Fil had finished his newspaper gig for the day. A miserable day. Sleet stung his face, making it numb with cold. No one had bothered to buy a paper, or really stick their heads out of any crevace. He wondered why he bothered trying to sell news any way. How much money could he possibly make.
The night seemed a little better, though still deadly cold. He was walking back to the park as he saw the woman with the abusive father heading toward the appartments. Candy, Mandy-something like that. As she went in however, that no-good grandson jogged out and hopped into a black van lurking in the shadows. Fil new that nothing good could come of this...well...he could go borrow some food. Fil threw the rest of the papers into a trashcan and ran to catch the door before it closed. "Thanks Alex," he thought.
Fil new that Grandma Pearl would be heading to bed soon. That nuisance of a child never gave her a moments peace. She needed someone reliable and kind. He reached the landing of the penthouse and waited in the shadows for a while, making sure Pearl would be fast asleep. Then, silently, with the expertise only a homeless person after years of practice can master, he picked the lock, removed the chain with his tiny ten-year-old hands, and slid into the penthouse without a peep. Before setting off for the kitchen, he checked to make sure Pearl was sleeping soundly. Sleeping she was, but there was persperation on her brow, and she tossed and turned, muttering ominous words that sounded like 'kidnapped' and 'dead'.
Fil was moved with pity and compassion. Here was someone like him. She was a kind soul that everyone took for granted. She lived at the beck and call of others, only wanting someone to have a conversation with. They were ambiguous. She, no first name, He, no last. After a long while, he headed to the kitchen to scrounge up what he could, without drawing attention. But for some reason, this borrowing session was different. He felt terrible about taking advantage of her kindness like this. What could he do? He was starving, but though Pearl had plenty of food, she was starving too.
At last Fil reached a decision. He would leave a note. he found a sheet of paper by the computer, and searched for a pen. He had just given up hope, when he saw the felt-tipped marker stuck to the fridge for making grocery lists. Permanent. No going back. He began to write. This took him a long while, having to pause for long periods of time to remember how things were spelled. He wanted her to be able to read it.
ms Perl of the penthowse
i hope this finds yoo feeling happee. i want to apolgize for what iv done. for a long time iv been borowing sum food from yoo. i want to give it all bak one day but i dont no how as i dont have no monee or no place to live. i no i am a thefe but plese dont be skayrd becos i am very small and i dont want to hert yoo. i just hope that you will forgiv me and we mite can be frinds. i hope when i see yoo next yoo will have a smiul on yoor fase becos evree one needs a smiul sumtiyms.
Fil looked at it for a long time and decided it was the best he could do. He hoped he spelled everything right. Either way, there was nothing for it. He didn't sign his name in case Alexander found it, but Fil didn't think he would, because Fil folded it and put it behind the fruits and vegetables in the refrigerator. Fil had spent a long time in the penthouse and decided he should leave before Alexander came back. So, he quickly grabbed an apple, some canned peas, and a forzen loaf of bread. With his provisions, he stole out of Washington Heights and back into the night. Though chill and dark, Fil thought things might be beginning to look up.
2 comments:
Bad luck old boy.
Finale a la prologue
What does the time spent here represent? Have I learned anything? There are hundreds of other towns, cities, neighborhoods which I have and will infiltrate, will it make a difference?
Are there aliens? How do they view someone like me? They probably don't. They just need to take one look at a place like this and say, "nothing good comes from earth."
Do I really care about justice? All I seem to participate in is sneaking about, learning other peoples business. If I learn enough about a person, does that make it ok to report all the things that they do? Does justice only apply to those caught in the act?
My brain used to use a wider vocabulary. I'm far too focused on philosophy nowadays. Its only been a week? One week. Seven days ago I wondered about why people blink. Not exactly philosophical, but I still have too many erroneous thoughts. When was the last time I wrote down the things I have seen? I remember it, but I don't feel like i'm working.
"Come here, Baron."
The tabby whom had been staying in my apartment jumped from the floor onto my hunched knees. He was obviously fine with living with anyone who did not try to eat him or pelt him with stones. Petting his head, I decide I should at least come up with some lessons about life or something...
Lesson 1.
Humans were meant to work and sweat to earn a living. Those that try to get rich quick, or live at the expense of others, all get divine retribution somewhere along the line. That's the lesson. Unfortunately, we quickly forget the lessons we've learn. Then we have to learn them all over again.
I wander over to my stacks of documents and begin placing them in alphabetical order in their cardboard boxes.
Lesson 2.
"Survival of the fittest" is the law of nature. We deceive, or we are deceived. Thus, we flourish, or perish. Nothing good ever happened to me when I trusted others. That...is the lesson.
I desperately reach behind my wall of monitors and unplug each in succession.
Lesson 3.
Lesson, Lesson: If you see a stranger, follow him.
I walk over to my miniature fridgerator and open the door.
Lesson 4.
And what was the real lesson? Don't leave things in the fridge.
I close it and walk towards the window. Throwing aside the shutters, its suprisingly sunny outside. Perfect timing.
Clunk Clunk Clunk.
"Brone," I catch my breath as soon as I say the name and continually stroke the cat's head which is starved for affection.
The footsteps stop. I'm looking out the window at nothing much.
"Don't go."
Am I breaking my promise? Some promises are meant to be broken, in fact, most of them are. It doesn't matter, the footsteps continue down the hallway. What am I doing? Whatever was holding our partnership together was only such a small thing.
Meredith. Someone impossible to keep track of. Not that he was particularly fond of the idea of meeting her, but he still needed to find her. I help him, he helps me, whatever happens from that moment I will close my eyes and look away.
Was I clinging onto my worker like he was my personal bodyguard for life? Or did I actually think there was some kind of friendship that I could hold onto, no matter how many times my name changed? I could just have easily avoided this city entirely, why ever bother coming here? He would be fine either way with not finding her--perhaps for a couple of more years.
"Nana, hachi, kyû, konnichi wa to you."
"Are you sure you’re looking for her?"
"Ichi, zero, ichi, ichi, sayonara."
"Or are you just wasting time?"
...A siren was wailing outside, an ambulance. How rare. Few violences are reported here.
When you and I first met, you told me something. You said that you had died once. That you had seen death. Why can't you just let it go? Forget the past. Is it that hard?
What was my real name again? Just some letter, foreign scripture. Does it matter? I don't have time for such trivial things.
"I'm going to do my job," I stated simply. I walked out my door and left it wide open. I was moving at my pace towards where I told him she would be.
The graveyard was scarier exposed to full sunshine than at night. Gravestones with hundreds of my assumed names were everywhere, though I didn't see Mr. Barnheart's.
Brone leaned against a tall headstone holding a lit cigarette.
"..."
What is there to talk about? I hunched down next to him.
"Ever heard this story. There was once a tiger-striped cat. This cat died a million deaths, revived and lived a million lives. And he was owned by various people who he didn't really care for. The cat wasn't afraid to die. Then one day, the cat became a stray cat, which meant he was free. He met a white female cat and the two of them spent their days together happily. Well, years passed and the white cat grew weak and died of old age. The tiger-striped cat cried a million times and then he died too. Except this time he didn't come back to life."
"Hm. Thats a nice story."
"I hate that story."
"Ah?"
"I never liked cats, you know that."
"Oh yeah, thats right...Brone."
"Yeah?"
"I just want to ask you one thing."
"Whats that?"
"Is there something you need to do for her?"
"She's dead. There's nothing I can do for her now."
"Ah. Let's get the hell out of here shall we?"
We both walk towards the direction of Washington Heights apartment complex at a casual stride. I could still hear the sirens from the ambulance wailing. Like I said, nothing good comes from earth.
"Hey," Brone suddenly speaks, "how are men and women different?"
"Hmm...I think women are hiding more vital secrets than men are."
"But there are women who aren't feminine."
"And men who aren't masculine"
"What about those that aren't usually feminine but show that side of themselves in some chance circumstances? I like that."
"Really?"
"I'm not talking about her."
"Who then?"
"Whatever, but betrayal may come easy to women, but men live by iron codes of honor."
"You believe that?"
"I'm trying to. Real hard."
Maybe it's that girl in the red dress who'se trying to kill us?
*****
Some time later...
"So, what's the deal with this job again?"
"I briefed you earlier, Brone."
"Yeah, I wasn't really listening."
"...An ex-CIA operative Decker has stolen a large amount of explosives and is planning to sell them by highest bidder in an auction today."
"Well I happen to be in the bar nearby, so relax."
"Didn't you have a hangover?"
"Yeah. I'm making a prairie oyster. Just need an egg--"
"Please stop drinking those, you'll die."
"...Some asshole just spilled my egg. I needed that egg. I can't do any crap like this, I'm going after some tail."
"Since when is it a bounty hunter's job to chase after a women's ass instead of money?"
"Why the heck is an ex-CIA agent doing such high grade illegal activity anyways?"
"He was kicked out. When angels are forced out of heaven, they become devils. Don't you agree?"
"I don't know and I have no opinion. Besides, this place is actually crawling with bounty hunters, they all know about Decker, and I have a hangover the size of Neptune."
"You're useless, why do we work well together?"
"You're tense, I'm calm. You apply excessive force and I control that force through fluid motion. So that means relaxing the whole body so it can react instantly without resistance, you know, without thought."
"Well, be careful. Anything could happen. It could blow sky high when it hits."
"Kinda makes it interesting."
*****
What is going on in this world? Though you're alive, darkness looms only inches away. A world where any move you make could be a dangerous mistake. So, we will step away from the mainstream and live like vagabonds and common dropouts. A psychedelic rhapsody for someone just like you.
Don't you wanna hang out and waste your life with us?
*****
CHAPTER: MICHAEL SEEBACH - THE END
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