The creature lurch forward in the chair. Penny backed farther out of the room. Every part of her wanted to flee. Every part of her wanted this to be a nightmare. But she was not waking up and she was not leaving. She was not sure why the latter was true, but it had something to do with not wanting to leave Joan. It would be wrong, unless of course the creature attacked. Then it was every soul for itself.
Standing now, what had been Joan, began to take a step toward Penny. As it did, a shudder passed through its body and it began to shake. Then like a rag doll, it collapsed on the floor as though all life had been pulled out of it in a sudden but total way. It lay on the floor, motionless; a pile of clothes tossed aside.
Penny held her breath, but did not move any closer to it. She had seen horror movies like this and she was not going to be the stupid protagonist. She would not bend down to see if her friend had returned to her body only to have the monster get its powerful hands around her fragile neck.
The pile still did not move, no life present.
Should she call out to Joan? But what if the creature answered? What if this were a trap. Penny felt the tear ripping through her. What if Joan needed help? What if the body was not breathing? Not only would the creature die, but any semblance of Joan would as well.
Some small, sick part of Penny presented the mind with, "would that be so bad?" But Penny stomped on the thought as though it were a menacing spider before it could completely manifest itself. No, she did not wish Joan any real ill. And then she realized an even more startling insight; somewhere along the way acceptance had happened. Somewhere, somehow she had accepted that Joan was a permanent part of her life and she had resigned herself to this idea.
Crap, she thought and moved forward just a bit. With one shoe, she gingerly nudged the limp heap on the floor. It did not move. She nudged it again, a little harder. Still no motion. A small cold panic began to spread through out Penny. Was Joan really was dead?
One more nudge from her foot caused the head to roll a bit. The head rolled towards Penny and open, dead eyes started into the vacuous space.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Maxie's Story - Vote For Me Please
The following is the story of Maxie (whom we just met). Your humble author has submitted this to a brickfish.com contest. Please vote for the story.
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Maxie
As silence descended into the the stalled car, the she-creature stopped moaning. She uncurled her head from the fetal position and looked around obviously for the gun that was now in Rog's possession.
"Crap," he muttered as the final engine sound died away. This time the car had stalled out in the middle of the road. He popped the hood, and began to open the door.
"Wait, what's going on?" the she-creature asked, trying to bring a sound of authority into her voice.
He turned back to her, hoping he heard her right because there was still a lot of ringing in his ears left over from the very recent gun fire.
"The car died. I am going to check the engine," he told her, firm grip on the gun.
She looked around in an almost desperate gesture. And as he continued to get out of the car, she reached forward and grabbed his arm. Her hand felt like a frozen skeleton gripping his. Yet it was a strong grip.
"Do something," she whimpered at him. Women, he thought. How had the somewhat sexy she-creature turned into this shrinking mass of dirt in his backseat?
"Do something," he repeated, "I should do something. I should throw you out of my car. Hell, if you had just asked I would have given you a lift, but no, you made demands in another way."
"You wouldn't have stopped to give me a lift," she said in a more quiet tone as if speaking to the backseat itself.
He stared at her, "Stop? I was stopped when you climbed into my car."
"Look at me," she continued, "Why would anyone in their right mind help me looking like this?"
He was getting exasperated. The day was suddenly just a little too much. He closed the door and turned even more to the rear of the car.
And as they continued debating whether he would or would not have helped her, both forgot that they were sitting in the middle of a road. both were sudden;y arguing meaningless points as if they had been married for years.
The car light approaching in the twilight made Rog squint since he was looking in that direction, but he was too involved in this freak show that had suddenly become his life.
He had just asked her, "God, you don't know me and what I would do or wouldn't do. Hell, I don't even know your name."
"Maxie," she had screamed back to match his tone, "I'm Maxie."
Rog was just about to ask her what kind of a name Maxie was, when the lights of the vehicle shining in his eyes became so close they lite the entire backseat.
"What the..." he began right before the truck, for it was a truck, made the first impact. They felt it more than heard it. It was the sound of creaking metal and breaking glass. Maxie was thrown forward into Rog. From far away or so it seemed, they could hear the horn being blown, but at the same time, their car began to move.
"Crap," he muttered as the final engine sound died away. This time the car had stalled out in the middle of the road. He popped the hood, and began to open the door.
"Wait, what's going on?" the she-creature asked, trying to bring a sound of authority into her voice.
He turned back to her, hoping he heard her right because there was still a lot of ringing in his ears left over from the very recent gun fire.
"The car died. I am going to check the engine," he told her, firm grip on the gun.
She looked around in an almost desperate gesture. And as he continued to get out of the car, she reached forward and grabbed his arm. Her hand felt like a frozen skeleton gripping his. Yet it was a strong grip.
"Do something," she whimpered at him. Women, he thought. How had the somewhat sexy she-creature turned into this shrinking mass of dirt in his backseat?
"Do something," he repeated, "I should do something. I should throw you out of my car. Hell, if you had just asked I would have given you a lift, but no, you made demands in another way."
"You wouldn't have stopped to give me a lift," she said in a more quiet tone as if speaking to the backseat itself.
He stared at her, "Stop? I was stopped when you climbed into my car."
"Look at me," she continued, "Why would anyone in their right mind help me looking like this?"
He was getting exasperated. The day was suddenly just a little too much. He closed the door and turned even more to the rear of the car.
And as they continued debating whether he would or would not have helped her, both forgot that they were sitting in the middle of a road. both were sudden;y arguing meaningless points as if they had been married for years.
The car light approaching in the twilight made Rog squint since he was looking in that direction, but he was too involved in this freak show that had suddenly become his life.
He had just asked her, "God, you don't know me and what I would do or wouldn't do. Hell, I don't even know your name."
"Maxie," she had screamed back to match his tone, "I'm Maxie."
Rog was just about to ask her what kind of a name Maxie was, when the lights of the vehicle shining in his eyes became so close they lite the entire backseat.
"What the..." he began right before the truck, for it was a truck, made the first impact. They felt it more than heard it. It was the sound of creaking metal and breaking glass. Maxie was thrown forward into Rog. From far away or so it seemed, they could hear the horn being blown, but at the same time, their car began to move.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
A Finger On A Trigger Of A Gun
The coldness spread through out Rog until it felt like a fissure in the ice when he pressed his foot down on the break. For one of those familiar spilt seconds that takes eons to live through, his rational mind tried to decide what to do. He had never had a gun stuck in his head before. In fact, he had never had a gun pointed at him - ever. A fine solider he was going to make. Be cool, he told himself.
"Don't brake, keep driving," the voice of his assailant said behind his ears. He looked again into the rear-view mirror. The gun was pushed harder into his head to an almost painful point, "Eyes on the road."
But the voice had done something unexpected to Rog. It had calmed and soothed him much more than he assumed it was meant too. The fact registered into his mind. His assailant was a "she." From what he had seen, she was not a large "she," and a rather young one at that.
"Fine. Where do you want to go?" he asked in a calm voice that reflected the relief in his mood. Why just the idea of an erratic female in this backseat, finger on a trigger of a gun should be enough to make him fear for his life. He was after all the only male in the family of very strong women. He knew the true force of their roar and it had little to do with volume. There ]fore at this moment, he knew better than to antagonize the she-creature with the long black hair and dark eyes. In fact, as he inhaled with his nose, he suspected she was not much in favor of clean hygiene.
"I don't know, just drive." So, he did and headed the long way to his mother's house.
"Suit yourself," he said wondering what he really should do in this case. He did not know her after all, and though he got a sense that she was merely desperate and not dangerous, he could not be too sure.
"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.
He heard the sigh, "What we all want. Something warm and secure, not the ice picks that pin you to the table."
Oh dear, Rog thought. Why me? Why did all the dark poetesses out there always manage to find him. What was it about him? And this time this circumstance seemed completely random. Who else but Rog would get a dirty, desperate, gun-totting poetry queen hijacking his Monday plans. But part of him was intrigued.
As he began to lose himself on auto pilot and contemplate the mystery behind him, he was unaware that his speed was ebbing. A sudden bang, pulled his attention completely. His head rang and he was sure he had been shot in the back of his head. Holly sh-t, he said to himself. Why do I always underestimate the crazy ones?
The suddenness of the loud sound and feel of the discharge had cause his foot to stomp on the brakes. Once again the car began to spin across the street. In the slow motion of this, he began to think new tires for the car might be a novel idea or perhaps it was not the tires at all but the little bit of rain they had gotten earlier. It had cause the road conditions to be slicker than normal since it had not rained in weeks.
He heard the screams coming from the back seat. He should be dead by now. How long could one live, thinking one's thoughts, before the brain realized it had a new friend named bullet in its domain?
Rog looked in the back seat. There was no blood, only as creaming she-creature who was curled up tightly in an almost fetal position. He had not been shot. Perhaps she had shot herself? But he saw noblood on her either and she was definitely breathing.
Slowly the car stopped its circles. Once again, Rog had managed to do a 360 without injury to the car or himself. He actually laughed and realized she had fired a warning shot out the window, a shot that was supposed to force him to drive faster. Now the gun lay on the back seat, just within his reach. The she-creature had paused in her wails, but had not moved. Carefully, Rog reached past her and picked up the gun.
At the same moment, the car, fine but angry over the interruption of zen driving, sputtered for a moment and died.
"Don't brake, keep driving," the voice of his assailant said behind his ears. He looked again into the rear-view mirror. The gun was pushed harder into his head to an almost painful point, "Eyes on the road."
But the voice had done something unexpected to Rog. It had calmed and soothed him much more than he assumed it was meant too. The fact registered into his mind. His assailant was a "she." From what he had seen, she was not a large "she," and a rather young one at that.
"Fine. Where do you want to go?" he asked in a calm voice that reflected the relief in his mood. Why just the idea of an erratic female in this backseat, finger on a trigger of a gun should be enough to make him fear for his life. He was after all the only male in the family of very strong women. He knew the true force of their roar and it had little to do with volume. There ]fore at this moment, he knew better than to antagonize the she-creature with the long black hair and dark eyes. In fact, as he inhaled with his nose, he suspected she was not much in favor of clean hygiene.
"I don't know, just drive." So, he did and headed the long way to his mother's house.
"Suit yourself," he said wondering what he really should do in this case. He did not know her after all, and though he got a sense that she was merely desperate and not dangerous, he could not be too sure.
"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.
He heard the sigh, "What we all want. Something warm and secure, not the ice picks that pin you to the table."
Oh dear, Rog thought. Why me? Why did all the dark poetesses out there always manage to find him. What was it about him? And this time this circumstance seemed completely random. Who else but Rog would get a dirty, desperate, gun-totting poetry queen hijacking his Monday plans. But part of him was intrigued.
As he began to lose himself on auto pilot and contemplate the mystery behind him, he was unaware that his speed was ebbing. A sudden bang, pulled his attention completely. His head rang and he was sure he had been shot in the back of his head. Holly sh-t, he said to himself. Why do I always underestimate the crazy ones?
The suddenness of the loud sound and feel of the discharge had cause his foot to stomp on the brakes. Once again the car began to spin across the street. In the slow motion of this, he began to think new tires for the car might be a novel idea or perhaps it was not the tires at all but the little bit of rain they had gotten earlier. It had cause the road conditions to be slicker than normal since it had not rained in weeks.
He heard the screams coming from the back seat. He should be dead by now. How long could one live, thinking one's thoughts, before the brain realized it had a new friend named bullet in its domain?
Rog looked in the back seat. There was no blood, only as creaming she-creature who was curled up tightly in an almost fetal position. He had not been shot. Perhaps she had shot herself? But he saw noblood on her either and she was definitely breathing.
Slowly the car stopped its circles. Once again, Rog had managed to do a 360 without injury to the car or himself. He actually laughed and realized she had fired a warning shot out the window, a shot that was supposed to force him to drive faster. Now the gun lay on the back seat, just within his reach. The she-creature had paused in her wails, but had not moved. Carefully, Rog reached past her and picked up the gun.
At the same moment, the car, fine but angry over the interruption of zen driving, sputtered for a moment and died.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Things Friends Know About Us
"That's good that Rog is properly insured," Rebecca said continuing to cook the meal Madeline had laid out.
Madeline was still feeling a little worried about Rog. Her motherly instincts had begun to nag a little harder. Still she tried to stifle the desire to grab her own car keys, drag Rebecca with her, and go in search of her son.
Rebecca sense the worry in her friend and decided to change tactics. Perhaps bringing a new subject into the conversation was just what was needed.
"Anyway, how is that graphic designer daughter of yours?"
Madeline gave a smile to this. Poor Penny, ever to be associated with her Nemesis called graphic design. The child had been trying to leave that and every other part of herself behind since her divorce. She had planned to start anew. But Madeline could see no indication of that in Penny's directives. Yes, she had moved to an apartment in the city, had managed to isolate herself from her old friends, but had been unable to shake the graphic design habit. Though her daughter professed to not being a designer anymore, every morning was filled with calls from clients asking her to do "one more" project and sure enough the afternoons would be spent fulfilling these requests. There seemed to be no evidence of a new job search or even the mention of a future occupation. Madeline thought perhaps that Penny just liked to complain about it and would miss it more than her old life if she were to truly give it up.
"She's fine," she said, "though she is supposed to be coming for dinner as well." How long had it been since she had last talked to Penny? Surely she was due any moment now. Then Madeline remembered her plan to sign Penny up for a dating service. "By the way, I meant to ask you, which dating service did Rachel use to met Gary?" Rachel was Rebecca's daughter, who like Penny was divorced but as opposite of Penny as one could get. She was outgoing and seemed to be a barbie doll of a person.
"eHarmony.com. Why?"
"Well, I was thinking about signing Penny up for a match making service. It is time she started getting out more." As Madeline heard the words coming out of her mouth, she suddenly knew she would try Match.com instead. It was not so much about being contrary, but more about playing the opposite of what had worked for Rachel. Penny had always loathed Rachel, so if she knew Madeline had signed her up with the same service, she would be mortified. Ha. She would be mortified anyway, but in a different, unhateful way. Plus Madeline's last words reeked of a pesky, nosey mother who might be living vicariously through her daughter. It was not that Madeline wanted Penny married off again, but she wanted to see some life put back into Penny. And it had always seemed to her that when Penny started dating a new guy, there was a little more sparkle to her daughter's earthiness.
Rebecca nodded knowingly, "Rachael has only good things to say about the service. Though there is a difference here. It was Rachel's idea to try eHarmony.com. Some how I feel this is not Penny's choice."
"True enough," Madeline sighed.
Rebecca looked suspiciously at her old friend, "Are you even going to tell her?"
Madeline was still feeling a little worried about Rog. Her motherly instincts had begun to nag a little harder. Still she tried to stifle the desire to grab her own car keys, drag Rebecca with her, and go in search of her son.
Rebecca sense the worry in her friend and decided to change tactics. Perhaps bringing a new subject into the conversation was just what was needed.
"Anyway, how is that graphic designer daughter of yours?"
Madeline gave a smile to this. Poor Penny, ever to be associated with her Nemesis called graphic design. The child had been trying to leave that and every other part of herself behind since her divorce. She had planned to start anew. But Madeline could see no indication of that in Penny's directives. Yes, she had moved to an apartment in the city, had managed to isolate herself from her old friends, but had been unable to shake the graphic design habit. Though her daughter professed to not being a designer anymore, every morning was filled with calls from clients asking her to do "one more" project and sure enough the afternoons would be spent fulfilling these requests. There seemed to be no evidence of a new job search or even the mention of a future occupation. Madeline thought perhaps that Penny just liked to complain about it and would miss it more than her old life if she were to truly give it up.
"She's fine," she said, "though she is supposed to be coming for dinner as well." How long had it been since she had last talked to Penny? Surely she was due any moment now. Then Madeline remembered her plan to sign Penny up for a dating service. "By the way, I meant to ask you, which dating service did Rachel use to met Gary?" Rachel was Rebecca's daughter, who like Penny was divorced but as opposite of Penny as one could get. She was outgoing and seemed to be a barbie doll of a person.
"eHarmony.com. Why?"
"Well, I was thinking about signing Penny up for a match making service. It is time she started getting out more." As Madeline heard the words coming out of her mouth, she suddenly knew she would try Match.com instead. It was not so much about being contrary, but more about playing the opposite of what had worked for Rachel. Penny had always loathed Rachel, so if she knew Madeline had signed her up with the same service, she would be mortified. Ha. She would be mortified anyway, but in a different, unhateful way. Plus Madeline's last words reeked of a pesky, nosey mother who might be living vicariously through her daughter. It was not that Madeline wanted Penny married off again, but she wanted to see some life put back into Penny. And it had always seemed to her that when Penny started dating a new guy, there was a little more sparkle to her daughter's earthiness.
Rebecca nodded knowingly, "Rachael has only good things to say about the service. Though there is a difference here. It was Rachel's idea to try eHarmony.com. Some how I feel this is not Penny's choice."
"True enough," Madeline sighed.
Rebecca looked suspiciously at her old friend, "Are you even going to tell her?"
Monday, September 24, 2007
Mortality Insurance
In that moment, she was totally thankful for the fact that she had life insurance. If something happened to her, her family would not be faced with her debts or funerary expenses. Because she was still young (when does one truly grow old?), what had seemed like an innocuous but good idea, made a lot of sense when one could be surprised by the fragility of mortality.
Getting life insurance had been easy, especially now that Internet made it easier to find. For someone who did not relish seeing doctors, there was life insurance without a medical exam available. No blood pressure check (and facing the white coat syndrome), no poking or prodding, and no needles. This meant one could have term life insurance without having a blood test. No fainting necessary.
On the profam.com web site, it was a painless procedure thanks to Advantage One. On this site one could learn about the benefits of having a term life insurance policy verses whole life, expense being a big component (saving 75%). One could get 10, 20 or 30 year policies just by answering a few questions. It was definitely an inexpensive way to provide for loved ones and one could get quotes on these just with the click of the mouse.
Yes, there was relief in knowing she was covered, and had done so in a painless way by getting term life without medical hassles.
Getting life insurance had been easy, especially now that Internet made it easier to find. For someone who did not relish seeing doctors, there was life insurance without a medical exam available. No blood pressure check (and facing the white coat syndrome), no poking or prodding, and no needles. This meant one could have term life insurance without having a blood test. No fainting necessary.
On the profam.com web site, it was a painless procedure thanks to Advantage One. On this site one could learn about the benefits of having a term life insurance policy verses whole life, expense being a big component (saving 75%). One could get 10, 20 or 30 year policies just by answering a few questions. It was definitely an inexpensive way to provide for loved ones and one could get quotes on these just with the click of the mouse.
Yes, there was relief in knowing she was covered, and had done so in a painless way by getting term life without medical hassles.
Mortality
Penny lurched back even farther. Her reality was slowly falling away and exposing something moldy, damp, and squishy in nature. But slowly her mind began to detach from the situation and a movie began to play forward. It was as if she was watching this horror show where she was a lead character, but if she wanted, at any moment she could move, go get popcorn or visit the restroom.
Penny, who described herself as slow on the draw, but seemingly always had a comment, looked at that which had once been Joan.
As if the words were coming from someone else, Penny found herself asking, "If you are not Joan, then who are you?"
The creature did not move, not even the lips, but spoke, "I am everything. The name does not matter." The words hit Penny in a way that made her flinch as though someone had just made a motion to strike her. This made no sense.
"Then what do you want?"
Still no movement, "It is not what I want, but what you must do. This is a warning, Penny. You must change or change will destroy you."
A small throbbing began to grow inside Penny's head. It was as though the creature were speaking a foreign language she could not understand. Yet, she knew the words. Each in its own right made sense, but not put together.
"Hear me, Penny. You must tread carefully or you will be doomed."
In that moment, Penny felt the shiver of true panic run down her spine. Doomed for what? Doomed how? And she also began to feel her mortality.
Penny, who described herself as slow on the draw, but seemingly always had a comment, looked at that which had once been Joan.
As if the words were coming from someone else, Penny found herself asking, "If you are not Joan, then who are you?"
The creature did not move, not even the lips, but spoke, "I am everything. The name does not matter." The words hit Penny in a way that made her flinch as though someone had just made a motion to strike her. This made no sense.
"Then what do you want?"
Still no movement, "It is not what I want, but what you must do. This is a warning, Penny. You must change or change will destroy you."
A small throbbing began to grow inside Penny's head. It was as though the creature were speaking a foreign language she could not understand. Yet, she knew the words. Each in its own right made sense, but not put together.
"Hear me, Penny. You must tread carefully or you will be doomed."
In that moment, Penny felt the shiver of true panic run down her spine. Doomed for what? Doomed how? And she also began to feel her mortality.
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