A few days had passed with no word from his parents. It was supposed to be a simple skiing trip. He assumed that they were simply out of cell phone range, because anything else would require some measure of action, the nature of which would not be unlike carrying the burden of Atlas. His sister shared his relative ambivalence regarding parent status; she stated what he would not, which was, “They don’t go out of their way to check on us, so why would we check on them?” He was quite relieved at his sibling’s validation, so much so that he didn’t give it another thought until the police called several weeks later.
His father was the adventurous type and had taken his mother rock climbing instead of skiing. They had become stranded on a ledge and based on journal entries had lost their minds and jumped into the gorge below. He was hoping for a more interesting story; something like, “Your father was found to have developed a bear/shark hybrid and it escaped its cage and consumed your parents. We need the keys to your father’s lab immediately to contain this biological threat.” His sister concurred with how unremarkably their parents had perished and jokingly offered to help him with any bear/shark experiments he might be working on.
He tends to roll his sleeves. A long time ago he realized that his arms were a bit longer than average. Even so, he generally lets one roll down and doesn’t bother correcting it until it becomes an impairment. As to what an unbuttoned sleeve could impair is debatable, however he generally allows this asymmetry to occur in times of pleasant dishevelry, and as tasks arise, the act of correcting his shirt mnemonically triggers his work persona.
Most days he was fairly confident of who he was, but about once a month he considered the idea that his head and neck had at one point been replaced with those of someone else. He was still him, but something less or more as well. There wasn’t any good explanation for his imagined transplantation so he simply counted it, along with some other nonsense, as a minor victory against insanity.
Bret from Dayton on the line, but so is dawn from Naples. No need for concern about the new rollout, it doesn’t concern the group in the least unless there issome change that could be taking place in the structure of the object whose framework requires stabilizing brackets at the 18.75 mark, although the coding is sound, the account manager is not. Hardware from refinished item A needs to be applied to found object B for an aesthetically pleasing result because of the emotional attachment to item C, it cannot be part of the process, which Stan wrote for Eva to test because she knew how to through performing sexual favors at lunch, but that’s just hearsay painted black.
There was the dog of course, but that came later. She had big white teeth and translucent skin taut with what I assume was persistent meth use and growing up in Alaska. No last name comes to mind, and I would be loathe to use her first because her smile was large and pained. The invitation was an interview of sorts, one at which I failed miserably due to some degree of madness at the time that I’m unable to quantify as anything other than scattered. I was to take her to the grocery store where she complimented my new watch and uncoincidentally ran into her roommate who was twice as skinny, methed or coked up, and also had large shiny teeth. I don’t remember all that much after that until the dog, although I’m fairly certain that I was simply drunk during their frenzied sprinting around their apartment after scoring something from a guy down the hall. Tacos were involved and some bad television that in retrospect I probably wasn’t consuming the proper substances to appreciate.
I was asleep when her friend dropped off the dog. The barking woke us and she was shocked to find me in her bed, so awkwardness persisted for a few minutes while the dog continued barking in the background. It was probably 4am or so when she went to her roommate’s room and did not return. The room was hot and the dog continued to bark. They were not asleep when I left, but on passing me in the hall they seemed altered and somewhat uninterested. A large guy followed them to their apartment. The roommate ran up and down the hall while the girl struggled with her keys. Eventually the big guy walked in and shut the door behind them.
I ran into her later that week and she had little to no recollection of the evening. The dog had been lost at some point and her friend was irate about it. Her roommate hadn’t come home in a few days either, but that was apparently normal when she was having boyfriend problems. She kept calling me Robert even though that isn’t mine name, and punctuated every sentence by craning her neck down, and then spiraling it up at me with a gape-mouthed astounded smile. I would like to think that she was mocking me in some way that I was unable to understand at the time, but due probably in no small part to my own issues at the time I never really had much contact with her again so can’t say for certain. Sadly, the dog was fished out of the harbor later that week with injuries I will not describe here.
He did not do well outdoors. It wasn’t that elements or allergens had some negative effect on his biology; moreso it was the sound, or lack thereof. Most of the time all he really wanted to hear was the low hum of central air or the high-pitched drone of a computer monitor. He took some solace in the rumble of nearby highways, but on the occasions when there was nothing for him to find, he more often than not ended up bumping into walls and passersby as a way to assert his existence. It was during a particularly unpleasant episode that he stumbled down a somewhat concealed stairwell and into the mouth of a waiting giant squid.
For the next 5 days my first book “Crossing” will be available for free on Kindle. It’s a short noirish fever dream filled with love, death, and violations of reality taking place in Baltimore, MD.
Any reviews or feedback would be awesome. I hope you enjoy!
Baltimore Maryland’s hospitality industry generates over 5 billion dollars in annual revenue; about the same as the city’s drug trade. Aggressive gentrification has transformed the landscape into an ever changing kaleidoscope of narcotics and death that outsources those valuable commodities throughout the eastern seaboard, but that’s not what this story is about. This story is about a girl named Jane and a girl named Kelly and how I successfully failed to murder either of them; it also happens to take place in Baltimore.
This is my new book! It available for free on Kndle for the next five days at: http://www.amazon.com/Crossing-ebook/dp/B00D3M6DBM/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1370003284&sr=1-1&keywords=crossing+christopher+wilt
Paperback versions for 3.99 at https://www.createspace.com/4196348
I would describe this as surreal noir. It is mechanical in nature and operates like a paradoxical clock, but it’s also entertaining and I hope at least occasionally amusing
It wasn’t until much later that he realized where he was going. The building in front of him might as well be completely featureless for its lack of personality. A moderately well dressed man sat on the planter near the entrance and surveyed him suspiciously as he approached. No words needed exchanging, just the mutual nods generally resulting from extended eye contact. She was small and wore pastels to cheer herself up, but was somewhat bashful by nature so doubly aware of the attention her clothes drew. He sat in the waiting room and attempted to relax so that she might relax, because increased tension in these situations can compromise outcomes. Once he entered the inner office the receptionist’s nervousness seemed more warranted than he had given her credit. Following the not altogether difficult procedure he left the building the way he came, passing the moderately dressed man, who upon being passed, turned and re-entered the building.
He saw a bar across the street, and lacking many more appointments for the week, walked over and ordered a drink. The bartender regarded him warmly and made conversation about the weather and unremarkable current events. After a few drinks, the bartender put a pack of matches beside the drink and gestured to the back of the room. He picked up the matches, read the instructions on the cover and then walked to the bathroom in the corner. It took a few more minutes than he had anticipated, but he eventually returned to his stool and struck up a conversation with the receptionist from across the street. She had apparently only been in the city for a month and didn’t really know anyone, but for some reason had no problem explaining in detail all the events in her life that had led up to this point.