Friday, April 30, 2010

All in a day's work

The little girl looked up at me, all innocent eyes and curly golden pig tail hair. She asked, "Are you a stranger?" With big blue eyes, staring into me.

I smiled. I said, "Yes, honey, I am."

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Very good!" I said, crouching down. I said, "You're a smart girl! Would you like some candy?"

She eyed me, suddenly wary. She bit her lower lip, toeing the floor. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Sure!" I said, "But would you like some candy?" I reached dramatically into my coat pocket.

The little girl took off, running away from me, shouting: "Danger! Stranger Danger! Danger!"

I smiled, stood and walked the other way. "Smart little girl," I thought to myself.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

There was a time when I'd walk under that bridge, and there would be three huge black men with baseball bats and I'd walk out from under the other side of that bridge slapping backs and laughing, uproarious, with three new friends.

It does not speak well of me then, that when they came at me, I pushed their baseball bats into them, wrecked their ankles with my toes, boot heeled their hands, whipped cupped hands against their ears, stomped their fallen necks and stood, smirking.

This morning: I was not an enlightened being. And then one of them was pointing a gun at me. I stared at the gun, and, mentally -nothing but a thought!- plugged the barrel. I told him, though. I said, "I've blocked your gun, it'll explode when you pull the trigger."

He swore at me, asked me: "How?"

"The force."

"Like Star Wars?" One of the two I beat down a minute ago was on his feet again, though hands on knees.

"Yup." I said.

He pulled the trigger, the gun exploded and the one who managed to stand up took off into an access, a maintenance door.

I laughed.

Monday, April 26, 2010

It's winter and there were two cars tailing one.

No, no. It was definitely winter, but there was a car, tailing a car that was tailing another car. The first and third cars there, are: car one: henchman, handiman, go to guy, whatever. Car three, the car at the front of this daisy chain, that car is The Boss's car. He has a driver and white hair and a dark grey suit under a dark khaki color rain coat.

He had the driver pull into an Italian restaurant, and the man tailing him jumped him, just as his hand touched the baroque door; they wrestled, fell to the ground.

The driver of car three, the tail of the tail, didn't bother turning off or taking the keys out; slid across the hood of his SUV and was into the fray before his boss saw him. The attacker saw him, though, and kicked at him. The kicks were ineffectual and the attacker was face down on the sidewalk in no time, no sweat.

"Sorry boss." the handy man said.

"It's fine. I miss getting into it like that, frankly." The Boss patted his go to guy on the shoulder. "All in a day, right?" They smiled knowingly at one another as, in the distance, sirens started.

Friday, April 23, 2010

Cat and Cat

He saw her tiny stick figure frame, walking toward the only working ATM in his neighborhood. He'd made sure the camera was fuzzed enough to miss his face, if he came on from the left. But just as he was about to start in on her, she pulled her phone out with a friendly, valley girl, "Hey daddy." So he jitter-stepped past her instead, and turned down an alleyway. Fortunately, she headed his way, still gabbing on loudly. He gave her most of the block before slinking after her.


After finishing the phone call, the girl huddled in on herself and hurried herself on, pulling further ahead of him; she dashed across a street just as the lights changed. An aggressive driver honked, maybe her pursuer had crossed too?

She slowed her pace -she couldn't let herself get too far ahead! What if he lost interest?

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

There are no zombies in this world, but her arms and neck look like they've been had by them: boiling fat scars and impossibly thin elbows. She's got a pretty face and nice legs, but the missing mouth sized chunks, they got a bit of her dark eyes, too, though nothing so solid as her arms.

Monday, April 19, 2010

It surprised the mugger, then, when his knife slipped between his ribs and not hers. It surprised the mugger, the angle and agility with which her twisted, incomplete limbs moved, that she had the mental acuity to unwind herself so delicately, so precisely into his personal space so violently.

Finally, it surprised the mugger just how much granularity there was in the pain and pulse of his blood, as his serrated knife was pulled down and out.

Friday, April 16, 2010

A red dawn washed under the highway bridge

"This was supposed to bring us the end." Xena mumbled, squinting into the rising sun. She slouched, under the overpass, clutching the star to her ruined chest. "This was supposed to save..." she never finished the sentence.

The star pulsed, three times; its energy set the nearby corpses on fire, browned the grass and blackened the underpass cement.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

"I think the star, when it fell, had the same problem as an automated car: the first billion miles were easy, but the last five hundred or so were off by a few millionths of a degree, or whatever, so now here it is." Connor clacked the star on the table.

"So what do we do?" Lara asked.

"We try and communicate with it again." Connor replied, grimly.

Monday, April 12, 2010

“I can't believe you let him get away!” Xena looked suspiciously at Jane. “He was the one! He had-”

Jane cut her off: “I know what he did to you honey and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the pain you've been through, and we all appreciate you. You know that? We do. But I had to let him go.” She grinned. “I planted something on him. Something to lead us to the star.”

“Oh.” Xena said, mollified. “That's. . . Oh."

“Yes.” Jane said and stood. She back handed Xena, hard across her luxurious nose, there was the wet crack of cartilage followed by a slow blood trickle. Jane asked, “Anything else?”

Friday, April 9, 2010

Five Different People

Two hundred ninety-two miles north, we cooled ourselves in the rattle of the air conditioning unit, and I smiled at the smell of clean sheets and the feel of over starched towels.

I sat on the edge of the bed, drying my ears out with a corner of the towel. She flopped happily onto the comforter and turned the television on and we stayed in bed until the sun was well up, but I couldn't tell you what the programming was.


Pulling into the motel, two hundred ninety-two miles north east, windows down, glass bottles of tea sweating in the heat, this motel: so far off the interstate exit we could only hear the crickets, and, somewhere hidden, tiny wind chimes.

Her hand on mine, mine on the gear shift, she leaned in, oceanic hair still smelling like the ocean, and kissed my cheek. "Love you." she said.


Two hundred ninety-two miles north, eighty miles an hour, she said, "Let's stop here for the night."

"What? There's nothing here!"

"We'll find something, just come on, eh? It'll be fun!"

"Fun, huh?" I quipped, but with a grin. At the stop light, "Crickets sure are loud, aren't they? Don't think I've ever heard such loudness before."

And she replied, "My grandma's place used to get chicadas pretty bad in the summers, this isn't so bad."

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Eight hundred ninety-seven miles later, she's lounged naked under buxom moonlight, leaned back on her elbows, wiggling her toes in the ocean, and laughing as waves roll up her legs. Laughing, eyes shadowed away under the floppy brim of her continentally large sun hat, just her large mouth lit, rollicking over a favorite anecdote, purple.

She petered out the anecdote and gazed peacefully at the waves,wiggled her coy tarantula fingers in the water, as it climbed up her ribs.

Finally, solemnly, she said: "Thank-you. Thank-you for bringing me here, even like this."

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

The beat that my heart skipped. It goes like this: walking down a smokey half flight of stairs, looking up and through the jostle and press of bodies, my eyes land on her. She's sitting in a anti-coy neon blue dress, with huge matching boots, chatting-loving-friendly with a cadre of queers and trannies.

Friday, April 2, 2010

Six Months Later

The swish of red coat tails caught her eye and she called out to him, the boy from the train, but she was lost in the Trafalgar crowd and that moment, hands clenched against the chill, was the closest they came to serendipity.