[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...?
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)