Hello !!
Welcome to Wilshire Tower! I’m Courtney Red. I bet you are wondering how I got such an interesting name. Well you see, I have these red boots that I wear almost every day. People can always tell when I’m coming because of them. They have the most districted click clack. This can be kinda tricky sometimes though, because when I’m trying to be sneaky it is very hard. You see I’m a reporter in this small jacked up town. I’m the only person bringing in any sort of news into this town. I report everything that happens. I have all the gossip, all the fights, all the secrets that go on in this town. People don’t know it but I’m always watching. I live in the apartment, with most of the rest of the town. I’m door 323, so if you ever have any information to spread make sure you come to my door. I’ve lived in this town since I can remember and don’t ever really see a way of leaving. But with all the information I have on this town, I plan on writing a book someday and putting us on the map. That's my dream for this town.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Aberdeen "Abbie" Angus
boy toy.
Abbie started drinking early today. Every once in a while, usually when she's had a bad day, she'll start at around 3, sometimes even 2:15. She has her own bar in her room, a glass case filled with different handles of different liquor. She hardly drinks beer, it's not good for her figure. And she hardly drinks wine either, she's not that classy. She has a shaker, a bowl of slightly moldy limes, a salt shaker and different sizes of glass cups, some of them nice. She gathered them from the shop most likely. She always takes the good stuff for herself. Other glasses were jelly jars that her grandma used. She never used them, but they're there.
"What do you think, kids?"
She turned to look at her ferrets, Adelaide and Mojo. Her only companions were sleeping in their rusting cage, curled into furry circles. She'd woken an hour earlier to the sound of heavy rain and still hadn't made it downstairs to the store. It was 2 in the afternoon.
"Mimosa or Mojito, my little darlings?"
She figured since it was sort of morning she'd go with the Mimosa. At least it had orange juice in it. She took the old champagne out of her glass cabinet. She took the half full jug of orange juice and poured them into a glass cup. She sniffed, sipped, and felt a little bit better about her day. She hesitantly dressed, slipped up her ripped tights, and placed her vintage heels on. Slowly, glass in hand, she made it downstairs to the store.
It was cluttered, as usual. Items stuffed in nicks and crannies, some things that Abbie had never seen before. She continued to sip. She made her way behind the counter and sat on her tattered revolving stool. She propped her feet on the desk, not taking care if her dress let a little something show.
She continued to sip. Luckily, if she ran out, she had another mini fridge under the desk. She drank fast, and refilled. She figured there was nothing better to do in the day.
She looked around. She had conjoining windows with Styx Meats. It served as a distraction.
Abbie has a list of men in her life. Can she remember all the names? No. But does that really matter? No. But ever since she moved here she's always had her eye on Dave. Yes, Dave Gorlomi. The butcher. Whether it's because he was the only man she really ever saw or because she was genuinely attracted to him, it is unknown. He's not the most glamorous of all men but she's not worried about the quality of men anymore, just how many she can squeeze into one night. She especially likes Dave because she can always smell the booze on him when she walks into Styx Meats. It's like a "coming home" type of feeling. She likes to think that she could have him wrapped around her little finger. Like a boy toy. She hasn't had one in ages. She's seen the way he looks at her when she "happens" to carry her martini into Styx with her. She knows he can't resist the juice. So she has a plan. She plans to lure him in with her collection of Jack, Jim and José. And if he resists, well then she'll bring in the girls. Her loyal girls, the high class girls. And if that doesn't work, then she'll have to roll up her own stockings (which she has no problem doing what-so-ever. Actually she would probably prefer to do it that way.) But until then, she watches him through the window peeking from Abbott's Dream Antiques in Styx Meats. She takes note of his peak times to take a swig. She knows that when he gets especially sweaty in the afternoons, with dried blood all over his hands and the lack of customers coming in, it's his prime time for a drink. And then it's time for a slow waltz into Styx with her own mix of rum and coke.
Abbie started drinking early today. Every once in a while, usually when she's had a bad day, she'll start at around 3, sometimes even 2:15. She has her own bar in her room, a glass case filled with different handles of different liquor. She hardly drinks beer, it's not good for her figure. And she hardly drinks wine either, she's not that classy. She has a shaker, a bowl of slightly moldy limes, a salt shaker and different sizes of glass cups, some of them nice. She gathered them from the shop most likely. She always takes the good stuff for herself. Other glasses were jelly jars that her grandma used. She never used them, but they're there.
"What do you think, kids?"
She turned to look at her ferrets, Adelaide and Mojo. Her only companions were sleeping in their rusting cage, curled into furry circles. She'd woken an hour earlier to the sound of heavy rain and still hadn't made it downstairs to the store. It was 2 in the afternoon.
"Mimosa or Mojito, my little darlings?"
She figured since it was sort of morning she'd go with the Mimosa. At least it had orange juice in it. She took the old champagne out of her glass cabinet. She took the half full jug of orange juice and poured them into a glass cup. She sniffed, sipped, and felt a little bit better about her day. She hesitantly dressed, slipped up her ripped tights, and placed her vintage heels on. Slowly, glass in hand, she made it downstairs to the store.
It was cluttered, as usual. Items stuffed in nicks and crannies, some things that Abbie had never seen before. She continued to sip. She made her way behind the counter and sat on her tattered revolving stool. She propped her feet on the desk, not taking care if her dress let a little something show.
She continued to sip. Luckily, if she ran out, she had another mini fridge under the desk. She drank fast, and refilled. She figured there was nothing better to do in the day.
She looked around. She had conjoining windows with Styx Meats. It served as a distraction.
Abbie has a list of men in her life. Can she remember all the names? No. But does that really matter? No. But ever since she moved here she's always had her eye on Dave. Yes, Dave Gorlomi. The butcher. Whether it's because he was the only man she really ever saw or because she was genuinely attracted to him, it is unknown. He's not the most glamorous of all men but she's not worried about the quality of men anymore, just how many she can squeeze into one night. She especially likes Dave because she can always smell the booze on him when she walks into Styx Meats. It's like a "coming home" type of feeling. She likes to think that she could have him wrapped around her little finger. Like a boy toy. She hasn't had one in ages. She's seen the way he looks at her when she "happens" to carry her martini into Styx with her. She knows he can't resist the juice. So she has a plan. She plans to lure him in with her collection of Jack, Jim and José. And if he resists, well then she'll bring in the girls. Her loyal girls, the high class girls. And if that doesn't work, then she'll have to roll up her own stockings (which she has no problem doing what-so-ever. Actually she would probably prefer to do it that way.) But until then, she watches him through the window peeking from Abbott's Dream Antiques in Styx Meats. She takes note of his peak times to take a swig. She knows that when he gets especially sweaty in the afternoons, with dried blood all over his hands and the lack of customers coming in, it's his prime time for a drink. And then it's time for a slow waltz into Styx with her own mix of rum and coke.
Marie Voulez
Chapter Two: Now What?
Sitting on the floor with her against to the door Marie Voulez pulled out her cold almost stale-looking burger and motioned to her mouth to take the first bite. Something about this burger looked very peculiar, but Marie brushed it off. She had only had about 4 hamburgers, if that, within the perimeters of her entire life and figured she didn't have much insight into the regularity, or irregularity, of beef. Aside from her speculations the burger tasted like heaven, and upon finishing Marie lit a cigarette. Her usual eating routine.
Marie contemplated reading The Lord of the Flies but after looking at it's silhouette from across the room decided not to. Instead, Marie stood up from the floor and walked over to her vanity. Aside from the grungy and disturbing location of her life the apartment she occupied was actually quite nice. She had a large window from which a desk perched in front of. On it, rested a laptop, her pack of cigarettes, and black notebook/agenda. There was no clutter.
If anything the apartment resembled a studio flat, to which Marie was very fond of. As she sat at her vanity the decided to bring Lord of the Flies back to the library, she was never going to read it.
The next day Marie stepped out to a fairly blue sky. The air was not too warm or too cold, just the right temperature for the jacket her grandfather had given her. Her grandfather purchased it for her when he went to Germany for a ski trip. Marie remembered the way back to the library, one of the only places she knew the way to. Today Marie made sure to dress conservatively, hoping to avoid any remarks about payable sex.
A rather short library watched as Marie entered the library, Marie was being rather loud. The librarian hoped she would not have to tell her to be quiet, that was the one thing she hated most about working at the library. If it was at all possible this short librarian would get a different, better, louder job, but Wilshire didn't provide many prospets. Marie asked the librarian where the drop off box was, and the librarian explained that there was none. Homeless had been steeling books from it. Marie pondered the difficulty and worthwildness of stealing books from the drop off box, wouldn't it just be easier to steal from the inside of the library? Or, better yet, just go and read the book, inside? As Marie thought about this her face kind of went blank, and the librarian looked at her and waited for Marie to come to. As the librarian waited for Marie she took the book and typed on her computer, putting the book back into the system. She noticed that Ms. Marie Voulez had just taken the book out yesterday. There were only two reasons somone would return a book a day after the checked it out; either they loved it and read it in one day or she didn't like the book at all. By the looks of Marie the librarian theorized the latter of the two. Maybe she was drugs, the librarian thought. It wouldn't be the first time this had happened to the librarian.
Maire did not loo for a new book, like the librarian suggested. Instead she made the whole library ordeal last as short as possible. As she left she realized that she needed another pack of cigarettes as she lit her last one. On the way back to Wilshire Tower she stopped in at a liquar store called D&D. She got a pack of cigarettes, but instead of turning right to go home Marie took a left. The perfect chance to explore this bleek oasis. She walked all the way around to the other side of the block where there was a playground. As she walked past she saw two figures sitting on a bench chatting. Marie stopped to light another cigarette, giving her the change to pause and observe the two figures. It looked as though one was carrying a somewhat hefty instrument. The cigarette caught the flame and Marie resumed her walk.
Once arriving to Wilshire Tower she walked inside, greeting the man at the front desk and with a smile, entered her apartment and look a nap.
Sitting on the floor with her against to the door Marie Voulez pulled out her cold almost stale-looking burger and motioned to her mouth to take the first bite. Something about this burger looked very peculiar, but Marie brushed it off. She had only had about 4 hamburgers, if that, within the perimeters of her entire life and figured she didn't have much insight into the regularity, or irregularity, of beef. Aside from her speculations the burger tasted like heaven, and upon finishing Marie lit a cigarette. Her usual eating routine.
Marie contemplated reading The Lord of the Flies but after looking at it's silhouette from across the room decided not to. Instead, Marie stood up from the floor and walked over to her vanity. Aside from the grungy and disturbing location of her life the apartment she occupied was actually quite nice. She had a large window from which a desk perched in front of. On it, rested a laptop, her pack of cigarettes, and black notebook/agenda. There was no clutter.
If anything the apartment resembled a studio flat, to which Marie was very fond of. As she sat at her vanity the decided to bring Lord of the Flies back to the library, she was never going to read it.
The next day Marie stepped out to a fairly blue sky. The air was not too warm or too cold, just the right temperature for the jacket her grandfather had given her. Her grandfather purchased it for her when he went to Germany for a ski trip. Marie remembered the way back to the library, one of the only places she knew the way to. Today Marie made sure to dress conservatively, hoping to avoid any remarks about payable sex.
A rather short library watched as Marie entered the library, Marie was being rather loud. The librarian hoped she would not have to tell her to be quiet, that was the one thing she hated most about working at the library. If it was at all possible this short librarian would get a different, better, louder job, but Wilshire didn't provide many prospets. Marie asked the librarian where the drop off box was, and the librarian explained that there was none. Homeless had been steeling books from it. Marie pondered the difficulty and worthwildness of stealing books from the drop off box, wouldn't it just be easier to steal from the inside of the library? Or, better yet, just go and read the book, inside? As Marie thought about this her face kind of went blank, and the librarian looked at her and waited for Marie to come to. As the librarian waited for Marie she took the book and typed on her computer, putting the book back into the system. She noticed that Ms. Marie Voulez had just taken the book out yesterday. There were only two reasons somone would return a book a day after the checked it out; either they loved it and read it in one day or she didn't like the book at all. By the looks of Marie the librarian theorized the latter of the two. Maybe she was drugs, the librarian thought. It wouldn't be the first time this had happened to the librarian.
Maire did not loo for a new book, like the librarian suggested. Instead she made the whole library ordeal last as short as possible. As she left she realized that she needed another pack of cigarettes as she lit her last one. On the way back to Wilshire Tower she stopped in at a liquar store called D&D. She got a pack of cigarettes, but instead of turning right to go home Marie took a left. The perfect chance to explore this bleek oasis. She walked all the way around to the other side of the block where there was a playground. As she walked past she saw two figures sitting on a bench chatting. Marie stopped to light another cigarette, giving her the change to pause and observe the two figures. It looked as though one was carrying a somewhat hefty instrument. The cigarette caught the flame and Marie resumed her walk.
Once arriving to Wilshire Tower she walked inside, greeting the man at the front desk and with a smile, entered her apartment and look a nap.
Geoffrey Marlowe
Backstage behind the scenes of "Henry VI part I" with Gabriela as Joan la Pucelle
He waded through a sea of chickens.
This might've startled some people, but not him.
He didn't even notice them, at all.
He probably didnt even notice the telephone pole directly in front of him.
No, he certainly did not notice the pole, unless he likes running into things.
I can't think of any character in Shakespeare that likes running into things, can you?
That what he is, I think.
If you took every personality from Shakespeare and tossed it in a blender, the outcome would look like Geoffrey's consciousness.
or almost like it.
The original personality is in there too.
Thats me.
I'm mostly forced to the subconscious, and therefore only get to affect him while he sleeps, but I witness everything he does.
Oh bother, I'm so rude, I forgot to introduce myself.
I call myself Chris, because that is my birth-name.
I began going by Geoffrey Marlowe almost 40 years ago.
It was my stage name.
It was part Geoffrey Chaucer and part Christopher Marlowe.
Get it? I thought it was clever.
A friend of mine pointed out later that my first name was Christopher, which was Marlowe's first name as well, so I could've been clever while keeping my first name.
I said that'd be too easy.
I wish I had thought of that though.
I kinda like my name.
He's mumbling some more Shakespeare.
We're walking down the street, its not a pleasant day.
We bumped into someone,
I didnt see who,
stupid me, not paying attention.
Our view moved back up to look at the other being,
Good God thats alot of light.
it hurts our eyes.
"Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?" He said.
Why'd he say that?
The person is most obviously a man, and tall and strong,
with wings.
That was odd,
the wings bit.
who has wings?
And why'd he call her a maid?
It was Reignier to Joan of arc if I remember right.
huh.
The man has a halo, I wonder if he's an angel.
I just missed whatever they were saying. drat.
stupid musings on the significance of my other personality's choice of words.
He's walking away.
And so are we.
curses.
Angels can cure the mad right? They're all chosen by God and stuff. I need to get to him, maybe he can fix me.
I don't like being broken.
He waded through a sea of chickens.
This might've startled some people, but not him.
He didn't even notice them, at all.
He probably didnt even notice the telephone pole directly in front of him.
No, he certainly did not notice the pole, unless he likes running into things.
I can't think of any character in Shakespeare that likes running into things, can you?
That what he is, I think.
If you took every personality from Shakespeare and tossed it in a blender, the outcome would look like Geoffrey's consciousness.
or almost like it.
The original personality is in there too.
Thats me.
I'm mostly forced to the subconscious, and therefore only get to affect him while he sleeps, but I witness everything he does.
Oh bother, I'm so rude, I forgot to introduce myself.
I call myself Chris, because that is my birth-name.
I began going by Geoffrey Marlowe almost 40 years ago.
It was my stage name.
It was part Geoffrey Chaucer and part Christopher Marlowe.
Get it? I thought it was clever.
A friend of mine pointed out later that my first name was Christopher, which was Marlowe's first name as well, so I could've been clever while keeping my first name.
I said that'd be too easy.
I wish I had thought of that though.
I kinda like my name.
He's mumbling some more Shakespeare.
We're walking down the street, its not a pleasant day.
We bumped into someone,
I didnt see who,
stupid me, not paying attention.
Our view moved back up to look at the other being,
Good God thats alot of light.
it hurts our eyes.
"Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?" He said.
Why'd he say that?
The person is most obviously a man, and tall and strong,
with wings.
That was odd,
the wings bit.
who has wings?
And why'd he call her a maid?
It was Reignier to Joan of arc if I remember right.
huh.
The man has a halo, I wonder if he's an angel.
I just missed whatever they were saying. drat.
stupid musings on the significance of my other personality's choice of words.
He's walking away.
And so are we.
curses.
Angels can cure the mad right? They're all chosen by God and stuff. I need to get to him, maybe he can fix me.
I don't like being broken.
Jeb Oedkirck
[Jeb's Side Question]
While jogging I remembered an odd moment from when I walked in from the rain and hail. The front desk guy who offered me a towel, I noticed he had a name-tag. I figured someone so kind and considerate deserves to have their names remembered by yours clearly. I walked up to his desk, dripping on his sign-in sheet. I apologized and looked at his name-tag. Only thing was, his name was blurred out. So strange...does he even have a name? And why did I remember that now...?
While jogging I remembered an odd moment from when I walked in from the rain and hail. The front desk guy who offered me a towel, I noticed he had a name-tag. I figured someone so kind and considerate deserves to have their names remembered by yours clearly. I walked up to his desk, dripping on his sign-in sheet. I apologized and looked at his name-tag. Only thing was, his name was blurred out. So strange...does he even have a name? And why did I remember that now...?
Blog setting #5
It is an unusually warm and beautiful day in early January -- the temperature is around 70. The sun is bright; it is unseasonably warm. A Wells Fargo armed truck breaks down in front of the laundromat and across the street from Jorri Ray's diner at 2 o'clock in the afternoon.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Kaiya Himura
High Up
Tonight, Amber and Marge say, "Kaiya, we're taking you to the carnival down the street."
Mrs. and Mr. James used to take me to the carnivals in England. I remember the bumper cars - Mrs. James and I in one car chasing Mr. James in vicious attempt. The giant stuffed bears, gorillas, and ducks Mr. James would win for me hitting glass bottles and shooting water guns. The apple-green cotton candy and delicious roasted turkey legs. And most of all, I remember riding the porcelain-like ponies on the merry-go-round. The dwindling xylophone music ringing from the speakers above. The loud, laughing children surrounding me, but I stayed shy, quiet, encompassing the details around me. Mrs. James waved to me with her bright blonde smile every time I faced her in the cycle. The merry-go-round was my favorite part.
Tonight is different, though. Amber and Marge have put me in a ridiculous rain suit. "Oh, don't fuss, Kaiya," they say as I pull at the ugly piss yellow material. "It's pouring down. Let's not get sick." I don't see them in this kind of monstrosity.
Tonight, we walk to the carnival down the street. I look up at Amber and Marge in disgust because of the immense lack of rain.
We arrive. The carnival is greyer than the sky. There is a tall ferris wheel on my right, probably half the height of our building. The colored bulbs on the wheel have dimmed from use, I suppose. Bumber cars on my left, scratched and beat up. A haunted house - not going in there. No merry-go-round. This carnival seems much smaller than the ones in England.
"Here, Kaiya, some tickets," says Amber. I take them in my hands. They leave me.
"Well, where should we go first, dahling?" I asked myself, just as Mrs. James would have if she were here. She would place our tickets in her breastpocket. She would hold my hand tight so as not to lose me in the crowd. "How about the ferris wheel, Mrs. James?" I pretend that we are together tonight, and that we are at the English carnivals.
Mrs. James and I walk in our patient way over to the colossal structure. Colossal . She taught me that word. Probably most of the English words I know, actually. We meet the friendly ticketman at the ride entrance.
"Two tickets each, ladies," he says. "Have a nice ride."
Mrs. James and I carefully mount the seat before us. I am scared all over again. "Don't be scared, my little Kaiya," she says. "I would never let you fall." I smile and sit beside her. The ticketman starts the ride. Mrs. James and I soar over beautiful, sunny England. "Look, it's our house, Kaiya. Do you see it?"
"Yes," I laugh. I am not scared anymore.
"KAIYA! Wow! You're so high up!"
It's Marge. I look down to see her with her arm around an awkward man. He must be Shayn Todd, Marge's new "flame." She said, "Well, he's just had a bad break up so I decided why not have a night out with him to make him feel better." That's why we're here, of course. Although, I wouldn't say her plan is working. Shayn looks a bit unneasy, but he waves at me. I wave back with my deepest sympathy.
Suddenly, Mrs. James disappears like a ghost.
I hate Marge.
Tonight, Amber and Marge say, "Kaiya, we're taking you to the carnival down the street."
Mrs. and Mr. James used to take me to the carnivals in England. I remember the bumper cars - Mrs. James and I in one car chasing Mr. James in vicious attempt. The giant stuffed bears, gorillas, and ducks Mr. James would win for me hitting glass bottles and shooting water guns. The apple-green cotton candy and delicious roasted turkey legs. And most of all, I remember riding the porcelain-like ponies on the merry-go-round. The dwindling xylophone music ringing from the speakers above. The loud, laughing children surrounding me, but I stayed shy, quiet, encompassing the details around me. Mrs. James waved to me with her bright blonde smile every time I faced her in the cycle. The merry-go-round was my favorite part.
Tonight is different, though. Amber and Marge have put me in a ridiculous rain suit. "Oh, don't fuss, Kaiya," they say as I pull at the ugly piss yellow material. "It's pouring down. Let's not get sick." I don't see them in this kind of monstrosity.
Tonight, we walk to the carnival down the street. I look up at Amber and Marge in disgust because of the immense lack of rain.
We arrive. The carnival is greyer than the sky. There is a tall ferris wheel on my right, probably half the height of our building. The colored bulbs on the wheel have dimmed from use, I suppose. Bumber cars on my left, scratched and beat up. A haunted house - not going in there. No merry-go-round. This carnival seems much smaller than the ones in England.
"Here, Kaiya, some tickets," says Amber. I take them in my hands. They leave me.
"Well, where should we go first, dahling?" I asked myself, just as Mrs. James would have if she were here. She would place our tickets in her breastpocket. She would hold my hand tight so as not to lose me in the crowd. "How about the ferris wheel, Mrs. James?" I pretend that we are together tonight, and that we are at the English carnivals.
Mrs. James and I walk in our patient way over to the colossal structure. Colossal . She taught me that word. Probably most of the English words I know, actually. We meet the friendly ticketman at the ride entrance.
"Two tickets each, ladies," he says. "Have a nice ride."
Mrs. James and I carefully mount the seat before us. I am scared all over again. "Don't be scared, my little Kaiya," she says. "I would never let you fall." I smile and sit beside her. The ticketman starts the ride. Mrs. James and I soar over beautiful, sunny England. "Look, it's our house, Kaiya. Do you see it?"
"Yes," I laugh. I am not scared anymore.
"KAIYA! Wow! You're so high up!"
It's Marge. I look down to see her with her arm around an awkward man. He must be Shayn Todd, Marge's new "flame." She said, "Well, he's just had a bad break up so I decided why not have a night out with him to make him feel better." That's why we're here, of course. Although, I wouldn't say her plan is working. Shayn looks a bit unneasy, but he waves at me. I wave back with my deepest sympathy.
Suddenly, Mrs. James disappears like a ghost.
I hate Marge.
Edna J. Nox
Those damn carnies are ruining her business. She doesn't tell the superintendent anything - she doesn't get paid. And she needs to get paid. The pathetic residents of Wilshire Tower would apparently much rather carp on about their problems to a money-wrangling psychic than their blaring TVs and peeling wallpaper. She wandered through the halls and heard nothing but faint tunes humming from the flashing carnival down the street, and decided she'd try again in the morning.
As she exited the front door, the glaring sunlight temporarily blinded her, then permanently hid back behind the onslaught of approaching clouds. She glanced around, and noticed that same damn cop standing on the corner, staring angrily at a bus as it pulled away. There was probably a 90% chance he wouldn't recognize her, she figured. He fell into the 10% that day, and started calling after her. What a goddamn memory.
"Hey, you!"
She took off running. Might as well check out this carnival while she was at it.
But she couldn't go straight down the street. She saw that man with his animal mask standing in front of that old library. He always stared at her with the most uncomfortable intensity. Maybe he knew her secrets. No, it was a detour for Edna.
And hey, she'd give that damn cop a workout for his gut.
Hah, she sighed and turned up the alley as it began to pour.
As she hopped off the trodden path and onto the basketball court, her shoes began to slither on the increasingly wet pavement. Her face smacked flat on the pavement, and everything went black.
As she exited the front door, the glaring sunlight temporarily blinded her, then permanently hid back behind the onslaught of approaching clouds. She glanced around, and noticed that same damn cop standing on the corner, staring angrily at a bus as it pulled away. There was probably a 90% chance he wouldn't recognize her, she figured. He fell into the 10% that day, and started calling after her. What a goddamn memory.
"Hey, you!"
She took off running. Might as well check out this carnival while she was at it.
But she couldn't go straight down the street. She saw that man with his animal mask standing in front of that old library. He always stared at her with the most uncomfortable intensity. Maybe he knew her secrets. No, it was a detour for Edna.
And hey, she'd give that damn cop a workout for his gut.
Hah, she sighed and turned up the alley as it began to pour.
As she hopped off the trodden path and onto the basketball court, her shoes began to slither on the increasingly wet pavement. Her face smacked flat on the pavement, and everything went black.
Annai Charles
Working
So now I'm at this boring job. I don't even know why there is a laundry mat in this rundown town, since it seems like no one wears clean clothes anyway.
Sitting hear, I decide to draw what I see outside the laundry mat window. I see Mr.Takuya walking this big rat looking thing, and begin to doodle. There is something not right about that guy. Who has a big rat as a pet. And why is he walking right now anyway. It is brick cold outside and raining.
Anyway...Mr.Takuya's image is gone, and now there is this dreary, depressing feeling outside. It is 12 noon and I begin to grow hungry. I know no one will come to wash clothes, so I decide to take my lunch, and instead of returning to work, I'll just go to the butcher shop, pick me up some of that crappy meat and call it a day.
I hate going into the butcher shop. Dave, that nasty son of a gun, always tries something with anything that walks....Especially when he is drunk. His shop doesn't even smell like meat. It smells like sex and alcohol.
UGHHHH...I guess I have to deal with it if I want to eat. Hopefully he is sober.
On my way to Styx Meat, I see this guy. I have never seen him before but for some reason he attracts me. Not because he is hot or anything, Probably because of how out of place he looks. He looks like he has no clue about his surroundings. He's just walking with his head low near D&D. He probably doesn't know what the store is, since he seems really interested. For some reason when I see him, my dad's letter pops into my mind. Maybe he knows him
I'll have to find out.
So now I'm at this boring job. I don't even know why there is a laundry mat in this rundown town, since it seems like no one wears clean clothes anyway.
Sitting hear, I decide to draw what I see outside the laundry mat window. I see Mr.Takuya walking this big rat looking thing, and begin to doodle. There is something not right about that guy. Who has a big rat as a pet. And why is he walking right now anyway. It is brick cold outside and raining.
Anyway...Mr.Takuya's image is gone, and now there is this dreary, depressing feeling outside. It is 12 noon and I begin to grow hungry. I know no one will come to wash clothes, so I decide to take my lunch, and instead of returning to work, I'll just go to the butcher shop, pick me up some of that crappy meat and call it a day.
I hate going into the butcher shop. Dave, that nasty son of a gun, always tries something with anything that walks....Especially when he is drunk. His shop doesn't even smell like meat. It smells like sex and alcohol.
UGHHHH...I guess I have to deal with it if I want to eat. Hopefully he is sober.
On my way to Styx Meat, I see this guy. I have never seen him before but for some reason he attracts me. Not because he is hot or anything, Probably because of how out of place he looks. He looks like he has no clue about his surroundings. He's just walking with his head low near D&D. He probably doesn't know what the store is, since he seems really interested. For some reason when I see him, my dad's letter pops into my mind. Maybe he knows him
I'll have to find out.
CAin Taygen
Money
I was sprawled out across the couch, just flipping through channels, when it hit me. The bleached, botoxed woman on the television was trying to sell me some product. It was one of those buy one get one free deals. And I started to wonder, does it really matter if you get one free? Wouldn't you buy it anyways? Well, if you would buy it. Then: why would you buy it? You are spending all that money on something that's not anything. It is a useless way to squander money. And that is exactly what I need to do.
I didn't realize it until a few days ago, but I have been doing pretty well lately, monitarily anyways. Something about a warm loaf of bread when it is freezing cold outside seems to attract people. I've been saving money. I didn't mean to, but I have. It's just a couple hundred dollars stashed around my room, but it is something. Too much of something.
I grabbed $150 out of the envelope under my bed, prepared to spend it all before the night was out.
...
I never much cared for carnivals when I was younger; I get dizzy easily, and the freak-shows always piqued my curiosity but never satisfied it. Cotton candy was the only part I ever cared for, and even that pleasure left me years ago. However, this town doesn't have much too offer, no point to getting picky.
After seeing a man breathe fire, a woman with two heads, a half-man half-cat, and a variety of other "freaks," I devoured my way through a grease-covered funnel cake, two bags of artificially flavored cotton candy, and one and half rather flat Dr. Peppers; then I rode the ferris wheel (while thinking, I can see my house from here! and every other miserable establishment in the few blocks I call home), and I was finally $40 poorer, sick to my stomach, and ready to go elsewhere.
On my way out, I ran into Dave, and I asked him, "I'm am looking for a good way to spend some money, have any ideas?" Rather unsurprisingly, he suggested sex and booze, the town's staple commodities.
"I don't go to hookers. It's a personal policy. Don't get me wrong I used to love a good...well yeah...just a few years ago, you couldn't persuade me not to, but I don't do that anymore. However, I'll take you up on the alcohol, but it's still a bit too early for me. Want to join me for a drink later?"
He told me he couldn't; he was already busy or something. If his expression hadn't been so vaccant throughout our conversation, it would have surprised me that he never seemed too curious as to why I wanted to spend more money; it's not exactly a usual request around here.
...
Come that night, I was ready to spend my last $40 on some drinks for me and whoever else happened to show up. I spent the day handing out a few dollars to whoever happened ask for money, quite a few people, buying little trinkets for those who deserve something good in their lives, not too many people, and generally squandering my money however I could. In a little shop, I found a painting of the intersection between Katz and Mercy. Somehow the artist had managed to capture the charming qualities of the streets that are normallly masked by and dirt and disrepair. The buildings looked like destinations that respectable people would frequent; they would stop by the butcher shop for fresh cut meat, return home every evening to their families living in Wilshire tower, and actually shop for old furniture or jewelry in the antique store. I bought the painting for Lt. Statone. Maybe it will be the inspiration he needs to help clean up this town. Probably not. I left the painting somewhere he could find it, but I didn't leave my name or anything. I don't really want that kind of attention. Especially from a cop.
You can never be sure of who you will run into at Last Stop. Everyone shows up there at some point or another. That night there was a girl sitting at the bar. I think her name is Alex or maybe they call her Captain; no one is ever sure of who they are when they're here. As I sat down next to her, she half smiled in my direction, but the smile never quite reached her eyes. I offered to buy her a drink.
"Sure. Around here, who doesn't say yes to a free drink?"
"It's rare," I said in response.
At some point, I don't remember how it happened, I was on my fifth drink. I don't remember if Alex had one or ten, but it didn't matter. I was doing most of the talking.
"I bet you didn't know I used to have money. Soooooo much money. Like millions."
"Yeah, sure. Didn't everybody." She was skeptical. After all, I am living here.
"No really. Struck it rich she did, my mother you see, lots of money, but it was too much money, you know? You know what I mean?"
"Nah, I can't say I do. You don't know what I would do for that much money."
"Exactly, it's what people do that's the problem.That's the problem with money, the things it makes people do. Some things are worth more than money."
I don't remember much after that. I'm in my bed now, a miracle really; I don't know how I got here.
I was sprawled out across the couch, just flipping through channels, when it hit me. The bleached, botoxed woman on the television was trying to sell me some product. It was one of those buy one get one free deals. And I started to wonder, does it really matter if you get one free? Wouldn't you buy it anyways? Well, if you would buy it. Then: why would you buy it? You are spending all that money on something that's not anything. It is a useless way to squander money. And that is exactly what I need to do.
I didn't realize it until a few days ago, but I have been doing pretty well lately, monitarily anyways. Something about a warm loaf of bread when it is freezing cold outside seems to attract people. I've been saving money. I didn't mean to, but I have. It's just a couple hundred dollars stashed around my room, but it is something. Too much of something.
I grabbed $150 out of the envelope under my bed, prepared to spend it all before the night was out.
...
I never much cared for carnivals when I was younger; I get dizzy easily, and the freak-shows always piqued my curiosity but never satisfied it. Cotton candy was the only part I ever cared for, and even that pleasure left me years ago. However, this town doesn't have much too offer, no point to getting picky.
After seeing a man breathe fire, a woman with two heads, a half-man half-cat, and a variety of other "freaks," I devoured my way through a grease-covered funnel cake, two bags of artificially flavored cotton candy, and one and half rather flat Dr. Peppers; then I rode the ferris wheel (while thinking, I can see my house from here! and every other miserable establishment in the few blocks I call home), and I was finally $40 poorer, sick to my stomach, and ready to go elsewhere.
On my way out, I ran into Dave, and I asked him, "I'm am looking for a good way to spend some money, have any ideas?" Rather unsurprisingly, he suggested sex and booze, the town's staple commodities.
"I don't go to hookers. It's a personal policy. Don't get me wrong I used to love a good...well yeah...just a few years ago, you couldn't persuade me not to, but I don't do that anymore. However, I'll take you up on the alcohol, but it's still a bit too early for me. Want to join me for a drink later?"
He told me he couldn't; he was already busy or something. If his expression hadn't been so vaccant throughout our conversation, it would have surprised me that he never seemed too curious as to why I wanted to spend more money; it's not exactly a usual request around here.
...
Come that night, I was ready to spend my last $40 on some drinks for me and whoever else happened to show up. I spent the day handing out a few dollars to whoever happened ask for money, quite a few people, buying little trinkets for those who deserve something good in their lives, not too many people, and generally squandering my money however I could. In a little shop, I found a painting of the intersection between Katz and Mercy. Somehow the artist had managed to capture the charming qualities of the streets that are normallly masked by and dirt and disrepair. The buildings looked like destinations that respectable people would frequent; they would stop by the butcher shop for fresh cut meat, return home every evening to their families living in Wilshire tower, and actually shop for old furniture or jewelry in the antique store. I bought the painting for Lt. Statone. Maybe it will be the inspiration he needs to help clean up this town. Probably not. I left the painting somewhere he could find it, but I didn't leave my name or anything. I don't really want that kind of attention. Especially from a cop.
You can never be sure of who you will run into at Last Stop. Everyone shows up there at some point or another. That night there was a girl sitting at the bar. I think her name is Alex or maybe they call her Captain; no one is ever sure of who they are when they're here. As I sat down next to her, she half smiled in my direction, but the smile never quite reached her eyes. I offered to buy her a drink.
"Sure. Around here, who doesn't say yes to a free drink?"
"It's rare," I said in response.
At some point, I don't remember how it happened, I was on my fifth drink. I don't remember if Alex had one or ten, but it didn't matter. I was doing most of the talking.
"I bet you didn't know I used to have money. Soooooo much money. Like millions."
"Yeah, sure. Didn't everybody." She was skeptical. After all, I am living here.
"No really. Struck it rich she did, my mother you see, lots of money, but it was too much money, you know? You know what I mean?"
"Nah, I can't say I do. You don't know what I would do for that much money."
"Exactly, it's what people do that's the problem.That's the problem with money, the things it makes people do. Some things are worth more than money."
I don't remember much after that. I'm in my bed now, a miracle really; I don't know how I got here.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Gabriela
Fire
Gabriela woke in the parking deck with her backpack beside her and her trumpet in her hand. A man in a baseball cap that read “Howard's Garage” was standing over her.
“Are you, um, okay?” he asked. She blinked.
“I don't know. Yeah, I guess. Sure,” she said.
“I'm just happy you woke up.” She nodded, trying to make sense of what she heard. She sat up. He stuck out his right hand quickly, as if it was something he had been admonished to remember and almost overlooked.
“I'm Pokey Swain.”
“Oh,” said Gabriela.
“I'm Gabriela, I think.” She shook his hand and stood.
“You mean you don't know?”
“Not really. I've only been Gabriela since, well, I don't know. What's today?”
“Is today something? I guess I thought it was just today.” He stared at his feet.
“No, what's the date?” She had lost a day and a night, and now it was evening again. She left Pokey and walked down Mercy Road.
The trumpet, she remembered. The man gave me the trumpet and he died and there was- she shook her head. Fire, she thought. There was fire. There was fire and- she moaned. There was fire, and it came through my hands like spears and there was light, so much light. She staggered towards the diner. She needed to sit down. Gabriela's memory returned in flashes and fragments. She saw the morning sun on the flesh of a corpse, heard a bird sing outside, and then a flash, a shift, a change.
There was heat behind her temples, heat in her fingertips, on her lips, hot coals in her eyes, and then there was light. There was a curtain, a veil, a nebulous-halo, she thought, of gold. Gabriel, Gabriel. I was Gabriel, archangel, I was, there was fire. There was light on my bell, silver trumpet, light in my hands in my eyes in my, in my-hot silver, light on my bell. It was warm and golden but not nice not tame not human. Judgment. The seals are cracked and the bowls of Heaven's wrath poured out on the heads of the unrighteous. It was a silver trumpet in my hands, Selene, and there was a bluesy, Spanish fanfare, and there was fire.
She could see it in her mind's eye. A glow like hot metal emenated from her bell. It focused on the dead man's forehead like a laser. And there was fire, she thought. She saw it glowing like amber, like a ruby, on his brow. She smelled burning flesh, saw bone blacken and disintegrate. She saw skin melt and eyes boil beneath their lids. Fire, she thought. There was fire.
Gabriela woke in the parking deck with her backpack beside her and her trumpet in her hand. A man in a baseball cap that read “Howard's Garage” was standing over her.
“Are you, um, okay?” he asked. She blinked.
“I don't know. Yeah, I guess. Sure,” she said.
“I'm just happy you woke up.” She nodded, trying to make sense of what she heard. She sat up. He stuck out his right hand quickly, as if it was something he had been admonished to remember and almost overlooked.
“I'm Pokey Swain.”
“Oh,” said Gabriela.
“I'm Gabriela, I think.” She shook his hand and stood.
“You mean you don't know?”
“Not really. I've only been Gabriela since, well, I don't know. What's today?”
“Is today something? I guess I thought it was just today.” He stared at his feet.
“No, what's the date?” She had lost a day and a night, and now it was evening again. She left Pokey and walked down Mercy Road.
The trumpet, she remembered. The man gave me the trumpet and he died and there was- she shook her head. Fire, she thought. There was fire. There was fire and- she moaned. There was fire, and it came through my hands like spears and there was light, so much light. She staggered towards the diner. She needed to sit down. Gabriela's memory returned in flashes and fragments. She saw the morning sun on the flesh of a corpse, heard a bird sing outside, and then a flash, a shift, a change.
There was heat behind her temples, heat in her fingertips, on her lips, hot coals in her eyes, and then there was light. There was a curtain, a veil, a nebulous-halo, she thought, of gold. Gabriel, Gabriel. I was Gabriel, archangel, I was, there was fire. There was light on my bell, silver trumpet, light in my hands in my eyes in my, in my-hot silver, light on my bell. It was warm and golden but not nice not tame not human. Judgment. The seals are cracked and the bowls of Heaven's wrath poured out on the heads of the unrighteous. It was a silver trumpet in my hands, Selene, and there was a bluesy, Spanish fanfare, and there was fire.
She could see it in her mind's eye. A glow like hot metal emenated from her bell. It focused on the dead man's forehead like a laser. And there was fire, she thought. She saw it glowing like amber, like a ruby, on his brow. She smelled burning flesh, saw bone blacken and disintegrate. She saw skin melt and eyes boil beneath their lids. Fire, she thought. There was fire.
Blog setting #4
Carnival is still going on. There is a lightening storm at 5 o'clock in the evening, on Wednesday. Political group is canvasing the neighborhood and trying to garner support for a local candidate.
In addition, the delivery truck for the butcher shop pulls-up in the alley. There is a mix-up in how many chickens the butcher actually ordered. He, Dave, says 10, but the truck is full of many, many live chickens. As the delivery man enters the back of the store and begins arguing with the butcher, an anonymous person opens-up the back of the truck and the chickens begin to hop out. By the time the delivery man returns, there a dozen chickens heading out into the neighborhood of Wilshire Tower.
In addition, the delivery truck for the butcher shop pulls-up in the alley. There is a mix-up in how many chickens the butcher actually ordered. He, Dave, says 10, but the truck is full of many, many live chickens. As the delivery man enters the back of the store and begins arguing with the butcher, an anonymous person opens-up the back of the truck and the chickens begin to hop out. By the time the delivery man returns, there a dozen chickens heading out into the neighborhood of Wilshire Tower.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Captain Alex(2)
"A Small Leak Can Sink A Great Ship"
Alex awoke to the sound of rain hitting her bedroom window and instantly became uneasy. She pulled her pillow around her ears and attempted to block out the desolate noise and fall back asleep. Although the rain now sounded miles away, it was still audible.
"Dammit!" She growled as she threw her blanket off and jumped out of bed.
While carefully avoiding looking out the window, she stomped off into the bathroom and splashed her face with ice cold water. The bathroom mirror was cracked in the upper left-hand corner, but her face was completely visible. Her dark brown hair hung limp around her broad shoulders. It was longer than it had ever been, reaching way past her shoulders. Her angular face was tan, but unhappy; her mouth seemed to be in a permanent frown and her would-be pretty green eyes looked too experienced, too lonely for her young age. At 28, she was anything but carefree and happy. Alex was a very edgy girl. Some people would even call her obsessive.
She shook thoughts of those people out of her head before she quickly pulled a brush through her long locks and brushed her teeth. Now with that out of the way, she went out into her small living room/kitchen area and stood, with her hands on her hips, looking around.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing to do in this place..." Alex frowned even more deeply and walked over to the table next to her couch. She yanked open its draw and found a tattered book inside.
Titanic. "You have got to be kidding me." Alex tossed the book back into the draw and slammed it shut.
She walked over to the small refrigerator and glanced inside, then opened the rest of the cabinets, closing each one after she looked in it.
"Nothing. At all. Fantastic." Alex sat heavily on the sofa and pretended not to hear the rain pounding on the sidewalk outside. Eventually, her growling stomach drowned out the rain and she was forced to go hunt for food.
She pulled on her dark green raincoat and stepped out into the hallway, slamming her door behind her. The "23" on her door swayed from side to side, but remained attached. She glanced in both directions before walking towards the main entrance of Wilshire Towers.
Before she made it out the door, however, she noticed a young boy wearing a rather large businessman's suit intently writing. She planned on sneaking past him, but he looked up from his clipboard as she eased open the front door.
"Can I help you Ms...?"
Her voice cracked as she spoke, "Alex....but everyone calls me Captain."
She inwardly scolded herself for letting that one slip. She was supposed to be starting a new life here, not trying to relive her old one.
"Alright, Captain." He smiled exposing a missing tooth. "Where are you going?"
"...I was going to get something to eat."
"You should go to Jorri Rae's. Just go left until you reach the end of the street, then take another left and it's on your right. They have really good waffles." He smiled again then went back to scribbling on his clipboard.
Alex slipped out of Wilshire Towers into the rain. Once again she took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to forget everything. Soon enough she found herself at Jorri Rae's ordering a waffle and forgetting about the rain.
Alex awoke to the sound of rain hitting her bedroom window and instantly became uneasy. She pulled her pillow around her ears and attempted to block out the desolate noise and fall back asleep. Although the rain now sounded miles away, it was still audible.
"Dammit!" She growled as she threw her blanket off and jumped out of bed.
While carefully avoiding looking out the window, she stomped off into the bathroom and splashed her face with ice cold water. The bathroom mirror was cracked in the upper left-hand corner, but her face was completely visible. Her dark brown hair hung limp around her broad shoulders. It was longer than it had ever been, reaching way past her shoulders. Her angular face was tan, but unhappy; her mouth seemed to be in a permanent frown and her would-be pretty green eyes looked too experienced, too lonely for her young age. At 28, she was anything but carefree and happy. Alex was a very edgy girl. Some people would even call her obsessive.
She shook thoughts of those people out of her head before she quickly pulled a brush through her long locks and brushed her teeth. Now with that out of the way, she went out into her small living room/kitchen area and stood, with her hands on her hips, looking around.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing to do in this place..." Alex frowned even more deeply and walked over to the table next to her couch. She yanked open its draw and found a tattered book inside.
Titanic. "You have got to be kidding me." Alex tossed the book back into the draw and slammed it shut.
She walked over to the small refrigerator and glanced inside, then opened the rest of the cabinets, closing each one after she looked in it.
"Nothing. At all. Fantastic." Alex sat heavily on the sofa and pretended not to hear the rain pounding on the sidewalk outside. Eventually, her growling stomach drowned out the rain and she was forced to go hunt for food.
She pulled on her dark green raincoat and stepped out into the hallway, slamming her door behind her. The "23" on her door swayed from side to side, but remained attached. She glanced in both directions before walking towards the main entrance of Wilshire Towers.
Before she made it out the door, however, she noticed a young boy wearing a rather large businessman's suit intently writing. She planned on sneaking past him, but he looked up from his clipboard as she eased open the front door.
"Can I help you Ms...?"
Her voice cracked as she spoke, "Alex....but everyone calls me Captain."
She inwardly scolded herself for letting that one slip. She was supposed to be starting a new life here, not trying to relive her old one.
"Alright, Captain." He smiled exposing a missing tooth. "Where are you going?"
"...I was going to get something to eat."
"You should go to Jorri Rae's. Just go left until you reach the end of the street, then take another left and it's on your right. They have really good waffles." He smiled again then went back to scribbling on his clipboard.
Alex slipped out of Wilshire Towers into the rain. Once again she took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to forget everything. Soon enough she found herself at Jorri Rae's ordering a waffle and forgetting about the rain.
Lt. Rocco Statone(2)
Case Report #209
Welcome again to the Wilshire PD website. If you couldnt tell by my first post, this website will keep you up to date on local dangers in the town, keep you updated on whats goin on with me, and hopefully make your day a little safer.
My goal to clean up this somewhat dump of a town took a small step today when I was able to apprehend some yahoo selling lemonade on the corner next to the road by the theatre. I apologize for my lack of knowledge of these roads, I swear every time i walk into work in the morning chief tells me about a new road thats popped up. So, back to mr. lemonade. I would suggest that when walking on foot around the Southeast side of town, to avoid buying anything from any street vendors due to the fact that after running some extensive chemical tests on the lemonade found that it had a minor hint of arsenic. So, if you havnt picked up on it yet, don't trust street lemonade anywhere in this town.
So what have we learned today?
* Dont trust lemonade
* Do not buy from street vendors
* You have the best Lieutenant in the city...
* Just kidding
have a safe day guys.
Lt. Rocco Statone
"To Protect and Serve"
281-330-8004
Welcome again to the Wilshire PD website. If you couldnt tell by my first post, this website will keep you up to date on local dangers in the town, keep you updated on whats goin on with me, and hopefully make your day a little safer.
My goal to clean up this somewhat dump of a town took a small step today when I was able to apprehend some yahoo selling lemonade on the corner next to the road by the theatre. I apologize for my lack of knowledge of these roads, I swear every time i walk into work in the morning chief tells me about a new road thats popped up. So, back to mr. lemonade. I would suggest that when walking on foot around the Southeast side of town, to avoid buying anything from any street vendors due to the fact that after running some extensive chemical tests on the lemonade found that it had a minor hint of arsenic. So, if you havnt picked up on it yet, don't trust street lemonade anywhere in this town.
So what have we learned today?
* Dont trust lemonade
* Do not buy from street vendors
* You have the best Lieutenant in the city...
* Just kidding
have a safe day guys.
Lt. Rocco Statone
"To Protect and Serve"
281-330-8004
Shayan Todd (1st blog only)(2)
Shayn Todd
Hello everyone. My name is Shayn Todd. I am twenty nine years old. I just moved into Wilshire Tower, apartment #1007. I use to live in Virginia, but the reason for my move is a long story.
Everyday, my ex-wife would tell me how i needed to get a job. We had our own apartment together but when I lost my job, she was left paying the rent. I would always tell her how much I loved her and how I would go out and find a job. Then I would be able to take care of her the way it should be; that was until I became accustom to staying at home and not having to work. I would always say that I went to look for a job but no one was hiring. I fell in love with the way I was living. I didn't have to wake up and go to work every morning, I had unlimited time to do whatever I wanted, and I had a home to live in. Life was great.
This went on for about a year until my wife decided she would not take it anymore. One day I decided to go to the bar with a couple of my friends to watch the game. When I returned back to the apartment, I noticed that my wife's car was not in the parking lot. I walked into the apartment to find a letter taped to the refrigerator. The letter read, "Dear Shayn, I really love you with all of my heart but I cannot continue to live this life. You don't have a job and you just go out with your friends all the time. I need someone that will be there for me, someone that would be able to provide for me and the family that I plan to have. I am so sorry that I am leaving you, I just know that it is something that I have to do. I hope you have a great life. Love, Jennifer. P.S. Please don't come looking for me. After reading that my heart immediately dropped. I began to cry and lay in devastation. About two or three hours later, I realized that crying was not going to do anything for me. I needed to do something with my life. I called my mother and told her what happened. I asked her if I would be able to stay with her until I found a job and a place to stay. She said that if I found a place to stay, she would pay first and last month's rent. My mother lives nearby but, but Wilshire Towers is the closest, most affordable place I could find. That is how I ended up in Wilshire Towers.
Hello everyone. My name is Shayn Todd. I am twenty nine years old. I just moved into Wilshire Tower, apartment #1007. I use to live in Virginia, but the reason for my move is a long story.
Everyday, my ex-wife would tell me how i needed to get a job. We had our own apartment together but when I lost my job, she was left paying the rent. I would always tell her how much I loved her and how I would go out and find a job. Then I would be able to take care of her the way it should be; that was until I became accustom to staying at home and not having to work. I would always say that I went to look for a job but no one was hiring. I fell in love with the way I was living. I didn't have to wake up and go to work every morning, I had unlimited time to do whatever I wanted, and I had a home to live in. Life was great.
This went on for about a year until my wife decided she would not take it anymore. One day I decided to go to the bar with a couple of my friends to watch the game. When I returned back to the apartment, I noticed that my wife's car was not in the parking lot. I walked into the apartment to find a letter taped to the refrigerator. The letter read, "Dear Shayn, I really love you with all of my heart but I cannot continue to live this life. You don't have a job and you just go out with your friends all the time. I need someone that will be there for me, someone that would be able to provide for me and the family that I plan to have. I am so sorry that I am leaving you, I just know that it is something that I have to do. I hope you have a great life. Love, Jennifer. P.S. Please don't come looking for me. After reading that my heart immediately dropped. I began to cry and lay in devastation. About two or three hours later, I realized that crying was not going to do anything for me. I needed to do something with my life. I called my mother and told her what happened. I asked her if I would be able to stay with her until I found a job and a place to stay. She said that if I found a place to stay, she would pay first and last month's rent. My mother lives nearby but, but Wilshire Towers is the closest, most affordable place I could find. That is how I ended up in Wilshire Towers.
Jack and Marv(2)
21st Century Schizoid Man
"Now where was that damn bat?" Marv thought. He knew it was around here somewhere, but he had turned over almost the entire apartment with no luck. He had to hide things from his weaker counterpart, Jack. Jack was a pathetic fool who believed in doing "the right thing". If he found Marv's precious murder weapon he would most likely throw it out, or maybe even turn it over to the cops for blood testing. Of course none of this really bothered Marv, as it would be Jack who would take the fall, but this was his favorite bat and buying a new one simply would not do.
"Aha! There you are." He had opened the door to Jack's plain white refrigerator, expecting to find a snack; what he found instead were completely empty shelves, some kind of green mold, and his favorite bat. "How'd the poor bastard miss that one?" Marv wondered. Now all that was left was the mask, but he knew right where that was. He walked over to the mangy single mattress lying on the floor that Jack called his bed. He picked up Jack's pillow, pulled off the pillowcase, and started to undo the stitching that ran along it. He pulled out the mask and shook it to get rid of the cheap polyester stuffing. This was his true face. He had to separate himself from the vile masses. Those disgusting animals that needed someone to save them, someone to put them out of their misery, like a possum left in the road to die. And of course, he was happy to oblige.
He opened the door of Jack's apartment out into the narrow corridor. As walked to the elevator he couldn't help but look over his shoulder for her. While it was true that almost everyone in this city was ignorant fool, there was one who Marv thought was on to him. What was worse was that they shared a building. She was supposed to be the repair woman, but Marv knew better. He could see through people's little disguises, he just had to hope that she couldn't see through his. He made it to the elevator safely, got inside and pushed the button for the ground floor. When the light above the door flashed "2", the elevator came to a sudden stop. This bothered Marv. Not because he was afraid of people's suspicions, on the contrary, no one (except that damn repair woman) seemed to be suspicious of him at all. Sure, they thought it was strange to see a man with an animal mask on roaming the streets, but what could they really say? Mostly they would just rationalize it ("Oh he must be coming from a costume party." or "Perhaps he's a stage actor.") rather than face the fear of something so strange. When the elevator opened up Marv gave a twitch of displeasure. It was her. It was the repair woman. She just stood there in her baggy trousers starring at him. After a while Marv broke the silence,
"Going down?" His voice sounded muffled and distant through the mask. She simply continued to stare. After a few minutes of inactivity the elevatory shut its doors and lurched back to life. Marv had never felt fear but he imagined it feeling very similar to how that woman made him feel, and he didn't like it.
He stepped out on to the city street and surveyed his surroundings. There was still a bit of sunlight left over from the day. For obvious reasons, Marv preferred to operate at night. "This will have to do for now..." he thought. He quickly noticed that all the people he saw seemed to be heading in one direction. As if their meaningless lives had been given some small purpose.
After following one group for a few minutes he saw what it was that was making the animals flock. A carnival. His eyes lit up and a sinister smile stretched across his face from underneath the mask. This was perfect. He could easily blend in with the festive activities and hide amongst the crowd while he searched for his next victim. He had found his new hunting grounds. But before he could think about any of those things, he had to ride the roller coaster. All work and no play... And he knew Jack wasn't saving time to have any fun, he had to have enough for the both of them. Several rides and one cotton candy later, Marv was ready to go to work. He had had his eyes on one young lady in particular. He watched her until she ready to leave; then he followed. To Marv's delight the girl had chosen to take the alleyway between the Big Dolla and the local bowling alley. As he turned the corner after her he pulled out the bat that he had kept tucked away in his jacket. Just as he began to quicken his pace he heard someone yell,
"Hey you! What're you doing back there!?" He didn't have time to see who it was. He quickly ducked behind a dumpster and pressed himself against the brick wall of the bowling alley.
Night had completely fallen now. He thought he might go for a drink. Perhaps he should find a less conspicuous weapon than a bat.
"Now where was that damn bat?" Marv thought. He knew it was around here somewhere, but he had turned over almost the entire apartment with no luck. He had to hide things from his weaker counterpart, Jack. Jack was a pathetic fool who believed in doing "the right thing". If he found Marv's precious murder weapon he would most likely throw it out, or maybe even turn it over to the cops for blood testing. Of course none of this really bothered Marv, as it would be Jack who would take the fall, but this was his favorite bat and buying a new one simply would not do.
"Aha! There you are." He had opened the door to Jack's plain white refrigerator, expecting to find a snack; what he found instead were completely empty shelves, some kind of green mold, and his favorite bat. "How'd the poor bastard miss that one?" Marv wondered. Now all that was left was the mask, but he knew right where that was. He walked over to the mangy single mattress lying on the floor that Jack called his bed. He picked up Jack's pillow, pulled off the pillowcase, and started to undo the stitching that ran along it. He pulled out the mask and shook it to get rid of the cheap polyester stuffing. This was his true face. He had to separate himself from the vile masses. Those disgusting animals that needed someone to save them, someone to put them out of their misery, like a possum left in the road to die. And of course, he was happy to oblige.
He opened the door of Jack's apartment out into the narrow corridor. As walked to the elevator he couldn't help but look over his shoulder for her. While it was true that almost everyone in this city was ignorant fool, there was one who Marv thought was on to him. What was worse was that they shared a building. She was supposed to be the repair woman, but Marv knew better. He could see through people's little disguises, he just had to hope that she couldn't see through his. He made it to the elevator safely, got inside and pushed the button for the ground floor. When the light above the door flashed "2", the elevator came to a sudden stop. This bothered Marv. Not because he was afraid of people's suspicions, on the contrary, no one (except that damn repair woman) seemed to be suspicious of him at all. Sure, they thought it was strange to see a man with an animal mask on roaming the streets, but what could they really say? Mostly they would just rationalize it ("Oh he must be coming from a costume party." or "Perhaps he's a stage actor.") rather than face the fear of something so strange. When the elevator opened up Marv gave a twitch of displeasure. It was her. It was the repair woman. She just stood there in her baggy trousers starring at him. After a while Marv broke the silence,
"Going down?" His voice sounded muffled and distant through the mask. She simply continued to stare. After a few minutes of inactivity the elevatory shut its doors and lurched back to life. Marv had never felt fear but he imagined it feeling very similar to how that woman made him feel, and he didn't like it.
He stepped out on to the city street and surveyed his surroundings. There was still a bit of sunlight left over from the day. For obvious reasons, Marv preferred to operate at night. "This will have to do for now..." he thought. He quickly noticed that all the people he saw seemed to be heading in one direction. As if their meaningless lives had been given some small purpose.
After following one group for a few minutes he saw what it was that was making the animals flock. A carnival. His eyes lit up and a sinister smile stretched across his face from underneath the mask. This was perfect. He could easily blend in with the festive activities and hide amongst the crowd while he searched for his next victim. He had found his new hunting grounds. But before he could think about any of those things, he had to ride the roller coaster. All work and no play... And he knew Jack wasn't saving time to have any fun, he had to have enough for the both of them. Several rides and one cotton candy later, Marv was ready to go to work. He had had his eyes on one young lady in particular. He watched her until she ready to leave; then he followed. To Marv's delight the girl had chosen to take the alleyway between the Big Dolla and the local bowling alley. As he turned the corner after her he pulled out the bat that he had kept tucked away in his jacket. Just as he began to quicken his pace he heard someone yell,
"Hey you! What're you doing back there!?" He didn't have time to see who it was. He quickly ducked behind a dumpster and pressed himself against the brick wall of the bowling alley.
Night had completely fallen now. He thought he might go for a drink. Perhaps he should find a less conspicuous weapon than a bat.
Osiris Stien(2)
“…rivers of honey pure and clear.” [Qur’an 47:15]
I had lunch with Preston today. Well, I was eating. He wanted to talk. But my health matters more to me than words, so I focused on my food rather than him. His voice, a muffled buzzing against my eardrums, was just another reason to ignore him. We finished quickly and I said "thank you" and left. No, wait. I said "Thank you, Preston" and left. He doesn’t like it when I call him Preston. He prefers I use his title.
He apologized as I left.
It was cold and cloudy, but I decided I’d walk home this time. The bus driver wouldn’t miss me now, or ever. He’ll drive his habitual route, permanently ignorant. His job description is “move the masses but stop for no one.” And no one asks if that’s wrong. It just works, so they just work. They’re drones in this big beehive, and one day someone’s going to ask to see the honey and there won’t be any. They can’t produce.
They can only reproduce.
Those busy cars raced by me all the way. They were going places, but so was I. What made me different was that, while all they could see were the other cars, I had time to consider the road they were on.
It was in rough shape.
On the other hand, my sidewalk was covered in mud. But my shoes were dirty from before, and I didn’t have to worry about soiling my socks, because I wasn’t wearing any. So I trudged onward, soon letting my mind fall on other things. Something occurred to me.
I can’t remember what Preston said.
The crown of Wilshire Tower soon came into view over the rooftops of less important structures. That sight of it, the pinnacle of this localized world, the high point sitting over this godforsaken kingdom, reinvigorated my trek. I hurried my stride.
Suddenly the world started spinning.
Losing sight of the building, I panicked. As sleet began raining down on my body, nausea rose in my stomach. I went down on my knees. It didn’t help, and I was sick right there. No one saw it happen. The car windows were rolling up and not coming back down. The beggars were scurrying into their hovels, cursing their hardships. Even that young boy on the corner, who tries every day to seem like a man, was abandoning his darling lemonade stand to get out of this wicked weather. I retched again and the wildest thought came to me.
I don’t have much time left. That’s what Dr. Preston said.
I had lunch with Preston today. Well, I was eating. He wanted to talk. But my health matters more to me than words, so I focused on my food rather than him. His voice, a muffled buzzing against my eardrums, was just another reason to ignore him. We finished quickly and I said "thank you" and left. No, wait. I said "Thank you, Preston" and left. He doesn’t like it when I call him Preston. He prefers I use his title.
He apologized as I left.
It was cold and cloudy, but I decided I’d walk home this time. The bus driver wouldn’t miss me now, or ever. He’ll drive his habitual route, permanently ignorant. His job description is “move the masses but stop for no one.” And no one asks if that’s wrong. It just works, so they just work. They’re drones in this big beehive, and one day someone’s going to ask to see the honey and there won’t be any. They can’t produce.
They can only reproduce.
Those busy cars raced by me all the way. They were going places, but so was I. What made me different was that, while all they could see were the other cars, I had time to consider the road they were on.
It was in rough shape.
On the other hand, my sidewalk was covered in mud. But my shoes were dirty from before, and I didn’t have to worry about soiling my socks, because I wasn’t wearing any. So I trudged onward, soon letting my mind fall on other things. Something occurred to me.
I can’t remember what Preston said.
The crown of Wilshire Tower soon came into view over the rooftops of less important structures. That sight of it, the pinnacle of this localized world, the high point sitting over this godforsaken kingdom, reinvigorated my trek. I hurried my stride.
Suddenly the world started spinning.
Losing sight of the building, I panicked. As sleet began raining down on my body, nausea rose in my stomach. I went down on my knees. It didn’t help, and I was sick right there. No one saw it happen. The car windows were rolling up and not coming back down. The beggars were scurrying into their hovels, cursing their hardships. Even that young boy on the corner, who tries every day to seem like a man, was abandoning his darling lemonade stand to get out of this wicked weather. I retched again and the wildest thought came to me.
I don’t have much time left. That’s what Dr. Preston said.
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