eFiction
July 2010
Issue No. 004
Tonya Moore’s Blood Binds Episode 4 Oil In the Wormwood Series - Part 2
Interview with Gary Murning, author of “If I Never”
Weeb Heinrich’s really BAD Shakespere Episode 2
Jersey Surf, by Glen Binger, Episode 4. plus more stories and articles inside...
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
Contents Letter from the Editor
Serial Fiction
Interview with Gary Murning
really BAD Shakespere Episode 2 R.E. “Weeb” Heinrich
Short Stories Blue Skies
Anthony Squiers
Blood on the Asphalt
Blood Binds
Episode 4 Oil in the Wormwood Series - Part 2 Tonya R. Moore
Jaimie Krycho
Jersey Surf
The Art of Being a Coward
Episode 4 “Don’t Forget Your Raincoat” Glen Binger
Tracey Kelliher
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July 2010 eFiction Magazine
Letter from the Editor Dear Reader,
Somehow you have found this magazine. It makes no difference the method, so long as you’re here now. Get
yourself comfortable. Curl up with the magazine on your favorite reading device and lose yourself in the stories that our authors have so expertly crafted for you.
A little background for those who don’t know. eFiction is a monthly fiction magazine that is committed to
bringing you the latest electronic fiction in your inbox. I started the magazine at the start of 2010 because I noticed fiction was lagging behind other media in the transition to the internet. This magazine fills that gap.
No matter the genre you enjoy reading, eFiction covers them all. There are stories that are many episodes long,
and stories that span just a few pages. There is something for everyone.
If you are a professional writer, or just somebody with a story to tell, and would like to see your name in the
magazine, please visit the submissions page of the magazine’s website.
If once a month is not enough of an eFiction fix for you, jump to the blog. It is updated a few times a week. Or
follow the editor on twitter @DougLance. Send comments or questions to editor@efictionmag.com
Thanks for reading,
Doug Lance
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July 2010 eFiction Magazine
Author Interview Gary Murning Take us back to when you first found your passion for writing. When did you first aspire to be a writer? I think I pretty much fell in love with the idea of being a writer at a very young age, Doug. Those first classroom “stories” that we all write showed me just how powerful and useful imagination can be. I have -- and have always had -- a fairly severe physical disability, and whilst writing wasn’t actually “an escape”, those first childish efforts did introduce me to the freedom we all feel (or should) when we first started writing. As a kid, though, my imagination largely manifested itself in play. I always had lots of action figures and that’s where most of my childhood stories developed and were acted out. So, I suppose it was more of a childhood infatuation than full-blown falling in love! That came somewhat later, when, having had to cut my education short due to illness (at around the age of 19) I found myself with rather a lot of time to fill/kill. I read voraciously and at the age of 20 started my first novel. Almost 24 years later and I still love the feeling I get from doing it -- the thrill of seeing characters live on and off the page, of hearing their voices and sharing their joy and pain. It gives you one hell of a buzz!
4
How did you transition from your childhood infatuation with writing to publishing your stories? That was quite a long, drawn out process. I started submitting as soon as my first novel was complete. I’d never really enjoyed writing or reading short stories, so I really jumped in the deep end. I set myself the goal of writing a relatively short novel -- 70,000 words or so -- and achieved that in about six months. It was, of course, terrible. But still I submitted. People might ask, “If you knew it was terrible, why submit?” And I suppose the simple answer is I felt I owed it to myself and the work. I needed to hear/read what people would have to say about it. It was terrible, but I’d read some terrible published novels, and a part of you hopes that someone will see something promising in what you’re doing, even at that stage. The first responses, naturally, were very negative. Many publishers/agents, like today, simply responded with a form letter -- but those who did take a few moments to write something personally were straight with me. Something I appreciated even then. “You have a lot to learn about the narrative form.” That’s what one agent said. She also said, however, that I had an eye for detail, but that it wasn’t always the right detail. And I suppose, in many ways, that was the real beginning of my writing career. Those initial comments gave me something to work with/on. I looked at my narrative and did what that same agent had suggested; I read it aloud and listened to it. And, yes, it sounded absolutely appalling. That one piece of advice has stood me in great
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
stead ever since. I always listen to my work, now. From there, I wrote... and wrote... and wrote some more. I submitted again and again, and within the space of three of four novels the responses started to improve. By the fifth novel I wrote, agents were telling me that my work was “well written”. But still publication didn’t come. Publishing went into recession. Everything became more difficult. We came out of recession but still nothing. I had lots of encouragement along the way. I signed with a reputable agent and then terminated my agreement with him after, shall we say, a slight disagreement! And then another recession came along and, to be honest, I had by this time written off any idea of publication for at least a couple of years. I started to work on a project just for me, a long piece I’d been wanting to write for ages, and, as is so often the way with life, publication came when I least expected it -- right when the most recent recession was at its worst. You achieved your goal when you had given up hope. How ironic. So now, after all that frustration of querying agents, your book is out in the world. How have readers responded? Yes, it was pretty ironic -- and so often the way. I still sort of felt it would happen but just couldn’t envisage it happening for some time, given the state of the global economy etc.
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But, yes, Legend Press took me on and now it’s out there... and reader response has been overwhelmingly positive. A few people haven’t found it to their taste, nat-
urally, but the vast majority seen to really grasp what I’m trying to do -- which, given that my work doesn’t neatly fit any particular genre, is immensely gratifying. It must be very rewarding to know that readers are understanding and connecting worth your work. The novel we are talking about is titled “If I Never”. In a few words, could you give us the basic outline of the story? If I Never uses a driving narrative focusing on the growing love between two “social misfits” to explore themes relating to choice -- the decisions we make and how those around us can impact on them. I’m looking for a novel to read this summer, what sets “If I Never” apart? The points that readers seem to be picking up on most are the pacing of If I Never and, also, its depth. My goal when I started writing it was to create something that was entertaining and thought-provoking. I have a thriller/ mystery element to it that, I think, nicely complements the growing central love story. It’s quite bizarre, also, in places -- and deliberately over the top. I push boundaries but, also, I ask certain questions and, judging from the reactions I’ve had, make my readers think. That sounds like my type of novel. Do you have an electronic version of the novel available? How can readers learn more about the book? Yes, Doug, as well as being available in UK high street bookstores and online (quite extensively) in traditional
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
book form, If I Never is also available for Kindle and other e-readers. You can get it electronically in the US through Amazon.com and in the UK through Waterstones. Both of these websites have free samples available -- something you can also find on my website. What does the future hold for your readers? Is this the last time we will see Price? Is there a new project in the works? Yes, I think it probably is the last time we’ll encounter Price. There are a number of possible lines I could develop into a sequel -- a few loose ends that I very deliberately didn’t tie up too neatly. But I think a sequel would in many ways undermine what I tried to achieve with If I Never. There is plenty of new work in the pipeline, however. A second novel is now at the editorial stage and I’m on the final couple of chapters of the first draft of what should hopefully be the third. I am also at the early development stage of my next piece -- a very dark tale set in Whitby. Especially looking forward to writing that one! I hope your future novels will be available digitally. What is your opinion of efiction(electronic fiction)?
a way of working and creating fiction -- would be pretty foolish, the way things are developing. I probably read, for pleasure and relaxation, a couple of hours a day and this always involves a traditional, bound book. However, I work online. By that I mean even when I’m writing, I’m connected -- and once I’m finished my 1000 words, I move on to those other aspects of writing: promoting, marketing, research etc. And when you do that, you tend to stumble upon a lot of really important creative projects out there, individuals writing novels on Twitter, that kind of thing. People are finding new ways of sharing their creative endeavours but, more to the point, they’re also finding new ways of working. Whilst that isn’t really something that appeals to me any more (I took part in a huge online collaboration about 12 years ago and it didn’t really do it from me), I think it can only ever be a good thing. Literature, art -- whatever... if it doesn’t evolve and push the envelope... well, as far as I’m concerned that would be the sounding of the death knell. Thanks for taking the time to talk with me, Gary. Best of luck on your future projects. I hope to hear more from you in the future, as our readers do as well. It’s been my pleasure, Doug. Thanks for the opportunity.
All being well, they certainly should be, Doug. My publisher, Legend Press, seems pretty committed to making their books available via this medium.
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You know, whilst I do prefer an old-fashioned paper book, I think any writer who dismissed the electronic side of things -- whether as a way to distribute one’s work or as July 2010 eFiction Magazine
Blue Skies
started working for The City over forty years ago. Besides doing a tour in Vietnam, this had been his only job.
Anthony Squiers
aging voice.
I hated that stupid prick. I couldn’t stand listening to his
voice—the sheer idiocy of his words, the emptiness of their meaning, the way he would stammer through a sentence like some drunken, backwoods sodomite.
“Aw, fuck this!” I said unable to listen to anymore of the
President’s retarded babble. I reached over and turned off the radio, “I’d rather get to work then listen to this prick.” Rayvern and Stan nodded their heads in agreement. The three of us were sitting inside the cab of the city truck warming our hands. We were supposed to be digging a grave for a kid who got run over by a drunk driver. But, the last couple of weeks in October were really cold and the ground was too hard for our shovels. We were waiting for Billy’s fat ass to come with the backhoe.
“Hey Stan, You got you some mo’ dat coffee?” Rayvern asked
with a mischievous grin exposing the gap between his two front teeth.
Stan reached under the seat and pulled out an old-fashioned,
torpedo shaped thermos. His wife bought the thing for him the day he
7
“There’s some cups in the glove box,” he said in a crackly and
Rayvern got the cups out and Stan poured the coffee. This was
Stan’s special coffee, a half and half mixture of homemade wine and Maxwell House. Drinking wine and coffee at work was a vestige of an older time, a remnant Stan took from his grandfather’s day—the harsher days of immigrant labour, the days of salt mine cave-ins and fourteen hour work days.
I was on my third cup of Stan’s coffee before Billy finally
showed up. Not that I really gave a shit. Without complaint, I fell right in line with the prevailing work ethic around that place. There was an unstated challenge to see how much work you could get away with not doing and still keep your job. When you work for The City you can do remarkably little. Billy came tearing around the bend, idiotically, at full speed, a blue streak of testosterone and heavy metal abandoned. He skid the machine to a stop about six feet in front of the truck. The radio was turned all the way up and the speakers were all crackles and static. I recognized it right away: it was a complication tape that’d been in the backhoe for years. I think Billy made it when he was in middle school. If anyone bothered to take it out of the tape deck and look it over they
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
would see a faded handwritten label calling it the “Ultamate Kick Ass
Rock.”
don’t you want them?”
8
Billy, the illiterate fuck, kicked off the engine and jumped
“Yeah, I’ll take them.” I said, smiling on the inside. “Why
“I can’t go.”
down from the backhoe, a dull thud marked his landing. Billy Buck
“Why not?”
really was fat—almost three hundred pounds. And he played the part
“My old lady won’t let me go. She’s been pissed off ever since
well. He was lazy as fuck and was always shoving his face full of
she caught me with the neighbor. You know me—Billy Buck, likes to
Champ Burgers and Seven Layer Burritos.
fuck—that was some nice trim too.”
“Goddamn!” Billy exclaimed, hoisting his pants over his
“What the fuck are you talking about, Billy?” I asked, not
blubbery ass.
immediately realizing Billy was baiting me in.
Stan, Ray and I got out of the truck.
“Where’s the plot?” Billy asked looking around.
well he hadn’t. “I had me this nice piece that lived next door, Courtney
Ray and I shook our heads dismissively.
Wilcox.”
“Jesus Christ Billy, it’s the one with all the flags on it. It’s only
“Courtney Wilcox!” Ray and I exclaimed in stereo.
goddamn plot with flags on it,” said Stan.
“Courtney Wilcox that went to Central?” Ray asked.
“Oh.” said Billy.
“Yeah, you know her.”
Stan mumbled something under his breath and jumped into the
Ray and I looked at each other. In fact, we did know her. She
“Oh, didn’t I tell you ’bout it?” he asked, knowing goddamn
backhoe.
was in our homeroom senior year.
“Wasn’t she retarded or something?” I asked Ray.
couple tickets to the Motörhead concert on Tuesday, at the arena?”
“Yeah! Yeah! I thought that bitch was retarded,” said Ray then
turning to Billy, “Man, how you fuck a retarded bitch.”
“Hey Don,” Billy said shifting his attention to me, “you want a
“Oh shit,” I thought. I really wanted to go to that concert and
even tried to get tickets but it was sold out.
“Fuck you, Ray! She’s not retarded; she’s smart. She’s a
“How much?” I replied, playing it cool.
cosmetologist. She’s just got a round face.”
“Half price.”
“Man you sure she don’t have Downs Syndrome or some shit?”
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
asked Ray suppressing a laugh.
so sure.”
“Fuck you, Ray-vern.”
“Why, what do you think?” I asked.
“Man fuck you Billy,” Ray said getting pissed, “Hillbilly…
“It’s going to be close but I think he’ll get re-elected—”
Billy Buck likes to fuck…shhhitt…fuck retarded bitches.”
“More like elected for the first time,” I interjected, “not
I could tell Billy was getting pissed off too so I intervened.
“Just give me the fucking tickets,” I said.
“No shit…”
I gave Billy the money and he gave me the two tickets for the
Stan took a big drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke out
fourth row center.
the window.
When Stan finished digging the grave, Ray and Billy took the
backhoe back to the garage. Stan and I got in the truck and headed
“You know,” he said, “this is the worst I’ve ever seen it.” I let his statement sink in a second or two. It was the kind of
over to Riverside Park to blow leaves off the softball field. By
thing I learned to take seriously from Stan. He had seen some shit in
November most of the leaves have fallen in Michigan. We’d already
his days—Vietnam, race riots, Watergate, the Iran-Contra affair. He
blown the field twice that fall; so, when we got there, there weren’t a
had absorbed the worst America had to offer for the last sixty years
lot of them lying around. Stan and I decided to kill some time in the
and came out of it the most jaded but, realistic person I knew.
truck before we got going on the job. It was Friday and there was no
“Worse than the Nixon years?” I asked.
sense in being overly ambitious. Stan pulled out his Basic Lights and
“Oh hell yes,” he replied in his failing voice, “Nixon was bad
lit one, looking out over the steering wheel.
but at least he was smart.”
“Who do you think will win the election?” Stan asked offhandedly.
I nodded my head in agreement and laughed. “You know,” Stan said as he flicked an ash, “I don’t think we
“I don’t know,” I said thinking it over. It was something I’d actually thought quite a lot about recently. “I think Kerry will win. I don’t think people would be stupid enough to elect Bush again.”
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anointed king by the Supreme Court.”
“Yeah?” Stan replied, “I hope you’re right; but, I wouldn’t be
can handle four more years of this. I really don’t.” Stan was right on the money. There really was something ominous about the election, something sinister and dangerous about the prospects of Bush winning. The stakes seemed very high. Bush had
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
already managed to fuck things up so bad in four years. There was no
hardly ever anyone at my bus stop. Most of the people that worked
telling what horrors awaited another term. That’s why I was sure he
that far downtown had their own car; just like I used to before that
wouldn’t win.
bitch, Kayla took it to California and never came back.
“What do you say we knock this thing out and call it a day?” asked Stan as he flicked his butt out the window.
After a full day’s work and with a week’s pay in my pocket, I should have felt good about myself. I should have felt the God-fearing
We got out of the truck and I felt the brisk chill of the autumn
protestant satisfaction of a job well done. But, I didn’t. Maybe it was
air. I put on my ear protection and fired up a blower. The world was
my Catholic upbringing. Maybe it was the shit pay I got. Whatever
lost inside the empty drone of the engine. I looked out across the field
it was, I didn’t feel any satisfaction. Instead, I just sat my ass in the
littered with brown, dying leaves. I lowered the blower and sent a
cold, rubbing my hands like a hobo, enduring the most savage bit of
cloud of them sailing upwards as I moved forward, the whole time
capitalistic irony a person could be asked to endure. I sat there staring
marching to the cadence of Stan’s words repeating in my head. Four
at the travel agency’s window across the street, where they advertised
more years…Four more years…Four more years…
trips to all kinds of great places—places I needed a hell of a lot more than $488 a week to ever see.
■
Everyday that I’d been taking the bus, I was forced to see this twice—once first thing in the morning when I was heading to my shit
I clocked out a 5:03 and picked up my paycheck. Just like
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job and once more when I was headed back to my shit apartment. It
every other week for the last three and a half years it was for a grand
was almost masochistically that I allowed myself to fantasize about the
total of $488.27, after taxes. Normally, I’d go down to Duke’s with
sexy little, dark-skinned girl wearing a bikini on my favorite poster.
the other guys from work on a Friday night; but, I just didn’t feel like
Deep down, I knew it wouldn’t matter if I ever finished my stupid
it that night. Stan’s political assessment put me in a bad mood. So, I
college degree. I would never get a better job than the one I already
walked over to Ottawa Ave instead and sat in the cold waiting for my
had. And I sure as hell would never be shuffling through the sand of
bus to come. As usual, I missed the 5:15 and had to wait until the 5:45.
some far-off tropical beach. I would never be frozen in some candid
I sat down in the shelter and tried to keep my hands warm. There was
picture between those dark blue waters and the endless expanse of
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
palm trees. I knew that that dark-skinned girl would never be looking
was just as good as winning the lottery. He got a settlement from the
back over her shoulder at me, the way she did in that poster—her moist
store and qualified for social security. The two of them shared the top
lips parted, her hair blowing in the wind. How did I know? Because
apartment of our duplex.
no matter how hard I tried to keep my eyes focused on her, inevitably
“You want us to pick you up something?” Dave asked.
they would wander down the length of her leg, right past her delicate
“Here,” I said reaching in my pocket and handing him two
foot kicking up sand and planted themselves on the most profane thing I could imagine—“Costa Rica from only $1800!” Cocksuckers.
twenties. “Ah shit.” said Julio referring to the money, “you gunna get fucked up tonight?”
■
“Get me some Sparks and some Steal Reserve or Colt, whatever’s cheaper.”
When I got back to my apartment, Julio and Porno Dave caught me coming through the door. They were carrying a big bag of cans
the mail from of my box. And just like every other day all I got were
with them.
bills and credit card applications. The irony of credit card companies
“What’s up Donny College?” Dave asked.
offering people with no money credit cards was certainly not lost
Dave always called me that, although I’m not exactly sure
on me. But then again those usurious bastards knew what they were
why. I think it was because I was one of the few people he knew that
doing. They didn’t get seventeen percent from people with good credit.
actually ever went college, even though I never finished.
I tossed the bills on the table and chucked the credit card applications
“What’s up guys?” I said, “Returning some cans?”
in the recycling bin which was overflowing. It hadn’t been taken out
“Yeah, gunna get some beer for tonight,” said Julio.
for a few weeks. It was hard for me to remember to do it. Kayla use to
Julio worked in the summer as a roofer and made money the
take it out before she became an actress, if you could really call it that.
rest of the year by selling weed a dime bag at a time. Porno Dave on the other hand didn’t work. He didn’t need to. He slipped at the
11
Julio and Dave headed out to the corner store and I grabbed
grocery store a few years earlier and threw out his back. To him that
Julio and Dave came back a little while later with the beer. I was cooking myself some dinner and offered them some. “You guys want some Raman noodles?”
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
“Shit yes, I’ll eat some noodles,” said Dave enthusiastically, “What kind you got?”
Julio and Dave. I began slurping up the noodles keeping my eyes down, toward the plate. I didn’t want to keep talking about Kayla and
“I got pork, beef and prawn.”
her stupid commercial. Julio and Dave started eating too.
“I want some prawn!” said Dave
“You know Donny,” Julio began, breaking the silence, “You
“Me too,” added Julio.
gotta forget dat bitch.”
I opened a can of Sparks and started cooking the noodles. “Hey Donny!” Julio said, “I forgot to tell you; I saw Kayla on
“Yeah,” added Porno Dave. “Forget that bitch. Come down to Huey’s with us tonight, get all fucked up and pick up some girls!”
the TV today!”
“Not tonight,” I said, completely uninterested.
I knew it wouldn’t be long before someone saw it. I ran into one of Kalya’s friends a few weeks earlier and she told me about the
“Okay Donny,” Julio said “but tomorrow night you’re coming to the party right?”
commercial. I’d actually seen it twice—once when I was watching the news and once during a break in a MacGyver rerun.
say no.
“She was very good,” he said suppressing a laugh, “What did she say? For your light flow days?”
12
I really didn’t want to go to the party; but, I felt like I couldn’t
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I said. A few minutes later, Julio and Dave left to go drink at Huey’s.
Julio and Dave burst into laughter.
I sat at the table, by myself listening to the hum of the electric clock
That’s right. That’s what she left me for—her big goddamn
hanging on the wall behind me. I had absolutely no desire to do
acting career—selling Tampons. It was the most ridiculous thing I’d
anything but just sit there and listen to the clock’s electric buzz.
ever seen. I almost threw my beer can at the TV when I first saw it.
Normally, on a night like that, I would have just rubbed one out and
She was standing there smiling, talking about light-flow days and shit.
gone to sleep. But, I wasn’t even interested in doing that. The truth was
What a goddamn liar she was. I don’t remember her ever having any
it wasn’t just that night. I hadn’t jerked off for a long time. I’m not sure
light flow days.
when I first realized it; but, it was probably a week or two after Kayla
“Yeah,” I said quietly as I took the noodles off the stove.
left. Since then I hadn’t even gotten a hard-on. No matter how hard I
I dished them onto three plates and sat down at the table with
tried, it just wouldn’t happen. I even borrowed some magazines and
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
movies from Dave and those didn’t work. I was worthless. I couldn’t
“You going to Julio’s party tonight?” he asked.
even manage to whack off. So instead, I took a handful of allergy pills
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I replied.
and drank 22s of Steal Reserve until I passed out, never once getting
“There’s some good panocha gunna be there.”
up from the table, the whole time listening to the clock hum.
“I know!” I said, acting excited.
But, of course it was all an act. What difference did it make to
■
me how many women were going to be there. I wouldn’t be able to get it up anyway.
When I woke up on Saturday, there were Raman noodles stuck
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“Hey Hugo,” I said trying to change the subject. “You said you
in my hair and I’d pissed in my pants. After a night like that I was in
were teasing the cook about Mexico. You’re not from Mexico?”
no mood to make myself any food. I showered and walked down the
block to Taco Pico’s for lunch. I sat down at one of their six tables.
Rica.”
They just opened and the only other people there were the waiter and
the cook. They were joking around with each other in Spanish. The
the street from the bus stop. “What’s that like?”
waiter, Hugo, I knew a little. He was friends with Julio and he was
always working when I came in. The two of them were so wrapped up
beaches are the best. And the womens too, is the best in the world!”
in whatever they were talking about it took Hugo a minute to notice I
“Sounds nice,” I said, nodding my head.
came in.
And it did sound nice. It sounded just like I thought it would.
It sounded like a place that I’d rather be—some place that would cost
“Sorry Donny,” he said handing me a menu. “I was just kidding
“No,” he answered. Then, smiling, he added, “I’m from Costa
“Costa Rica? No shit?” I said, thinking about the poster across
“Is like heaven. They have always warm and sunshine. The
with this guy about Mexico. He say is the best. I say he’s full of shit.”
$1800 to get to.
“I’ll have the number seven combo and a Modelo,” I said,
The cook brought out my food and Hugo said he’d see me later
handing the menu back.
at Julio’s and Porno Dave’s party. After I ate, I went home and took a
nap until it was time for the party.
Hugo nodded his head and walked away. A minute later he
came back with my beer and sat at the table with me. July 2010 eFiction Magazine
■
“What difference does it make who I vote for? They’re all
crooked anyway,” answered Dave.
My nap lasted longer than I expected. I didn’t get up until eleven. The noise from the party woke me up. I took the back stairs
“Yeah,” said Julio, “None of those fuckers give a shit about people like us.”
up to Julio and Dave’s. The party was the usual mix of drunks and degenerates—mostly, people from the neighborhood. And just like
anyway. I knew that things would be better when Bush was out of
Hugo predicted there were a bunch of hot Mexican girls too. Some of
there.
them I knew; others I didn’t. For a brief second I thought about talking to one, this girl named Anna. I knew she liked me. She told Julio she
“Well,” I said changing the subject, “What did you mean the big day?”
did. But, I decided not to. I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I grabbed
“Tuesday is the Motörhead concert!” exclaimed Julio.
a cup of beer from the keg and went to look for Julio and Dave.
“Fuck yeah!” added Dave.
With all the election shit, plus dealing with Kayla on my TV
I found them sitting on the couch smoking a joint. Dave had
his feet up on the big electrical wire spool they used as a coffee table. I
I hadn’t thought much about the concert since I got the tickets. But,
overheard Dave say that Tuesday was the big day.
just by bringing it up, Dave and Julio got me excited again. I was just
“You talking about the election?” I asked.
about to say that I was going to the concert too, when someone yelled
Julio and Dave laughed.
“Police!”
“What election?” Dave asked.
There was a commotion as the mob of people started shuffling
“What do you mean, what election?” I replied. “The goddamn election.”
vote.”
toward the door, pushing each other to get out. I even heard a few weapons being dropped on the floor. Julio, Dave and I stayed put.
“No, who gives a shit about the election,” said Dave. “I don’t
14
I had to admit they had a point. But, I was going to vote
We’d been through this before. That piece of shit, Mullet Pete, next door must have called the police again because of the noise. We just let
“Me either,” added Julio.
everyone go out the front first and we’d go out the back to wait it out
“Why not?” I asked.
in my apartment. July 2010 eFiction Magazine
I went down the back stairs while Dave locked the front door and Julio filled a pitcher of beer from the keg. I just put the key in my
“You better watch it you little faggot,” he said, “or next time I’ll throw you ass in jail.”
lock when I heard, “Where the fuck you think you’re going, buddy?” I turned around and was blinded by a flashlight pointed in my eyes.
He let go of my hair, pushed me to the ground and walked away. When I got my breath back, I went inside my apartment,
“Fucking pig!” I thought as I tried to shade my eyes.
locking the door behind me. My whole stomach was sore from where
“Turn around and put your hands on the house.”
he hit me. I got a 22 of Steal Reserve from the refrigerator and sat
I turned around and he started frisking me.
down, in the dark, at the kitchen table and listened to the hum of the
“Don’t you have something better to do,” I asked. “Why don’t
clock. Dave and Julio never did come down and I didn’t blame them.
you go solve a murder or something?” “What did you say?” he asked. But, before I could answer he
■
grabbed me by the shoulder, spun me around violently and slammed me into the door. The force almost made me loose my breath. “What the fuck’s your problem, pig?” I said.
while in an allergy medicine stupor and getting beaten-up by a fascist
“You’re my problem, you little piece of shit—you and all your
cop. With things going the way they were, I didn’t even bother getting
white-trash friends and your spic a-me-goes causing problems over
out of bed on Sunday, except to get myself some potato chips and a
here.”
bottle of Mohawk Vodka. “Fuck you p—,” I began. But, the cop made a quick movement
15
Those were the highlights of my weekend—pissing myself
On Monday morning, like normal, I turned on the TV when I
and before I knew what was happening I was doubled over, clutching
woke up. Then I went into the kitchen to make some coffee and have
my stomach, gasping for air. Then he grabbed me by the hair and
a bowl of coco-puffs. Bush was on the television with a stupid smirk
pulled my face up to his. I could smell the bitter odor of coffee on his
on his face. He was talking about how well the war was going and it
breath and although it was probably just my imagination, I could see
pissed me off right away.
doughnut crumbs stuck in his mustache.
“How could anyone believe that?” I thought, “How fucking July 2010 eFiction Magazine
stupid would someone have to be to think that the war was actually
probably the easiest job in the rotation. The only people who ever used
going well. How stupid would someone have to be to think he was a
it were junkies and prostitutes and they never complained if it had
good president?”
a bunch of litter. We worked slowly and quit at noon. After that, we
I wanted to grab that jackass and slap him. I wanted to slap him
parked the truck behind the Parks and Recreation building and Ray
and say, “Where’s the fucking weapons of mass destruction, you lying
rolled a blunt. While we smoked it, I told him the story about getting
piece of shit.” But of course I couldn’t because he was only on the
punched by the cop. “Figures,” he said at the end of it.
goddamn television.
That was all he said, “figures.” He didn’t show any surprise.
“I bet you won’t have that stupid grin on your face when you lose tomorrow,” I said, as I reached for the remote and turned off the
He didn’t show any anger. In fact, he didn’t let on to any emotion. He
TV. I had enough of listening to that prick for one day and besides I
just said it flatly and didn’t elaborate. But, he didn’t need to elaborate.
didn’t want to risk seeing Kayla’s tampon commercial again either.
That type of shit was nothing new to him. Actually, he probably
That would have been the worst—having to deal with both of them on
couldn’t have conveyed more meaning than he did with that solitary
my television first thing in the morning.
emotionless word.
My girl still looked so warm walking down the beach and I was
the concert with me. After a little prodding he said he would. We made
freezing my balls off again.
it to the office to punch out at five o’clock exactly. Stan got there at the
I walked to work with my hands shoved in my coat pockets
same time Ray and I did and asked me if I wanted a ride home.
to keep them warm. The whole time I was hoping that I’d have
“Sure,” I said, glad I didn’t have to ride the bus.
something easy to do for the day. My stomach was still sore from
He took Ottawa Ave toward my house and as we passed the
where that pig punched me and I had one hell of headache from all the
travel agency, I turned my head to get a good look at the poster. My
vodka.
girl was still there. I was relieved when I finally got to work and saw the daily
16
When it was time to go home, I asked Ray if he would go to
The bus dropped me off right in front of my Costa Rica poster.
schedule. Rayvern and I were on clean up duty at Sigsbee Park—
“Trying to figure out what country Bush is going to invade
next?” Stan asked chuckling as he gestured back toward the travel
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
agency.
the house. I threw the bills on the table and chucked the credit card
I laughed with him.
applications in the recycling bin. Then I opened a 22 of Steal Reserve
“You ever been to Costa Rica?” I asked.
and sat down at the kitchen table.
“Nope. I’ve been to Canada a couple of times, to the casino…
and I’ve been to Vietnam that’s it.”
■
“What do you think about it?”
“Costa Rica?”
“Yeah.”
a line. This was a good sign. I’d never seen a line like that at my
“I don’t know…I haven’t thought about it much I guess. But, it
precinct. My neighborhood was the type of neighborhood that
I got to the polls a little before seven and there was already
can’t be any worse than this place.”
Republicans don’t want voting. Bush and Cheney would’ve shit
themselves if they saw a line of poor people like that.
“No it couldn’t,” I said nodding my head. But, what I really
wanted to say was that it had to be a lot better.
As I stood in line, I was filled with all kinds of optimism—
“Why? You thinking about going there?”
optimism I took with me right into the election booth and it stayed
“I’d like too,” I said and left it at that.
with me all day at work. In fact, it made the day seem almost pleasant.
When we pulled up to my house, I could see Julio and Porno
With that kind of a line, I was sure those cocksuckers were going to
Dave carrying a bag each of bottles down to the corner store.
lose and Kerry would win. Not that I gave a fuck about Kerry, that
moon-faced bastard. It was just that I hated Bush so much. I hated
“Don’t forget,” Stan said as I was getting out of the car,
“tomorrow’s election day.”
everything that he stood for, especially his bullshit claim of morality
“I know,” I said, “I’m gunna vote before work.”
and his so called family values. How could he talk about family values
“I don’t know,” Stan said with a little grin on his face, “Maybe
when his slut daughters ran around coked-up and drunk all the time?
you’re right. Maybe Kerry’ll win.”
17
■
“Let’s hope,” I said and shut the door.
As Stan drove away, I got my mail from the box and went in
We didn’t accomplish much at work that day except smoke
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
blunts behind the Parks and Recreation building again. By quitting
time, I was so excited for the concert I could hardly wait. Ray seemed
“That kicked ass!”
excited about it too, even though he really didn’t like that kind of
“Hi Billy,” I said flatly, “Hello Courtney.”
music.
She didn’t respond. She just stared at me blankly with her fat,
My excitement turned out to be warranted too. The concert was
oval face.
great. We drank a bunch of beer during it and they played all their best
songs. I really had a good time. It was actually the first time in months
us. I’m taking a sick day tomorrow.”
I had fun. Ray and I managed to work our way all the way up to the
stage. We were so close I could see Lemmy’s mole. The last song they
elections,” I said.
played was ‘Ace of Spades’. Ray and I banged our heads so hard to it
“You vote?” he asked.
that we spilled beer all over each other.
“Yeah, you?”
“Goddamn right.”
get the bus. But, I was so wasted and in such a good mood, I decided
“You voted?” I asked for the sake of clarification.
to waste the money on a taxi ride home. I didn’t want the bus ride to
“Shit yeah.”
blow my high and I wanted to get home as soon as possible so I could
“Huh, I didn’t know you voted.”
see the election results coming in. I couldn’t wait to see that jackass
“I don’t usually but I couldn’t sit this one out.”
lose. I went to the front of the arena where the taxis always were. I was
Damn, I thought, even Billy had enough sense to vote that
just about to grab one when I heard someone shout my name. I turned
bastard out of office!
around to see who it was.
After the show, Ray and I parted ways for the night. He went to
“Hey you wanna go down to Duke’s and get some beers with
“No thanks, I want to go home and check the results of the
“Good for you Billy,” I said finding for the first time in him a
Goddamn it! I thought when I saw it was Billy.
redeeming quality.
He was walking with a short, stubby, pear of a blonde wearing
“I voted too,” interjected Courtney.
“Yeah, we went together,” said Billy, “Courtney’s mom drove
stretch pants and a puffy down coat. It was Courtney Wilcox.
18
“Hey Donny!” Billy exclaimed slapping me on the shoulder.
Looks like he made it to the concert after all, I thought.
us. I just hope he gets reelected that’s all.”
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
praise the lord, Jesus freaks running around wanting to push their
bitch voted for Bush!
stupid morals on everyone else. And there were definitely too many
“You voted for Bush?” I asked.
self-centered greedy assholes that defended their selfish actions in the
“Shit yes.”
Horatio Alger myth—the great American lie of equal opportunity and
“Why the fuck would you vote for Bush?” I asked trying to
the ability to pull yourself up from the bootstraps. To them, survival of
figure out how a guy who makes less than thirty-thousand dollars a
the fittest was the best possible social order they could imagine. And
year would vote for the poster child of corporate greed.
why not? There were after all ‘fit’ and apparently they had enough
votes to do whatever the fuck they wanted no matter who suffered
“Why? Because he’s make’n us safe from the towel-heads. We
need a guy like that to show all those sand-niggers who’s boss.”
or who died or what country they had to invade to get it. Yes, I had
been fooling myself and should have known all along that this was the
“That’s right!” added Courtney, “The regular niggers are bad
enough; but, the sand-niggers are worse. They don’t even believe in
wrong place for something good to happen—this country, this stupid,
Jesus!”
selfish, greedy, fat, fucking country.
19
Reelected? What the fuck did he say? That stupid son-of-a-
I wanted to run. I wanted to leave that place. I wanted to go to
I didn’t want to believe what I was hearing, even though
looking back, it shouldn’t have been surprising. But, at the time it
Costa Rica and leave everything behind. And I knew just how I was
was the saddest, most depressing thing I’d ever heard. I felt all my
going to do it. As soon as I got home, I took out a bag of weed that
happiness and optimism wash away in an instant. I felt so unhappy,
Julio sold me and began filling out one of the credit card applications
I couldn’t even argue with Billy or to tell him that he was a stupid,
that were overflowing in my recycling bin. When it was filled out,
fat fuck. I just shook my head without saying anything and started
I looked at it with a small sense of relief and a bit of pride. But,
walking home. I knew there was no need to hurry home to see the
that didn’t last long. While I was sealing the envelope, I again was
election results. I already knew how it would all turn out. I had been
overwhelmed by the same sense of depression and doom that struck
fooling myself the whole time. There were too many Billys out there.
me outside the arena.
There were too many ignorant, hillbilly sheep fuckers out there. And
not only that, there were too many, bible thumping, queer bashing,
application into a tight ball. “It’ll still be the same bullshit when I get
“What the fuck’s the use,” I said to myself and crumpled the
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
back.”
There were thirty-seven applications in all. By the time I I threw the balled up application back in the recycling bin.
finished filling them out, the sun was already up and my fingers were
It bounced around a little and ended up balancing on top of all the
so cramped I could barely move them. But it was worth it. All total, I
others. I sat there at my kitchen table staring at the paper ball, smoking
was approved for eighty-seven thousand dollars and the cards started
my joint. The wall-clock hummed over my head like it was hovering
coming in a few weeks later. Of course, I couldn’t get all the money in
above me. I looked at that wadded up application for several minutes
cash advances; but, Julio and Porno Dave keyed me into some ways to
trying to figure out what to do. My whole life was shit. The whole
turn the credit into cash. It took over a week but we did it. Julio helped
country was shit. And I knew that things weren’t about to get any
me go to stores and pick through the trash just outside for receipts
better. I knew that taking a vacation wouldn’t help me with anything.
of purchases made with cash. Then, we would go in to buy the same
In fact, I thought it could make me feel worse when I got back.
thing with one of my credit cards, and return the items using the cash
What the fuck should I do? I thought, looking at the application, my eyes watering from frustration.
receipts. Dave had a good idea too. He had us go to used car lots, buy a car on credit and then go across town and sell it at another lot.
For a brief second I thought about just going for a week
Obviously, I didn’t get back what I paid for the car; but, what the fuck
anyway. I thought about taking a little break to try and clear my
did I care? It wasn’t my money anyway.
mind. But, as I reached back in the recycling bin to get the balled
up application, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I couldn’t do
■
it to myself. No, I knew I wasn’t going to send out that credit card application so I could escape for a week. I was going to fill out every
The last things I bought were my ticket to Costa Rica and
one of those goddamn credit card applications and go to Costa Rica
two suitcases. One suitcase was for the things that I wanted to take
forever!
from my apartment. The other was a smaller carry-on that was for the money. I used the only credit card that wasn’t maxed out yet to buy ■
20
them. I stuffed just about seventy thousand dollars into the carry-on July 2010 eFiction Magazine
and zipped it up. I left out three thousand five hundred—one thousand
each for Julio and Dave for helping me, a thousand for Ray for being my friend and five hundred for Stan, the only other coworker I liked.
looked over at me.
I put the money in envelopes for each of them. Then, I started to pack
“You really gunna do this?” he asked.
the bigger suitcase.
“Yeah,” I said smiling.
He smiled back exposing his gap.
athletic socks. I remembered that we got into a big fight about them
“Here,” I said giving him his envelope, “Thanks for the ride.”
maybe a week before she left. I thought I lost them at the laundromat
“What this?”
and she got really pissed. But, of course the fight wasn’t really about
“Don’t open it until later and give this one to Stan,” I said
her stupid socks. It was about something much deeper. It was about
handing him the other.
something I hadn’t understood until that moment when I was about to
“Shit, I guess…send me a postcard.”
go away forever. It was about her not being happy in that place, that
“I will.”
city, that apartment, that life. It was strange but right then I realized I
“Alright bro. Take it easy,” he said and pulled away.
really didn’t hate Kayla for leaving me. I hated myself for staying. I
I got my boarding pass and waited for the flight at the gate.
hated myself for not having the courage to go with her.
There weren’t many open seats in the lounge so, I pick one next to a
While I was packing my clothes, I found a pair of Kalya’s
I tossed her socks aside and finished packing. As I was walking
cute college aged Latina girl.
out the door I saw my stack of bills still laying on the table. I chucked
“Hi,” she said smiling as I sat down.
them into the recycling bin which now had plenty of room.
“Hi,” I said with a smile of my own.
It actually felt awkward because I hadn’t smiled in so long.
with a note saying goodbye. Then, I waited for Ray to pick me up in
“Where are you going?” she asked.
his mom’s car and take me to the airport.
“Costa Rica,” I said.
“Really, that’s where I’m from!”
“Yeah?”
Outside, I stuffed Dave and Julio’s envelopes into their mailbox
21
When we got to the airport, Ray pulled up to the curb and
■
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
“How long are you going to go there for?” she asked.
“Forever.”
“Forever?”
“Yeah, I’m moving there.”
“Are you going to live in San Jose?”
and gave me another smile. She didn’t look anything like the girl on
“Probably. I mean I don’t really know yet. Is that where you
the poster but for some reason she seemed so much better to me.
■
Katia walked passed me on the plane when she was boarding
live?”
When the plane took off, I could feel the rumbling of the
“Yes.”
engines vibrating through my seat. And as we began our assent into the
“Is it nice there?” I asked.
blueness of the skies, I noticed something strange. I noticed I had an
“Yes. I like it.”
erection.
“Do you think I could find an apartment?”
“Maybe I should show you around the city and you can see for
yourself.”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” I said feeling a little awkward to have
been talking to a girl other than Kayla.
“I’m going to get a water before we board; but, look for me
when we get off the plane.”
“I will,” I said and as she started to turn away I added, “Wait,
what’s your name?”
22
“Sorry,” she said smiling again, “I’m Katia.”
“I’m Donald but everybody calls me Donny,” I said.
“Mucho gusto, Donny,” she said with a little wave as she
walked away.
Anthony is a writer and literary critic. His work has been published in a range of print and online publications, including Orphan Leaf Review, Recoil Magazine and Logos. His debut novel, Madness and Insanity was released by Irish Eye Publishing, in 2009. Anthony is also pursuing a Ph.D. in political theory from Western Michigan University. His research interest is in the social/political thought of Bertolt Brecht. For more information on Anthony read this interview by Recoil Magazine
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
Blood on the Asphalt
limbs until his whole body had taken on the vibration of the road.
Jaimie Krycho
The game was completely exhilarating.
Jake’s window was rolled down and his blond hair
whipped around wildly.
Ben felt the sweat beading on his forehead as he
glanced up at the red light and knew he was a madman. He looked out the passenger window of his van at the F-150 beside him, and there was Jake, leaned back against the torn seat.
His friend acted as if he had
raced like this a million times since they started high school: perfectly cool, like the adrenaline didn’t rush straight to his head and make him drunk every time he floored it. A wicked grin crept to the corner of Ben’s lips.
He revved the engine.
I’m going to wipe that
smug smile off your face, you son of a—
Ben had no time to finish the thought before
the light turned green and he shot off with lightning reflexes in unison with Jake. Zero to ninety. Fourteen seconds.
If he couldn’t beat that, he’d send his speed
demon to haunt this road until all Jake could see during a race was the neon-red blur of Ben’s taillights.
It seemed the haunting wouldn’t be necessary-
-Ben felt victory coursing through the vehicle into his
23
He bellowed a deep battle cry
that filled Ben’s ears for only a second before the wind swallowed it.
Ben laughed inside.
That’s how he
wanted to play it, huh?
Before he could second guess himself, Ben sped
up just enough to swerve perilously in front of his friend’s truck.
The answering screech of brakes gave
him a thrill of satisfaction.
Jake would have to fall back
now: neither of them wanted to kill each other, after all.
The needle on the speedometer quivered at
ninety, and Ben saw it and whooped.
Jake’s truck
abruptly fell away, and time froze for what happened next.
Jake’s truck didn’t stop falling away.
What’re you
doing, man? Don’t stop now!
Ben whipped his head around just long enough to
see horror steal over Jake’s face in slow-motion.
Also in slow-motion: a lone traffic light, bright
red, a man on a motorcycle.
As he barreled toward the man, a scream scraped
up Ben’s throat, which he clamped inside his jaws at
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
the same time he slammed down the brakes.
Ben grabbed Jake’s arm and swiftly scanned him
whipped around and threw itself violently to the left,
for injuries.
skidding over the grass median from the intersecting
than he could say for his own composure, and the
street and smashing into the pole of a rusted
human being he had probably just annihilated.
streetlight.
Jake denied him the same concern.
away, he pushed Ben aside with one shoulder and
The motion stopped. Ben was paralyzed, his eyes
frozen in an open stare.
24
The van
His stomach churned as the
He was in one piece, and that was more
Jerking his arm
jogged to the dark shape lying camouflaged on the
smell of burning rubber filled his nostrils. Fear rushed
road.
through him and he vomited.
The purging cleared his head enough to formulate
There lay an unrecognizably crushed motorcycle and the
desperate questions.
body of a man, his helmet halfway on, a pool of blood
Had he killed Jake? Had he hit
Ben followed. The two boys stopped in sync, hardly breathing.
that man?
widening around him.
from beneath the helmet, wide and unblinking.
A long, low moan rose from somewhere off to
Ben saw one of the guy’s eyes
right, in a stand of trees that lined the edge of the
dead.
street, and Ben stumbled towards it, stopping at
the broken line that separated the two lanes.
Jake did while staring at the body.
Jake
He was
Ben felt compelled to show the same equanimity Instead, he retched
emerged from the shadows, repeatedly running his
again, and stumbled away from the scene holding
fingers through strands of hair hanging around his face
his stomach.
as he approached.
heightened senses flooded him. He was acutely aware
“Oh, God.
of every gust of wind, the sound of the leaves on the
“Y-your truck.
Oh, my God.” Is it crushed?” Ah! Stupid, stupid,
When his daze broke a minute later,
trees, the number of grey, striated clouds covering the
stupid! Are you really asking Jake about the state of his
sky…Ben reached into his pocket and curled his fingers,
truck?!
one at a time, around his cell phone.
“Ben, we hit that guy.”
Trembling, he punched in 9-1-1. A woman
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
answered promptly.
crunched-up van, then swung to Jake’s pickup, still
question about the nature of the emergency when Ben
intact.
began to blubber.
stalked to the vehicle.
“We were racing…and there was a
Jake pulled at the zipper of his coat as he
man. He was on a motorcycle, a black motorcycle…and
Should I run?
we tried to get around him, but I hit him! I hit him, and
Conscience and self-preservation wrestled in Ben’s gut-
he’s dead! He’s lying here with blood everywhere…and
-a very cold feeling, he noted distantly.
he’s dead!”
the cab, his hand on the door handle.
He tipped off the dispatcher about the intersection
“You coming, Blakely?” Jake drew his left leg into
he was at and cut off the questions by hanging up.
Ben looked down.
Jake was waving his arms around when Jake turned to
“I know you won’t say a word to them about me,
him, delivering a string of expletives with rage burning
right?” Jake swallowed. “I mean, we’re like brothers,
on his face.
so I know you’d never turn me in.
you’re a real man, Blakely, and a good one, too.
“Ben, you idiot! You called 9-1-1? You want to
I know because
do high school in the slammer? You want to the cops
Remember that.
to arrest us? Huh?” Jake grabbed Ben’s collar with one
He started the engine.
hand and yanked his head up by his short black hair
with the other. He had a terrific blaze in his eyes. The
was thick.
situation was making him as maniacal as it was making
something relieving, though eerie, about being alone at
Ben despairing.
the scene. Ben slowly let himself down on the ground,
25
She had gotten through half her
“Listen, bonehead.
You can get locked up if you
So…just don’t say anything, okay?” “Now get outta here, man.”
When the sound of the engine faded, the silence Only a few stray leaves stirred.
There was
and hid his face in his arms as he considered his next
want, but I’m getting out of here before the cops cars
move.
pull up in oh, five minutes. So if you want to save your
ass, you better come with me!”
thinking as well as the air--quietly, at first, then steadily
growing louder.
Ben said nothing.
His eyes trailed to the
A familiar whining sound pierced through Ben’s
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
Ben lifted his head to listen.
He
peered down the dark road. A vehicle flung red and
blue light across the concrete and asphalt.
Westerville, a deathly quiet town of barely one thousand
had come.
people. He spotted a hiding place as he bumped over
the gravel. Kicking up a cloud of dust, he swerved
Without thinking, Ben jumped from his place and
sprinted to the damaged van.
His hands fumbled with
sharply to the right.
the keys--so many in the way!--and jammed one into
the ignition.
thinking that he should have already learned his lesson
He prayed that the piece of junk was still
He stopped abruptly in a narrow black alleyway,
drivable.
about braking that hard.
a screwdriver from the trunk, and removed his license
He paused in the middle of putting the vehicle
Ben got out of the van, took
into reverse to glance at the dead body with sickening
plate.
interest.
than throwing the plate into the trash dump behind
What was he doing? If he wanted to get
There was no time for a more involved plan
away, he should’ve gone with Jake in the first place.
him. Hopefully, no one would be able to both find and
Abruptly, guilt, terror and the sound of the sirens
identify his vehicle until at least the next day or two,
compelled him to climb back out of the van. Maybe
maybe after the news of the man’s death had blown
he would take responsibility, like--as Jake said--“a real
over a little.
man.”
As the lights approached, Ben could distinguish
Ben collapsed against the van, numb.
Surely
this was a big nightmare. A seventeen-year-old guy like
two police cars in the distance moving slowly toward
him, who made good grades and played point guard on
the scene, and whatever bravado he had just conjured
the varsity team and hardly ever got detention, couldn’t
dissipated to nothing.
be tried, convicted, and jailed for manslaughter.
He prayed out loud, now, as he
He
jumped into the driver’s seat, threw the van fully into
tried to smile at that, just to see if the action would help
reverse, and found that he could still drive it.
soften the blow of reality.
back into the road, away from the cops.
26
The police
After a few miles, Ben entered rundown
He sped
Pieces of the
bumper fell off with loud clangs behind him as he did.
It didn’t.
Ben raised his fist with a yell and pounded his knuckles to the ground, punching again and again until the
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
mounting pain exploded in his head, knocking him
person were around, someone--even a total stranger-
unconscious.
-he could run to and confess his crime to. Maybe the sight of living, breathing, normal people doing normal
things would remind him that he was also human, not a
that his hand throbbed and blood was everywhere.
brute or monster.
Now, he could cry.
27
Nothing had changed when Ben came to, except
Tears made the dust on his face sticky.
Wiping
“I have to go home.” One final glance at the van
convinced Ben to leave it.
He would walk, taking side
his arm across his face, he released an anguished cry
paths to ensure that he could get home to his bed at
when he only succeeded in trading the dust for blood.
least one more time.
Murderer! He deserved to have that brand painted all
over him! He had looked into the cold, ice-blue eye of
blue lights passed across the road in front of him.
a dead man. He had been an idiot plenty of times since
cursed under his breath.
he was old enough to get into trouble, and his mischief
close, and he had been too distracted to keep an eye
usually involved two people--a friend and a victim, but
out for him.
never like this.
and Ben, riveted, watched his death sentence unfold.
Propping himself up with his good hand, Ben
Suddenly, a car mounted with the familiar red and Ben
One of the cops was already
The lone police car stopped at a sidewalk nearby,
surveyed the wreckage of the van still concealed in the
He saw a uniformed man step out of the car, and a
shadows of early morning.
shabby man with his face hidden by darkness coming
Where could he go? He
knew that no matter how long he ran, he wouldn’t be
up to meet him.
able to live with himself in the end.
and he puffed on a cigarette.
Jake might be able
The second man’s clothes were grimy, He and the cop talked
to get over being a killer, but he couldn’t.
for a minute--they almost seemed to be arguing—-until
As Ben stood up and took a quick look around the
the faint moonlight illuminated the grungy man’s hand
corner of the alley, he found himself not wanting to be
pointing toward the alley.
alone anymore.
He wished that there were another
Ben stumbled backward, slamming into his van,
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
then immediately ran.
He was so startled to hear a
The familiar smell of the room flooded him with
shout behind him that he fell over sideways against the
relief, and he choked back tears.
loud metal dumpster, giving away his position.
I’m acting like a girl. For the first time, Ben’s habitual
Ben
This is ridiculous.
had never run so fast in his life.
thought didn’t sink in and bolster his pride.
into bed and pulling the comforter over his head, he
There was something ghostlike about the way he
Crawling
noiselessly slipped through the tight spaces between
decided just to be ridiculous and shed quiet tears until
buildings and around fences on the flight home. After
dropping off to sleep.
ten minutes, Ben had skirted the perimeter of the town
that led back to the open road, and let his tired jog turn
seven in the morning, but it was not what awoke Ben.
back into a run.
The sense of another person in the room made him
He didn’t stop running until his leg
muscles gave out underneath him.
28
Again, the sound
Sun streaked through the slats of the blinds at
sit bolt upright.
After hours of living nightmares and
of distant wailing sirens rose and fell as he picked his
troubled dreams, every nerve was on edge.
way through the last walls of shrubbery and peoples’
overgrown yards to his house.
dark hair winged with grey at the temples, sat in Ben’s
black swivel chair, facing the window.
It was two in the morning when the two-storied
“Son.” Ben’s father, a tall, collected man with
He eyed Ben
white house came into view, sleepy-looking, illumined
sideways, elbows on the armrests and hands folded in
only by two small porch lights.
the air between them.
Ben had snuck out so
The “talk” stance.
many times lately that he didn’t worry that his parents
were up wondering where he was, though he almost
than necessary.
wished they were this time. The sight of home finally
switched off the adrenaline that had kept him going for
thirty minutes from here.”
the last few hours.
Silence.
his whole body as he staggered to the window of his
“Do you know what else they found?”
room at the back of the house.
“Dad, I swear I had no idea that--“
A wave of exhaustion shot through
“Dad.” There was no point in saying any more
“The police found your van hidden in an alley
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
The man bolted off the chair and sent it careening
on its wheels into the wall.
“Don’t you dare make
Ben jumped when one of the men stood and
spoke.
“Ben Blakely?”
excuses for yourself! I want to skin you alive for drag
“Yes sir.”
racing in a ten-year-old minivan in the first place, but a
“Have a seat.”
hit-and-run! Ben, I can’t help you with this one! I can’t
Time to add to the scene of tragic comedy.
save you from the law!”
positioned himself in the armchair by the kitchen entry,
wiping sweaty palms on his jeans.
Ben tried not to change his expression, though his
whole body was hot with shame.
Whatever criticism
Ben
“I guess I should
just tell you how things happened, from the beginning.”
people would throw at him from here on out was his
He formed a “J” as if to start the sentence with it, then
problem to deal with.
caught himself and tried again. “My friend and I were
“I know, Dad.”
His father had sat back down.
“Go downstairs.
drag-racing last night, around ten.
We’ve used Park
You can probably guess that there are people here to
Street a million times before. I mean, we don’t race all
talk to you.”
the time, only sometimes…oh, man.”
Ben glanced in the hallway mirror as he passed
it: he was a mess.
29
It was obvious he had witnessed
The policeman just looked at him.
he were wearing their dark sunglasses now as he
something that night that he never had before, and that
continued.
it had shaken him to the core.
There were dark circles
Ben wished
“What I mean is, in all the time we’ve raced on
under his eyes, and he had never looked so freakishly
Park, we’ve never gone far enough to know about the
pale.
streetlight.
He scrubbed his hands once through matted
You know?”
black hair before going downstairs to face his doom.
Enlighten me, the cop’s eyes seemed to say.
“Not stopping at the red light wasn’t an issue
It was almost ridiculous to see two policemen
sitting on the dainty rose-print sofas in the parlor,
of recklessness.
If we had known it was there, we
talking quietly and drinking water like they were over
wouldn’t have raced as far as we did.”
for a friendly chat.
Ben felt like an idiot--hearing his own excuses
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
disgusted him.
There was no honor in trying to
justify why he and his friend had killed a man.
He
him up by his collar, and himself making the 9-1-1 call.
was inexplicably relieved when the shuffling sound of
Last, he saw the body in all its hideous honesty.
his mother’s house slippers indicated she was about
moaned.
to emerge from the kitchen.
Ben perceived the
He
“I can’t tell you.”
Everyone spoke at once, but it dissipated into
concern for him on her face as soon as she entered.
white noise as the gears turned in Ben’s head.
He summarily broke down, and told his story to the
recalled that he had no idea how old the dead man was.
authorities with no qualifications once he got a hold of
He could’ve been pretty young, maybe even Ben’s
himself.
age.
He hadn’t noticed both his parents come in and sit
begun was staggering.
beside each other on the last open sofa during his
again, breathe again, or go home again, and Ben would.
confession, but there they were.
He was alive, though it was hard to say why he was
stacked against him.
30
He saw Jake speaking to him from the truck and jerking
All the odds were
He caught himself.
Odds of
He
The thought of his taking a life that had barely That man wouldn’t ever speak
granted another day when the stranger wasn’t.
what? Getting away with the half-truth, or no truth at
all? Through his anxiety he finally concluded that it
wasn’t it me?” It was his and Jake’s crime, and he
would be okay: this was how the circumstances were
couldn’t even carry it.
fated to occur sooner or later.
Ben stiffened against the dead silence that he knew
a childhood friend, Jake had fled from the scene and
meant his parents were formulating questions.
would likely leave Ben to the wolves.
Unsurprisingly, his father, who had calmed down
that was a good enough to reason to divulge his name,
considerably over the last however-many hours--Ben
though, and anyhow, he didn’t want to associate with
was so disoriented he couldn’t estimate time--posed the
him again until the world had forgotten about the dead
first one. “Who were you racing, Benjamin?”
motorcycle man.
Ben’s brain played back his memories in rewind.
His voice was inaudible to his audience.
“Why
Why was he protecting Jake? For all that he was
Ben didn’t think
Ben told himself he was the worst sort of enabler.
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
He called himself to the stand without dragging Jake
“Samuel Macmillan. Jake’s brother.”
along, then took their combined blows.
Ben closed his eyes.
In the end,
He breathed in deep and
it would only leave Jake to do something reckless and
imagined his old friend walking downstairs to his
illegal with another friend as stupid as Ben.
family’s parlor.
there waiting to talk to him.
Everything in Ben screamed that it would be
wrong to let the cycle continue.
Ben knew that there would be people
He didn’t want any
more people to die, especially not at his or Jake’s
THE END
hands.
The people in the room were still babbling.
If
they were directing their disapproval at him, he didn’t know or care.
His only job was to make this right the
only way he could.
“Jake Macmillan.”
All mouths closed.
“Jake Macmillan was racing with me.”
The cop locked eyes with Ben.
“Should I tell you where he lives?”
“Sure.”
He told them.
No one said anything for a very
long time: Ben got very nervous. out his hands in desperation.
“What?” He threw
“What is it?”
“Benjamin,” his mother’s voice faltered.
man you hit? We know who it is.”
31
“Yes.”
Ben went cold.
“Who?”
“The
Jaimie Krycho is a professional writing senior at the University of Oklahoma, under the tutelage of author Mel Odom. A native Texan, Jaimie has written full-page features for Fort Worth, Texas Magazine. She was recently published in the short-story anthology For Daddy, With Love, and has written award-winning poetry as well as contributed to Blogcritics. She frequently updates her personal blog, Refining Process. Jaimie lives in Norman, Oklahoma, with her husband Chris.
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
The Art of Being a Coward
toast before answering.
“Because I want to see what I’m made of.
Because I want to help people.” She unconsciously began rubbing her palm along the seam of her stiff uniform pants. God, they were starch stiff.
Tracey Kelliher
“This town is too small to find out what you’re
made of. You’ll be rescuing more cats than you will
“Are you sure you’re not doing this just to prove a
point, Leah?”
interesting you decide to change professions after you
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Of course this was all to
prove a point. Everything she’d done since she was a child was in order to prove some point.
moved out of the city.”
“That’s not fair, Lenny. I wasn’t making much
as an EMT and had to move back home. If I could’ve
“Seems like an awfully dangerous way to prove
something just for the sake,” Lenny said, taking a sip of his coffee from where he sat, across the kitchen table. Her brother’s critical tone made the small, linen whitewalled kitchen feel smaller to Leah. She shuffled her bare feet along the bumpy yellow tile of the floor and looked over Lenny’s shoulder at the window above the sink behind him. It was sunny and suburban green.
“Why would I bite off my nose to spite my face?”
“Why are you doing it then?” The self-righteous
peak of one raised eyebrow over the rim of his mug made her want to slap it into his teeth. She bit into her
32
be putting out fires.” He sipped, she chewed. “I find it
swung it, I would’ve stayed there and got trained. Either way, I wanted to be a firefighter, and so I’m a firefighter.”
“Whatever.”
Why was she explaining herself to him? He was
only a year younger than her and still at home in this small town, too. As an accountant, no less. She sighed and suddenly couldn’t finish the rest of her toast. He was right, and she hated him for it. She wanted to have an exciting answer to the ‘And what is it you do?’ question, without the actual excitement. She had been quietly battling the gender double standard, and wanted
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
33
hard evidence in her arguments that most of it was the
cottages with farmsteads and grazing fields drifted by
bullshit of social stigma. But deep down she already had
languidly for close to four miles. It was the long way to
a pretty good suspicion of what she was actually made
work, but she loved it for the benign calming effect it
of – chicken. Everything scared her to death, and the
had on her. The town was covered by streets just like
thought of constantly battling real infernos on a regular
this one. Most, however, were much shorter.
basis made her dizzy. But her brother was the last
The closer she approached to the station, the more
person she’d ever admit that to.
her stomach began to ache and churn, stirring up her
breakfast. She had good cause for the anxiety. Though
She stood abruptly, and the chair scrapped loudly
on the tile floor. She put the dish in the sink, stealing
she wasn’t poorly treated by her peers, she found she
a long glance at the white picket fence that split the
simply wasn’t treated at all. Unless it was necessary,
mowing lines between her and her neighbor’s identically
she was ignored and ostracized. She told herself it was
manicured lawns, then grabbed her bag and coat and
because she was female, and the anger succeeded most
walked out.
of the time in paralyzing and washing out the suspicions
she had on occasion as to the real reason they cast her
“Hey! Bye!” Lenny yelled after her accusingly.
She rolled her eyes and climbed into her Dodge
aside – that they could smell the bullshit.
pickup truck. It was a midnight blue monster with a
crew cab bed that she’d never used. A purchase that
walked up the back stairs through a door that opened
was one more blasé point in her struggle for social
into the kitchen. She found two men stretched out on a
righteousness.
recliner and the couch watching TV in the living space
at the back of the large room. Two others sat at the
She drove down the narrow roads to the fire
She pulled into the back lot at the station and
station intuitively. She had grown up here, and knew
kitchen table facing the door, playing cards. She came
every corner blindly. She turned down Drift Road from
in cautiously, scanning the faces before croaking out a
the south end heading north. The rural street appeared
quiet, “Hey.” No one looked up.
just as the name implied; trees, grass and quaint little
She went to the counter and found a glass,
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
34
poured herself some cranberry juice. Going to a drawer
drink the cranberry juice, right?” Krasinski got up from
she pulled out a deck of cards. She went to the table
the couch and stood beside Jacobsen, looking down his
across from the two men playing Rummy, and started
nose at Leah. Moroni, still gripping his cards, joined the
shuffling. Several minutes into her game of Solitaire,
other two in glaring at Lee. She quaked subtly under
Jacobsen looked up from across the table. He stared
their grueling gaze, and prayed they failed to notice.
boldly at Leah, who sat biting her nails over a conflicted
She was certain they hadn’t.
move.
said.
“Hey, is that cranberry juice?” Jacobsen asked.
“I’m the only one here that drinks it,” Krasinski
The man sprawled across the couch looked up. Leah
“Did you ask permission to have some of
glanced briefly at Jacobsen and turned her eyes back
Krasinski’s cranberry juice, Leah?” Feeling that she
to her cards, attempting to feign a strong composure.
might stammer, Leah took a moment by looking at
She ignored him. “Hey, I asked you a question. Don’t be
each of their faces, one at a time. Collins, seated in the
rude.”
recliner, continued to watch TV carelessly.
“What was the question?”
“You eat and drink each other’s food all the time,”
“Is that fucking cranberry juice?” Leah glanced up
Leah said more strongly than she felt.
again, went on biting her fingernails. Who cared what
“We’ve all known each other so long we’re past
she was drinking? Her hands began to tremble, but she
asking. But you come in here and disrespect us like
held them firm by pressing her fingertips against her
this,” Krasinski hissed. Leah’s stomach began to ache
teeth.
and her chest was tight.
“Yeah, so?”
“Disrep-?”
“Hey, Krasinski!” A very blonde head, wearing
“That’s what I said! No newbie’s comin’ in here
a very red face, which often answered to the name
and thinkin’ they can just have at it with my stuff
Krasinski, turned towards the table sat up on its elbows.
whenever the hell they please!” Krasinski grabbed the
“I think Lee here is drinking your cranberry juice. You
glass of juice, walked to the counter and splashed it
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
dramatically into the sink. With a clang he slammed the
adjacent to the kitchen. Some played cards, some
glass down on the counter. Leah started. The man on
watched TV, others talked over steaming cups of
the recliner, Collins, gawked from where he sat. Leah
coffee and some fresh scones made earlier by one
jumped out of her seat and knocked the door open,
of the men on the day shift. They all engaged in one
slamming it shut behind her.
common activity, collective aloofness towards Leah.
This continued and the evening remained quiet until the
She stood at the second story railing for a minute
trying to calm her breathing. She sat on the front stair.
crew curled up into bed.
Inside she could hear the men begin to talk.
crew leapt out of their beds, dressed rapidly, and sped
“Is she fucking crying?”
35
At 2:03 in the morning the alarm went off. The
to the trucks. Several minutes later, they pulled up to a Leah spent the next several days attempting
large apartment complex. A back corner of the building
to forget the attack. Things had gone back as they
had been mysteriously set ablaze.
had been before, with her existence being virtually
unacknowledged. A conversation the following day
building, scouring the grounds.
with her mother had included some discussion of her
quitting, going back to being an EMT, a job where she
and began heading up the stairs to the third. As they
felt accepted, where she swooped in after the disaster
clambered up the growing heat was waiting at each
had struck. When her mother began to prod her on the
concrete step. Jacobsen suddenly stopped, grabbing
sudden change of heart, Leah flustered and countered
hold of Krasinski’s arm.
that it was just a thought, and trudged up the stairs to
get ready for work.
paused, one hand on the rail, breathing heavy through
his mask.
Tonight she was staying for the over-night shift.
The crew split up, heading for entrances to the
Krasinski and Jacobsen cleared the first two floors
“Hey, did you see where Lee went?” Krasinski
Jacobsen, Krasinski, Moroni, Collins and two others,
“She probably never got off the truck. Come on,
Marchand and Abele all lounged in the common room
let’s get moving.” Jacobsen shook his head.
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
36
“No. She got off the truck. I saw her running
impending fire above him that was sending fresh rolls of
across the front lawn. I think she’s alone, Krasinksi.”
heavy, blistering air down the stairwell and through the
The two stood for a moment looking at each other.
cracks and fissures in the rubble.
The palpable heat waves engulfing their heads, along
with the clinical click and hiss of their respirators made
Jacobsen went back to work, but not without one eye
Krasinski think of a scene from an alien movie. There
constantly on Leah. He stopped again, and watched as
was a loud bang above them, and they instinctively
smoke began to puff out of the door Lee banged.
dropped down on their knees. The stairwell above them
had collapsed in ash and smoke.
Krasinski snapped his head up to attention, and the
two watched in horror as the smoke grazed the edge
“Get to that door!” Krasinski yelled. Jacobsen
“She can’t hear you, guy. Keep whacking.”
“Is that yellow smoke?” Jacobsen guffawed.
bolted up the stairs past him, Krasinski on his heels.
of the door by the welcome mat, and then rapidly
The door leading into the hallway had been left open,
disappeared. With renewed energy, they both began
but was barricaded above their waists with debris from
screaming and chopping frantically.
the fallen stairwell above. The two had taken out their
“Lee! Leah! Backdraft! Get the hell out of there!”
axes and began chopping and prying away the black
“It’s a backdraft, you stupid shit-head, get your
junk. The weight of their gear and the molten heat was
ass out of there!”
visibly slowing them down. Jacobsen looked up and
stopped. He watched as Leah barreled to the top of the
gonna get blown up. Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ.”
stairs across the hall and went straight for an apartment
Krasinski breathed as he chopped away. The hiss of his
door across from where they stood. Krasinski looked
heavy breathing through the respirator gave a surreal
up. The two watched as she began banging on the door
feel to the scene for Jacobsen. Sweat ran down their
with the bottom of a fire extinguisher.
arms and into their gloves, making their fingers slick.
“Lee! Don’t go in there alone! Lee, get over
“Wait. What is she doing?” Across the hall, Leah had
here!” Jacobsen screamed over the dull hiss and roar of
stopped beating the door. She had taken out her axe,
“Jesus Christ, man, she can’t hear us. She’s
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
37
and was removing her right glove. They watched in the
the charred apartment door, Leah burst through
dull, smoky glow as she ran her bare palm up along
carrying a toddler, directly behind her followed a young
the edge of the door and over the knob. Replacing her
woman in a nightgown, covered in soot and coughing.
glove back on her hand, she took the axe and began
Leah dove down the stairs, yelling over her shoulder as
to work on the seam between the door knob and the
she moved.
wooden frame. The two men continued clearing the
debris desperately, periodically attempting a yell over
woman’s arm, and the lot barreled down the stairs to
the chaotic noise.
the front door and out into the street.
“As soon as that door flies open, her heads
“Let’s go, boys! Move it!” Krasinski took the
Leah laid the little boy on the sidewalk by the
getting blown off.”
truck, propping his head up onto her lap. She threw
down her helmet and pulled off her gloves, strands
“I know, Krasinski! Just move! Move!” The two
hauled and breathed heavy. Leah had stopped hitting
of sweat-soaked hair clinging to her flush cheeks.
the door, and was crouched low up against the wall next
While the others stood over her, she placed a finger
to it, extending her arm out and using the butt of her
underneath the child’s nose.
axe to bang it. The fire extinguisher had been left about
ten feet down the hall. Bang. Bang. Bang. Another
into tears. Leah pried open the boys mouth and began
bang and the door burst open. In a second an explosion
clearing out soot. He coughed and began to wail.
rocked the floor. The men stopped, holding their breath.
A few seconds went by and the smoke cleared. The
mucus out of his nose. Two EMTs ran over and pushed
hallway was empty.
Leah out of the way. With a sigh of relief, she stepped
“What?” Jacobsen stammered. Krasinksi continued
back and watched as they gave the boy oxygen and put
to clear, and Jacobsen followed suit. A minute later, they
him on a gurney. The mother followed close behind. The
had cleared the clutter enough to climb over it, and
three firefighters stood in the street watching.
began running down the hall. Just as they approached
“He’s breathing.” The woman, his mother, burst
“I know, kiddo,” Lee cooed as she rubbed sooty
“You knew it was a backdraft,” Jacobsen said.
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“I could hear it.”
“You could hear it?”
“Yeah. I have great hearing.”
“I guess. Jesus, I’m sorry. I really underestimated
you.” Leah turned to look Jacobsen in the face.
38
“Yeah, me too.”
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
really BAD Shakespeare R.E. “Weeb” Heinrich
Episode 2: The Long Walk Home On my walk back to the apartment, on that fine mid-summer’s eve, there was a spring in my step. I felt accomplished – on top of the world, so to say. Nothing could have made me happier. A new emotion coursed through my system, an emotion I have never experienced before… an emotion known as Pride.
Pride goes before destruction (Proverbs 16:18-19)
By making that telephone call, I set in motion the start of Armageddon. The bluff was played and I was walking home a winner… you know, sometimes an antichrist has to do what an antichrist has to do. There’s no “official” rule book here when one starts Armageddon. There are times when we must draw inspiration from our forefathers, the antichrists before us… and there has been many before me. Look through your history books. Every generation has faced its own antichrist in some form or matter. We – the bringers of Armageddon – each generation moves it forward, learning from the mistakes of our forefathers... Take for instance – France. There was Napoleon. He was the perfect antichrist archetype: He wanted to conquer the world and create endless wars, while deceiving his believers of his God-like, totalitarian rule; he was an influential speaker that people followed without question as they lost the ability to discern between the truth and lies; his supporters followed him into battles that he declared, boldly and without humility, were for the betterment of the world – anyone not believing in HIS beliefs, HIS world vision, were killed without remorse; and, in layman terms, he was just not a nice guy.
The only thing missing from making him the TRUE antichrist was that he didn’t have seven heads and ten horns. Though, honestly, that could all be figuratively speaking and not an actuality.
39
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
Then there was good-ole Adolf Hitler, another prime archetype (Rule the World - CHECK; Do Anything to Accomplish this Goal – DOUBLE CHECK), followed by Stalin (CHECK, CHECK, CHECK), and recently ending with Mr. Rogers (CHECK to the nth degree. With the popularity of television and children’s programming, Mr. Rogers became the true Master of Antichristdom!). Hey, it’s not like you never suspected. But, you see, all of these men were only a precursor to my creation. They were the ones who tested the waters of human evolution, plotting and perfecting the best way in which to lead all of you opposable thumbed creatures to the slaughter. They handed this information down from generation to generation… from Alexander, to Hitler, to Stalin, to Mr. Rogers… Which brings us full circle and back to me… Shakespeare Williams. **** I am 25 years old and live in the third largest city in Illinois, Potter’s Field (under the shade of Megiddo Mountain and the banks of the mighty Kikawa River). Potter’s Field is the largest corn producing city in southern mid-central Illinois, with a growing population of about 167,831. Although the city teams with as much history as Chicago, geologists and historians continuously often overlook Potter’s Field shadowy existence. The city’s roots date back to 1789, when Roberto La Salle founded a discount trading post along the banks of the Kikawa River. With the strategic placement of the store at a pass where a natural trail lead through the Megiddo Mountain and ended at the Kikawa River, business at the Kikawa Discount Outpost and thrived. He befriended the neighboring Kikawa Indians through massive bottles of whiskey to keep them under control; he supplied the travelers headed west with dry goods and flints and other necessary equipment needed for their travels through the heartland; and, if the price was right, he would even let you fuck his wife. At the time, he was a real modern day entrepreneur. Within years, a town formed around the Discount Outpost and it was called Kikawa. The town grew about 100 strong and, for almost sixty years, they coexisted peacefully with the Kikawa Indians. But all good things must eventually come to an end. In the summer of 1848, there was a drought on whiskey. No one knows why, but the Kikawa Discount Outpost ran out of the precious liquid. Blame it on the suppliers or whomever, but this was definitely not a good thing to happen. For some strange, unknown reason, the peace loving Kikawa Indians rose up and, in a bloody and violent confrontation, killed all 153 of the townspeople. Leaving the town a… potter’s field.
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July 2010 eFiction Magazine
**** My trek home brought me to the intersection of Sunrise Highway and Brooklyn Avenue. On a light pole on the opposite side of the dark deserted highway, a red “don’t walk” sign flashed. I stopped and waited for it to change… transfixed by the rhythmic pulse of the image… lost in the flash… flash… flash… the symbolic meaning, line through a man, the wars, the deaths… Armageddon was coming and so many were going to die! Hallelujah! Praise… ME! I laughed, and continued to wait for the light to change. **** There are many forms of abuse. There’s verbal, physical, mental, economic sexual… just to name a few. When you are the antichrist you LEARN about abuse at an EARLY age. It always starts subtly, an offhanded degrading comment here… a gentle, but firm slap there. You learn from it. New emotions form, creating and molding, always changing. You find ways to deal, to understand, to grow with this forbidden knowledge buried deep within you. This is the pain you suffer when you are the antichrist. “I’ll be your God…” you tell them, “Just don’t leave bruises.” **** A group of twenty tourists (out with their charcoals and paper to sketch the natural beauty of the Midwest) found the town of Kikawa three weeks later. The artists could smell the stink of the dead for miles. Without thought of their safety, the tourists captured the Kikawa Chief and questioned him about all the death and destruction. In a voice filled with shame, he said that the Great Dark Spirit of the Earth had come forth and overwhelmed almost every member of the tribe. Over a period of increasingly hot days, the tribe members started having hallucinations and bad dreams. They became fatigued and easily excited. Anxiety filled every waking hour. Soon, fever and convulsions gripped the serene people. The Shaman blamed the neighboring French-Canadians – saying they were the ones who brought the Dark Spirit that plagued them. If they were to survive, they needed to defeat the white intruders and take back their land. Only then would the Dark Spirit be appeased. So, without further delay, they did. They killed every man, woman and child without remorse.
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Though the Indians were very, very apologetic, the tourists decided that the best way to deal with the situation was to wipe the tribe completely off the face of the Earth. All 59 members of the Kikawa Indians were shot and buried in a mass grave on the banks of the Kikawa July 2010 eFiction Magazine
River… in the shade of Megiddo Mountain. Through a reporting error at the time, this backwater town soon became known as the town of Potter’s Field instead of Kikawa City. Reports told how the once friendly Indians of the area rose up and killed all 212 of the God-fearing French-Canadians for no reason whatsoever. ****
Nothing was ever mentioned about the whiskey drought of that summer. **** Thanks to the tourists’ artistic talents, this nightmarish piece of history was immortalized in standard pen and ink drawings and watercolor. Many can still be seen today displayed proudly in the history section of the Potter’s Field Museum of Natural History. **** Now don’t get all religious right-wing on me here… all of you knew Armageddon would happen one day. I guess you just didn’t think it would be happening NOW. So sorry… **** I was five when I discovered that I was to be the TRUE antichrist. I was hiding under a bush… tears in my eyes and blood running down my nose. The educational system on the farm was getting more intense. Suddenly, the limbs of the bush parted and an older man dressed in 1700’s French attire stared down at me. The smell of sulfur filled the air. He smiled, his painted red lips seemed to stretch from ear to ear. He spoke in a heavily accented voice: “I am pleased to meet you Shakespeare. We have so much to discuss.” We stared at each other, studying, looking for weaknesses. Finding none, I stood and approached him. He took my bloodied face in his hand and shook his head disapprovingly. “This will not do,” he said. In a flourish of disapproval, he brought out a hand stitched kerchief from his jacket pocket and cleaned the blood from my face. “This will all make sense soon enough,” he whispered. He took my hand… and led me deeper into the woods.
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**** July 2010 eFiction Magazine
Don’t walk Don’t walk Flashing red My mind going a hundred miles an hour… Every emotion one could possible experience coursed through my body… I was – pardon the expression: in complete heaven.
So, when the light changed,
without a care in the world…
I stepped into the street.
End of episode 2
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July 2010 eFiction Magazine
Blood Binds Episode 4
Oil in the Wormwood Series - Part 2
Tonya R. Moore
just... you know, the two of them. Unsupervised?”
Hel laughed. “They’re not children. Besides, how much damage could they possibly do in the woods?”
“Who was it that leveled nearly half a city only days ago?” He bit back.
“If you’re so nervous about Tallow going off with alone with Kyle, why didn’t you just insist that they come along?”
“What’s wrong Charls? You look like you ate something that doesn’t agree with you.”
Maybe he figured he couldn’t entrust his new protege to the boy with the sweet face and the sharp, sharp teeth. Although as far
Nearly an hour’s trek from the misty edge of the forest by
as Hel was concerned, his affection was upside down. You’d think
the sea, Hel and Charls finally arrived at the village at the foot of
the man would harbor some tender feeling for the boy who could
the mountain where Charls’ contact resided. The reclusive sorcerer,
have and should have been his own flesh and blood.
Jubal was an old friend who didn’t mind sharing information from time to time, for a price. If there was any useful news of the blood grudge to be found, he’d likely caught wind of it already.
Still, it was sweet, the way he’d taken her talented niece under his wing. On one hand, it spoke volumes for the frightening level of Tallow’s inherited abilities. On the other, she knew his
Bazaars were noisome by nature but unlike her partner, Hel
interest in the girl wasn’t purely academic. She’d seen the look of
was charmed by the vibrant locale. Music from various sources
pity he gave Tallow, when she’d recounted the harrowing events
clashed with raucous chatter of many, the crush of bodies--beastly
that had led her to seek out Hel.
and human alike. Her belly rumbled in response to the savory smell of roasting meat from a nearby stall.
“Spare me that nightmare.” He muttered. “A magical prodigy and a night-walker in the presence of a wizard who specializes in
“It’s nothing,” he bit but then he still couldn’t let it rest. “It’s
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possession?
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
was like catching a glimpse of something furtive askance. Looking “I thought you said he was a friend.” She watched the way
but trying not to look.
his avid eyes darted through the crowd. “You think he’d really try something?”
“The noise is gone too,” she murmured. “All I can hear is the wind now and whatever the hell is moving around down there.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him.” Charles muttered. “Jubal isn’t exactly... stable.”
Every creature in this town whether human or animal had frozen. No. If Hel focused, she could discern that they hadn’t
They happened upon a stall with a straw ceiling boasting
ever been moving at all. Everything made of flesh had been
a five tiered display of gleaming knives and swords of varying
cursed, likely a long time ago. Flesh had turned to stone, the only
lengths. Each had been crafted individually. Every handle had
things still animated were their frantic, bulging eyes. Alive and
its own uniquely ornate design. She spied a short sword with
malevolent, they followed Hel and Charls’ every movement.
a jeweled eye at the hilt. Intrigued, Hel drifted closer. She was reaching out to touch it when the dragon’s potential recoiled.
They’d walked right into the middle of an intricate glamor. There didn’t seem to be any obvious way out. When Charls yanked
She wobbled, swamped by a wave of dizziness and that old
his staff out of the dirt, it oozed mud and blood.
sea-sick feeling. She cast her husband a questioning look. He was staring dead ahead, unblinking. His staff appeared out of the blue,
Hel wrinkled her nose. God. Her stomach lurched again. The
its blunt tip bored down into the earth. Something popped under
stench that came up with the tip was abominable. “What are the
there and squealed, a horrific animal sound.
odds that we’re not where we’re supposed to be?” She ventured hopefully.
Finally, he gave her a quick glance. “Do you see it?” Charls squashed that faint glimmer with a flat. “Slim to none. “Yeah,” Hel steadied herself beside him.
Sorry.”
True, what she’d said but not as well as he. She could only perceive the village’s true scenery out of the corner of her eye. It
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Again, that singular fact struck home. They were effectively surrounded. The rumbling in the ground was getting louder and
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
coming from all directions. She didn’t need to be told that those
which doesn’t bode well for us one way or the other.”
burrowing things were ravenous or for what. They knew exactly where Hel and Charls were standing because they had a multitude
“You can’t just desecrate--”
of eyes above ground. “Let me make one thing clear,” Charls blustered. “I have no “Helioselene,” Charls slung his staff from one hand to the
intention of revering petrified corpses above our own lives.”
next. “I don’t much mind traps but isn’t avoiding this sort of thing generally your specialty?”
“Nonsense.” She dug her heels in there. Through gritted teeth, she hissed. “Find another way. I mean it!”
Hel eyed him balefully but she took his proffered hand anyway. “I guess I’m a bit rusty then. Your point?”
With her free hand, her dagger came free from the band at her hip. The second of the burrowing creatures dove upward after
“Just rubbing it in,” he shrugged with a grin, then sobered
her. Charls’ incantation ripped the weapon from her fingers. The tip
before she could even finish entertaining the equally childish notion
of her blade plunged downward with a force and speed she couldn’t
to kick him. “I see our way out and... it’s messy.”
have exerted in time to stop the creature herself. It collided with with what she hoped was its head. There was a deafening screech.
“Meaning?”
The leathery length of the monstrous worm’s body that had burst out of the ground, fell to the ground, limp and quivering.
He met her suspicious gaze squarely. “Traps are best dealt with in what manner?”
Charls’ grip on her arm tightened. “Then we shift.” His gaze flicked to her midriff, betraying his reason for not suggesting that
“Obliteration.” Hel blanched. “You do realize that these are
in the first place.
actual people?” Hel’s face went hot and possibly several shades of colors she “Who died a long time ago, from the looks of it. Whatever’s
couldn’t even imagine. “We’ll manage.”
down there was made by magic gone mad. I don’t know what Jubal was trying to do here but he either failed terribly or succeeded,
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The sun went into hiding. Steeling clouds frothed, making
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
lightning. The air crackled between them. Charls clung to her more
highlights and ridges had been outlined with some glittery metal.
tightly. “This place isn’t them same as was when I first came here.
He was glowering at them in a wild and menacing manner. He
I’m not sure we’ll end up exactly where I want. Be watchful, Hel.”
hurled a second spear. His aim was dead on. Charls brought the tip of his staff down and struck the ground.
“Believe me, you don’t have to tell me that.” She took a shuddering breath. It was going to hurt but she could take it. “All right. Ready when you are.”
A massive hound materialized to counter the spear. Baring teeth, it charged headlong at the tip, swallowing the spear whole. As it landed on all fours the beast vanished, leaving nothing behind
The next barrage of thunder rocked the earth. Just was the whole world seemed to go dark, Hel heard a collective, agonized
but its scent and a growl that shook the ground before fading away.
howl. Charls must have known all long, that those corpses would have be destroyed when they shifted. They shifted through time
The madman cackled. “Always the showoff eh, Charls?” His
and space in that instant. The distance they covered was from one
wicked grin fell and he swirled, vanishing into mist. “Come to the
end of the town to the foot of the sanctuary carved into the ghostly
tower. I’m waiting.”
mountain. Hel’s mouth fell open. “What the hell? That was just a “You lied to me, Char--” She didn’t have time to finish voicing
phantom?”
the accusation. “Cheap trick. Not his style, at all.” Charls mused, countenance Charls knocked her aside, none too gently. Something cold
darkening. “Hel, we’re shifting again. Can you handle it?”
whizzed by her ear as she slammed into a stone pillar with a pained yelp.
This time, Hel merely regarded him quizzically. “You do realize a dragon isn’t as fragile as a human, right?”
Standing at the opening of the sanctuary, was the most peculiar man Hel had ever seen. Dark, like charcoal. His face was
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She’d be lying though, if she tried to say teleporting like that
marred by the scarified pattern of Mycenae’s suns and moon. She
didn’t take its toll. Heavy magic without anything to leverage it
could make it out quite clearly from that distance because the
against was incredibly taxing, even on the one being carried. This
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
time, she was doubling over on a cobbled floor, gasping to catch her breath.
His long long fingers reached for Charls’ shoulders. The tips of his fingers were shredded down almost to the bone. His own magic had already begun to eat away at him. He grasped at Charls’
In the pale glow of of flickering light, she made out a littering of arcane circles on the ground. Newer circles atop older circles.
collar. Blood and spittle dripped from his mouth. Charles shoved at him but the demented man clung to him with ferocious insistence.
Such insanely reckless magic... and she thought Charls like to play deadly games. At the center of the room was glowing sphere. An old astrologer’s tool? Why would a possession specialist need that?
She watched the way Charls regarded the telling scene. He picked his way across the room, circumventing the circles.
“This is extreme. Even for you, Jubal.” He eyed the figure hunched over in one corner.
“You, my friend have gone have gone and screwed it all. Sideways, you know?” He hissed accusingly.
Charls scowled down at him, a mix of disgust and pity. “What in the stars are you raving about?”
Jubal’s hands fell away helplessly. “What in the stars, indeed?”
Jubal was haggard. His own magic had made a mess of him,
So forlorn. Hel felt a twinge of pity for him.
it seemed. Rampant abuse of his own art had made his body rot and deteriorate in random places. A whole world he’d paid such a heavy price to warp and for what?
Charles didn’t seem to be falling for it though. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You’ve lost all reason, haven’t you?” Charls spared his friend a pitying once over.
“It makes all the sense there ever was.” Jubal scowled. “All the sense in all the ‘verses!”
“Reason?” Jubal cackled. His laugh was hysterical on the
He turned away, then back. There was no warning. A slight
verge of breaking. “That you, of all people should talk to me of
motion of the possessor’s wrist and a metal spike came out of
reason!”
nowhere, pinioning one of Charls’ palms to the wall. He grunted, biting down but the effort was lost on Hel. It was obvious he was in
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agony. Who the hell wouldn’t be after that?
“Don’t interfere. It’s not what you think.” He turned his attention back to Jubal. “You have a funny way of asking for help,
“Old friend,” Jubal spoke softly. “Time and time again. What
you know?”
did I tell you about ruining my fun? I said I would kill you, didn’t I?”
“Help?” There was genuine puzzlement. Hel caught a glimpse of the man Charls must have known. Just a bit sadly, he smiled. “Charls!”
“Aren’t I beyond that?”
Hel’s eyes darted about frantically. No way could she just stand for this. She straightened. Her vision wavered. Damn, she
“So, you understand your predicament.” Charls sighed heavily. “And you needed my blood for what, then?”
still hadn’t recovered from shifting twice in such a short time. She tried to stand but her limbs wouldn’t cooperate. She tried again.
The globe in the center of the room brightened. A myriad of lights filled the room. If it fit the standard pattern, those lights
Jubal smiled down at her toothily. It was more like he was baring his teeth.
were meant to be Mycenae’s solar system and significant stars beyond.
“Helioselene! Stay exactly where you are.” Charls was thunderous--no--pleading.
“A kingdom... MY kingdom.” Jubal grumbled. “Just when I managed to make it perfect. Well,” he shrugged. “Al least you managed to get here just in the nick of time.”
“Don’t move.” His free hand reached out, shaking. “Don’t leave that circle.”
Charls laughed. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve always liked making the grand entrance. Did you forget?”
A tremor of shock ran through her as she looked down. Which of them had made this and when?
If the sphere was Mycenae, then the small light bearing down on the sphere was... A certain star?
“Charls, you--” “Calamity!” Jubal crowed, unsteady again. “With your name
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July 2010 eFiction Magazine
on it.” “There’s an incendiary behemoth headed straight for us. This The metal bolt fell to the ground with a clatter. Charls advanced on Jubal. “Who has the power to call down a star?”
“That, I cannot tell you. You understand?” The man shook
world is done for. We need to jump coils. Now.” Charls didn’t have time to mince mince words or explain. “Tallow, can you do it?”
The stricken girl nodded jerkily. “I think so.”
his head slowly. Hel realized with a pang, that he meant he’d been rendered incapable of telling.
Charls clutched at Hel. “This is the last time and then...”
Jubal gestured expansively. “All of this. It should be enough for you to save yourself. Shouldn’t it?”
She never heard the rest of what he said. Darkness came slamming down. When she opened her eyes again, they were still by the shore. Tallow stood not far away, watching the sunset. The
“I’ll find whoever did this. I can promise you that.” Charls spared his friend one, last pitying look. “Hel, we’re leaving. It’s
waves were thick. They crashed heavily against the brittle rocks and rolled slowly back to the horizon.
going to hurt.” Charls was seated beside her. When she stirred, he bent over her worriedly. They materialized where Kyle and Tallow were waiting by the shore, as planned. This time, Hel nearly lost consciousness. When
“Helioselene...”
she stumbled, Charls caught her before she ended up swallowing a mouthful of sand.
“I’m alright,” She tired to wave him away but couldn’t move her arms, much less sit up. “Well, I will be. What happened?”
“What took you two so long?” Kyle demanded. “First day turned to night now this. What gives?”
“Tallow jumped coils, just in the nick of time.” Charls chuckled after a few seconds. “There was one minor mishap. Don’t worry,
They’d been waiting for a while already and watching the
it’s not permanent.”
ever brightening sky with with growing unease.
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Kyle was nowhere to be seen. For some reason the witchy girl had a red eyed, white rabbit nestled in her arms like a child. It was purring like a cat. Hel knew immediately. The loud purring wasn’t because it was pleased.
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incorrect. Nothing valid came to mind. “H-hey Zach,” Kim stuttered later that night. “Busy tonight?” “Nah, Wednesdays are always slow.” He finished pouring a draft and slid it to an older guy sitting at the end of the bar.
Don’t For get Yo u r R a i n c o a t
“Oh okay. Well I was just wondering if we could talk later.” He glanced at her, tilted brow and hesitant. “Uh, sure. When? I can’t talk now. Maybe on my break?”
Glen Binger She smiled weakly, “Yeah that works.” Tonight was just like any other night. Zach served drinks. Pete made fun of Zach while doing the same thing. Kim was blonde. Natalie served VIP. Except tonight, Kim separated herself from everyone. It’s hard to work at a bar when your insides are the home to miniature living combo carbon copy of you and someone else. Four hours ago, Kim had difficulty peeing on a plastic stick that would, in three minutes, tell her that she couldn’t drink for nine months. She must have stared at that blue strip for fifteen minutes, searching her memory bank for a reasonable excuse for it to be
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“Okay, cool. I’ll come find ya when I get it.” He smiled. Kim nodded and walked away. Zach nudged Pete at the other side of the bar. “Hey man, is something up with Kim?” “Not that I know of.” Pete wiped his hands on the small towel hanging from his belt. “Why?” “I dunno, she just came up to me and asked to talk.” Pete’s face flattened out. “Dude.”
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
It’s a good thing that Linda was off tonight, thought Chris, She’d definitely send her home.
“What? What’s that look for?” He remained silent, kept the same expression, and shook his head back and forth. Zach felt his organs coil. “What?! Man, tell me! You know something.” “Nah,” He smiled. “I’m just fuckin’ with you.” But then he straightened out again. “Seriously, though. Be careful. Cause when a girl says ‘we need to talk’ it only means bad.”
Natalie walked up to Kim and tapped her on the forearm. She said something to her and then walked away. Chris looked on from above as Kim fell apart like poorly designed Legos. She rushed into the kitchen and Chris imagined her eyes the floodgate of salty liquid beads. “God dammit,” he whispered to himself. The shadowy office seemed to reply in Linda’s voice, “Go see if she’s okay.”
“Great. Thanks, Pete.” Zach laughed. And he obliged. “Hey, no problem, man.” Pete made the shape of a gun with his index finger and thumb, pointing it at Zach and clicked his tongue. He laughed and went back to bartending. Zach went back to serving, too, but mentally he remained as jittery as Ol’ Dirty Bastard initially was when the condom full of coke burst inside of him. Upstairs, Chris watched Kim walk around VIP aimlessly. She kept bumping into things and forgetting orders in the kitchen. He scratched the beginnings of a white beard and felt something thump in his chest.
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But before he found her, Bubba, the cook, did in the back of the dimly lit MEAT SUPPLY CLOSET while searching for a new hamburger bun stack. She was on the floor, sitting crossed legged. “Uhhh, is you okay?” Kim wiped a damp film from the sags of her eyes.”Yeah, Bubba,” she tried to smile. “Just a rough night.” “Been there.” He chuckles so deep it echoes in the small room. “Can I help?”
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
Then she actually smiles. She smiles for a moment and then giggles to herself. “Not really, Mr. Bubbs.” Her eyelashes are laced with tiny watery beads. “Thank you, though.”
“What’s wrong, Kimmy?” He placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to show his sincerity. “Oh, nothing,” she lied. “I’m sorry.”
He smiles and lowers one of his massive, padded hands, motioning to help her up. “Dats okay, Miss Kimmy. I’m hurr if you change your mind.”
“What for?” His chuckle didn’t echo but it did make her feel better.
“That means a lot,” she said, taking his beefy hand.
“Bumping into you.”
Bubba pulled her up. “Bubbs got your back always.” His laugh echoed again.
“No worries. But really, what’s up? Why ya so down?” “No, really nothing. I’m fine.” She lied again.
“Thanks, Bubba.” She leaned in to hug him. Her arms, even though she tried, couldn’t reach all the way around his big torso. And, on the contrary, his arms wrapped around her completely. “Okay,” she continued, “I gotta get back to work before Natalie rips my face off.” She laughed and left the supply closet. Bubba smiled and searched the shelves for the buns he came in for while humming the melody to “Somewhere Over The Rainbow.” Outside, Kim literally bumped into Chris in the kitchen. Her eyes were too busy studying the creases in her scuffed Adidas to see him.
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He tightened his eyes and smiled as if to say; “Really? Do you know who you’re talkin’ to?” She responded to the unasked question and laughed. “Oh, just having a bad night.” “Well, yeah! I can see that,” he chuckled. “Yeah.” She paused and looked at Bubba flipping burgers. “Nothing is going right tonight.” She looked back to Chris. “I dunno.” He smiled and it made Kim feel jovial; the same way Bubba’s laugh made her feel. It felt good; like frigid ice cream melting in her stomach on the hottest day of
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
summer. “I gotcha. Well,” he paused, “why don’t you take the night to yourself and go home?”
He nodded and left to find Natalie. Kim, now looking at faces, went to the server’s room to gather her things. She stuffed her apron into the tie-dyed handbag and decided to get an iced coffee on the way home. But first things first.
Kim’s face lit up. “Really?!” “Yeah sure! I mean, you seem really bummed and I don’t expect you to explain yourself. Just go home and collect yourself. Relax. You know?” “Okay! But what about Natalie? Won’t staff be short?”
Zach laughed and wiped dry the counter in front of him. The music had just started pumping through the house speakers.
Chris looked around the Kitchen then peered out the Kitchen doorway. “Eh,” he turned back to Kim, “Don’t worry about it. It’s only a Wednesday; not like we’ll get a huge crowd. And I’ll talk to Natalie.” He smiled again.
Pete passed him again. “I’d better go.”
“Wow! Thanks Chris!” She hugged him and turned to leave.
Kim strutted over to the bar, finding an open spot on Pete’s side. “Pete,” she yelled. “Hey Pete!”
“No problem. And Kim… say word about this were to spread around. You might lose some hours.” He kept smiling. “Don’t tell anyone.”
Pete looked over while mixing a drink and nodded.
“Don’t worry, Chris.” She shook a blonde string of hair from her vision. “Thanks,” she smiled.
He reached over and tugged on Zach’s sleeve. He pointed to Kim with his eyes. Zach poured three shots and then shuffled over to her. The slow night allowed for more time-consuming conversations. She looked into his curious stare, then at Pete’s eavesdropping face,
“Just get your life together, Kimmy.”
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“Paging Doctor Faggot!” Pete whispered into Zach’s ear on the way to the beer cooler.
“Yeah, you should, Doctor Faggot,” Zach finished the movie quote.
“Can you grab Zach for me?”
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and then sighed. Pete slid back over to cover Zach’s side for the moment.
was a joke at her expense, pretended not to see it and trotted off.
“So I’m going home,” she said, trying to smile.
“Dude. What do I do?” He snatched a towel lying in the corner. “Do I go hang out with her or do I blow her off?”
“Why? Is everything okay?” Kim paused, took a deep breath, and lied. “Yeah. I was just wondering if we could hang and talk later, though.”
Pete smiled, slapped Zach’s ass on the way back over to his side, and said, “Well that depends.” “On?”
“Uh, sure.” He glanced over his shoulder then back towards Kim. “I’ll call you tomorrow? I’m off.”
He palmed his jaw line. “Hmm, if you had to guess what she is so upset about what would it be?”
“That sounds good.” She smiled for real, again. “Cool.” Zach nodded. “So is everything okay? You seemed upset earlier.” Kim lied again. “Yeah, just having a bad night.” “Ah, I gotcha. Well, at least you’re going home now.” Kim felt the warmth of his radiant smile on her cheeks. “This is true,” she chuckled. “Okay, I’ll let you get back to work now. Call me later?”
“Well, clearly, you’re wrong because something is up. She wouldn’t randomly ask you to hang out if it was just nothing.” He smiled and leaned over to a young guy flagging him. Then he stepped over to the beer cooler. “You know what I mean? Either she likes you or she likes me or she has herpes or crabs or something.” He laughed and brought three beers back to the man. “I guess,” said Zach, wiping the counter and ignoring Pete’s humor. “I dunno, man. I just have this awful feelin’ in the pit of my stomach.”
“You got it!” Zach went back to his side of the bar and whispered something to Pete, who then laughed. Kim, thinking it
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“Honestly,” Zach paused and shook his head, “I have no idea.”
“Maybe she’s pregnant,” smiled Pete.
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
“Yeah,” laughed Zach. “I’ll name the little shit after you, too!”
“I’ll see you later.” “Keep it real,” he chuckled. Bubba set the spatula down to go search for more buns in the MEAT SUPPLY CLOSET.
They snickered and went back to bartending. Back in the kitchen, Natalie was wiping sweat from her brow and tapping her right set of toes, waiting for a response from Bubba. “Do you know what I mean? I just can’t take this shit anymore.”
Natalie left and went use the staff restroom. When she stepped out she matted her still-damp hands against her apron and looked up to find Chris staring at her. Goosebumps tickled her forearms. “There you are!”
Bubba flipped three burgers and, surprisingly, kept smiling. “Miss Nat, you got yourself a predicament indeed. Maybe you should just ask him.” “I can’t do that! He’ll think I’m crazy. I mean we weren’t really dating but I liked him, ya know?”
She glanced over both of her shoulders. “Here I am,” she said, chuckling. “So I wanted to tell you I sent Kim home early tonight.” “What? Why?” The bumps disappeared.
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“It sounds to me,” he paused to wipe a film of sweaty dehydration from his thick pair of lips, “that y’all like each other but both y’all bein’ too arrogant. Someone’s gotta step off their horse.”
Chris leaned back against his desk. “She was having a rough night,” he spoke, moving his hands. “And she just wasn’t performing up to par.”
“You’re right,” she straightened her slouch. “I’ll talk to him tonight.” Natalie smiled. “Thanks, Bubbs.”
Natalie shook her head and blinked. “What do you mean?”
“No problem, Miss Nat,” his smile echoed, louder than the sizzling burgers in the humid kitchen.
“Besides,” he continued, “you can handle VIP. You’re the best server, that’s why I made you manager.”
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
for asking. She laughed. “But what about all the other stuff I’m still supposed to be doing aside from serving?” She gritted her teeth. “Like the schedule?”
“Okay. Well thanks Natalie!”
“Anyway, listen. I was wondering if we could hang out tomorrow.” He smiled and split his lips to talk but she cut him off. “I’ve been thinkin’ about us lately. And I just wanted to put the past behind us and kinda,” she paused, looking over his shoulder at Pete. His ears were wriggling in her words. So she grabbed Zach’s collar and pulled him in, pressing her lips against his ear only. “And kinda start over. What do you think?” She released her grip and he stood back.
Chris suddenly stood up and went downstairs. Natalie didn’t know what to think. She scratched her nose and patted her hands against her apron again, still trying to remove the excess moisture. The night couldn’t get any worse. She decided to go downstairs and talk to Zach before she lost her train of thought. Bubba was right.
The sludgy taste of blood soaked his taste buds in a thin, bitter coat. “Uh,” he finally spit out. “Yeah, that sounds good!” He smiled without showing any teeth. “I have off tomorrow, too, so that’s perfect.” Pete’s laughter flooded his ears and made him forget about his tongue.
“Hey Pete,” Natalie tugged on his sleeve. “Can you get Zach for me?”
Natalie smiled. “Me too! So I’ll call you in the morning. Maybe we can do the beach or something?”
Pete sighed and Natalie was unsure why, but he grabbed Zach so it didn’t really matter. He nodded and strutted over, sweat folded and beaded above his upper lip. Pete switched sides, to, again, cover for him.
“Sounds good, I’ll probably be out there early. Waves are gonna be good so if I don’t answer just meet me up on 7th ave. I’ll be surfing.”
“Eh,” he shrugged, “don’t worry about it. I’ll give you some leeway. No worries.” “But-”
“Are you hot?” She asked. Zach eyed her with a blank stare, as if she was stupid
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“Awesome,” she grabbed his collar again and pulled him in, pressing her lips against his cheek. “I’ll let you get back to work. Later!” She let him go, waved, and skipped off. “Bye Pete!”
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
“Oh, hey, Zach. How was the rest of work?” “Byeeeee,” grinned Pete. Immediately, he turned to Zach and punched him in the arm. “DUDE! Look at you. Two girls, not enough time.”
“Eh,” he shrugged, “the usual.” Kim laughed. “Pete won again, huh?”
“Man, this isn’t funny. What am I gonna do?” “Shit if I know.” He handed a young woman four beers. “All I know is that someone is getting laid and I’m not.” Pete laughed and switched sides with him. “I’m gonna call Kim when I get off. You think she’d rather meet up tonight?”
“How does he drink five beers out of a boot that fast?! I don’t understand!” Zach laughed and a lull settled in the phone call. “So anyway,” he broke it, “I was wondering if we could meet up tonight to talk. I just remembered I told my friend I’d help him move out tomorrow.” She bought it. “Yeah that’s fine.”
“So you want to bang her and date Natalie. I see,” Pete nodded with the same stupid grin as before, “I see.”
“Okay great! I’m sorry I forgot to mention that earlier.”
Zach couldn’t help but laugh, “Fuck you.”
“It’s okay,” she sighed. “So when shall I expect you?”
They went back to serving the slow Wednesday night crowd. Pete continued to mess with Zach and Chris continued to act like he was doing something productive by being there. Bubba flipped burgers. Slow was an understatement. The rest of the night crawled by but the second he got out, Zach called Kim.
“I’m on my way home now, so I’ll pick you up right after I shower. Say fifteen minutes?”
“Hello?” She answered.
For fifteen minutes, Kim chewed her cuticles and twirled her bangs. When Zach finally called, she was sitting on her porch, alone in the dark.
“Hey, it’s me.”
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“Okay.” She shrugged. “Okay, I’ll call ya. See you in a few.”
July 2010 eFiction Magazine
“Hey,” she muttered, sitting down in the passenger seat. Zach smiled and pulled out of the driveway. “Hiiiii.” He lowered the radio to a whisper. “So what’s up? Where do we want to go?” She thought a moment then said, “Let’s go up to the beach.” “Sounds good,” he smiled, the dashboard glowing. Guess Pete was right, Zach thought. That was easier than expected. When they got up to the 7th ave. gate, Zach helped Kim up the steps, trying to act gentlemanly. Kim sneezed and didn’t even notice his gesture.
pierced the black canvas above their heads. A sliver of moon drew a line across the ocean’s wavy surface all the way up to the shoreline where the sand started and the water stopped. He kept studying these while words came out of Kim’s mouth like leaking air from a tire. But one word snapped his focus to the seepage. “Zach are you listening?” She paused and rolled her eyes. “I’m pregnant.” His eyes darted back to Kim, who was now studying and judging every inch of body language he used. And he knew this. But that still didn’t help him. “Oh. Uh. Well, whose is it?” “Yours.”
“So when’s the last time we hung out?” began Kim. “But how do you know?” “I dunno. Why?” “I just know.” “Not sure, just makin’ conversation.” “Shit.” “I see,” he sat down on the bench at the top of the stairs facing the beach and pulled Kim down next to him. “So what did you want to talk about?” Zach drifted off in the realization that Pete’s theory wasn’t going to be that easy to accomplish. The stars
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July 2010 eFiction Magazine
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July 2010 eFiction Magazine