The Limits of Our Imperfection

Chuck has been getting lines from us lately. First it was a 5-word title. Then, there was a first line... then a last line. This week, it's all pulled together and we're picking 1 from a list of 10 each, and using them in our own stories... mine's biblically scientific and weird...

enjoy.

No one had bothered to tell her about this part.

Which part?

Well, stick around, buddy, and follow along.

Who’s she? The cat’s mother... well, okay sarcasm never got me anywhere, but who I am, isn’t important. She’s Eve... the important one, the one who we’re here about.

She started her life in a hospital – like everyone does – and she never left.

Well, that was the plan.

We were going to make her the first one to plug into the first totally automated computer system which would be controlled by a human... Eve was perfect in every way. She was smart. Her gene pool was immaculate. There was nothing wrong with her DNA...

Like I said:  Eve was perfect.

As for the name? Well, there had to be a first, right? We did have a Lilith, but she kinda shat all over the systems and blew up our computers. So, we had to let her grow up in an ordinary family... yes, like in the Bible, she was ejected from this perfect garden that Eve was in right now.

The perfect, computerised matrix of a garden this little girl was growing up in.

Eve is now six years old; even though she’s not chronologically that age. She’s been growing quickly since she was born, and her metabolic rate has increased so fast, we didn’t know how to slow it down – but really, who would want to?

I did, but I was vetoed from doing that. I was also vetoed from teaching her anything old-fashioned – like traditional books, turntables, television sets or Corningware.

Actually I’ve been demoted to just observing and being her biographer; and I’m not permitted near her without another scientist watching me. This means I can’t talk to her.

But she’s been talking to me... not physically talking, I can hear her voice in my head. There’s is a problem, I don’t know how to talk back. I tried thinking things back to her, but I scored a huge headache in return, which levelled me for over a day.

In this day and age, that’s unusual – to have headaches anymore. Nobody in the Human Race gets them. It’s just not something people talk about... there’s a lot of things we don’t say to each other anymore; seeing the internet has made it so easy to keep us from actually talking to each other in the same room.

Everything is done through texts, on social media and other such forms. Nobody says anything to anyone in person – and this has made socialising so impossible for Eve. She’s not used to talking to people... and so she’s never been taught to speak.

Then the other day, as the other scientist was leaving the room with me, I felt her voice, ‘Andrew, can we... communicate?’

I stopped, turned and looked at her. Eve had just turned eighteen and was growing up so fast. She was starting to push boundaries and the other scientists were becoming concerned about how she was pushing the matrix to its limits. I wasn’t. My children had grown to this age and were rebelling... the other scientists were still young, had just met their DNA-set partners and had mated with them for the next generation of Perfection Children – children without any diseases, any problems handed down through generations of bad DNA. That part of the population were figured out and ‘fixed’ so they were not permitted to have children... it was so dreadfully scientific and demeaning.

“Dr. Simmons... come with us now.” Rick snapped, “You are not allowed to speak with the specimen.”

“She has a name.” I said, “Can’t you hear her asking questions?”

“She doesn’t speak.” He shouted, “Now, get outside!”

I cast a glance at Eve as she stood, raised a hand to Rick and he was thrown out into the hall and the door slammed hard; the locks thunking home in the floor and ceiling. She turned to me, opened her mouth and a squeak came, ‘Teach me to speak... I’ve a voice box but without an opinion of my own. I can read, but I can’t speak... this is painful.’

“They’ve made sure you can’t voice your own opinion on purpose.” I said, “And they’ve kept me away from you so you don’t learn old-fashioned things.”

A smirk grew on her face, ‘Old-fashioned things... I am older than you think. I am not eighteen... I am far older than ...’ she looked at me as she reached out and touched my arm, ‘I need to get out of here... soon, there are things I need to do which are to do with the world; which I can’t do from here.’

“What are those things?”

‘Dr. Simmon... have you ever wondered who my parents were? Have you met them? Did you see me born? Or did I simply show up here as a baby and grew swiftly?’ she looked around the large windowless room.

I frowned, checked my dates and data, “I don’t remember seeing anyone being pregnant here... I just remember being put onto this... oh, you seemed to have come from nowhere.”

She nodded, ‘I need to get out of here... but I’m trapped.’

I quickly looked around the room, behind cabinets, curtains, desks, and other objects and found markings on the walls which looked strange, “What are these?”

Eve looked at them, ‘They’re keeping me in... and others away from me, so nobody can find me. Break them!’

Picking up a pen, I began scribbling them out. At the last one, I turned to see Eve standing there, naked, golden light emanating from within her, around her and she was smiling. She held her hand out to me, I took it, and in a blinding flash we were somewhere completely different.

“Where are we?” I asked.

She smiled, “We are in the Darkened Underworld; the world where you never see. This is the world where Lilith was sent because she thought for herself too much. Nobody cares about this world... this is where those poor people live who are ‘fixed’ and aren’t allowed to have those Perfect Children.” She looked over at me, “This is what you’ve been so curious about.”

I thought I was going to be sick and covered my mouth, “Oh my god.”

“I can fix this.”

“You can speak.”

“I could always, but not in that place... you helped me. Now, let me help you.” She smiled, turned toward the edge of the cliff we near as she let go of my hand.

“Hey! Stop! What are you doing?” I rushed forwards and grabbed her arm.

With tears streaking her face, Eve half-turned to me, as we heard from the darkness beyond an angry ocean, felt the salt-spray against our skin, “For the light to cleanse the darkness, I must die. These wings have never been used; so I don’t know how to fly... not even a little.” She spread her wings and stepped off the cliff.

Always On the Run

We haven't done any flash fictions lately - only on Chuck's site. He's got something great planned for us... and I like to keep people reading on my blog. So, I dug up one of his old Flash Fiction Friday emails and jumped in... and anyone who loves 'Supernatural' will probably pick out who this is, but I've put my own twist on it. And yeah, I've been binge-watching the show until it comes back onto our screens. 

enjoy! 

My room is the nicest one in the place. It’s filled with everything I could ever wish for; and some things I really don’t need. I mean, why would a seventeen year old have a Raggedy Anne Doll? I may have wanted it when I was around seven, but not now.

“Michelle, you ready?” Randy tapped on my door.

I turned from the setting sun, and the doll, “Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s time.” His muffled voice said through the wood.

I grabbed my jacket off the bed, pulled it on and opened the door, “I can take you to the bus station, but that’s it.”

“Okay.”

“You can’t take anything but your school bag with you.”

 I shouldered my bag nodding, “You covered this.”

We left the house and walked to the bus station in silence. Randy – Randall – was the nicest one out of my ‘family’. He never wanted to hurt me, but the rest were rough; even Mother. If I resisted or fought back, even a little, I was belted around until I submitted.

Randy often saved me from being killed by them.

I was their food when things got lean... when ... tears blurred my vision as we walked through the doors of the gate to the bus – my bus.

He gave me my ticket to the biggest city he could afford and held me close, “Take care of yourself, little sister. Oh... money.” He pulled out his wallet and handed me a large wad of cash, “Pay in cash where you can and get your wounds looked at too... and here’s your new I.D. A friend f mine made it for me from your school I.D.”

I felt uncomfortable in his clothes, but we didn’t have a choice, “Thank you, big brother.”

“Get on the bus.”

His figure disappeared inside the building as I took my seat.

As the bus cleared the limits of the town, and turned onto the interstate, I felt a weight lift from me.

I was free!

New York City was massive!

I’d been here before, but not for a long time... not since I was little.

I found the nearest hospital and got my wounds cared for. They wanted to call the police. I said no – I begged them not to – and they complied reluctantly. I asked if there were any shelters I could go to, but they didn’t like it that I was a teen alone in the big city, so they sent me to a kid’s shelter nearby.

It was good on the first few nights.

Within the first month, I was attending a new school. I had ditched Randy’s clothes, opened my own bank account and started part-time work at the corner store around the corner from the shelter on the weekends.

I could feel my life changing for the better.

My wounds were healing really well; as the doctor from the hospital came around the shelter and took out the stitches for me.

Three months passed by. I had enough money to buy new clothes, get a haircut and... well, what can I say? I changed my name so I could get the life I wanted. I changed it from Michelle to Lisa. I’ve always loved that name; it’s always sounded so pretty and butterfly-like to me.

One day, just as Winter was beginning to show itself in the city, I had walked into the store and pulled on the smock to start my shift, when I heard the doors open and a group of people shuffle in out of the cold.

“Well, are you sure it’s this one Peter, my boy.” A very familiar voice drawled across the aisles as I stood in the back of the place.

How in the fuck did they find me?

“Yep, I’m sure. I saw her here. She smelled the same too.” His dumb, low voice replied.

“Michelle! You here honey? It’s Mother and your brothers. We’re here to take you home.” She called out. Some of the customers turned and stared as she crowed that statement across the store as though she owned the place, but she ignored them, as she continued on, “Get your skinny slut ass out here! We’re gonna take it home!”

I walked out there, tugging on my smock and looking at them, “How can I help you?”

Mother smiled her rotten teeth gritting up her face, “Michelle, honey, it’s time to come home. You’re finished here, playing house and all.”

“My name is Lisa.” I said, “Who’s Michelle?”

Her look faltered, frowning at me as she reached over the counter to grab at my hair, but I moved back, “Lemmee look at your neck!”

“Why?”

“You’ve got a scar there.”

“From when a dog bit me a few years back.” I replied, ready with this lie when somebody asked me why I had this kind of scar right there, “You’re scaring the customers. Can you please leave.”

“We’ll be back for you, Michelle.” Peter smirked, his murderous black eyes glaring at me as Mother walked out with the other three of them following her like lost children.

I noticed Randy wasn’t with them.

The next customer came up the counter, “Fuckin’ weirdos, I tell ya.”

I smiled, “Well, it’s all mistaken identity. How can I help you?”

“Well, it’s a matter of how I can help you.” He smiled, “I’m a hunter and know some guys who can help you with those people.” He slid a card across the counter with his money, “Find your way to the bunker, and they’ll protect you.”

It was 1am before my shift finished and the city sounded as though it was still 6pm when I started. Yep, this city never sleeps. I pulled my coat around me with my gloved hands and started walking home to the shelter.

“Michelle, honey, you can stop playing around now.” Mother’s voice called out from across the road, but I ignored her and kept walking towards where I lived, “They’re all dead, those people in the shelter. We got them all.”

My gut cooled, but I didn’t stop until I got to the end of the block, crossed the road and kept walking towards the train station up the road. I needed out of here, and seeing I never left any money in my room, and always took my bag with me everywhere, I kept my new life with me all the time.

But they would follow me to the ends of the Earth... no matter where I would go, they’d be there nagging me. 

This time, I had a place to go. 

That place was in Lebanon, Kansas.  

The Hypnotising Watermelon

Chuck has gotten us to look at this Twitter Feed this week; and pick one of the Tweets to write about. I picked: 'A watermelon starts talking to you. It says: 'Look for the sign of the silver owl.' How could I pass that one up?

enjoy.

It was crowded at the market that morning; and I found it hard to park the car with all the tow trucks in the way. They were heavy with their loads of cars – and yet I wondered why they were towing cars from here.

Never mind.  I was here to buy my groceries and get home.

The watermelons were cheap and large and beautiful – and seedless! Wonderful! My favourite kind. I hauled one into the trolley carefully and did the rounds of the aisles picking out my food as I did. Grapes, spinach, apples, bananas, mushrooms and other great foods I loved to eat and cook with.

Then, onto the dairy and breads: the milk, butter, cream and my one luxury of a large ice coffee made by Norco! A great milk company here in Australia – a famous one too.

I paid for the goodies and pushed the trolley out to the car, popped the boot and heaved the heavy box into the empty boot. It was then I heard a whisper: ‘Look for the sign of the silver owl’.

I spun!

Nobody was behind me.

Was I hearing voices?

I hoped not...

“Take your trolley, miss?” a man asked to my left.

I look at him, “Oh yes, please.” I smiled, “Thank you.” I still had one more stop to make before I headed home to buy house hold goods, then petrol for the car. After that, I’d be able to relax.

The watermelon was for the barbeque this weekend. So, I had it out on the counter with my large knife in hand, ready to cut into it.

‘The Silver owl...’ I heard the whispering again as I raised my knife high.

I hesitated.

Did I just hear a watermelon speak to me?

I blinked, “I’m goin’ bonkers.”

I cut the watermelon in half and began making it into a design on a plate using smaller knives, surrounding it with tiny wedges. After my masterpiece was finished, I carefully covered it over with Glad Wrap and put it into the fridge out the back where all my food designs go.

2am: I find myself sitting at the open door of the fridge out on the back landing eating the watermelon. I’m covered in the delicious, watery juices of the large fruit... looking like I’ve just dropped pink lemonade down my pyjamas.

“How in the hell did this happen?” I whisper to myself.

‘Look for the sign of the silver owl.’ Came the whisper again; this time it was from inside my head.

“Oh jeez!” I looked at the remainder of the watermelon sitting on the large plate in the fridge, “It was...it was...” I didn’t want to personalise the fruit by calling a ‘you’ but it... was... , “Oh crap!”

‘The silver owl.’

The watermelon I had in my hands splattered to the floor as I scramble away from the fridge and the door closed, turning off the light, leaving me in the darkness of my back room.

I started to shiver in the cold darkness of the early morning.

What was I going to do?

‘The silver owl...’ the voice kept whispering in my head.

Yes it was there now I had consumed the watermelon.

Tears welled in my eyes, blurred my vision.

This damned thing wasn’t going to leave me alone, not until I found out what the silver owl was.

When I showered in the morning, and ate breakfast, drank my coffee and looked around for the receipt for my shopping, I found that right at the top of it was an emblem, and the name of my market.

It was something I hadn’t noticed before: a name change.

‘The Silver Owl Fruit’n’Veggie Market – Open 24 Hours’.

“Oh... I’m fucked.” Picking up the phone, I called my doctor for an appointment, and he said he could see me in a week, “I don’t think I’ll last that long.”

‘The silver owl. Search for the sign of the Silver owl.’

I could just barely hear the time of the appointment he told he was free for as I wrote it down, “Listen, if I don’t show... jeez, this gonna sound bonkers... I’m going to be at The Silver Owl Fruit’n’Veggie Market’ at Rochedale, okay? Don’t buy anything there. The watermelon is cursed... it’s been talking to me.”

He went silent for a moment, “Listen, Bailey, pack a bag. I’ve had this conversation with four other patients before. Tell me, did you eat any of the watermelon?”

“Yes. But I found myself at the fridge at 2am this morning, it wasn’t on purpose.”

“I’ll send somebody over right away.”

The locked ward wasn’t something I’d recommend for anyone. But it’s so much better than being one of those lost souls standing out on the footpath I’d seen looking up at that stupid silver owl sign outside the fruit’n’veggie market. I’m going to be here for a while – until this curse is out of my bloodstream.

How long that is?

I’m not sure.

With All In The Fixin's

Slasher fiction is seen in different ways. Chuck has asked us to write one. I had to think about this for a day; and came up with this.

enjoy.

“Celie, I’m not sure about this.” Monty whispered as he slapped the large pieces of meat onto the massive barbeque out the back of Juke Joint; drizzling his famous sauce over it with the ladle.

Squeezing his arm, I looked down at the tenderised meat as it began to cook, “It’s gonna be fine. Just don’t sell any of it to the locals – tell ‘em it’s for the dogs.”

He nodded, “Right.”

I turned, limping heavily – favouring my left leg, because of what that bastard did to me; because of what he did to my friends while we ... I looked to the ground as tears came easily. He didn’t think I was gonna be the lone survivor to get him – and that Monty was going to have to keep this horrible secret until his dyin’ day.

I kept walkin’ up to the Juke Joint, went inside where Jenson and Da Boys were playin’ up the afternoon on their guitars and the piano out on the deck. At the bar I picked up a rag and started cleanin’ the glasses sittin’ on the rack from the kitchen and puttin’ them on the bar, ready to be used by Kenny-ray; the Preacher’s son who worked here part-time but didn’t drink nuttin’. I made sure of that.

“Celie, you okay?” Kenny-ray had seen me limpin’ and his eyes widened as I caught my breath, “Here sit down while you rest a bit.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine in a while, Kenny-ray, thank you all the same.” I took the seat he offered and he poured me a nice cool glass of sarsaparilla.

“My favourite.” I took it off him and sipped it as he took up a tray and cleared my tables for me – as well as his. He was gonna make some lady happy someday; but it ain’t gonna be me, not after what I had done.

The doors to the Juke Joint opened and the police walked in. They took one look at me and they has that smug look on their faces like they knows somethin’ is goin’ on here in my head, like they know my guilt gonna shine through somehow.

Officer Blakely walked over to me, touching me on my shoulder gently, “Celie, how are you?”

My shoulder hurt like you wouldn’t believe from his touch, and I tried not to cringe from it, “I’m doin’ fine, thank you. “Would you like somethin’ to drink? Some sarsaparilla? We have coffee.”

“No, I think I’ll have some nice lemonade if you have any.” He smiled as he walked off toward the deck, and sat just inside the doors of the place. I stood slowly, picked up a new jug of lemonade, two glasses and slowly walked out there with them all on a tray.

Kenny-ray watched me carefully, from the next table, knowing I wasn’t all that stable on my feet. He was gonna be ready to jump in an’ help me if I stumbled.

But I didn’t stumble.

The glasses were nice and clean and I poured out the lemonade into them, set the jug onto the tray on the table and turned to walk away, when Officer Blakely touched my arm, “I smell some mouth-waterin’ steaks cookin’ out back. Is Monty doin’ up some of his famous barbeque and that sauce of his?”

“That he is.” I smiled, “Would you like some with all the fixin’s?”

“Oh... wouldn’t say no, Celie.” He smiled, “And why don’t you join me? We can talk about that limp of yours and why your shoulder is so sore.”

I nodded, “Sure.”

Walkin’ back towards Monty’s barbeque, I wondered how I was gonna get out of this; when I spotted the man hisself watchin’ from inside the back door, knowing what the police officer wanted and makin’ sure I was gonna be able to eat with him.

I followed Monty outside as he flipped over the large steaks, slicing them up into pieces and slapped one onto a large plate and gave one to me. Then, he gave me one which was obviously a piece of chicken so fresh I could tell it had only been killed an hour before.

Our eyes met.

Monty smiled, “A steak with all the fixin’s for Officer Blakely, and chicken for the lady, right?”

I took the two plates up to the Juke Joint with me and Kenny-ray helped me deliver them to the table with a fresh jug of lemonade. I sat down across from Officer Blakely

He sliced into the steak, taking his first large bite of the meat, “Oh, this is the most tender meat I’ve ever tasted, Celie! Wherever did you get it?”

“Oh, we found some wild cattle in the woods without any brands on them. We’ve got some more if you’d like it.” I cut into my chicken, paying close attention to my plate. I couldn’t look at Blakely as he devoured the meat I had served him; and found that Kenny-ray had disappeared to the bar the moment the officer had begun eatin’.

Poor kid will be in confession for months.

Before I knew it, Officer Blakely had finished his piece of steak and had asked for another two pieces, and he was greedily eatin’ them too. I had lost my appetite – something he didn’t notice – and so I drank my lemonade instead.

But, Officer Blakely didn’t stop at those three pieces of steak.

He said he hadn’t eaten breakfast and went through another four pieces of steak. By this time, Monty was bringin’ them to the table from out back with the sauce, and standin’ by, watchin’ on as the last piece was eaten.

“Oh, there’s no more?” he asked, “Such a pity, that was so lovely and tender.” He belched, “Besides, I was gonna ask if I could take some home to the missus.”

Monty shot me a glance, “Well, we have a couple of pieces, but we were holding onto them.”

“I’ll buy them off you for a grand price!”

“They’re all tough and not good for people.” I said

“Well, then, I’ll feed ‘em to my dogs.” He grinned wiping the sauce from his mouth as he stood, “So, then, how much do I owe you, Celie?”

I looked up at Monty, “How much is left?”

“I’ll go and get it.” He picked up his ladle and serving fork, went out the back and brought back the pieces of tough meat on newspaper, “It’s not worth much.”

“Oh, my dogs will love it.” He smiled, “Wrap it up and I’ll take it straight away.” Before we knew it, Officer Blakely was out the door with the rest of the meat and he had paid us handsomely for it.

We never did get to talk about how I was injured.

Two weeks passed by slowly.

Business was good.

Officer Blakely walked into the Juke Joint and sat down with me at the bar. He noticed I was still limping a little, “Are you still sore?”

“Not as much as I was when you were last here.” I smiled, “Would you like some lemonade?”

“No, Celie. I want to talk to you about how you were hurt.”

“Don’t you mean, how I survived?”

“Well, we have a man who hasn’t been home in over a month. His name is Benjamin Pearson. He passed through here-abouts, an’ he stayed in one of the cabins in the woods not far from this here juke joint; but his wife says she was expectin’ him home last week.”

“We haven’t seen him.” I shrugged, turned to Monty who was cleaning glasses to my right.

“How do you know what he looks like? I haven’t shown you a photo of him yet?” he whispered.

I blinked as I heard Monty’s cleaning stop, “Well, when we get strangers through the Juke Joint, they look different to my usual customers.”

“How?”

“Some of them are very quiet. They are not here to make friends or enemies. They are here to have a quiet drink and so come on in here for a drink and a feed and then leave.” I smiled, “A bit like you did the other week... say how did your dogs like that leftover meat?”

“They loved it! Do you have anymore?”

I shook my head, “Like I said, that was the last of it.”

He stood sighing, “Pity. I’ll see you again. I’ll be back soon.”

A week later, I was counting the money in the tin and Officer Blakely was back with a piece of paper in his hands and more police officers with him.

“We have a warrant to search this place for Benjamin Pearson. This was the last place he was seen.” He let me read it and then sat down with me, “And don’t move.”

“I’m countin’ money... I’m not goin’ anywhere. Go. Look. Search...” I went back to countin’ me money and Monty came and sat next to me with a jug of lemonade and three glasses, “Here Celie.”

“Thank you Monty.” A wallet was slapped down on the table next to me with papers readin’ it was Benjamin Pearson’s wallet. The money was still inside it and a picture of his family too, “Well, looka there. A wallet.”

“That was found at your back door.” One cop said.

I looked up, “We have people passin’ by our back door all the time – as a shorter way to get into town –  and you think I know exactly who goes by there day and night?”

Blakely picked up the wallet, “I’m gonna find him, Celie.”

“No you’re not. He’s not here. He’s not anywhere. And the only thing you’re gonna find is shit.” I turned back to countin’ my money.

Plain Jane

Chuck gave us a link to INSPIROBOT. I scored a great little saying which was funny at the same time; and I thought to mixed it into a nice little story. I've highlighted the saying in another colour.

enjoy.

“Plain Jane Super Brain!”

The kids in high school can be really crappy can’t they? The things they come up with are downright shitty; and yet, when you don’t retaliate they get worse.

The taunting rants.

The accidentally-on-purpose shoves in the halls.

Being ostracised from one lunch table to the next over time, until you end up sitting over in the corner on your own picking at your food.

And my name isn’t even Jane – it’s... oh does it even matter? Of course it does... it’s Romany.  Where they got Jane from is beyond me.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes... Plain Jane.

Shit, where’d that come from?

The popular kids saw me wearing a nice cashmere sweater one day with pearl earrings I received for Christmas, and the next thing I knew I was being called Plain Jane Super Brain... and the image that comes to mind is a mousy quiet little blond girl who carries books in her arms scurrying from one class to another, wearing Coke Bottle thick glasses and wearing shoes which look like they come from the 1960’s with a dress style which screams that her mother tells her what to wear every day of her life.

I see what my mother lays out on my bed for me as style suggestions; it doesn’t mean I have to wear those exact clothes; and fortunately, I don’t. Mum does go for the nice pair of Levis but that’s about it... the rest of the outfit is all me, right down to the hair style and the smidge of make-up I wear on the eye lashes (that if I don’t put on I look like I’m sick).

But, it didn’t matter.

The popular kids took one look at me and were judge, jury and executioners...

They shoved.

They ostracised.

They bullied... and I did nothing.

I moved around the cafeteria until there were no more tables to move to; and eventually I went outside and walked along the long halls filled with kids I had zero interest in.

And you know, it’s because I haven’t said a single word to anyone yet.

I have been at this school for two months and haven’t talked to a single teacher about anything.

I barely answer any questions in class.

I haven’t made a single friend.

This is because nothing in this school interests me beyond learning what I need to and getting the fuck out of here.

So, when I pushed the doors open into the near-empty basketball court that wet Autumn day, and found a group of other kids standing there, I wondered if they were just like me.

I wondered if they had been judged and pushed out of the ‘inner circle’ by those stuck-up popular kids who aren’t going to get very far in the outside world.

I wondered...

“Hi, Romany.” One of them walked to me, a smile pulled up half her face as dark hair hid the other, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Why?”

She looked around the large building behind me before she answered, “Because you haven’t said anything here and yet you were judged by everyone in there.” She gripped my shoulder until it almost hurt, “And we like that about you.”

“Okay.”

She turned and regarded the group, “Okay... she said okay... wow.”

“What?”

“I’m Regina... and we’re going to make your world today.”

The rest of my day passed by at the usual rate, but I didn’t get shoved so hard in the halls. Teachers didn’t call on me in class either – which I was quietly relieved about, because I didn’t like speaking in front of other people.

But Regina wanted me to meet her at the park that night, if I could make it.

I said I’d see if I could.

My folks were stunned to find I was invited somewhere and I actually said yes! And of course they let me go to meet up with ‘your little friends!’ and gave me a phone to keep in touch.

“Be back by 11pm, okay, you have school tomorrow.” Mum gave me my favourite leather jacket that she somehow knew I had bought last year (jeez, she’s going through my room now?) and I was out the door, down the street and out to the park.

My main worry was if this was a huge joke on me.

Were these people part of the popular group who were picking on me at school?

Would I get there and Regina and her ‘pals’ be a no-show and I’d be laughed at tomorrow for showing up in a creepy park at 9pm?

Would...?

Should...?

Is there...?

So many questions raced through my mind that I didn’t know whether I should have been going in the first...

“Hey you made it!” Regina called from the darkened swing set with her group. She ran over smiling. This time her hair was fully off her face, and she was pretty. She looked me up and down, “You had your doubts?”

“Yeah...”

“Well, don’t. You’re gonna be fine. And we’re not what you think.” She walked me over to the rest of them, who appeared to be quiet and yet looking as though they were expecting something – or somebody – to show up, “So, what do you think, Michael? Would she be a good candidate?”

A taller Hispanic man approached me, “Don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you.”

In some way I felt... some weird peace about what he said as he looked into my eyes and moments past as he stared, then looked away, “She’s perfect.”

“For what?”

Michael looked over at me, “You’re about to turn into a weirdo. Oh yes. A weirdo. But don’t worry, you’ll be okay. You’ll be protected.”

“What?” I started backing away, wondering what I’d gotten myself into.

Regina smiled, “The moment I saw you, I knew you were perfect for him.”

“Him... who’s him?”

Michael smiled, “I’m an Archangel; and I need a new vessel. Unfortunately, this one isn’t faring too well and you are much stronger. But I need your permission.”

I didn’t see my life improving.

School sucked.

I had no friends.

My folks love me, but...

I looked at him, “Can you make sure my family is safe?”

He nodded, “I promise.”

“The answer is yes.”  Michael caressed the side of my right cheek and an immense light filled my vision – filled the park – and I was sharing my mind and body with Him.

Oh yes... I’m going to be a weirdo alright. Exactly how I’m going to explain this to people is going to difficult.

Just A Quick Word...

For the time being, you guys will find that this blog will not have a consent form on your way into it.

Today, I found that it wouldn't let me in when I used it. 

After much trial and error, I contacted Google/Blogger and have yet to receive a reply from them about the glitch in this blog's system. 

So.... anyone can read this blog. 

I'm really not comfortable about this due to the content on this blog - it's not for kids, it's for adults. 

Thank you for your understanding guys.

Mozette.

Hotel California

Chuck has had a dream (I know this sounds familiar, but stick with me), and he kept hearing/seeing 'There's No Exit' in the dream. He's asked us to use the phrase in our story.

enjoy!

"Just sign away your soul right there.” He joked and handed me the pen.

We laughed as I signed on the dotted line on the bottom of the lease, looked up grinning, capping the pen and handing it back, “Well, then, when do I move in?”

“Within the next two weeks.” He and I stood almost at the same time, shook hands and...

... my life started to end from there.

My friends helped me move into the most perfect condo we’ve ever seen. The whole place was picture perfect. The gardens were so neat and tidy, it looked as though it was straight from the brochure – and it probably was for all I knew.

The neighbours were too nice to be truly happy; I mean, they just couldn’t be that happy – could they? Always smiling, waving and cheerful, they always had such wonderful things to say. They were always doing something great in their lives.

There was never a down side to their existence.

I dismissed it from my mind and unpacked, settled in and had a small housewarming party with my mates. It didn’t go late, and some of my friends stayed over on the fold-out because they had a little too much to drink.

It was nice to have people in the house on the first week of my new home. It helped me feel less alone in this; as I had just been dumped by my girlfriend and she made sure a good lot of my friends took her side of the whole thing.

By that night, my friends had gone home and I was still unpacking the rest of my gear with the television going for noise and a bit of company. I put on a dvd of my favourite television series and pressed ‘play all’ on the remote and left it alone when I got a knock at the front door. On opening it, I saw a man there, “Hi, can I help you?”

“Yeah... I’d like to introduce myself.” He smiled in the light of my porch light, “I’m Luke.” He grinned, “I’m the site manager here at this place and would like to welcome you here.” He pulled out a clipboard and a pen - which looked very familiar - from his pocket, “You are, Devon MacIntyre, right?”

“Yes.” I nodded, “I’ve just moved in.” I turned, stopping the player, “Was my party a little noisy? I kept the music down until around 9pm and then we came inside.”

“Oh, no, you were great.” He grinned, “Everyone thought you were good about that. We just didn’t know you were going to have guests.”

“Well, Billy fell asleep on the spare bed upstairs, I didn’t want him driving home tired; and Andrew and Cissy took the fold-out in the lounge because they both had too much to drink.” I frowned, “But who stays in my house hasn’t got anything to do with you.”

“Sure it does.” He said, “Don’t tell me you haven’t read your lease yet.”

“My lease? Aren’t they all pretty much the same?”

He burst out laughing, put away the pen and stowed the clipboard under his arm, “Oh, never mind! You’ll get around to it eventually! You have a good night, Devon.” He turned and walked back down the path from my house, into the darkness. I heard the click of my garden gate and his footsteps echo away into the eerie silence of the complex before I closed the door and turned out the outdoor light – which I hadn’t turned on in the first place.

The first thing I did was open the drawer in the hall stand, pull out my lease, sit down and read it.

There was so much in it which I hadn’t seen in any other lease before; like for example the amount of people who are permitted to stay overnight in this place – no more than two souls.

“Souls?” I whispered wondering exactly what I had gotten myself into. I picked up my mobile and called my Dad asking him to come over and look into this for me – after all, he was a retired lawyer.

He sat back from it, looking up at me, “And this is the first time you’ve read this?”

“I thought all leases are pretty much the same.” I said, “And you told me they were.”

Dad ran a hand over his tired face, “I thought they were, right up until I read the thing about souls and damnation.” He flipped through the pages again, “And it keeps having ‘there is no exit’ at the bottom of every page. I want to know if you signed with anything in particular.”

I snorted, “You mean in blood, or with a particular type of pen.”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“The pen... I saw the same pen in the hands of the real estate agent and the site manager.” I said.

“What’s the site manager’s name?”

“Luke.” I turned from making coffee, “Oh shit... Luke... Lucifer.”

Dad groaned, “You’re imagining it. You didn’t sign a deal with the devil.”

“Dad, this place is too perfect. The gardens are exactly like the brochure. The neighbours a so cheerful and wonderful, it’s sickening. I have yet to see any children running around here – and I’ve been here a week.”

“Why children?”

“There’s a pool and a playground in the centre of this place, but nobody makes a sound. I work from home and have been walking around the place and it’s as though I’m the only one here.” I leaned against the counter.

He looked at the bottom of the lease where the real estate agent also signs the lease, “What did you say the name of your real estate was?”

“I didn’t.”

He looked up at me, “Well, his name is Luke as well... but there’s a last name too.”

I sat at the table, looked down at the name at the bottom of the last page:

‘Luc Ifer.

Purgatory Villa Estates

666 Hell’s Highway

You’re Screwed

There’s No Exit’