Meredith
Brone Barnheart
I smelled it again. That scent that has been haunting me all my life...her. There in the graveyard I saw her, her silky blond hair playing across her face. She was not smiling. Trembling, she pulled out her pistol and pointed it right at my chest. I couldn't run, I couldn't draw my gun, I was frozen. "Meredith," I whispered. BANG...
ERR ERR ERR ERR ERR ERR ERR ERR
I instinctually slammed my palm on the snooze button, again, but no sleep came. "It was just another dream," I thought, but that didn't comfort me at all. I finally opened my blood-shot eyes, and a slit of sunlight burned into them. "Agh."
I looked at the clock; I looked at my watch. The clock was wrong. The power must have gone out last night. Today was going to be beautiful. I fell out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, slamming my knee against the sink. "Ugh." I turned on the knob for hot water and splashed cold water onto my face, no surprise there. Looking in the fractured mirror, I ran my hands through my hair, pretending that sufficed for a shower. The sound of a muted phone reached my ears. "There's a phone in here?" After a quick search I located the phone under my jacket. I made sure it wasn't booby-trapped and then answered it.
"Hello, is this Low Ride?" a timid voice asked.
"Nope," I replied with a sigh and dropped the phone back on the receiver.
My grogginess finally subsiding, I thought "Wait a minute...how did I get here?" I couldn't remember. "Well, whatever." Seeing nothing entertaining in the room, I got all my stuff together. At the door I paused: cigarettes, holster, lighter, Spyderco folding knife, cellphone, Jericho 941, jacket, window punch, wallet, zip-tie handcuffs, ammo, shoes. As I glanced down, a white envelope slid under my door. Without thinking, I picked it up. Then I flung the door open, stupidly realizing that I should have done that first, but no one was in the hall. I examined the envelope's contents: 150 dollars and a letter in some ridiculous font. "Must be from that snot nosed kid." It read:
Brone
New target, car thief, likes to gamble, only known as “Sugar Macoy,” lives in
“Oh, so that’s where I am.” I put the money in my wallet, threw the letter on the floor, closed my door without bothering to lock it, and sauntered down the hallway. I glanced at the numbers as I passed. 224, 225, 22 , 227…“pft.” Lethargically, I walked down the stairwell admiring the graffiti art as I passed. Out onto the sidewalk, the sun shone down on me like God’s high beams reminding me just how early it was. I lit a cigarette, put my hands in my pockets and let my feet guide me. I avoided the graveyard. “Shit, I need a drink.”
1 comment:
I am obligated to post this troy.
Michael Seebach Apt. 236
Chicka tick tick ticka. The 2nd floor of Washington Heights echoed with a continuous flow of noise from underneath a doorway. It was 4 o'clock in the morning.
Hm...Again? Already? It is a normal human function I suppose, but I waste time and capability every time I wish to indulge in these urges. It's not like there was anything in particular that activated this bodily response, I suppose staring at a glowing monitor in a completely dark room long enough it can happen to anyone. Fine, I have no strict schedule to adhere to, I suppose I can take time to make my body happy.
Blink.
Ah, much better. Blinking seems to be such a trivial activity to partake of really, if one doesn't keep their eyes open as much as possible, what point is there in eyesight at all? Information gathering is the only real use for eyes, how else would I monitor and intake data from 5 different screens at once? But it does begin to strain ones concentration eventually and the mind finds less time to focus. Wait, what did I just type? My concentration has totally been lost due to my little personal indulgence. Great, you type three pages of information and you forget every word because you happen to blink during that period. Let me see...Ah of course. I suppose this information is credible. No understanding should be lost through the transmission of information to a person of average intelligence.
Now what? My legs? Hm. Thinking back, this position does seem to be used for balance and training of leg muscles. A yoga position, or was it just called crouching? I suppose it isn't the way most people sit in their computer chairs. But it is imperitive, my analyzation ability would drop at least 40% if i didn't sit this way. Perhaps I shall stretch for a moment. Oh wait, there is no room to walk around in here...I should have used my resources more wisely, there is no room to store important documents in such a small complex. The alcoholic whom shall remain anonymous for now should have let me arrange for more comfortable quarters. I suppose his persona is one of extreme yearning for simplicity. Speaking of which, he should awaken in a few hours. Much earlier than he expects i'm sure, he really shouldn't have a clock which can be tampered with so easily. If that doesn't wake him, giving clients that mans number should at least annoy him enough to arouse his thirst for a drink. His instructions have been prepared, I think I placed it next to the typewriter. I'll just wait for him to wake up, i'd rather not have other tenants finding payment in the hallway.
What could it be now? Ah. My stomache. I forget to give myself the proper amount of calories now and then. The coffee with 10 sugars had gone cold before I finished it. Usually I have more time to eat, I used to have assitants for typing. Perhaps...no, he wouldn't know how to type. Unless I want a bootprint lodged into a computer, Mr. Barnheart wouldn't be of help...Where is the miniature fridge? These stacks of paper are quite inconvenient. Ah, i'm in the bathroom. Hm...My eyes seem to be lacking rest perhaps, these large black bags under my eyes do not seem to be normal. Are these considered scary? Or perhaps what I heard that one time...What was it...The eyes of a pervert? I suppose they are appropriate for someone with my birthday? Eventually my hair will need to be cut, I cannot observe and analyze with my eyes covered. My physique seems to be lacking something as well...for someone of mid-twenties I am perhaps severely underweight? What nationality am I again? I think a quarter Japanese, a quarter English, a quarter Russian and...maybe a quarter French or Italian? Something like that.
I need to consume nutrition, where in the world is that miniature refridgerator...Ah, that hurt. Not wearing shoes or socks has some disadvantages, but my long blue jeans seem to have padded the stubbing of my foot. Ah, I have located the fridge, excellent. Let me see...Hershey's chocolate, black tea, canned coffee, pudding, jam. What should I eat? Jam seems appropriate for breakfast. Mnm...My wrist strength also seems to be lacking, perhaps the result of typing so frequently. This jar is being very difficult. Alright, Brone gets an extra 3 hour wake-up call---Oh, I have it. The jam is a wonderfully cool temperature for this early in the morning, this apartment complex is quite hot. I should perhaps buy a shorter sleeved shirt. My fingers fit into the jar to the very bottom, good, I can eat as much sugar as I need. Mmmm...Raspberry is a very good flavor, my brain is charging with energy already. According to medical journals and scientific studies, this does not seem to be the best diet for a person. But it is fine, the brain is an organ which consumes more calories than any other, as long as I continue to think in the procedure which I do, my health should be adequate.
"I look at the world through apple eyes, and cut myself a slice of sunshine pie, and dance with the peanut-butter flies..."
Oh wait, that is one my ring tones. I should answer the phone, only clients should have this number, unless the alcoholic miraculously woke up so early. I should never try a "prarie oister" again. I'm just gonna deposit his money from now on, he only uses it for meat and booze. Oh right, the phone.
"This is Deneuve. Is there a situation?"
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