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Day 7 The Party
Part 1 of 7 of The Sharpest Lives
Loud music, smoke, and the incessant chatter of drunk girls trying to impress other drunk girls. The sounds of home have never sounded so sweet. It had been a long week, I won't lie. My girlfriend dumped me over a disagreement that should have been small but turned into a disagreement of everything we have ever done. After that my job at a local bookstore fired me because I was doing cocaine in the bathroom. You try selling books to would be writers who spent their entire high school lives jerking off to Hemingway without being high. No girlfriend, no job, and soon to be no apartment. It seems the only thing left to me was my friend Olivia. Everyone called her Oli but I just settled for calling her loud. It was Friday night when Oli called me from the kitchen about a house party down the street. It was Friday night when my life turned upside down and I went willingly down the rabbit hole.
Oli and I stood outside a fairly quaint cottage style house that would have seemed perfect for a woodsy setting if not for the blaring music emanating from inside the walls. I turned to Olivia who was dressed in a rocker-tee and some checkered skirt she pulled from her dirty clothes pile, “So, how did you say you knew these guys?”
She danced a bit on her feet against the cold, rubbing her arms, “I didn't.”
“How do you know these guys?”
“I don't.” She smiled at me, then opened the door.
If it was loud outside it was deafening inside. The pulsing lights and the throng of people throughout the house seemed to suck us in and soon I had lost track of Olivia all together, lost in cascading waves of music and laughter. I disengaged myself as much as I could from the crowd and found myself at a table full of booze and strewn over red solo cups. “Oh, thank god.”
“God ain't here, buddy,” a girl who could be anywhere from sixteen to twenty-four pulled herself up from the floor, “Only the remnants of blood and stardust.”
“That's, uh.” I struggled to find a response as I poured vodka into a cup, “alright then.”
“Who the fuck are you?” She brushed her tousled black hair from her eyes, staring back at me, her pupils impossibly dilated in the semi light around us.
“Alex. Who the fuck are you?”
“Courtney, I think. Tonight, I'm Courtney.”
“Just tonight?” I asked, taking a sip from the cup in my hands, looking around for an escape route back to Oli. The girl named Courtney for the night seemed offended.
“For as long as it takes me to find another me.”
“Well, it's been a nice chat but I'm having a pretty shitty week. I think I'm going to find my friend out there.”
“Wait!” She grabbed my arm.
I tried to pull away but her strength kept me fast and I winced at the pain of the nails digging through the fabric of my shirt. “What the hell!”
She looked up at me, “You see them. They see you. You see them. They see you.” She let go and I stumbled backwards, sliding back to her knees. Her lips moved with no sound but I knew she was repeating what she had said to me, her eyes fixed at the empty wall across from her.
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Day 6 Her Perspective Part 2 of 2
Too tired, this is shit.
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In the opposite part of town, nestled in a small apartment Cynthia and Sarah both sat watching the timer on top of their french press. Cynthia sighed, “Why don't we have a Keurig or something?”
Sarah shrugged, “Because that coffee tastes like ass.”
“Four minutes of steeping is akin to an eternity in purgatory.”
“Well, when you buy your own coffee maker then you can make your own coffee. Until then, we use the french press.”
“Were you born a snob or did it just come naturally?” Cynthia got up to grab a couple of mugs, setting them down on the counter.
Sarah snorted, “I blame my mother.”
The timer beeped and she went to turn it off, pressing the plunger down slowly, making an appreciative murmur at the smell of the fresh brew. “So what happened with that guy last night? I wasn't expecting to see you until this morning.”
“Who, Jimmy?”
“Is that his real name? Like, that isn't short for anything?”
“No, just Jimmy. Jimmy Farrow.”
“Did his parents want him to sound like a snitch from the 40's?”
Cynthia giggled and poured herself a cup, sipping it slowly. “Mm, don't be a bitch. He was nice enough.”
“So what happened? You haven't been with a guy in...fuck, since that hipster ass hat.”
“I don't know, I didn't want to be 'that girl' you know? I crave romance sometimes, Sarah. But we got pizza after the bar, talked about our lives. I didn't want him to get the idea that we would be doing anything else that night so I gave him my number and came home.”
Sarah leaned up against the counter, taking a bite of toast, “Has he texted you yet?”
“No, not yet. I'm kind of relieved. He's giving me some breathing room, usually guys text you immediately and then try to play it off like they aren't desperate. Or that they're doing you a favor by being 'sweet' or something.”
“Or they next contact you at all.”
Cynthia added some milk to her coffee while Sarah grimaced at the prospect.
“So do you think you'll want to go out with him again?”
“I mean I might as well. It was all just surface stuff. Plus we were both a bit drunk so it would be nice to see him sober without all the bravado. Hey, did you know that crows bring gifts to people who give them food sometimes? Like, as a show of appreciation?”
“That's weird, why are you telling me this?”
Cynthia scooped a pile of sugar into her cup, stirring it with a finger, “I thought it was a cute tidbit.”
“You're an odd duck.”
They fell silent until Cynthia's phone started to vibrate off the counter. She picked it up and looked at it, “Oh, he's calling me.”
“People do that still?”
“I hate talking to people on the phone, Sarah! My voice sounds like an old timey announcer.”
“So ignore it and text him back.”
“Isn't that a bit rude? I mean, he's taking the time to call me.”
Sarah shrugged, walking off into her room, “Whatever, do what you want.”
Cynthia sighed and answered her phone.
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Day 5 “His Perspective” Part 1 of 2 Dialogue excercise
The coffee house was filled with the sound of tittering teenagers, forks scraping on empty pastry plates, and one very sharp expletive.
“Fuck! That's hot.” Jimmy spat and reached for his water glass while his friend across from him cocked his head to check out the ass of a passerby.
“It's coffee, it's supposed to be hot.”
“This is what happened to McDonalds, David. I could sue, we could make thousands!”
“She got third degree burns. She was also a moron. Do you want to be a moron, Jimmy?”
Jimmy, crossed his arms and swished some cold water in his mouth, “Mrl.”
“What's that?”
Jimmy swallowed and pulled a face. “Egh, no.”
“Thatta boy. So what happened last night? You left with that girl, um, Sarah.”
“Cynthia.”
“Yeah, boob chick.”
Jimmy sighed, taking a cautious sip from his mug before running a hand through his hair. “It went alright. We left the bar to get some room to talk. I thought maybe just getting a bite to eat so we went to that pizza place off 5th.”
“Oh, sexy redhead place.”
“Do you always categorize our restaurants by women?”
“No. Maybe. Hey, you asked if I wanted to get coffee at the place with the brunette!”
“Because you don't remember what it's called any other way!”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you!”
David chuckled into his coffee, shrugging a bit. “Whatever. So what happened next?”
“Right, so we went to the pizza place, everything was going great, I didn't check my phone, she didn't check hers, I told her that thing about how crows bring gifts to people who help them out.”
“Oh, girls love it when you talk about carrion feeders.”
“Well this one did.” Jimmy leaned back in his seat, tapping the table to the tune of the shitty jazz music playing in the lobby. “Anyway, I suggested we go to another bar but she made some lame excuse and left a bit out of the blue.”
“Did she say why?”
“Something about having to get to bed early because she had to meet a friend.”
“Well, maybe she really had to meet her friend?”
“Is that a thing? I don't give a shit about meeting you. It just kind of happens sometimes.”
“Maybe she just likes sticking to a schedule. Did you get her number?”
“Yeah, but she did this thing where she grabbed my phone and just put it in.”
David grimaced, “Like she owned it.”
“Yeah! Isn't that like a relationship thing? That's my property! Write it on a slip of paper or ask like a human being.”
“You could have had incriminating evidence on there about what a dick you are.”
“Exactly.”
The pair both took a sip at once, taking a moment of silence to readjust the conversation.
“So. You going to call her?” David asked.
“Do people call anymore? Should I do that? I was just going to text her about going out this Friday.”
“Depends. Do you really like this girl? Does she merit voice-to-voice communication?”
“She did have a way about her...”
“So fucking go for it. Call her right now. Girls love it when a guy looks interested.”
Jimmy smiled and reached for his phone.
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Day 4 No Blood No Glory
Smoke and fire filled the air, mixing into the lungs of scrambling boys as they pulled themselves over the trenches and ran across the beaten earth. Explosions rang in their ears and tremors shook the ground with each shell that fell from the sky above. A boy, lagging behind the others tripped and fell, grit and blood filling his mouth. Another turned to run back to him, “Oliver!”
Oliver gripped the grass and pulled himself up to his knees, wincing at the pain shooting through his ankle. “Fuck! Danny, my ankle.”
Danny pulled him up, pulling Oliver's arm over his shoulder and hobbling toward the rest of the boys who had jumped down into a bunker lit by a pulsing blue beacon around the edges. “We're almost there Oli, c'mon!”
The duo half ran half stumbled to the opening of the bunker, about 3 feet of room above the ground as the rest of the group urged them on. They jumped and skidded below the opening, sliding into the bunker right before it turned and shut itself, trapping the group underground, the echoes of explosions racking the barrier above them.
“Holy shit, that was close.” A boy in the back leaned back against the wall in a sitting position, wiping his long black air out of his bloody face, “That was only phase 3?”
“A hell of a lot better than the forest if you ask me. At least we could see where we were going this time,” Oliver answered.
There were six boys left of the twenty that started ranging from the ages of fourteen to seventeen. Covered in blood, sweat, and sulfur, they had been driven to an island and kicked off a boat only to be left there with a single sign that said Phase 1 Begins Make Your Way To The Checkpoint.
Oliver took a survey of the bunker they were holed up in as Danny worked on asking around for a crutch so he wouldn't have to put weight on his ankle. The walls were solid with no markings or indication of any other previous occupants before them. The boy leaning against the wall spoke up, “How many do you think are left?”
Oliver shook his head, “Could be one more. Could be ten. Does anyone remember The Legion giving us a number?” He only got shaking heads in answer. “Hell of a training session.”
“They're weeding out the weak among us. No place for weakness in The Legion.”
Danny came back, shaking his head, “You'll just have to lean on me to get past this, Oli.”
A voice chimed out from the other end of the room, “We have to leave him, Dan.”
Danny turned around angrily, putting himself between Oliver and the room, “Go fuck yourself Reid, we can't just leave him.”
“He's not my friend, asshole. I want to make it out of here alive. Remember Richard? We left him to get eaten by a fucking dog made of fire and I knew him a hell of a lot better than I know either of you. But we did what we had to do.”
“Fine, if you want to run ahead and die without any friends that's your problem but I'd rather-”
“Shut up! The shells stopped.” Oliver gripped the walls to help himself get up as the bunker shook and started to descend into the ground.
“The hell...it's an elevator?”
The bunker came to a stop and the walls fell outward revealing an underground cavern filled with jagged crystals, giving off a blue glow. Feral shrieks sounded from the distance and soon the cavern echoed with the sound of wings.
Danny turned to Oliver as the other boys started running. “No blood, no glory.”
Oliver spat out blood, leaning on his friend, “No blood, no glory.”
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Day 3 “The Price”
The Devil spoke to me once. He whispered in my ear with the voice of a woman I once knew and told me things that no one else should know. I could feel the caress of a single fingernail drawn across my jawline and the warmth of a palm cupping my face, turning my eyes to a mirror that was not a mirror. I stared at my reflection and reached out to touch my fingertips to the glass, pressing them against the glass until I saw myself reach through and grab my wrist. Pulling me into the mirror with a single motion until I stood pressing my fingertips against the glass in a bathroom that was not my bathroom. I turned and unlocked the door, stepping out into a living room full of rising mist and chilled bitter air.
Here I was promised to find her so she would be lost to me no more. I walked with purpose toward the door opposite me. My footsteps were muffled like I was listening to sounds while underwater. My limbs felt heavy and slow, and as I walked to the door it only seemed to get farther away until I had to stop from exhaustion and I found myself in the center of the room once again. I called out her name pleadingly but my voice became distorted and full of hate. Cursing, I turned to go back into the bathroom with the mirror only to find the wall a blank space behind me. From the dark corners of the room, between the space of the furniture long claw like fingers slithered out, gripping the legs of chairs and desks as if they were trying to pull themselves free.
Panicking I tried to turn to the doorway but found the carpet beneath my feet writhing and holding me fast. The mist swirled in a circle around me almost angrily. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out. The creatures pulled themselves free one by one, the face of my wife attached to each like a cheap plastic Halloween mask. Her voice rang in my ears as they surrounded me, crouched on all fours, their twisted crouching forms jerking around like marionettes.
“Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your Fault. YOUR FAULT.”
I could feel the tears on my face, burning my skin as they fell. “No, no, you don't understand! It was an accident.”
The creatures tittered in her voice, heads shaking in a quick blur, “You hated me.”
“I loved you! Please, give her back to me. Please!”
A voice like nothing I had ever heard exploded in my head quickly followed by an almost unbearable pain. “Pay the price. Settle your debt.”
“What debt? Please, anything you ask.”
“Make the sacrifice. Speak the words. Open the door.”
Silence. I was alone. I stood and walked to the now open door in front of me and saw a single bassinet with the my newborn child inside. To my left was a stool and a stone knife with the age of centuries behind it atop it. I reached for the blade and shut the door.
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500 Word Challenge (Moonlight Sonata)
I woke up to the sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata being played on the piano downstairs. The notes were a bit tinny and more than a bit off key but the sound was beautiful all the same. I stretched and stumbled my way out of the mess of my bedroom to see who was invading my house at 10 am. My father looked up from the keys, smiling at me, always with that humorous glint in his eye.
“Dad? Why aren't you at work?” I mumbled through the haze of sleep.
He turned his attention back to the piano, “Did you know I haven't played this thing since we got it? I used to play all the time when I was younger and thought that buying a new piano might rekindle that spark in me again. Looks like it took a lot longer than I thought.”
I shook my head and turned to the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal, opening the fridge and sniffing the milk skeptically. “Well you certainly kept your talent. Seriously though, why aren't you at work? Just decided to take the day off?”
“It just felt like a waste to go today. Do you ever feel that way? Complete lack of motivation.”
“Yeah but you've always told me to work through it so I can make a living someday,” I pourd the milk and rummaged through a drawer for a spoon.
Dad chuckled, running both of his hands over the worn wooden surface of the piano, “That does sound like me doesn't it? Well, write this down for yourself then, 'Never forget to take a moment'.
“You get that from a self help book recently?” I grinned, a little milk coming out of the corner of my mouth.
“Nah. But don't let my lack of reading change yours! Do you have class today?”
I shook my head. “Professor called to say there was a wreck on the interstate and he couldn't make it to work. It was my only class today so looks like I'm home free.”
“Car wreck? I haven't heard anything about it.”
“Mm, something about a drugged up lunatic driving on the wrong side of the road or something. I looked it up before I went back to sleep. He took out at least a few drivers, no word on if there's any casualties though.”
Something like recognition passed over dad's face as he stared at the keys of the piano, tapping the C key in a slow tattoo, “I would have been driving that to work today. What a world, huh?”
I nodded, waving my hand dismissively. “Fate is a fickle bitch. You probably had some good karma coming your way or something.”
My abruptly stopped playing, glancing up at me, “It's okay to believe in something.”
I was about to reply when my cell phone range. I reached down to see my mom calling me. “Yeah?”
“Honey...I...your father.”
“You okay? You sound weird.”
“He...Oh, god. He was in a car accident on the way to work this morning. H-he didn't make it, Honey. I need you to pick up your sister and meet me at the hospital. Can you do that?” Her voice ended the question in a tremulous note.
I looked at my father as he stood up from the piano, concern washing over his face.
“Who is it?”
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500 Word Challenge (Not Today)
Potential trigger warning? Probably.
If it wasn't for the way she looked at me that day I don't think I'd be alive. Inside Marlowe High School amid a storm of etching pencils and veiled insults I sat and debated with myself how I was going to do it. I had a razor blade hidden in my backpack, deep beneath a pile of overdue homework and empty cigarette boxes. I would go to the bathroom during class I told myself. I would lean back against the graffiti of a bathroom stall and open my wrists to the stagnant air of this hell hole while listening to my favorite song on repeat until darkness overtook me.
Maybe too messy. Too easily stumbled upon. Instead I would go home in the middle of the day while my parents were at work and go to the medicine cabinet. Inside I would find the bottle of unused Oxycontin that was given to my mother after her car collision on the interstate. I would empty the entirety into my stomach and lay on the cold linoleum, looking at the edges and forgotten corners of the bathroom that no one ever cleans, even when company comes over.
Would I vomit the pills up? There was no room for mistake here. I had a motivation deep inside me that I had never experienced before. A tiny voice that was only growing louder like a scream welling up in the bottom of my throat. I had to succeed for at least once in my life.
The roof. I could leave immediately and make my way to the access door. The lock had been broken for months. Rob, the janitor, had been promising to fix it but everyone knew he just jerry rigged the door shut until he actually got around to it. I would make my way up the stairs and break open the cheap lock he put down with any blunt object stolen from his closet while he was off flirting with Mrs. Sharpton. I would step out onto the weather worn concrete and light up my last cigarette. Watching the smoke twist in the wind and disappear into the distance. Off to live a better life with the winds and a sky that had lost its cheerful blue months ago. I would stand on the edge and spread my arms like a bird ready to take flight, watching the students leave the building like vomit spreading over a dirty floor.
It was decided. That was the best option. My death would spark something in their lives and leave them with a memory that couldn't erase. It was justice. It was my legacy. The lock to the roof would probably get fixed as well. I nodded to myself and stood up, making my way with no outright hurry out of the cafeteria and to the stairwell. It was like watching a movie. An out of body experience I think they call it, those people that name certain things.
She bumped into me only briefly and a met my eyes, smiling and excusing herself before she adjusted the strap of her bag and rushed off to another moment of her life. It was the snapshot of her smile and acknowledgment that stopped me and I felt that scream fall to a whisper.
Not today. Maybe tomorrow.
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