***** Warning ***** Bad language in this one, Folks! *****
“A treaty?” I said, incredulous.
“Yeah, a treaty.”
He blinked at me like I was stupid. He was the one being stupid. A treaty? A fucking treaty? Was he serious with this? I just looked at him, at a loss for words.
“I’ll sign your TREATY with a shit pen and wipe my ass on the paper.”
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As I was emptying the paper recycling barrel into the larger barrel, something shiny caught my eye. I stopped pouring the crumpled papers into the larger container and bent down to look a little closer. My hand stopped inches from the shiny object as a I realized what it was. A bullet casing. What the hell was a bullet casing doing in the lobby recycle bin?
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It wasn’t something I needed, something I thought was cool or interesting. It was a necessity. I had to have it. It was like a compulsion. Yes, that was it. I was compelled to have it. The smooth green glass of the bowl looked creamy and welcoming. I had no idea what I would do with it, but I knew I had to have it.
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I should have known it would be just a big hassle. It always was with Sara. She never did what we expected her to, what she should do. She was always drama.
I walked into the lobby of her apartment building and saw her standing by the elevators with her suitcase. Figures. She couldn’t even come outside like a normal person, had to be all dramatic, waiting in the lobby with her suitcase, crying.
I sighed and walked to help her with her suitcase.
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As a reporter, it was my job to make sure the truth was told and I wasn’t going to let anything come between me and the truth. I crouched behind the dumpster as I heard the door open. Quickly grabbing my voice recorder from the pocket of my jacket, I pushed the button to start recording and held my breath. I had no idea who had just come out the door, but I was going to record everything they said, regardless.
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The sunglasses sat on the floor, a beam of sunlight shining on them through the window. Her blood, splattered across the wooden slats of the floor boards shone like rubies scattered in the sunlight.
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I sit at my desk, wondering why you don’t try. It has been over 8 years and still you make no effort to understand. You have no compassion. You make no move to understand what he goes through. Words overwhelm him and yet you continue to throw them at him like knives. I can’t help but believe that you think bullying him will somehow make him not what he is. He will always be what he is. It’s not for you to force him to understand what you need, but it is for you to help him understand what he needs.
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It was boring and bland but he said nothing, for fear he would be attacked and have chunks of his flesh bitten out in repayment for his honesty. So he chocked down the oatmeal, drank his coffee and kissed Mary on the cheek on his way out the door.
Oatmeal. His life had become oatmeal. Bland and boring. At this point, even having his flesh bitten out in chunks would be more desirable. At least it would be SOMETHING.
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The dank smell of the basement crawled into Cheryl’s nostrils as she descended the steps. She wrinkled her dainty nose and stepped cautiously into the dark at the bottom of the stairs. She stepped forward, reaching for the light switch on the wall and felt her foot touch something soft. She jerked her foot back, afraid it was a mouse or rat. She found the switch and flipped it on and quickly looked to the floor.
A scream built in her throat as she took in the view of Miguel. He was obviously dead on the floor with sewing pins sticking out of his pupils and dried blood that had dripped down the sides of his face like tears.
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She was kind but willful. Her face was pretty, but not beautiful. She was not perfect, but she was not human. Tom watched her, marveling at how real she looked. He wondered at how her skin appeared to glow, giving the illusion of blood pulsing below the surface.
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Eileen Maki 