensation of something massive and heavy made Morgana jerk her head away from the carnage below and towards the darkness above. A brilliant blue-green beam of light blinded her and she felt herself

 

losing consciousness, then the world went black.

 

As she awoke, Morgana found herself restrained to a long, metal table. Her cape, hat, pouch and broom were in a neat row on a second table to her left. More importantly, her rings and amulets were missing.

 

Morgana struggled to free herself from the table, but there were no straps to break, no shackles to slip out of, only a dull, heavy weight anchoring her like some trapped animal. However, she did discover that with some effort, she could move the fingers on her left hand.

 

A low humming sound caught her attention and she turned her head towards what appeared to be a doorway. What eventually appeared, was enough to make even Morgana gasp.

 

Three hunched figures slowly floated into the room on glowing blue platforms. Their heads were enormous with an assortment of antennae clustered near the front. Two tentacle-like arms sprouted on either side of the antennae. They were nearly four feet in length and were tipped with four delicate fingers. The creatures’ bodies were the color of well-tanned leather, which undulated in disgusting rolls and had a wet appearance, making them seem slimy. No legs were visible. Morgana assumed that was the reason for the glowing platforms.

 

The smallest of the three approached the table where Morgana lay. One of its antennae began to vibrate and in response, a small bronze-colored table rose from the floor and presented an array of instruments.

 

Morgana had been intently watching all of this activity when she noticed two of her amulets hanging from the creature’s right tentacle. A blazing fire ignited in Morgana’s heart and she clenched her left hand into a fist. A series of high-pitched popping sounds erupted from a fluttering slit in the creature’s chest – it eerily sounded like laughter.

 

The creature proceeded to select an odd-looking instrument, which it raised above Morgana’s head and then lowered over her right eye. Searing pain made her scream in agony. When the pain finally subsided and her vision cleared, she realized that the creature had already selected a new instrument and was moving it towards her left ear. The creature paused when the other two creatures began emitting popping and chittering sounds. In response, it turned and glided towards them.

 

They were all gathered around some type of table with a thick top that was covered in flashing lights and levers. The largest creature’s tentacles were gracefully manipulating the levers. As it did so, the flashing intensified and a deep thrumming began deeper in floor beneath Morgana. A panel in the wall in front of the creatures silently slid open revealing six rows of glowing green crystals. Even in her state of ignorance, Morgana recognized something powerful when she saw it. That’s when she began planning her escape.

 

The entire room was throbbing now. All the creatures’ attention was focused on the flashing lights. So much so that they didn’t hear Morgana utter the words “Transporte sun deige. Transporte sun deige.”

 

With movements like a butterfly, the two amulets gently lifted off the smallest creature’s tentacle and floated towards Morgana. She focused her thoughts and opened her left hand. The instant they dropped into her palm, she clamped her fingers around them and shouted: “Imperviate cawn de plourum!

 

Morgana pointed her yellow-nailed finger towards the pouch on the table and it began to quiver. The smallest creature rose away from the table and realized that its newly won prizes were missing. It turned and began to move towards Morgana when she shouted “Uptow Sigu en exploi!” The pouch on the table dropped to its side and spilled out its contents of poison orbs.

 

“Saggith trath en corie!” Three of the poison sacks lifted from the floor and hurled themselves into the glowing green crystals.

 

The room shuddered as a thick, poison cloud spewed from the wall. All three creatures began uttering popping noises and flailing their tentacles in the air. The largest creature stayed close to the table and managed to flip several of the levers before dropping to the floor and undulated in a death roll for several long minutes.

 

Morgana began to laugh at the plight of her captors. She was unaffected by the gas, for the second amulet she held was one of protection.

 

As the hours passed, Morgana tried in vain to free herself from the invisible restraint that held her to the table. None of the spells she tried would release the vise-like grip. It was not till the eleventh hour, when Morgana had all but given up hope did the pressure abruptly subside.

 

Morgana sighed with relief and sprang from the table. She hurriedly gathered her belongings and with a sneer, retrieved her third amulet and her rings from the tentacles of the other two creatures and left through the doorway. Again Morgana was shocked by what she saw. Three massive chairs sat in a row with a wide window in front of them. Morgana saw clouds and the faintest glimpse of countryside far below. They were flying! But Morgana wanted nothing more to do with her captors or their magic; she wanted her freedom and knew how to get it.

 

She mounted her broom, clasped the amulet of power in her left hand and shouted: “Expast Vorn tu Blaceer!” The heavy window began to crack and fracture. Morgana readied herself and shot through the opening as it shattered.

 

“Free!” she cried victoriously and soared across the sky. However, her elation was short lived. The moon was too large and sickly red. The air was heavy and smelled of unknown flowers and spices.

 

“What have they done?” she screamed. “Where have they taken me?” The flame of hatred and rage burned brighter than ever. All plans against the whimpering farmers were swept aside as Morgana began plotting her revenge against this new aggressor. She would make them pay dearly for taking her from her home.

 

Far below, a tribe of large-headed, thick-bodied creatures sensed something strange passing overhead. Little did they know that their world of Ulantra would soon feel the wrath of Morgana’s revenge.

 

A promise is forever

“Trick r’ treat Mrs. Summers,” the little boy said, Autumn unsure of who exactly it was, the mask hiding the child’s face and muffling his voice. A hideous mask, a Cyclops monster, the little one-eyed creature held out their plastic Jack-O’-Lantern bucket expecting candy.
“And just who is that hiding behind such a scary mask?” Autumn asked, giving her evening’s first trick-r’-treater a heartwarming smile. She knew it had to be one of her students, just which one. Getting a hearty handful of candy from the large, purple plastic bowl resting on her lap, she dropped the candy in, knowing that would make any child happy, though she knew she gave such a hearty amount since it was one of her students.
“It’s me,” the child said as they lifted their mask, revealing it to be Tommy Clare, one of her favorite students. Not the brightest, but the boy had been raised right. Well mannered and attentive, he made up in young character what he lacked in academics. “And thank you Mrs. Summers.” Pulling his mask back down, the boy told her happy Halloween and made his way back to the sidewalk and down to the next house.
The trick-r-treaters were starting early that year, but it was still slow, still a little too early in the evening, which was just alright for Autumn. Taking a sip from her beer, the Busch light she was hiding behind her back so kid’s coming up for candy wouldn’t see, she checked her phone, which she knew was pointless, the Iphone having died no more than ten minutes earlier. Looking to the baby monitor next to her, her baby girl April was still fast asleep.
Autumn Summers had lived in Cleveland, Ohio her entire life. She loved the city. Not the sports teams. She knew nothing about sports. No, it was the city itself. The people. It was why she had become a teacher. She loved the city’s people, but more so she loved children. Seeing the kid’s play on the playgrounds, hearing them laugh. And how smart they could be; she found herself everyday in some way astounded by something one her students would say or do.
A third grade teacher, she was also a happy mother, her baby girl April having been in her life for almost seven months. Her daughter asleep, Autumn had mixed feelings about Halloween, but that wasn’t going to stop her from handing out candy to all the children that wanted it.
After thirty more minutes, more and more kids and parents had begun to fill the street, all different kinds of costumes, most making their way up to her house where she sat on her front steps, letting the children reach in and take whatever pieces of candy she had to offer. Some like Tommy would address by her name, Mrs. Summers, and every time one would, just like when they did in the classroom, it made her swallow hard, forcing her fight back her tears.
Eight months had passed since the funeral, and even after eight months it wasn’t easy. Smiling to each and every kid, she wasn’t going to break down, not on her front porch, not in front of all the trick-r’-treaters. Ryan wouldn’t have wanted that. Halloween had been their night, and he would have wanted her to enjoy it she convinced herself.
“Happy Halloween Autumn,” Mr. Wilson said, bringing his two daughters up to the house so they too could get candy from Autumn’s candy bowl. Mr. Wilson lived down the street with his wife and twin daughters, Tara and Brittney. The girls dressed in cowgirls, the costumes were practically identical, except for the colors, Tara mostly in pink, Brittney mostly in aqua blue. Mr. Wilson, waiting as his daughters got their candies, looked Autumn over. While he was married and she was widowed, he couldn’t help but admire the young woman, him like most other men finding her very attractive.
Only twenty six, her skin was flawless, a natural tan only complimented by her auburn hair and chestnut eyes. When she’d fully smile, she’d smile so wide her eyes would squint, which was her cutest feature. Dressed in a burnt orange turtleneck, she was wearing a brown and lighter orange striped scarf. Autumn had a weakness for scarves, her bed and closet littered with too many to count. Her hair shoulder length, she always wore it down, more often than not her bangs falling down into her face, her ever the casually brushing her hair away, and more often than not another boy or man would notice it and fall in love with her that moment.
But for Autumn Summer’s only one man and one man only had ever won her heart. The father of her child, her late husband, and the man she loved more so than she could ever love another, Ryan Summer’s had met Autumn on that night itself, Halloween, four years prior.
She’d been at a party, dragged there by her friend Katie. Not really one for parties, she had half-assed her costume, putting on a cat-ear head band and mascara whiskers upon her face. Katie had wanted Autumn to dress a little more, as Katie had put it, “sluttier”, Katie’s intentions being that of finding Autumn a boy-toy for the All Hallows evening, though Autumn wasn’t to delighted at the thought of hooking up with a stranger. Having turned down wearing the Playboy Bunny outfit that Katie had wanted Autumn to wear “oh so badly”, Autumn was content with her half-assed kitten costume.
Having stood alone at the back of the party most of the night, Katie talking to one boy or another, and a few guys having tried their moves on Autumn, she just turned them all down as politely as she could and sipped at her red plastic cup of beer, the smile on her face never once vanishing. Though she wasn’t the party type girl, she was still enjoying herself, seeing all the other’s having fun. The music wasn’t terrible either.
“These things are always such a drag.” Another guy seeing if he was lucky enough to win over the lonesome “kitten” of the party. Tall, dressed in a half-assed werewolf costume, with a dog eared head band on his head, a leather jacket with a fabric dog tail safety pinned to his jeans, Autumn did think he was cute, but she was most likely gonna turn him down like she had the others that had tried earlier.
“Got that right,” she said, joining into the idle conversation.
“So how do you get an elephant into a safeway bag?” the question the boy asked leaving Autumn perplexed. She looked puzzling at cute boy, his face serious, or as serious as he could keep it. Unsure if she heard him correctly, she just stared at him till he repeated himself. “How do you get an elephant into a safeway bag?”
“How?” Autumn asked, not sure what the safeway bag was, but curious as to what the cute werewolf was going with his strange, very strange question.
“Well. It’s quite simple my little party kitten. You just remove the letter ‘s’ from the word ‘way’. And the letter ‘f’ from the word ‘way’. That simple.” Taking a sip from his own red plastic cup, the cute werewolf gave a warm grin as the obvious bewilderment on Autumn’s face became more and more obvious.
“What?” Autumn insanely confused by the solution the cute werewolf had just given her to his strange, random question. “There’s no ‘F’ in way.” As soon as she said the sentence, as soon as she heard the words exit her lips, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“Oh, but there is an F’in way,” the cute werewolf retorted, joining into the laughter with her, a boy across from the two seeing their shared laugh, irritated that the cute kitten girl had turned him away, instead falling for Ryan’s stupid elephant in a safeway bag joke. “I’m Ryan” the boy said, extending his hand for a handshake.
“Autumn Christmas,” Autumn said, taking her hand in his, his grip strong, but not too tight. In fact, as she held his hand, she felt butterflies begin to flutter in her tummy. “And that’s not a joke. That’s my real name. My parents have a strange sense of humor.”
“Well Autumn Christmas, in a strange turn of events, my last name just so happens to be Summers. Quite the kawinkydink if I may so myself.” Knowing he should let go of her hand, he, just like her had butterflies, something he’d never felt before, at least not from a handshake.
“Summers, huh?” Autumn took another sip of her beer. “Wouldn’t it be funny if we got married. Then my name would be Autumn Summers.” Rambling on, her normally adherent and logical thinking was somewhat hindered by the beer she was sipping at, and the uniqueness the cute werewolf had from all the other boys at the party. “Oh god! I just met you. I mean, I just found out your name, and I’m already going on about getting married. Oh god. Yeah, you can walk away with that ‘yep that chick was psycho’ look on your face and I’ll completely understand. It’s just that I’m slightly tipsy, and you are REALLY cute, and…”
Silenced when Ryan put a finger to her lips, he was quick to pull it away and take a sip from his cup, then give a warm smile. He found himself more attracted to this Autumn Christmas than he had any other girl. At these parties, he, just like his friends would see how many girls they could hook up with. And while that had been his plan when he had begun conversation with Autumn, that was long since abandoned, the butterflies in his gut making him think with the head on his shoulders, not the one in his jeans.
“You seem like you can hold a stimulating conversation. You want to get out of here? And I mean that in a ‘I-find-you-funny-and-cute-and-think-it-would-nice-to-get-out-of-here-and-get-to-know-you-better-not-a-get-you-alone-to-see-what-kinda-panties-you-are-wearing-though-I-wouldn’t-mind-knowing’ kinda way. A nerdy smile on his lips, Autumn couldn’t help but laugh and nod, agreeing to get out of there with this Ryan Summers.
Looking for Katie, the girl was nowhere in sight, most likely a “victim” to one of the other guys, just another number for the boy’s ego, not that Katie minded any. Knowing she would have to tell Katie all about Ryan the next day, she was more worried about what was going to happen, what story she was going to tell her friend.
Following Ryan through the crowd to the door, she took one last sip on her beer before she set it down, Ryan doing the same and opening the door, motioning for her to make her exit first.
“Such the gentleman.” Leaning in close, she could smell his cologne, and the fact that he smelled so good was just another reason she found him so very, very attractive. Feeling a little uninhibited, most likely from the few sips of beer she’d had (Autumn was a light weight when it came to drinking), she thought she could reward Ryan with just a tidbit of information. “And by the way, they are Pink, with frilly white trim, and these little red hearts on the cheeks.” Planting a kiss on his cheek, she pulled away with the biggest grin upon her lips, unbelieving what she had just said, but rather proud that she had, leaving Ryan to realize what he’d just been filled in on.
And when it occurred to him what she had just told him, he was quick to catch up to her, just as big a grin on his face, and his eyes wide as he pictured those panties on his “kitten”.

That night, the two had gone for a long walk, eventually Ryan giving Autumn his jacket, her loving the gesture, and the two walking and talking for hours. She told him about how she was so close of becoming a teacher, her dream. Explained what the ring she wore on a chain around her neck was.
“It had been my grandpa’s wedding band. He was my favorite person in the world, and when he died, my grandmother gave me the ring. It’s like my lucky charm.”
“Does it work?” Ryan asked, his hands in his pockets, and the goosebumps on his arms going away. He was freezing, but he wasn’t going to ask for his jacket back.
When the conversation turned to him talking, he told her about his parent’s divorce, how his little brother was a flute prodigy, and how in a week from that night, Ryan would be leaving for basic training in the Army. A military police job awaiting him, she seemed sad till he told her he was just a reservist, which made her feel a little better, but not the much.
At the end of that night, she exchanged number’s and shared a long, passionate kiss before parting ways. The next day Autumn had been the one to text him first. They met for lunch. Then dinner. And they saw each other every day till he left. And even then she wrote him a letter every day, well, at least one letter every day.
She went and seen him when he graduated basic training, meeting his parents and little brother. They talked on the phone every chance they could when he was in AIT. And when he finally came home, they were inseparable.
The next Halloween, a year after they had met, Ryan proposed, to which Autumn accepted and the two were married a week later, the two too impatient to wait. Giggling like a school girl when it was finally done, she loved her new name.
“Autumn Summers,” she would say over and over again to herself. “Mrs. Autumn Summers.”

The last pieces of candy taken by Optimus Prime, Autumn wished the child a happy Halloween and got up to retrieve more candy, a few more bags sitting right inside the house by the front door. Grabbing her beer as she stood, she paused to listen to the baby monitor, April still fast asleep. Taking a long gulp of her beer, Autumn had a foot inside the front door when she was stopped in her tracks, her heart skipping a beat when she heard what she heard.
“Knights in white satin, never reaching the end. Letter’s I’ve written, never meaning to send.” It was Ryan’s ringtone. Coming from her phone. Her Iphone that was dead. Dropping the candy bowl, dropping the beer bottle, she turned slowly, tears welling in her eyes and she looked down upon the phone, the screen black, but the song playing. “Beauty I’d always missed with these eyes before, Just what the truth is, I can’t say anymore.”
Knights in White Satin by the Moody Blues. Both Ryan and Autumn had had a love for seventies psychedelic music. And that song, it was Ryan’s favorite. In her phone, that song was his, and only his tone. Not that it mattered. Her phone was dead. There was no way it could be playing. No way, she thought.
Moving back to the steps, falling to her knees, tears running free from her eyes, she just looked at her phone, stared at it. It was impossible, was all her thoughts were. Impossible for her dead Iphone to be playing that song. Her husband was dead, like the phone. Just a month before their daughter had been born, he had been killed in a roadside bomb. Breathing hard, Autumn was scared, shaking her head as she clenched her eyes shut tight, just wanting the phone to shut up, but too afraid to touch it.
Reaching for her necklace, it was the first time since Ryan’s death she had done so, but her neck was bare, her grandfather’s ring absent from where it had hung for years. Before each of Ryan’s deployment’s she’d given it to him, making him promise to bring it back. She’d always believed the ring to be lucky, hoping it’s luck would keep her husband safe, bring him back to her. But apparently it wasn’t lucky enough.
Feeling her heart beating, thudding in her chest, the Iphone silenced as she was startled by another, a young child at the foot of her steps.
“Mrs. Summers,” the child had spoken, spooking Autumn, making her squeal and jump a bit. The little boy, Steven Price, another of her students, was dressed as a pirate, and standing there, he had an apologetic look upon his face, not meaning to startle his teacher.
“Steven. Yes, Steven,” she said, wiping her tears away, trying to remain calm. Giving the Iphone one last look, she wasn’t sure if she had been imagining the song playing, or if it really had been heard.
“Here,” Steven said, holding out an envelope. “The soldier man across the street wanted me to give this to you.” Autumn, reaching to take the envelope, looked across the street but only saw kids walking back and forth, no soldier. Taking the envelope, Autumn read the words written upon it as Steven just walked away, turning to move on to the next house for more candy.
A promise is forever. The words written on the envelope. Crying harder, Autumn recognized the handwriting. It was impossible for her not to. It was Ryan’s. Running fingers over the letters, it was impossible. Just like her dead phone ringing, it was impossible. Opening it, there was a letter within, but there was something else as well.
Pulling the letter free, Autumn turned the envelope over, and falling free, much to her shock, was her grandfather’s ring, still on the chain. Her breath caught in her throat, Autumn sobbed heavily. Large tears forming from her chestnut eyes, they ran slowly down her cheeks, meeting at her chin, coming together to fall, the large tear drop hitting the ring itself upon her lap.
Looking up again, there was still no solider across the street. Part of her wanted to see her husband standing there, while the rest of her wasn’t sure what to think. What was happening? She did believe in ghosts, but she never thought something like this would ever happen to her. Where she thought her grandfather’s ring had been lost when the bomb killed her husband, there it was on her lap. And still unread in her hand was a letter, Autumn afraid to open. Afraid to read what was written.
One more look up, still nothing to shock and awe her, just trick-r-treaters walking back and forth, she slowly opened the letter, her eyes closed the whole time, Autumn taking a deep breath before beginning to read.
Kitten.
I didn’t mean to scare you with the phone. Didn’t think you’d answer, but hey, a guy can hope, right? This is all so hard to believe, I know. But, a promise is a promise, and I promised to bring back that ring.
I miss you. And April. I watch you both, make sure you’re safe. You smile in your sleep still. And talk in your sleep. Incoherent gibberish.

Autumn laughed. It was definitely her husband’s hand that had written this letter. Even after death, he was still able to find a laugh in anything. Smiling so big her eyes squinted, forcing a few more tears from her eyes, she continued reading.

I’m sorry I can’t come home. I really am. I miss your kisses. I miss your touch. I miss you. I wish I could hold our baby girl, which April is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. She gets that from you. And I bet she gets that weird star thing you can do with your tongue from you too.
Anyhoo, I’m always here with you Autumn. Always watching you, keeping you and April safe. So, I did come home, I’m just not going to ever clean out the garage for you babe.
And if you are thinking, there is no way your husband is a ghost, or your guardian angel, there is an “F’in” way.
I love you Autumn Summers.
P.s. Look up.

Doing as the letter said, Autumn looked up to finally see him, Ryan, standing there across the street from their home. Dressed in his service dress uniform, his hands were in his pockets and he was smiling. Looking at him, he looked handsome, but it was obvious that there was something otherworldly about him. Unnaturally bright, it was like someone had turned up the contrast on her husband.
Going to stand, going to run to him, he shook his head, not wanting her to be disappointed. She couldn’t hold him. Couldn’t kiss him. It was taking a lot of energy to just be seen by her. No one else could see him, and that was a helluva trick that took him quite a while to learn, him having practiced it on the old couple that lived down the street. The one’s that had always given him weird looks when he had been living.
Pulling his right hand free from his pocket, he placed his right index finger to his nose, and like it was a button, his tongue slid out through his lips and smile. Autumn laughing, she did the same. That had been there “thing”, doing that to one other whenever they were at gatherings, parties, too far away from each other to talk, but still wanting to be silly and showed they loved each other. His hand falling back to his side, Ryan mouthed that he loved her, a shiny tear falling from his eye.
“I love you too,” Autumn whispered, watching as he disappeared in a bright flash. Sitting there, holding her letter, more tears ran from her eyes, but these were tears of happiness. Putting the necklace around her neck, she felt a brush on her cheek, a familiar feeling, like Ryan’s fingers brushing her cheek, brushing her hair away from her face.
Taking a deep breath, sighing deeply, Autumn was happy. Watching kids walk by, laughing, some already digging into their candy bowls, Autumn heard something that didn’t scare her at all. Coming from the baby monitor, she heard Ryan, and focusing on his voice, she had missed it so.
“I love you baby girl,” Ryan said, talking to his sleeping daughter, the baby monitor picking it up, Autumn sitting, an audience to a ghost father’s love. “Daddy’s here. Daddy’s always gonna be here.”
Knowing her husband was there, knowing he was her husband forever, well after death did its part, Autumn knew she loved him just as much then as when he was alive. The amount of effort he had to have gone through to return the necklace, the write the letter, she felt that she had to return the favor. And she knew just how. Gathering the baby monitor and her phone, she would clean the beer and broken glass later. She had a pair of pink panties with white frilly trim to find. Her husband was going to get a show that night.

A thief in the Night


For the story goes

A thief betrayed the Mistress of the night

Shadowed in the palm of fate

He wooed her with his might

Showered her with loves embrace

And flowered her with passion but just a little taste

For little did she know

That beneath that loving exterior

Dwelled a charming thief

Who saw her as inferior

To rule the skies at night

His goal to make her fall in love with him

Then steal away her kingdom in the sky

But she new he was no regular guy

So when he tried to pull a rug over her eye

She nearly lost her shine

But being the Mistress of the night she didn’t surrender without a fight

She gathered all her power and imprisoned him in moon light

Play

Engulfed in Fire (Pigs at a Bar 3)

Ilmierel closed his eyes. Meditation was the easiest way to enter the Paramount. The Paramount was the quickest way to travel to other places throughout the universe for anyone who possessed that knowledge and understanding to access it. Ilmierel was one of those people. Often, he would just travel by spaceship, but to receive clearance to go to a planet that was not logged in the Database, formally known as Mother, was much too time consuming.

Before, Ilmierel did everything he could to hold back information from his favorite creations, because he was sure it would benefit them in the long run to live through the advancements in human technology and evolution on Earth, but now everything had changed. With the galaxy in a civil war and the affects drawing nearer to the small rock near a star (they called the Sun) he felt like he had no choice to go to them and warn them of the events soon to come.

In order to reach the High Plane, Ilmierel had to stop his heart and release his mind and body from its corporeal bonds. For a man like him, this was not difficult, just slightly more time consuming. It would be easier to step inside an Ascension-Pod, but those also required clearance. So, Ilmierel was left to release himself the old fashioned way. The way he originally learned how to do it.

Within 30 minutes, Ilmierel’s body shut down. His heart stopped, the synapses in his brain stopped going off, and his body went up in flames.

Ilmierel opened his eyes. Nothing was visible. All around him, he was surrounded by the purest most cleanest of whites. He thought about his most recent experience on Earth. How he had awoken his latest creation, Isma’il. He remembered Isma’il’s struggle to walk with the gravity of the world pulling him down. He also remembered Na’im entering the room and acting like he was in the presence of a god.

No sooner than that last thought came into his mind, he was staring a wooden door, the color of blood. Ilmierel knocked lightly on the blood red door. He heard the shuffling of a person’s feet. A few seconds later, the door opened. On the opposite side of the door stood a short bearded man no older than 24 years old. His hair was short and messy and he wore black leather boots, black pants, and a puffy scarlet shirt that matched the color of the door.

“You grew a beard,” Ilmierel said, smiling. “That is good, yes?”

The man in the scarlet shirt grabbed Ilmierel by the collar, pulled him into the house, slammed the door closed with one of his legs, and pushed him against the wall. The expression on the bearded man’s face was not pleasant. It was full of anger and hatred. Only once before had he seen Ilmierel and that was one of the most aggravating days of his life.

“How dare you show your face to me,” the bearded man said. “You left me on this miserable planet with an insane lunatic that practices a false religion. And you didn’t even care to tell me that I can live forever? That town you left me in, 50 years later chased me out for being a witch because I never aged! Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.”

“Because you couldn’t if you tried,” Ilmierel said. “Besides, I am here to tell you everything. I trust that you will not harm the growth of this planet’s inhabitant’s minds. Even when I created you, you seemed to be a trustworthy man. I just couldn’t be sure. Now, I have no choice but to share my knowledge with you. Now, Isma’il, let go of me and show me to your parlor so we may talk.”

 Isma’il let go of Ilmierel. “What about Na’im?” he said, gesturing toward his parlor. “Should he not be apart of this conversation?”

“Na’im should not be allowed to see me. My guess is that he still believes me to be a god, which is absolutely ridiculous. I do not enjoy being around him. He makes me uncomfortable. No, I do think you should tell him what I tell you.”

The two men entered the parlor and took their seats facing each other. Isma’il took in Ilmierel’s newest look. The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer wearing armor, but wore a light tan robe that wrapped around him instead. His white hair had grown down to his shoulders and his face was much more stressed.

“So,” Isma’il said, “you never told me your name.”

“My name? My name is Ilmierel.”

“Is that a common name among your people?”

“No, but it is not like I am the only one.”

“What is it you came back here to tell me?”

“I came here to tell you about what is going on in this galaxy.”

“Galaxy? What’s that?”

“A galaxy is a group of suns that have many worlds, such as this one and other ones in it.”

“Okay, what is going on in this galaxy?”

“The galaxy has broken out into a civil war,” Ilmierel explained. “Many people believe that we should invest our resources into finding a way to bring people that are not like me to different galaxies. They believe that people like me are trying to control them and keep them from having free will and doing what they want. Truthfully, that is not what we believe. We do not actually think it is possible, yet, to travel to another galaxy by any easy means.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Sooner or later, your world will become apart of this war and your race will join our enemies. When that day comes, I will need you to let me know so I can come here and give you all a different perspective on what is going on and try to have you fight their wish to have you join them.”

“How would I contact you?”

“I am going to teach you how to be like me. I made you human, which means your brain is susceptible to change, easily. Soon, you will possess the abilities to do what I can do.”

“What can you do?” Isma’il said, trying to sound like he still understood what Ilmierel was talking about.

“Through the great knowledge I have obtained over the time I have lived,” Ilmierel said, “I have learned how to manipulate the matter around me to do as I wish, I have learned how to persuade people with that matter manipulation by striking different wave lengths into their ears to make them believe what I want them to believe and control lower class creatures. Of course, my people can only use this matter manipulation on a low scale, which is why we invented new sciences and technologies to help us perform greater amounts of manipulation.”

“Why do you not just use those sciences and technologies to convince your enemies to stop fighting and believe that what you say is the truth?”

“My kind prides themselves in not being gods, but protectors and creators for other types of life forms that cannot reach our potential. Letting them have free will is key to not playing god. Besides, we couldn’t if we wanted to. Our enemies have found a way to cut us off or shut down our newest inventions meant high scales of manipulation.”

“Great, when do we get started?” Isma’il said, now very interested. A loud booming sound came from the front door. Ilmierel gestured toward Isma’il to get down. Isma’il ignored him. Getting up, Isma’il got on his knees and reached under his couch. Pulling out, two swords, he tossed one to Ilmierel. Ilmierel caught it and silently ran to the right side of the parlor’s entry way. Isma’il silently ran to the left side.

Two soldiers in steel armor looked into the parlor. Ilmierel struck both men with a bolt of lightning
that traveled through the two of them. Both men fell to the ground, helplessly. Isma’il shoved his blade through the closest guard. Ilmierel did the same.

“What the hell was that?!” Isma’il whispered.

“Matter manipulation,” Ilmierel said. “I will teach you soon. Right now, we must focus on getting out of here.”

Ilmierel led the way back toward the front door. Another soldier came into view. Striking the man with lightning, Ilmierel ran up to him and shoved his blade through the man’s heart, gently laying him on the floor.

The continued to the front door where they found two more soldiers standing guard. Ilmierel handed Isma’il his sword. Clenching both hands into fists, he opened them quickly to reveal small balls of lightning. Cuffing his hands together, Ilmierel combined the two lightning balls causing a large bolt of lightning to shoot through the two soldiers, scorching everything it had passed.

Taking back his sword, they continued through the front door, out into the town. Outside, they were greeted by a militia. Many wore uniforms, some wore armor such as the men who had entered the house, and some looked like ordinary men. One man took a step forward. He held a torch in his left hand. The man wore clothes just as ordinary as a peasant, except for the sword on his left side that was tied across his chest with a leather strap and sheath.

“Pity,” the man with the torch said. “I was looking forward to burning your house down with you inside. I guess we don’t always get what we want.”

The man through the torch into a window on the second floor. Instantly, the house began to burn. Within minutes, the entire house was engulfed in flames, smoke filling the air. Ilmierel tried hard to think of what he could do to stop the militia from doing anymore damage without making a scene that would sooner get him killed for witchcraft.

“Ilmierel, do something!” Isma’il yelled.

“Quiet, I am thinking!”

“Well, think faster!”

Only one idea came to Ilmierel that could be viewed as a complete accident. He could force Isma’il’s house to fall over on top of all of them. The only problem
Ilmierel saw with that would be that Isma’il couldn’t protect himself. Ilmierel would have to jump on top of him and shield him from the fire and debris.

“Anything?!” Isma’il said.

“Maybe…” Ilmierel hesitated.

“Do it!”

Focusing on the make up of matter behind the house, Ilmierel jumped on Isma’il and brought them down to the ground. The matter pulled down with the movement of Ilmierel’s body. The house crashed down on all of the soldiers and Ilmierel. Ilmierel felt the heat of the flames on his back. Now focusing on the matter around him and Isma’il, he bent the air’s matter into an invisible shield against the fire.

“Explain to me why I just did what I had to do,” Ilmierel said.

“You want to talk about this now?” Isma’il said. “We are under a burning building on the verge of being crushed and you want to talk about why I am being attacked?”

“Unless you have something else to do until this fire goes out.”

“Good point. I suppose I have been in town too long.”

“What town is this?”

“London, England. This country is quite interesting. Right now, they are at war across a huge piece of water called the Atlantic Ocean.”

“What is the year here? This world goes by a different date system than the rest of the galaxy.”

“1775.”

“So, Na’im must be 1,765.”

“You know, Na’im has not changed a bit since you last saw him. He refuses to leave Istanbul in case you come back for him. He believes that because you set foot there twice, that you must appear there again.”

“He definitely got that wrong. Poor man, I wish he could just see the truth that I am not a god but an ordinary man from another world. I even told him that and he did not believe me.”

“Hey, Ilmierel,” Isma’il said, changing the topic. “Do you think you could make this fire go out faster?”

“Give me a moment.”

Ilmierel adjusted himself so he could move his hands. He made a fist with one and opened
this other. Concentrating on the fire, its movement and consumption of air, he slowly made a fist with the other hand. As Ilmierel closed his hand into a fist, the flames became smaller and smaller. By the time he had closed his hand into a fist, the flames with almost gone. Clenching both of his fists at the same time, all the fire and all the smoke disappeared.

Isma’il pushed Ilmierel off of him. The two of them laid in the debris of the fire for a couple of minutes. Ilmierel was very surprised at Isma’il’s way of accepting everything he said. He was impressed with his ability to just go with what was going on and not ask questions. He was the exact opposite of Na’im, which he liked very much.

“C’mon,” Ilmierel said, standing up. He pulled out a robe similar to the one he was wearing and offered it to Ilmierel. “You need to not be spotted. Wear this and put the hood up.”

Isma’il stood up and took the robe from Ilmierel. Unlike Ilmierel’s, the one the Isma’il had was brown. Putting it on, Ilmierel wrapped the right side across the front for Isma’il and buckled it on the side. Isma’il pulled the hood up and crossed his arms inside the huge sleeves.

“Lead the way, Isma’il,” Ilmierel said pulling his own hood up.

“Where are we going?”

“Take us somewhere that is far away from other people. That way, we will not be spotted during your training.”

“Why can’t we just turn into that white light like you did last time you left?”

“That white light was a piece of teleportation technology aboard a spaceship far above us in the sky.”

“I am going to pretend I know what teleportation is and is a spaceship a flying ship rather than a ship that goes across water?”

“Exactly.”

“Why can’t we just go there?”

“I did not take a spaceship here.”

“I know the perfect place for us to go, then.”

Premise for Murder Mystery

When they picked Little Jo up at the Sears department store, in the home appliances department, the main thing sergeant Vega wanted to establish was whether or not Little Jo was connected somehow to the crime scene at the ice-cream factory.

Back in the office, Little Jo had woken up a little, now showing signs that he was cognizant of his surroundings in fairly precise detail, i.e. he knew whose body it was that his consciousness was now inhabiting.

Sgt. Vega reviewed her (long) list of questions she had to ask Little Jo. “Hey there Little Jo. My name is Sergeant Vega, and I’m with the NYPD, ok? I’m gonna have to ask you a loada questions. Do you understand that?”

Little Jo nodded. “Yes,” he mumbled, “yes I got it.”

Ok. First question was “Do you have any ID?”

There was a pause, and then Little Jo shook his head. “No,” he said, “I don’t have any.”

“Do you know why is that?” said Sgt. Vega.

This is what always happens. For some reason, the suspects never have any ID. This one, Little Jo, acted all confused, like he had no idea why he didn’t have any ID. He just shrugged. “I–uh–I honestly don’t know.”

Sgt. Vega moved expertly onto the next question. “So you have no idea why a store clerk finds your ID just lying around in the home appliances section of a nearby Sears, the morning *after* an as yet unidentified corpse is found frozen in a shell of chocolate dip, an internal layer of vanilla ice-cream surrounding it, within an industrial freezing appliance at an ice-cream factory?”

It was too much exposition for Little Joe, and he just shook his head once, then stared blankly at the sergeant.

“And after finding your ID, police soon also find you sitting inside a display fridge unit nearby.”

No response.

“You’re shiverin’, except it’s just a display unit. The electricity was not even turned on, it was probably hotter in there rather than cold.” She put her notebook on the table, now in stride, and said “What we want to know is why in the world you were shivering, Little Jo?”

A look of realization slid onto Little Jo’s face. The identification, the refrigerator, the body in the freezer; all of this had to have something to do with a small taste he’d taken a few weeks ago from a strip of paper that had been left fluttering in wind near a local Taco Bell.

“Magic paper,” said Little Jo, suddenly.

Sgt. Vega took her notebook back, and pulled a pen from her breast pocket. This was going to be good.

“I was strolling,” began Little Jo.

“Strolling? You’re just strolling? Just randomly like that?”

“Yes,” continued Little Jo, “just very randomly strolling. Looking for avenues, and streets–traffic signals, that kinda thang. And I was on my cellphone.”

Sgt. Vega prepared her pen. “Who were you on the cellphone with, Little Jo? Who were you talking to?”

“Well–”

“But wait,” said the sergeant, expertly, “before you answer that, can you tell me if you remember if there was a name on your cellphone. Cos a lot of people put their names into the phone–that way they can remember their name, in case they forgot or something.”

“Yeah,” said Little Jo. It was all clearing up now, and he was getting more interested in the conversation. “I remember the name now. It was Sagat, Bison.”

Vega dropped her notepad and looked at the criminal. “Oh. Sagat Bison,” she said. “Kind of an unusual name, don’t you think? Weird arrangement. Sagat is not a very good first name.”

Little Jo smiled a fresh smile back at her. “It’s actually Bison Sagat. I just like to put the last name first, with a comma–it makes it sound more official.”

At least, she really, really wanted this guy to be the criminal. “Ha. Now you’re name-calling a homicide detective. You don’t think I’ve heard that before? Little kids who think they’re gods at Street Fighter making fun of my last name?”

“Okay, it was just a joke,” said Bison Sagat, “Don’t take it that seriously.”

“So who were you talking on the cellphone with, Bison?” asked Sgt. Vega.

“Two people,” said Sagat. “My momz, and my ex-girlfriend. Both at the same time.”

This was getting really weird. “Oh, so you’re on the phone at the same time with your mom and gf. Was it a conference call, Bison?”

“No,” said Sagat. “I was using the ‘hold call’ trick that they have, speaking to my mother in one moment, and then speaking to my ex-girlfriend the other. They both called me up out of the blue, trying to find out what I was up to at that particular moment.”

“Where are your mother and ex-girlfriend right now, Roger?” asked Sgt. Vega, then. “Can we give them a call, maybe? See how they’re doing? Maybe they’re feeling a little…left out in the cold, you know?”

Bison looked up. “Who’s Roger?” he asked.

“You’re Roger,” said Sgt. Vega. “Remember, we found your ID just a few feet away from the display refrigerator you were sitting inside.”

“Oh. But–”

“Yes?”

“How would you know that that is my real ID?”

Sometimes it pays to try the longshot. “Well,” said Sgt. Vega, “we know it’s yours because the barcode imprinted in it corresponds to the chip that was embedded in your neck when you were born.”

“Oh…” said Roger. “But they could have just transplanted the chip,” he said.

“Why would anyone do that?”

Roger looked down at the small desk. He kept looking for a good twenty-thirty seconds. Only when Sgt. Vega shook her head, ready to pursue a new tree of investigation, did he look up again. “Maybe…” he said, and he seemed very uncertain of this. “Well…they always sometimes dim the lights on me.”

“What?”

“Like sometimes, I’m fine as a feather,” said Roger, “and all of a sudden it’s like someone ‘dimmed’ the lights in the room for just one second or so.”

Sgt. Vega stabbed repeatedly at her notepad with her pen. “They just dim the lights?” she asked. “And what do they do after they dim the lights in the room?”

“I don’t…know,” said Roger. “It’s too fast. It only happens for, like, one second. And then it’s over.”

“Over? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” nodded Roger. “And even more, it happens even regardless of whether there is a room or not. Sometimes it even happens in the streets to me.”

“Streets?”

“Yeah, I’m just walking around, in the streets, all of a sudden I experience this feeling like…like as though my battery life just dipped for one moment. Except it’s not a battery for my phone, or if I’m driving, a battery for my car, but more like…more like my own battery. My own personal human battery.”

The Recruiter

“You sit there, and just smile at me. You drink your orange juice, no pulp. You had to have no pulp. You sit there, drink your no pulp orange juice, pulling that unlit cigarette from your lips, putting it back, pulling it out to sip your juice, putting it back. But you won’t light it. Not once, you won’t light it. Just sit there, smiling, drinking, and…. Well, it doesn’t matter what I say now does it?”

He laughs at his companion’s agitation. It is amusing after all, someone getting so bent out of shape over things so little, because all he can see is a bigger picture, but even so, it’s blurred. Like a massive painting. From far away, he can make out a galloping horse racing through a sunlit meadow, but upon closer inspection, your eyes were fooled from far away. Upon closer inspection, it’s just a blur of colors, nothing spectacular, no galloping horse, not even a meadow. Just a big picture that isn’t what you think it is up close.

That’s how John thought.

Pulling the cigarette from his lips, sipping his orange juice, and smiling, Thatcher couldn’t help but wonder how in the world people got by thinking like John. There were so many, who lived by the “Big Picture” rule.

“That’s what you are John. A Big Picture kinda guy. You don’t look at all the little pebbles at the bottom of the pond and think, ‘man, there’s millions of pebbles on the bottom of that pond.’ No John, you walk up to that pond, stand on the edge and think one thing. Do you know that that one thing is you think John?” Pull the cigarette out, take a sip, set glass down, cigarette returned to the lips.

“That it’s a pond. Just a pond.” John said it, knowing that what Thatcher wanted to hear, that that was the answer he was seeking. And John would deny it, in his head, to the man sitting across from him with the loaded gun, with the cigarette and the orange juice. But, deep down inside, John knew that the man across from him was right.

“Exactly. It’s just a pond.” Cocking the hammer back on the gun, making John’s heart skip a beat, Thatcher relaxed back in his chair, running his free hand through his long, black hair. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this. Not in a long, long time.

“Why are you doing this?” John had to know. There he was, in his home, being held hostage by a man who had barged in, gun to John’s head, forcing the two to sit down. For two hours, to the second they had sat in silence, nothing said between them as Thatcher pointed the gun at the owner of the house. Then, precisely as those two hours were up, Thatcher pulled the unlit cigarette from his lips that had been there from the get go, introduced himself, asked for a glass of orange juice, no pulp.

“Ask yourself why the pond is just a pond?” Thatcher was smiling, still smiling.

“What does a damn pond have to do with you pointing a gun at me?” John couldn’t figure out for the life of him what he had done to make another man want to hurt him. The chance was there that Thatcher was no more than a crazy person, which was seeming more accurate a conclusion with each passing moment.

“The pond has nothing, and everything to do with this John. Here we are, two strangers, sitting across from each other, one has a gun pointed at the other, and the other has nothing pointed at the one. And then I ask you about a pond. Makes you wonder about the pond and why I even bring it up. Because John, right now, this situation is the pond. And it’s sink or swim time. Which are you going to do?”

John didn’t understand. What was happening? Was he about to die? Was he about to get shot by a man who didn’t even know, hadn’t met before, hadn’t even known existed before two hours and sixteen minutes earlier that evening.

“What are you going on about? Please, tell me what I did to deserve this? What did I do to you? Do you want money?” This only made Thatcher laugh harder, the cigarette almost falling from his lips, the man having to struggle to hold his mouth just right to not let the menthol stick fall.

“Please, all I wanted was your time, your ears and a glass of no pulp orange juice. I got all three, now all I want is for you to grasp and understand my reason for existing. We all have a reason, and this is mine.” All John could think was that Thatcher was out of his mind.

“If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with. I can’t stand this bullshit. I don’t get what you are going on about. So do it, just kill me.”

“There it is John. Just a pond, no pebbles. ‘Just kill me, kill me already.’ And you are probably thinking I’m out of my mind too aren’t you?” John just nodded, his eyes glued to the gun still pointed at him. “John, look at this, and ask yourself why I’m here?” Pulling out a picture from the front pocket of his ratty jean jacket, setting it on the table between the two, John was in shock, not understanding how the man across from his had it.

“Ashley.” The picture was of John’s daughter, who, having just died three weeks before in a car crash, was still the only thing that her father could ever think of anymore. He missed her so much, and for this psycho, this Thatcher to taunt him with her picture, it was sick. John didn’t care if he was going to die, get shot, whatever. He was going to murder the psycho who dared to even bring up his daughter. “You bastard, where did you get this?” John held the picture like it was his daughter, though he knew all too well the real Ashley was gone.

“That’s not important John. What is, is the pond.” Cigarette out, sip of juice, glass down, cigarette back.

“The pond. The pond. What does the pond have to do WITH MY DAUGHTER!” Slamming his fist on the coffee table, the glass top shattered, glass flying everywhere, but there Thatcher sat, just smiling. “If you’re going to kill me, KILL ME! DON’T SIT HERE, and talk to me about ponds, lakes, whatever. Just DO IT!” Crying, John was through, spent. His mind hurt from trying to figure out what was happening.

“That’s just it John. You want to see her again. Would die to do so. You blame yourself. Think it was your fault. She was driving though John, you were at home. Drunk driver hit her, not her fault, certainly not yours. And you are just begging me to pull that trigger, thinking that it would me committing murder, not you committing suicide. You miss her that much.” Finishing the orange juice, Thatcher set the empty glass down, and stood, looking down at the sobbing man.

John cried heavily, falling to the floor onto his knees, his hand bleeding, his non-bleeding hand holding the picture of Ashley to his heart. Thatcher was right. Absolutely right.

“Are you my Angel of Mercy? An Angel of Death? Who are you?” John prayed to some God that man had been sent to reconnect father and daughter. John’s wife had left him years ago, leaving the man to raise his daughter alone, leaving the two to grow closer, to bond. And then, with Ashley stolen from him, he was left alone in a world that was cruel, harsh, and unforgiving. “Be my Angel of Death Thatcher.”

“I’m no Angel, nor do I want to be. Too much work taking care of those wings.” Laughing, Thatcher walked over, placing a hand on the crying man’s shoulder. “The gun was never loaded, it just helps to get people to listen. Everything, all this, this world, life, death, it’s all a pond. Sometimes, you need to look past that, and right there, amongst the water, the ripples, the fish, is one pebble just waiting to be found.”

John, looking up to the man whose voice was soothing, calming, Thatcher still smiling, the cigarette still between his lips, John was still confused. Thatcher, nodding with his head towards the seat he had just been sitting it, John thinking it was empty, but proven wrong as he looked to it, his daughter somehow sitting there, smiling and crying, looking at her daddy.

“Ashley,” John said, losing his breath, crawling around the broken top table to his daughter. She was there, he could feel her, hug her. She hugged back. Her hair, her long blond hair was in his face, but he didn’t care. It smelled of lilies, and rosemary. It was pretty.

“I miss you daddy.” Her voice, it was soft, but it was Ashley’s, only making him cry harder.

“I miss you too baby. I miss you too. And I love you. I love you so much. And I’m sorry. I’m so….” His daughter put a finger to his lips, hushing him. Shaking her head, tears that shined like crystals falling from her eyes.

“Don’t be sorry daddy. It wasn’t your fault. And Thatcher took me to a better place, told me I’d get to see you one more time. But, he said, for me to see you, you had to do something.” His daughter was there, there with him for one more time. John would do anything. He couldn’t explain it, how Thatcher had done it. John knew it was Ashley, couldn’t deny it. He had buried his daughter weeks ago, and yet there she was, right in front of him, he holding her. He would do anything. He owed the man anything.

“Anything. You let me see her again. I let me see her.” Kissing her cheek, John looked away, throwing a smile to Thatcher, feeling Ashley disappear from his arms. Looking back, the seat was empty, his little girl gone from him again, making his cry again, this time harder than before.

“I’m tired of collecting souls John. I’m ready to gallop through a meadow, or swim in a pond, instead of just collection pebbles to sit at the bottom. You sir, are my replacement.” Standing, Thatcher, finally lit his cigarette. Twenty three years he had been waiting to light it.

“I don’t understand. Collect souls? For, heaven.” John, still crying, said he would do anything, but, he didn’t quite grasp was he was being charged with.

“No John. I said I wasn’t an angel.” Laughing, taking a closed eyed, long drag of the menthol stick, Thatcher blew the smoke out passed a sinister grin.  “It’s a bit unfair, how we trick ‘em. I bring Ashley up, you see her, you agree to anything. Terrible really. Unfair in my opinion. Don’t see it coming. You didn’t see it coming did you?”

“I don’t understand. What’s happening?” Standing, looking to the gun was sitting on the floor, the gun that Thatcher had said was empty.

“Welcome to Hell’s Recruiting Services. We borrow souls on loan from heaven, use ‘em to ensnare guilty souls, and drag ‘em to hell. Quite a profession, and we get dental. Here’s the book of regulations, rules, guidelines, do’s and do not’s. And by the way, orange juice helps with going from the living world to hell. Don’t know why. Just does. Just remember, always…”

“No pulp,” John said, mouthing the words, not sure what else to say but to finish the sentence with the obvious answer. His eyes had shifted from the gun to the book that Thatcher held, and the man’s mind was spinning. Was it all real? Had his daughter’s soul been loaned from heaven to a man from hell to lure him into the same profession.

 

*

 

“Can I help you sir?” The woman asked, answering the door to the stranger who had been loudly knocking for several minutes, and though she had tried to ignore him, it had been no good, the knocking just continued until she gave in and answered it.

“Hello Marie. I’m going to need a glass of orange juice, no pulp. And my name is John,” the stranger said, the cigarette between his lips bouncing as he spoke. Four weeks it had been there, and he was actually surprised that he was good as his new profession, Recruiter.

 

The Night Guardsman

The planes of life and death are many, with just as many planes of reality and imagination in between. Take for instance Mr. Goodman Howe, a kindly old man who has lost everyone in the world he loves, and yet he still goes on day to day. But, on the first day in a long time, something good will happen to Mr. Howe, only in- The Twilight Zone…

*

Sitting in his vehicle, the rusted out ol scrap that it was, more rust on the truck anymore than paint, Goodman looked at the near empty parking lot, only two other vehicles there besides his. One, the day guards, Ricks. The other, one he hadn’t noticed before. Must’ve been someone working late, he thought. Something that happened ever so rarely.

After the death of his wife a few years prior, Goodman found himself lonely, the isolation of sitting at home alone filling him with depression and grief. Needing to get out, he opened the papers one day, the papers being from days before, and yet still, he saw the ad, called the number, and got hired to fill the position, no problems. Night guardsman for an avionics production facility. A quiet job, and quiet was just what Goodman thought he needed. A quiet job, outside of his eerily, quiet home. But over time, he found that his little guard shack didn’t offer any sort of relief that he had been hoping for.

Finally climbing out from his rust bucket, the hands on his watch finally finishing their crawl to those two one’s standing side by side like two lonely men, the eleven o’ clock shift starting, another night of nick-at-night reruns and reading through the papers from days before.

Strolling up to the shack, Rick already outside waiting, much like he did most nights, his impatience overly visible in his body language. “Bout time Goodman,” the kid said. The kid, Goodman thought, like he could call him that. Rick was in his early thirties, and compared to Goodman’s early seventies, hell, he could call him a kid. Damn kid’s.

“It’s right on eleven,” looking to his watch, seeing it was eleven o’ two, Goodman damning himself, caught in a very minuscule lie, but a lie none-the-less, wondering how it had taken him two whole minutes to walk from the rust bucket to the shack. Was he getting that slow in what used to be a strong, meaningful stride?

“Alright,” Rick said, just playing it off, knowing it wasn’t worth getting irritated with the old man. “You have a good night now.” With nothing else, the man, or kid in Goodman’s eyes made his way to his car, in it, key turned, wheels quickly turning to leave the ugly truck and one other vehicle sitting alone in the parking lot.

Climbing into the shack, shutting the door behind him, taking his seat, realizing that he had grown tired of the job, with no one there at night, nothing happening, Goodman just reasoned that it was just best he stayed put, kept the job. It’ll just be the same anywhere else, he thought. Lonesome. Quiet.

Grabbing a newspaper off the shack’s little counter, the counter itself littered with candy bar wrappers, which Goodman supposed was Rick’s, the man looking to have never minded his weight, and a small t.v., the company nice enough to run a cable line out to them so they could zone out on the job with the trash that was on the boob tube, as Goodman’s son called it.

His son, Gary, had moved all the way over to the other side of the country, in California, where he designed video games, or something like that. Thinking about him, his graduation from high school, college, Goodman was proud of his son, but missed him dearly, having not seen him since Christmas. Of last year.

Wish he’d settle down, give me a grandchild. Goodman thought, hoping his thoughts would drown out the silence of the shack, not that it was completely silent, the humming from the light above him relaxing, once you got used it that is. After so long, the sound became torture, staying in your ears well after your shift has ended and you’re lying in bed trying to get to sleep. Back to his son and a grandchild, Goodman reasoned that even if Gary had a child, its grandfather would never see it. Gary had always been a momma’s boy.

 

The hours rolled by slowly, agonizingly slow. Unable to even fall asleep, even though that was a no-no on the job, something he had been warned about countless times the day he was hired, Goodman knew better than to expect anything to happen. Nothing ever did happen. Ever. Flipping off the light in the shack, the television not even on yet, Goodman not having reached that point of boredom to give in and watch reruns that he had seen countless times, he looked out the dirty window up to the sky and stars, wondering if Mary, his wife, was looking down on here, feeling sorry for her miserable, widowed husband. But he also wondered when he had missed his chance to do anything worth doing in his life.

Not that life hadn’t been good, but looking back on it, Goodman just couldn’t think of anything that had been worth his life, worth life itself. And it saddened him to think that his existence on Earth had been wasted. Deciding to change his mood and demeanor, depression something he had gotten used to but wasn’t in the mood for that night, he flicked the television on, turned it to nick-at-nite, and let the show’s he was only half-heartedly watch take the rest of the night away.

An hour passed by like that, when startled by a sudden knock at his door, Goodman about fell from his chair, was almost certain that he was going to have a heart attack, his old heart pounding in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time. Looking to see who had spooked him, a kid, and this time a young man, no more older than twenty three, stood, smiling, mouthing the word sorry through the door’s tiny window.

Motioning the kid in with a wave of his wrinkled hand, the door opened, the young man stepping in, apologetic. “I’m really sorry bout that,” he said. “Didn’t mean to give you a scare there.” Laughing, Goodman thought little about it, just glad to have someone to talk to for a minute.

“It’s nothing, needed it to keep me awake. Is there something I can do for ya? You the one working late in there?” Looking out to the car that hadn’t left yet, it was the logical thing to think.

“Yeah, that’s me,” the kid said, looking out to the car. “Ol thing ain’t starting up, was wondering if I could use your phone, can’t seem to find mine.” Goodman, not even seeing the kid walk out to his car and attempt to start it felt bad, the old man never owning a phone in his life, and the realization that his shack didn’t have one either. What good was a guard with no gun and no phone? He thought, they really must not expect anything to EVER happen out here.

“Sorry, but, no phone. Wish I could help. Got a key to get back in the building, they got phones in there.” Reaching for his keys, getting up to walk in, the kid wasn’t too worried about calling for a ride.

“Nah, don’t worry bout it sir, thanks anyways. I don’t live too far from here, and I can walk. Nice night out anyways.” Looking back behind him into the stars much like Goodman had been doing, a smile came across the kid’s lips that reminded the old man of better days, when he young, and thought he could own the world. Instead, the universe turned everything around on him, leaving him alone in a too-crowded world.

“It is ain’t it. Reminds me of when I was about your age. Owned a cherry red ’56 Chevy. White top, never had the thing on with nights like this to drive around. Love the feel of the wind making my way down these roads. Remember when this parking lot used to be nothing but fields, looked so nice in the moonlight.”

Goodman was in a very happy place thinking back to his days of his reckless youth, burning down the back country roads, back before they were asphalt and yellow paint, with Mary in the passenger seat, neither wearing a seat belt, the voice of Buddy Holly trying to beat out the roar of the engine and the howl of the young couple’s laughs. The best of times.

“Those must have been the days,”  the kid said, still looking up into the sky. “Welp, I better get goin before the wife starts wonderin’. You have a g’night now sir,” the kid said, the sir surprising him, kids these days having no manners. Goodman just nodded, said a goodnight and a goodbye in response, his mind left wandering back to better days. His night would go by quick, the rest of his shift spent on back country roads with the wind blowing through his memory.

 

Two hours had grudgingly crawled by, leaving Goodman to wish he could return to working on his Chevy in his pa’s garage, or sitting with Mary the night of their first kiss, both nervous teens, just waiting for one to make a move. Mary made the first move, putting her hand on top of his on the hillside that looked over both their homes. They had lived close, their houses on the same street, their families went to the same church.

Seeing his rust bucket and the kid’s car being the only two in the parking lot again that night, he wondered if the kid’s car was still not running, left from the night before, or if the young lad was working late again, leaving the misses at home waiting.

Not in the mood to watch the television or read the paper that he had brought in with him, not that it was worth reading, the damn thing four days old, he instead walked out of the shack, stretching his old, tired legs, getting some fresh air. Stepping into the night, the air was a bit chilly, autumn creeping it’s way up on the closing summer, but autumn was Goodman’s favorite season. Most likely cause it had been Mary’s. She loved the colors of the leaves.

Very calm, taking deep breaths, taking in the stars, wishing he could just fly up there with them, around the planets, maybe take in the sight’s of Saturn’s rings, talk to the Man on the Moon, roast a marshmallow over the sun, Goodman jumped when he was surprisingly greeted from behind.

“Hey,” laughing, realizing he had yet again startled the night guardsman, the kid laughing, placed a reassuring hand on the old man’s shoulder, apologizing. “I’m sorry. Keep doing that too ya.”

“You’re gonna kill me one of these nights. Catch me just the right way and poof!, heart attack,” Goodman playfully grabbed his shirt over his heart, acting like his heart was giving out on his, going into full character with facial expressions and groans, getting a few more laughs from the kid. “Late night for ya again. Must love that overtime.” Finishing his laugh, the kid just nodded.

“Not really, but hey, could use the money. Takin’ in the night air?” he said, taking a deep breath himself, eye’s shut.

“Good night to do so. And those stars are just calling down to me. ‘Come play with us Goodman.’” Looking up at them, he knew Mary was up there.

“Goodman, eh. Well, I’m Matt.” Reaching out a hand for a shake, Goodman returned the gesture and was pleased by the strength in the kids, Matt’s, grip. A real man’s handshake Goodman thought. A gentleman’s.

“It’s nice to meet you Matt. You’re a good kid.” Goodman said it, instantly regretting calling Matt a kid, not sure if he would take offense too it or not. Kid’s these days, no respect and they take everything to heart. What happened to the youth of this over-crowded world?

“Same to you Goodman. Can I ask you something?” Goodman nodded. “You get bored in there, all by yourself at night? I mean, nothing ever happens round here. I mean, I say that like I know.”

“No, no, you’re right. Nothing exciting ever happens round here. They keep me here for my looks,” Goodman laughed, knowing his charm and good looks left him ages ago, replaced with wrinkles and worn out eyes. But back in the day, he was handsome. Could have been competition for James Dean, or Presley. And Mary, Mary had been so gorgeous. Could have a movie star, she could have. “Welp,” Goodman felt bad, holding the kid up with meaningless chit-chat. “Better get home to the misses now, don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“It’s okay. She’s prolly asleep anyways. I’ll stick around. You need the company anyways.” Goodman couldn’t argue with that. He wanted to tell the kid no, tell Matt to get on home and climb into bed with that girl, cuddle up with her and enjoy it while he had her. But it was only for one night.

“Not much to do round here at night. Got the little shack here,” Goodman said, slapping the door, like he was glad it was all his. “Got the television in there. That’s it. Not much for a young man like yourself. You really should be gettin’ goin.”

“Why don’t we sit out here and you tell me bout those days on these back streets, when these were fields in the moonlight.” Sitting down on the pavement, back against the wall, Goodman thought about and would be glad to tell a story, but he sure as hell wasn’t sitting on the ground. His old back wouldn’t last very long, and he’d never get back up. Grabbing his seat from inside, he made sure Matt wouldn’t be offended if he sat in it, the respectful young lad not caring one bit, just sitting cross legged like a young child waiting for a good story to be spun.

“Let me tell ya bout the time I was racing Charlie Everett…”

 

Life was good to Goodman. Going to work wasn’t so bad. Matt had stayed the whole night, heading home just before the sun came up, listening to the better days of an old man’s life, smiling the whole time. It was the best thing to happen to Goodman in a long, long time, and all the kid had done was listen, but, Goodman realized, Matt had done more than that. He let Goodman remember. Let the man go back to those days. Let him sit behind the wheel of his car. Racing down the back roads neck and neck with ol’ Charlie Everett in his Model T. Man, did Goodman smoke in at the end.

Walking up to the booth, Rick was outside waiting like he always was, although Goodman was fifteen minutes earlier than usual, a smile on his face, his whole demeanor just a little bit brighter.

“You look like a kid on Christmas morning,” Rick commented, wondering why the night guardsman was in such a good mood.

“I feel like it, that’s for sure.” Looking around the parking lot, he noticed for the first time since pulling in that Matt’s car was finally gone, not parked in the spot it had been for days. Maybe Matt had finally gotten it towed, or more than likely he had left early that day, not feeling like the overtime was worth staying late for. Goodman had to admit to himself, if the kid didn’t startle him that night, he would be a tiny bit disappointed, rather enjoying the young lad’s company.

“So, you hear about the accident? I swear they don’t tell us anything. I read it in the paper this morning,” Rick said, the excitement to tell his news almost sickening, Goodman knowing it couldn’t be any good.

“What happened?” Goodman asked, almost not wanting to hear.

“Kid died here a few days ago. Was working late, fell from a rafter while working on the tail of one of the birds,” birds being airplanes, “no one found him till yesterday morning. Company is trying to keep it secret. Can’t believe I didn’t hear bout it till I read bout it.”

“Kid. What kid?” Goodman asked, the part of him that questioned the unquestionable forming a name already, though the rational side of the old man’s brain told him it was impossible, but as Rick tried to remember, Goodman mouthed along with him just as the name came to him.

“Matt something or other. Young kid. Had a wife with a baby on the way.” Goodman couldn’t believe it. It had to be another Matt. Not his Matthew. It just wasn’t possible.

“Was there a picture of the kid?” the night guardsman asked, knowing a picture would prove the crazy assumptions going through his mind wrong, that he would be put to ease knowing his Matthew was home with his misses, doing what young couple’s do nowadays.

“Sure wasn’t. Damn shame though. Well, I need to get going. Have a good one Goodman.” And like that, Rick was gone, leaving an old man alone to wonder in a tiny shack.

 

An hour passed by when Goodman finally decided he couldn’t sit no more, staring out into the parking lot where a kid, no, a young man’s car had been parked the day before. Stretching his legs, hands in his pockets, he didn’t want to think about Chevy’s, or Charlie Everett, or the good ol’ days. He just wasn’t in the mood to think about those days, long and past.

Looking up at the stars, then to the moon, wondering what the Man up there was thinking about, Goodman was startled, nearing jumping off the ground by a “hello” from behind. He knew the voice, and knew that he hadn’t heard anyone walking up behind him. He also knew no one had been in the building working. No one. Turning to see Matt, the boy smiling.

“Sorry bout that. Bad habit I guess,” Matt said, looking at the sad old man before him. “You okay Goodman?”

“Are you bub?” Goodman asked the kid, only ever calling his son that.

“I’m fine. I mean, I feel a little weird, but I’m prolly coming down with something. Everyone is this time of the year.” Looking up from Goodman to the stars, his smiled turned into a small grin, an innocence present, a longing to be somewhere that he couldn’t get too. Goodman knew the kid didn’t belong there with him, was meant to be someplace else, with Mary. But he couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. If Matt was supposed to be with Mary, wherever Mary was, the stars, heaven, wherever, he would go when he was well and ready too.

“So, want to hear about the time I got caught sneakin’ into a lasses room?” Goodman asked, the kid sitting down, cross legged, smiling and nodding. Grabbing his chair, Goodman was content. Maybe, just maybe, that was where Matt was supposed to be…

 

 

*

 

An old man left alone in an over-crowded world. A young man robbed of his youth in an accident, only to visit with a lonely man and hear about days long ago. There are many places we are destined to be in our lives, and in the times after our light has been extinguished. And sometimes the most important place we can be is there for someone who needs us. That is no more truer than in…. The Twilight Zone

 

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