I'm finally accepting that 'putting pen to paper' is now 'putting fingers to the keyboard'. While no form of conversation will ever beat face to face, and the smell of a fresh book still excites me, I'm warming up to the fact that this is an online world. I'll post writing, photos, reviews, rants, and anything else that comes to mind. Most importantly, I'll come to terms with being an old fashioned writer in a new world, a world where 500 characters is all you get to say it all.
Monday, August 6, 2012
She said to be in the food court at one fifteen exactly
because she needs to talk to me. She emphasized the word ‘needs’. She reasoned
that a public place would be the best way to prevent one of her outbursts. She
said ‘outbursts’ like I knew just what she meant. I did. She said goodbye by
saying this is the only other chance she’ll give me. She said ‘chance’ like I
was a child.
I arrive at the food court at one fourteen exactly and
my eyes instantly find her, sitting innocently on the cushioned side of a
booth, leaving a bolted down metal chair for me to sit on. She’s sipping from a
jumbo soda cup that likely only has ice in it, so she can slowly suck the drops
of water from the cup as the ice melts. She likes a slow torture. I take my
place across from her and start with,
-You sounded desperate on the phone, you know. The words
were there, I’m here, right, but your tone gave you away.
She takes a small sip and pushes the cup towards me.
-This isn’t a negotiation, Baxter.
She says ‘Baxter’ like it’s my real name.
-You look good, healthy. Your skin looks good.
She has a disorder that I could never pronounce or
spell. It’s a rare condition, in which her veins burst if her blood pressure
rises above a normal, controlled limit. She laughs at the word ‘normal’. She
explained to me once that the only reason she kills is because it calms her.
The rage that builds inside of her sometimes would kill her if she didn’t
control it. The justification always sounded a little rehearsed to me.
-I’ve been keeping my peace very well lately, Bax.
Getting a lot of work done. Where is It?
-What could you possibly be referencing?
-You know what I’ll do if I don’t get It. You have one
day from this moment to return It to me. You know exactly how to locate me and
you’ll do so as soon as you get It.
-I gave It away.
A vein in her forehead instantly bulges. I look at her
eyes and I am stricken by her cool emptiness. She could always show emotion
anywhere on her face, except her eyes. I look at her mouth and the days of when
those lips touched mine are as dead as all the people we’d taken together. I
was the one that ended it. I look at her hands and I am chilled by the thought
of what they’d done since we’d broken apart. The news can only report so much
and she is exceptional at staying under the radar.
-You gave It to a girl, didn’t you? I hope she’s a
sweet sexy little flower. I hope she’s vanilla through and through. You go
break her heart and get It back. One day exactly or I’ll go get It myself.
Baxter you know who my father is. You know even better who my mother is. I’ll
deal with her myself, and it’ll all trace back to you, and you’ll be locked
away. I’ll keep doing what I do and getting away with it and you’ll be locked up
like a slave. And I know that’s not an ideal environment for you, Baxter.I know better than anybody how you like to be
-Again, the words are there, but your tone says it all.
You’ve lost It, baby, and you’ll never get It back.
I reach out and squeeze the soda cup so that the lid pops
off, then toss the ice all over her. I drop the cup on the table and study her
face for a moment, watching veins burst like fireworks behind her skin, her
face rising to the very colour of blood.
There are so many ways to take a person’s life and no
matter who her mother is or who her father is, they’ll never trace this one
back to me. She starts convulsing and bloody tears stream down her face. I grab
an ice cube off the table and place it on my tongue. Refreshing. She tries to
stand up but collapses into the booth. Dozens of people around us and no one
notices. I reach into my pocket and take It out. She’s already dead, so she can’t
enjoy getting It back. Now everyone will know who she really is, and I will
remain anonymous. I walk over to her, place It on her lap, and kiss her one
(End of Excerpt) This is original writing and copyright and all that fine print kind of stuff. Please credit this to Chessterr Hollowberry. Thanks!