I was kicking around an idea that morphed into the first part of a piece of fiction.
CAUTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is not a fun and friendly piece of prose. It's not for the faint of heart. This is R rated material of a serious nature. If you think you might be offended......PLEASE DO NOT READ IT!!!!!
She walked the empty sodden streets, grey and muted black, littered with the garbage of thousands of lost souls like her in the city of discards. She kicked away a glass bottle, with a little more force than she imagined, and the tinkling sound of its shattering fell back to her. Much like the sound her heart might have made if she had cared about much of anything.
The slick asphalt slid underneath her heels, and threatened to trip her up. Trying its best to send her into the smear of oily green antifreeze and countless snot rockets that littered, glistening, under the sickly glow of the safety lights that swung on the post overhead.
“Safety.” She whispered under her breath with a laugh. Was there safety to be had in the cesspool that she called home? She shook her head, tossing the short violet hair cut in a severe bob back and forth, answering her own selfish question.
The curb ahead beckoned her forward, the flashing white hand, all is safe, quickly now. And she did, scurrying across, giving a passing glance to the storm drain, overflowing with refuse. A rat, slick fur shining wet silver with dark pink scar tissue completely covering one socket, watched her with the eye that remained, it’s humble meal of a mutilated crow forgotten. Her eyes, heavy with deep black makeup met his for a moment, and on a base level, as deep as the DNA they shared, they understood each other perfectly.
She moved on.
The rat went back to its munching, and she crossed the street, heels clicking in time to the machine noise in her head. Her slender and delicate hand, adored with long tendrils of inked ivy that went up to her armpit and around, waved to the furry little neighbor, and he passed out of her mind at almost the same instance.
A gaggingly putrid smell hit her as she made her way down the next block, a filthy homeless man cowered against the side of the building in a crouch, rocking back and forth. The mumblings were not quite audible through the matted and scraggly mess of hair that covered his face. His teeth were rotten and many were missing. She hugged the street as much as she could, daring only to watch out of her peripheral vision. He no longer even attempted to beg, no rattling of a paper cup with a few stray coins, or a worn out, heavily folded cardboard sign. There was no hope left in the man dying in the cold right beside her. Only the smell of his bowels that had emptied, who knows how long ago.
He stayed in her thoughts a bit longer than the rat.
The gum that snapped in her mouth, flavor long since gone, was the only thing that kept the bile from rising from her stomach up into her throat.
Only a few steps more, the quik stop ahead. It’s bright white light and shining tile, glass doors opening with a liquid whoosh, and she was away, back into normalcy. At least until she ventured out again.
She grabbed a hand basket, passing through the aisles slowly, savoring the time in the warmth and the myriad of options in front of her. There was only a few credits left in her account, so she chose the dry goods that would last, a bottle of sauce, and nut butter. The quik mart, meant for ones like her, the lower class, didn’t have the holo-screens, and she was thankful. No sense yearning for what she couldn’t have.
Her meager basket filled, she wandered up to the check stand, where the sallow Indian man stared, eyes traveling from her face, down to her breasts, her narrow waist, to the swell of her hips and back up again.
Her face flushed, and she slammed her basket down, emptying the contents to the conveyer.
The clerk seem non-plussed and picked a scab on his cheek, a lone drop of blood welling, and falling, trailing down his chin.
Serves the freak right, she thought to herself. Karmic balance.
She shook her head again and smiled, tucking a small strand of hair behind her ear, as she was wont to do when distracted.
“Credits?” The clerk noticed that his pasty yellow shift was mis-buttoned. His finger nails were caked with dark circles of dirt underneath, and pads of his fingers were discolored brown from a lifetime of smoking. The deep croak of his throat matched.
She nodded, and rotated her palm up, the barcode and chip positioned between the bones of her forearm, slightly raised and ready to be scanned under the flickering red light.
She passed it under the scanner with a beep, and a heavy metallic female voice clipped out. “Account of choice?”
“Primary 1.” It came out as remotely as brushing her teeth every morning, and she touched her bag of purchases, ready to walk back outside with her goods, when the voice clipped back.
“Account overdrawn.” The voice was dispassionate, but the clerk’s wasn’t. His face broke into a lurid sneer, laughing at her predicament.
The register tried again. “Account of choice?”
Her pulse pounded in her head, her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. She was afraid what would happen next.
“Line of credit 1.”
The computer thought a minute, and spit out a similar response. “Insufficient funds available.”
She hung her head in frustration and shame. She was certain that she still had credits left, her brain racing over what might have happened when the computer spoke again.
“Based on your rating, you are pre-approved for a 50 credit advance for 72 hours for an daily compound interest rate of 18.9%. Would you like to take advantage of this limited time offer?”
Her only choice was going hungry for the next 3 days, until payday. She nodded her head. “Yes.”
The metallic voice spoke. “Scan again to accept the terms.”
Her arm trembled slightly, but she scanned it again. The sensor beeped, and white receipt tape came spilling out from the top of the register.
“Thank you for your business with Savings for America, and have a nice day.”
She snatched her purchases and bolted out of the store, ignoring the snicker from the counter help. She threw her body weight against the glass, doors swinging outward, the biting cold wind welcome against her overheated face.
=============================
There was only four more blocks until she reached her building, and she couldn’t walk quickly enough. Her mind was swimming. Beating herself up for getting further into the hole. Every week she resolved to clamp down and chip away at it; and the shame of being exposed in front of a stranger burned hot. This was the end.
Heavy thunder boomed from overhead, matching exactly to the flashing light above her, and she stepped up her pace to almost a jog. Her eyes focused dead ahead, two blocks now, almost home.
A blinding flash caused her to jump in fright, and another scream, louder than her own, came crying from the alley to her right. Deep in the shadows she could see the struggling form of a young woman, caught in a vice-like grip from four men. One had his arm around her throat in a choke hold, her long blonde hair trapped, pulling her neck backward at a dangerous angle. Each leg grabbed securely by another figure. Her body frantically twisting, trying to break free, like an animal caught in a trap. The fourth one straddled between her thighs.
“Hold her, damn it, hold her.” The angry voice echoed. They had no idea that they were being watched.
From the street, all she could do was stare, her breath gone, a crippling fear caused her bladder to loosen. Her voice was nothing, a squeak. The horror in front of her burning into her brain. It was a nightmare that you couldn’t get away from.
Not a DREAM!
Her paralysis broke, and she grabbed the first object she could find on the ground next to her. It was half of a broken brick. The edges bit sharply into her hand, tiny red pieces crumbling. The pain went unheeded.
She finally found her voice. She bellowed at the top of her lungs, flinging the chunk solidly against the head of one of the men gripping the woman’s outstretched leg.
He stumbled almost instantly. She looked frantically for another weapon, this time a broken bottle. With one leg free, the blonde woman struggled, and broke loose, her leg pirouetting, crashing across the bridge of the nose of the man that had been straddling her a moment ago.
He fell, clutching his face, and that gave her enough strength to wrench herself free from the choke hold. Blondie dropped to her knees, digging deep into her discarded purse. Fingers searching blindly until the shot rang out. A miss fire.
The next one didn’t miss. The man who had her neck in a choke hold was now clawing at this own, wetness and heat spraying against her face. Crying, she turned the gun on the others, emptying the chambers, until there was nothing but a ragged series of clicks.
Shocked into silence, the two women, the only survivors, wild eyed and staring, looked at each other, both shaking and in shock.
Blondie struggled to compose herself, wiping the tears and blood from her face. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“My place is just two blocks away. Let’s go. “
Blondie quickly approached each body, hunted and grabbed their wallets, and with the butt of the gun, broke the identi-chips in each of their arms.
They joined hands and turned to run.
“Wait!” Blondie. “Your bag.”
The groceries, all but forgotten, were snatched up, and they ran together in the night, to the safety of her apartment.
She was afraid that they wouldn’t be safe there for very long.
CAUTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is not a fun and friendly piece of prose. It's not for the faint of heart. This is R rated material of a serious nature. If you think you might be offended......PLEASE DO NOT READ IT!!!!!
She walked the empty sodden streets, grey and muted black, littered with the garbage of thousands of lost souls like her in the city of discards. She kicked away a glass bottle, with a little more force than she imagined, and the tinkling sound of its shattering fell back to her. Much like the sound her heart might have made if she had cared about much of anything.
The slick asphalt slid underneath her heels, and threatened to trip her up. Trying its best to send her into the smear of oily green antifreeze and countless snot rockets that littered, glistening, under the sickly glow of the safety lights that swung on the post overhead.
“Safety.” She whispered under her breath with a laugh. Was there safety to be had in the cesspool that she called home? She shook her head, tossing the short violet hair cut in a severe bob back and forth, answering her own selfish question.
The curb ahead beckoned her forward, the flashing white hand, all is safe, quickly now. And she did, scurrying across, giving a passing glance to the storm drain, overflowing with refuse. A rat, slick fur shining wet silver with dark pink scar tissue completely covering one socket, watched her with the eye that remained, it’s humble meal of a mutilated crow forgotten. Her eyes, heavy with deep black makeup met his for a moment, and on a base level, as deep as the DNA they shared, they understood each other perfectly.
She moved on.
The rat went back to its munching, and she crossed the street, heels clicking in time to the machine noise in her head. Her slender and delicate hand, adored with long tendrils of inked ivy that went up to her armpit and around, waved to the furry little neighbor, and he passed out of her mind at almost the same instance.
A gaggingly putrid smell hit her as she made her way down the next block, a filthy homeless man cowered against the side of the building in a crouch, rocking back and forth. The mumblings were not quite audible through the matted and scraggly mess of hair that covered his face. His teeth were rotten and many were missing. She hugged the street as much as she could, daring only to watch out of her peripheral vision. He no longer even attempted to beg, no rattling of a paper cup with a few stray coins, or a worn out, heavily folded cardboard sign. There was no hope left in the man dying in the cold right beside her. Only the smell of his bowels that had emptied, who knows how long ago.
He stayed in her thoughts a bit longer than the rat.
The gum that snapped in her mouth, flavor long since gone, was the only thing that kept the bile from rising from her stomach up into her throat.
Only a few steps more, the quik stop ahead. It’s bright white light and shining tile, glass doors opening with a liquid whoosh, and she was away, back into normalcy. At least until she ventured out again.
She grabbed a hand basket, passing through the aisles slowly, savoring the time in the warmth and the myriad of options in front of her. There was only a few credits left in her account, so she chose the dry goods that would last, a bottle of sauce, and nut butter. The quik mart, meant for ones like her, the lower class, didn’t have the holo-screens, and she was thankful. No sense yearning for what she couldn’t have.
Her meager basket filled, she wandered up to the check stand, where the sallow Indian man stared, eyes traveling from her face, down to her breasts, her narrow waist, to the swell of her hips and back up again.
Her face flushed, and she slammed her basket down, emptying the contents to the conveyer.
The clerk seem non-plussed and picked a scab on his cheek, a lone drop of blood welling, and falling, trailing down his chin.
Serves the freak right, she thought to herself. Karmic balance.
She shook her head again and smiled, tucking a small strand of hair behind her ear, as she was wont to do when distracted.
“Credits?” The clerk noticed that his pasty yellow shift was mis-buttoned. His finger nails were caked with dark circles of dirt underneath, and pads of his fingers were discolored brown from a lifetime of smoking. The deep croak of his throat matched.
She nodded, and rotated her palm up, the barcode and chip positioned between the bones of her forearm, slightly raised and ready to be scanned under the flickering red light.
She passed it under the scanner with a beep, and a heavy metallic female voice clipped out. “Account of choice?”
“Primary 1.” It came out as remotely as brushing her teeth every morning, and she touched her bag of purchases, ready to walk back outside with her goods, when the voice clipped back.
“Account overdrawn.” The voice was dispassionate, but the clerk’s wasn’t. His face broke into a lurid sneer, laughing at her predicament.
The register tried again. “Account of choice?”
Her pulse pounded in her head, her cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. She was afraid what would happen next.
“Line of credit 1.”
The computer thought a minute, and spit out a similar response. “Insufficient funds available.”
She hung her head in frustration and shame. She was certain that she still had credits left, her brain racing over what might have happened when the computer spoke again.
“Based on your rating, you are pre-approved for a 50 credit advance for 72 hours for an daily compound interest rate of 18.9%. Would you like to take advantage of this limited time offer?”
Her only choice was going hungry for the next 3 days, until payday. She nodded her head. “Yes.”
The metallic voice spoke. “Scan again to accept the terms.”
Her arm trembled slightly, but she scanned it again. The sensor beeped, and white receipt tape came spilling out from the top of the register.
“Thank you for your business with Savings for America, and have a nice day.”
She snatched her purchases and bolted out of the store, ignoring the snicker from the counter help. She threw her body weight against the glass, doors swinging outward, the biting cold wind welcome against her overheated face.
=============================
There was only four more blocks until she reached her building, and she couldn’t walk quickly enough. Her mind was swimming. Beating herself up for getting further into the hole. Every week she resolved to clamp down and chip away at it; and the shame of being exposed in front of a stranger burned hot. This was the end.
Heavy thunder boomed from overhead, matching exactly to the flashing light above her, and she stepped up her pace to almost a jog. Her eyes focused dead ahead, two blocks now, almost home.
A blinding flash caused her to jump in fright, and another scream, louder than her own, came crying from the alley to her right. Deep in the shadows she could see the struggling form of a young woman, caught in a vice-like grip from four men. One had his arm around her throat in a choke hold, her long blonde hair trapped, pulling her neck backward at a dangerous angle. Each leg grabbed securely by another figure. Her body frantically twisting, trying to break free, like an animal caught in a trap. The fourth one straddled between her thighs.
“Hold her, damn it, hold her.” The angry voice echoed. They had no idea that they were being watched.
From the street, all she could do was stare, her breath gone, a crippling fear caused her bladder to loosen. Her voice was nothing, a squeak. The horror in front of her burning into her brain. It was a nightmare that you couldn’t get away from.
Not a DREAM!
Her paralysis broke, and she grabbed the first object she could find on the ground next to her. It was half of a broken brick. The edges bit sharply into her hand, tiny red pieces crumbling. The pain went unheeded.
She finally found her voice. She bellowed at the top of her lungs, flinging the chunk solidly against the head of one of the men gripping the woman’s outstretched leg.
He stumbled almost instantly. She looked frantically for another weapon, this time a broken bottle. With one leg free, the blonde woman struggled, and broke loose, her leg pirouetting, crashing across the bridge of the nose of the man that had been straddling her a moment ago.
He fell, clutching his face, and that gave her enough strength to wrench herself free from the choke hold. Blondie dropped to her knees, digging deep into her discarded purse. Fingers searching blindly until the shot rang out. A miss fire.
The next one didn’t miss. The man who had her neck in a choke hold was now clawing at this own, wetness and heat spraying against her face. Crying, she turned the gun on the others, emptying the chambers, until there was nothing but a ragged series of clicks.
Shocked into silence, the two women, the only survivors, wild eyed and staring, looked at each other, both shaking and in shock.
Blondie struggled to compose herself, wiping the tears and blood from her face. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“My place is just two blocks away. Let’s go. “
Blondie quickly approached each body, hunted and grabbed their wallets, and with the butt of the gun, broke the identi-chips in each of their arms.
They joined hands and turned to run.
“Wait!” Blondie. “Your bag.”
The groceries, all but forgotten, were snatched up, and they ran together in the night, to the safety of her apartment.
She was afraid that they wouldn’t be safe there for very long.
Jen turns the corner of Dark and Gritty. Where'd this come from all of a sudden?
-Fred
-Fred
Pirates, vampires, zombies, ninjas, ghouls, aliens, goblins, monsters, robots, sorcerers, undead, werewolves, demons, mutated dinosaur-cyborgs and those pesky phone salesmen! The shotgun is a one-size-fits-all solution!
I really wouldn't call that R rated, except for a visual description of the fight and the fact it has quite a dark tone.
Still, an engrossing an entertaining read.
Things all right financially for you at the moment? ><
Still, an engrossing an entertaining read.
Things all right financially for you at the moment? ><
I gots a webcomic! http://yetanothercomic.com
Thanks guys for the thumbs up. Dystopias are "my bag, baby." I had a visual in my head, and sat down last night and brought it forth.
The funny thing was is that if I hadn't been running late this morning, I might have pulled it. I thought it might be a smidge too rough.
When I saw your wonderful responses, it only fed the flames.
So thank you.
I plan on working it further. Stay tuned..
The funny thing was is that if I hadn't been running late this morning, I might have pulled it. I thought it might be a smidge too rough.
When I saw your wonderful responses, it only fed the flames.
So thank you.
I plan on working it further. Stay tuned..
Speaking of writing, might be another short-story coming from my fevered mind as well. Thought I'd give this pacing thing a whirl 
Won't steal any thunder from ya though Jen. It won't appear just yet.
But there are clouds on the horizon, and crackles of thunder in the far distance.
-Fred
Won't steal any thunder from ya though Jen. It won't appear just yet.
But there are clouds on the horizon, and crackles of thunder in the far distance.
-Fred
Pirates, vampires, zombies, ninjas, ghouls, aliens, goblins, monsters, robots, sorcerers, undead, werewolves, demons, mutated dinosaur-cyborgs and those pesky phone salesmen! The shotgun is a one-size-fits-all solution!
Now that was some good reading...
I have to ask the same question as above:
I have to ask the same question as above:
Steve wrote:Do you have more?
The Paved Straight Road, Won't Always Get You Farther Than The Winding Dirt Road...
Can You Run Your Game??? Click Here And Find Out...
*Note, Not All Games Have Been Tested & Therefore May Not Be Listed...
Can You Run Your Game??? Click Here And Find Out...
*Note, Not All Games Have Been Tested & Therefore May Not Be Listed...
==============================
The high pitch screech of the rusted security gate made the both of them wince. She re-latched the hinges, fastened the bolt and turned away from the entrance. The apartments had once been yuppie condos, but after the crash of ’28 they had slowly fallen into disrepair. The hallways, sickly pale green and dimly lit were littered with large loopy spray painted graffiti is various shades, red and black the colors of choice. It reeked of ammonia. They made eye contact briefly she gestured forward and made their way up. Their heels clicked impatiently upwards each and every step, echoing up the stairwell to her 6th floor walkup.
She fumbled with her purse digging, keys clattering to the floor, before recovering and unlocking the top two deadbolts.
“No chip scanner?”
“Not in this neighborhood.’ They’d rip it to shreads trying to sell it for crank dough.”
“Fair enough.”
The motion sensor kicked the light on as they both walked inside. Before setting anything down, she latched the deadbolts, pulled the chain and set the floor bar.
“Smart.” Blondie nodded her approval.
The apartment was a complete 180 from the hallway. The dwelling was painfully narrow but long. The walls were painted bright white, colorful overlapping area rugs splashed the floor of the entry and the living space. There was a small kitchen, mini-fridge, but a full stove and a little counter space where the dish rack held the previous days leavings, now clean and dry. A small pine table, a vid screen, and amazingly, a few plants nestled in their colorful ceramic pots.
Both of them sat nervously on the couch, unsure what to say.
Blondie broke the silence.
“Thanks for saving me back there. I’d be dead for sure if you hadn’t helped.” Blondie hooked out her pack of smokes, looked around at the spotless abode, and tucked them back inside her jacket pocket. “You’re crazy you know that? They’d have made you their next plaything, and you didn’t even know me.”
She exhaled deeply, twisting the tiny crystal and silver ring on her middle finger.
“Crazy.” she repeated.
“Did they????” her voice trailed out, unsure how to approach the delicate subject.
Blondie’s eyes dropped, and she fidgeted her hands nervously, yearning for a cig.
“Yeah. Three of them.”
“Dear God, I’m so sorry.” She wrung her own hands. “Do you need U-28? I’ve got some, I had a scare a few years ago. I don’t think they expire….” her voice trailed off.
“No. Dirt-bags didn’t even know I had a sleeve in.” Her eyes closed for a moment and the events replayed themselves painfully in her head. The sounds of the taunting and cheering, and egging each other on, she could hear it all again. The filthy hand coated with spilled beer covering her mouth, and the others, grabbing at her, pinching, and rooting like a pig.
“Come on….come on…quit struggling. You know you want it.”
Her eyes flew open as she heard their chanting in her ears.
Blondie blinked several times and took a steadying breath, banishing their voices from her mind.
“You got a shower?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
She clamored to her feet and walked into the kitchen. Bending down on her knees to a bottom cupboard she pulled out a fluffy yellow oversized towel.
“Right back there.”
“Thanks.”
She took the towel and pointed to the back of the apartment, where she could see a small sliding door.
“By the way. I’m Angie.” she put her hand out awkwardly, Blondie admired her inking.
“Velia”.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Only after she closed the door behind her did she dare let her tears fall. Her fingers pulled back from the knob and flew to her face.
“Shut up, shut up and quit it.” She berated her weak reflection. She leaned over into the tiny shower and turned the water on as hot as she could get it. Standing in front of the mirror, she undressed. First her shoes, then she slowly unbuttoned her shirt. As she pulled it off she noticed the thin, sticky film coating her stomach, where one of them had smeared their mess all over her.
She threatened to lose all composure then, but stared at herself in the mirror, hard and unflattering. Daring her to weaken, pussy out. She didn’t. She bent her knees, ripped out the sleeve, and flung it angrily in the toilet, flushing it away without another look. Dropping the rest of her clothes, she climbed into the shower and grabbed an oversized brush and too much soap. She let the hot water pound her face and she got to work, scraping her skin raw. The scalding heat and rubbing burned her, but she couldn’t stop, rinsing the brush out and applying more soap, scrubbing harder, as if she could wash the events of tonight down the drain.
When she could barely see her hand in front of her face because of the oppressive steam, she gave up. She twisted the knob off, and dried as much as she could. The thought of putting her clothes back on repulsed her, so she just wrapped the towel around her and, hitting the fan, walked back out of the bathroom.
Angie, bless her soul, had left a fresh pair of pj’s, and a note.
V:
Take your time, and get some rest. I’ve made up the couch for you. I know neither of us feels like talking right now, so I’ll just let you sleep. There’s food in the fridge if you want it. Just leave me the last soda. I’m a bit of a junkie.
Ang.
Angie had scrawled a smiley face beside her name. Velia slowly set the note back down, and dressed into the pajamas. Pulling back the covers she crawled into bed, and though she didn’t think she would, she fell asleep almost immediately.
========================================
Angie awoke to the brutal sound of knocking on her front door. Her eyes scanned the alarm clock. 9:10??? She had overslept. Yanking the covers off the bed with one fell swoop she dashed out of her room, making her way to the front door, where the fist pounded again.
“I’m coming, just take chill.”
She noticed that the blankets were folded neatly and the pillow on top of the couch. There was no one in the living room. Whether V was gone, or in the bathroom, she knew she had enough sense to stay hidden.
“Who is it?” she demanded.
“The police ma’am. Please open up.”
Angie’s heart began to pound, and she made herself quiet and take a deep breath. She unbolted the locks but kept the chain on. She pulled it open enough to have the officer’s badge waved in front of her face.
“Is there a problem officer?” Angie worked hard to keep her voice level, her heart was beating 100 times faster than she was used to.
The large black cop tipped his hat back and pressed a photo into her hand.
“Any of these people look familiar?”
Angie closed the door long enough to pull the chain and opened the door, all while the officer watched her. She was 5 foot nothing, the cop was a least a foot and a half taller. He got a good view of the black roots growing out of her purple hair, and of her cleavage from her unbuttoned pajama top.
She studied the pictures. The first several were of the men last night. Head shots from license pictures, one looked like a mug shot.
She kept her tone level. “I don’t remember seeing them.” she lied easily, and she hoped, convincingly.
“What’s this about?”
“They were murdered late last night a few blocks from here. We’re canvassing the area, hoping someone heard or saw something.”
She shook her head, flipping through the remainder of the pictures till she hit the one at the bottom. It was Velia. But her hair was different, much shorter, and red instead of blonde. Angie remembered her eyes as blue, but they were green in the picture. Easy enough to change, she thought. But why?
“She was murdered too?”
The cops eyes narrowed, and Angie immediately regretted her words.
“No. Her DNA was found at this and another crime scene. We’d like to ask her some questions.”
Angie tried to recover as best she could.
“Well, I didn’t hear anything. I was home for most of the night…” her voice trailed off,
The officer handed her his business card.
“If you get any information or hear anything…”
“I’ll call.” She finished his sentence for him.
“Thank you for your time.”
The officer nodded and backed away, walking to the next apartment. Angie closed the door and leaned back against it, the words the officer spoke rattleing in her head.
“this…and another crime scene.”
Angie wondered who actually she had let into her home.
The high pitch screech of the rusted security gate made the both of them wince. She re-latched the hinges, fastened the bolt and turned away from the entrance. The apartments had once been yuppie condos, but after the crash of ’28 they had slowly fallen into disrepair. The hallways, sickly pale green and dimly lit were littered with large loopy spray painted graffiti is various shades, red and black the colors of choice. It reeked of ammonia. They made eye contact briefly she gestured forward and made their way up. Their heels clicked impatiently upwards each and every step, echoing up the stairwell to her 6th floor walkup.
She fumbled with her purse digging, keys clattering to the floor, before recovering and unlocking the top two deadbolts.
“No chip scanner?”
“Not in this neighborhood.’ They’d rip it to shreads trying to sell it for crank dough.”
“Fair enough.”
The motion sensor kicked the light on as they both walked inside. Before setting anything down, she latched the deadbolts, pulled the chain and set the floor bar.
“Smart.” Blondie nodded her approval.
The apartment was a complete 180 from the hallway. The dwelling was painfully narrow but long. The walls were painted bright white, colorful overlapping area rugs splashed the floor of the entry and the living space. There was a small kitchen, mini-fridge, but a full stove and a little counter space where the dish rack held the previous days leavings, now clean and dry. A small pine table, a vid screen, and amazingly, a few plants nestled in their colorful ceramic pots.
Both of them sat nervously on the couch, unsure what to say.
Blondie broke the silence.
“Thanks for saving me back there. I’d be dead for sure if you hadn’t helped.” Blondie hooked out her pack of smokes, looked around at the spotless abode, and tucked them back inside her jacket pocket. “You’re crazy you know that? They’d have made you their next plaything, and you didn’t even know me.”
She exhaled deeply, twisting the tiny crystal and silver ring on her middle finger.
“Crazy.” she repeated.
“Did they????” her voice trailed out, unsure how to approach the delicate subject.
Blondie’s eyes dropped, and she fidgeted her hands nervously, yearning for a cig.
“Yeah. Three of them.”
“Dear God, I’m so sorry.” She wrung her own hands. “Do you need U-28? I’ve got some, I had a scare a few years ago. I don’t think they expire….” her voice trailed off.
“No. Dirt-bags didn’t even know I had a sleeve in.” Her eyes closed for a moment and the events replayed themselves painfully in her head. The sounds of the taunting and cheering, and egging each other on, she could hear it all again. The filthy hand coated with spilled beer covering her mouth, and the others, grabbing at her, pinching, and rooting like a pig.
“Come on….come on…quit struggling. You know you want it.”
Her eyes flew open as she heard their chanting in her ears.
Blondie blinked several times and took a steadying breath, banishing their voices from her mind.
“You got a shower?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
She clamored to her feet and walked into the kitchen. Bending down on her knees to a bottom cupboard she pulled out a fluffy yellow oversized towel.
“Right back there.”
“Thanks.”
She took the towel and pointed to the back of the apartment, where she could see a small sliding door.
“By the way. I’m Angie.” she put her hand out awkwardly, Blondie admired her inking.
“Velia”.
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Only after she closed the door behind her did she dare let her tears fall. Her fingers pulled back from the knob and flew to her face.
“Shut up, shut up and quit it.” She berated her weak reflection. She leaned over into the tiny shower and turned the water on as hot as she could get it. Standing in front of the mirror, she undressed. First her shoes, then she slowly unbuttoned her shirt. As she pulled it off she noticed the thin, sticky film coating her stomach, where one of them had smeared their mess all over her.
She threatened to lose all composure then, but stared at herself in the mirror, hard and unflattering. Daring her to weaken, pussy out. She didn’t. She bent her knees, ripped out the sleeve, and flung it angrily in the toilet, flushing it away without another look. Dropping the rest of her clothes, she climbed into the shower and grabbed an oversized brush and too much soap. She let the hot water pound her face and she got to work, scraping her skin raw. The scalding heat and rubbing burned her, but she couldn’t stop, rinsing the brush out and applying more soap, scrubbing harder, as if she could wash the events of tonight down the drain.
When she could barely see her hand in front of her face because of the oppressive steam, she gave up. She twisted the knob off, and dried as much as she could. The thought of putting her clothes back on repulsed her, so she just wrapped the towel around her and, hitting the fan, walked back out of the bathroom.
Angie, bless her soul, had left a fresh pair of pj’s, and a note.
V:
Take your time, and get some rest. I’ve made up the couch for you. I know neither of us feels like talking right now, so I’ll just let you sleep. There’s food in the fridge if you want it. Just leave me the last soda. I’m a bit of a junkie.
Ang.
Angie had scrawled a smiley face beside her name. Velia slowly set the note back down, and dressed into the pajamas. Pulling back the covers she crawled into bed, and though she didn’t think she would, she fell asleep almost immediately.
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Angie awoke to the brutal sound of knocking on her front door. Her eyes scanned the alarm clock. 9:10??? She had overslept. Yanking the covers off the bed with one fell swoop she dashed out of her room, making her way to the front door, where the fist pounded again.
“I’m coming, just take chill.”
She noticed that the blankets were folded neatly and the pillow on top of the couch. There was no one in the living room. Whether V was gone, or in the bathroom, she knew she had enough sense to stay hidden.
“Who is it?” she demanded.
“The police ma’am. Please open up.”
Angie’s heart began to pound, and she made herself quiet and take a deep breath. She unbolted the locks but kept the chain on. She pulled it open enough to have the officer’s badge waved in front of her face.
“Is there a problem officer?” Angie worked hard to keep her voice level, her heart was beating 100 times faster than she was used to.
The large black cop tipped his hat back and pressed a photo into her hand.
“Any of these people look familiar?”
Angie closed the door long enough to pull the chain and opened the door, all while the officer watched her. She was 5 foot nothing, the cop was a least a foot and a half taller. He got a good view of the black roots growing out of her purple hair, and of her cleavage from her unbuttoned pajama top.
She studied the pictures. The first several were of the men last night. Head shots from license pictures, one looked like a mug shot.
She kept her tone level. “I don’t remember seeing them.” she lied easily, and she hoped, convincingly.
“What’s this about?”
“They were murdered late last night a few blocks from here. We’re canvassing the area, hoping someone heard or saw something.”
She shook her head, flipping through the remainder of the pictures till she hit the one at the bottom. It was Velia. But her hair was different, much shorter, and red instead of blonde. Angie remembered her eyes as blue, but they were green in the picture. Easy enough to change, she thought. But why?
“She was murdered too?”
The cops eyes narrowed, and Angie immediately regretted her words.
“No. Her DNA was found at this and another crime scene. We’d like to ask her some questions.”
Angie tried to recover as best she could.
“Well, I didn’t hear anything. I was home for most of the night…” her voice trailed off,
The officer handed her his business card.
“If you get any information or hear anything…”
“I’ll call.” She finished his sentence for him.
“Thank you for your time.”
The officer nodded and backed away, walking to the next apartment. Angie closed the door and leaned back against it, the words the officer spoke rattleing in her head.
“this…and another crime scene.”
Angie wondered who actually she had let into her home.