Shaded Strands

Not so much! He was pouring salt into the mixture as though he were trying to completely hide the other ingredients. The taste of ginger was something she liked, but if he put too much salt in it would overpower it.

He put the heat on high and turned to look at her. His eyes were brown with a little ring of green around the pupils when there was enough light to make them small, like little holes poked into a tie-tied shirt. A little bit of darkness was still underneath his left eye from a few nights before. Seeing it made her twinge.

“What?” he asked, seeing the small crease appear and disappear just as quickly from between her well-plucked eyebrows.

“Nothing.” She said it flatly so hopefully he’d believe her, not wanting to talk about it again, hoping he’d let it go.

She was shorter than him buy a couple of inches, with curly black hair and a pretty smile that always got her out of speeding tickets and got her free drinks before he showed up. He’d even bought her drinks that first night. Walking up to her with feigned confidence, betrayed by the shy way he looked down when she said yes to his offer, he asked to buy her a drink and maybe even a chance to wrap his fingers in those curls.

Thinking about that night, she wondered about how much she’d had to drink. These days it seemed she couldn’t handle more than two glasses of wine without forgetting some of what happened, some of what she said. That’s why she didn’t want to bring it up again.

She smiled at him now, with her head tilted to the side and slightly lowered, put her index finger into a ringlet of hair, and said, “Don’t you wish this was your finger?”

He laughed for the first time in days. “I do.” He slipped his hand under her arm and jerked her in close to his hip.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “My eye had no business getting in the way or your fist like that.” They kissed, shallow to start, but it moved on toward genuine feeling.

She pulled back and gently kissed his bruised lid. When he opened it back, the green wasn’t visible. She watched the pupil shrink, letting her see the color emerge. It was why she said yes.

He moved one barrel of hair from her forehead with his index finger, letting it slip into it for a moment. When he first hit puberty, it was redheads he’d fantasized about, with orange eyebrows outlining long lashes, pail legs leading up to what he still couldn’t really picture. Now, though, it was her he envisioned all the time.

So why had he said it then? The girl was nothing special, especially not compared to the one right in front of him. But the color of her mane caught him off guard, made him revert back to one of those fantasies. He was still mad about her punching him, but it had definitely brought him back to his senses.

“I’ve got an appointment tomorrow with Missy at 4:30.”

“I thought you just got your hair cut. Don’t you like it?”

“I’m not getting it cut this time.” He felt his stomach drop, as he pictured her in red ringlets.

Cow Pie

She tasted salty at first, but that gave way to the smell, yes, smell of longing--no aggression. Or maybe all those things in succession. He couldn’t get out of his own thoughts, doubts, long enough to recognize it. For that matter, was it her he smelled or his own manifested emotions?

The car windows were fogged up now, and despite the lack of clarity in the glass, it made him somehow more conscious of the world outside, as though the silvery sheen he knew had built up was more conspicuous than the translucent windows they started with. He looked at her as he pressed his mouth into hers, realizing, thinking, that she was so enraptured by the sensations of the moment that she didn’t notice.

The feelings of doubt faded as he saw the tears. They began to roll out of the creases like the condensation on a glass, one beside the other without any acknowledgment of what had gone before. Then her body began to shake, but she said nothing. He continued watching her as the streams came faster and began to follow the path led by those before. Her legs clamped down hard around his hips, to the point where he could no longer move. Silently, breathlessly she wrapped him into the sensations.

He closed his eyes to separate himself, hopefully anyway, not knowing why. Why was she crying? Why was he here? Should he sit up now? Will this be the one in one hundred time?

***

Alexander ran across the pasture with ease, bouncing left to avoid the giant fire ant bed, and then the fresh greenish brown raised puddle of a cow pie. It didn’t make since to him why the small little bails of horse shit smelled so much more pleasant than cow manure. For that matter, he never understood why he thought road apples smelled pleasant in the first place. Was it some derangement of his olfactory nerves from growing up in the country? It was the same food anyway, grass. So, why would it be any different when passing through the two different beasts?

The boy lifted the little yellow flower from its perch and spun it around between his finger and thumb, making it look like a horizontal pinwheel in the wind.

“Awe! He’s picked me a flower.” Mom spoke envisioning what would happen next. But it didn’t.
He snagged one of the thin offshoots and slowly built up the pressure until it popped free from the button it called home. Then he did the same to the rest, pausing at the last, staring at it with a blank face. When he dropped it to the ground, his head turned slowly to the left, stopping at the point at which it should, except that his face wasn’t blank anymore. It was contorted on the left side, with his eye closed. He was making a clicking noise with his tongue, and he slowly fell to the ground, convulsing in cow shit.

Mom picked him up, immediately wiping the greenish-brown waste from his lips. Dad was already in the truck with the engine running. The door was open, waiting for them to jump in.

***

He turned the key and punched the defrost switch as quickly as he could. Little slots immediately began to form in the blockade just above the useless wipers. He took a deep breath and played off a shiver. Sitting next to him, she stared at the floor.

“Do you ever have visions?”

“Of what?”

“Anything. Visions so strong you feel as though you’re there? Sort of like a dream without the acceptance of it being unrealistic?”

“Not recently.”

“What have you seen? Before, I mean?”

“Well, it was as though, I saw my future. I saw a hospital room, a railed bed with a boy in it, and tubes running out of his nose. I looked at that damn ubiquitous beeping machinery and watched the line jump up and down. That’s it. It only happened that one time.”

“How old were you?”

“Eight, I think.”

***

When Alexander woke, he looked around the room seeing his mom and dad weren’t there. A short nurse wearing a shirt with little poodles all over it smiled at him.

“Do you remember what happened sweetie?”

“Not really. Was I here already?”

“What do you mean?”

“The last thing I remember, I picked a flower. Then I saw all this stuff: the chair there in the corner, your shirt, this beeping thing. I saw all of it.”

“No. No, sweetie, you got here about 45 minutes ago. And this is the first time you’ve opened your eyes. Your mom and dad are just down the hall talking to the Doctor.”

“I saw this room. I saw it when the flower was in my hand.”

***

“Why do you ask?” he said.

She shifted in her seat, and looked down at the floor. Then she turned and looked into the pupils of his eyes. “I saw you…in a hospital room…holding a little boy…my boy. Our son.” She paused to get his reaction, to let him ask if he needed to. “His smell is still in my nose.”

He swallowed, looked away, and put the car in D.

"Alex?"

There's a New One - Part II

A note from the Author: It's been a long time since I've posted, but here's my latest attempt. I would suggest that you read the first "There's a New One" before this one as it builds on the first. Thanks for reading!

************

Why couldn’t they believe him? Were they afraid? Were they stupid? Maybe, they know. Yes, they know and they’re trying to cover it up. Why are the lights trailing behind when I move my eyes?
The drug was starting to make his head swim a little. The needle had burned when the big orderly stuck it in, but not as much as what he called “the medicine.” He didn’t like the big orderly; he was always too rough with him. The little guy was never rough, but asked nicely instead.
“The doctor will be in to see you in a few minutes,” the course voice boomed with bullhorn clarity.
Why did he have to yell? He was standing right over me? I’m going to ask the doctor to give keep that big fucker away from me. Maybe he’ll listen to that at least. I know he won’t listen to anything else I say.
The door swung open sending a reflection of the hallway lights shooting across the ceiling in such a way that it looked almost liking a shooting star. I wish that I was the original. Do you think it will come true. Sure. Why not? If the rest of the world can believe I always existed, why can’t they believe I was the original? Another shooting star. I wish that I could explain it so that they really do believe that I am the original.
“Leroy? Do you mind if I call you Leroy?”
“No, Doc. That’s who I am. The first, and hopefully the last.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m the original; I’m the first.”
“The first what, Leroy?”
“The first Leroy, the first of the others…I mean, the others are new versions of me. Do you see?”
“Yes, I see. “
“Doc, listen, can you keep that big orderly away from me? He’s always too rough. I see him standing over there. See? Look how mean he looks.”
“Fine, Leroy. I’ll have Charles here take the sample then.”
“What sample?”
“We’re going to take a DNA sample for a research project we’re conducting. The goal is to determine if there are any genetic markers that contribute to your condition.”
“But I’m the only one, right, Doc? There aren’t more people who spawn others are there?”
“No, Leroy; I don’t think so.”
“Well how are you going to take it then?”
“Charles will just take a small sample of blood from your arm.”
The small orderly walked over and rubbed the inside of his elbow with a wet cotton ball. The sensation was cool and warm at the same time. He could smell the alcohol. The needle didn’t burn as much this time, though. He watched as the crimson, almost purple essence burst into the vile, filling it in what seemed like only a few moments. The orderly pulled the needle out holding a cotton ball on the puncture and wrapped it to stop the bleeding.
“There we are.” The orderly looked him in the eyes and winked. Then he and the doctor turned and walked out, saying nothing more.
Why did he wink at me? He knows something. They’re definitely in on it.
A few minutes passed and he heard Charles talking outside his door again. He raised his head to see through the square window in the door. No! Not my blood too?
Through the window he saw Charles’ face, and right behind it was his own. His own face staring back at him through the window. Not another one! He could read his own lips as they said, “Yes, that’s him. Where did you find him?”
“His wife brought him in. She said he thought he wasn’t the original anymore, whatever that meant.”

There's a New One

He knelt down to tie his shoe, but he stayed there. He left his hands with his fingers gently holding the loops of his right shoe, with his left foot tucked under him. Frozen, she wondered what it was that could have triggered it this time. Usually when this happened, it was because he saw something that reminded him. She looked around, trying to find it. There it was, his name in reflective white letters in a field of green.

She had hoped the trip would help him forget. They’d been planning it for two months now. Actually, she’d been planning it. He just agreed to whatever she said. Watching a show on Broadway? “Sure.” Shopping for fake purses in China Town? “If that’s what you need.”

Two weeks before they left, he’d been driving and saw what could have been his twin riding with his head out the window. He’d turned around and followed the car for two miles, where the driver pulled into a parking space in front of a windshield repair shop. When the man got out, he’d yelled out the window, “Leroy?” No response.

Leroy had a belief. Not one of those that don’t really mean anything to the holder, such as believing that too much masturbation can cause blindness. “We shouldn’t have had sex last night,” he finally said flatly to her. “I don’t know how you talk me into doing something that I know will only create another one.”

“You think that this sign is saying that there is another one now?”

“Of course. What else could it mean?”

She could sense the agitation and fear building in him again. “Leroy, I’m pretty sure that this sign and this street were here well before you were born.”

“That’s just it. It probably was…now.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Every time one is created, it seems to the rest of the world, that they had always been around. The whole of history and time is altered with its creation. I thought I’d explained that to you before. Listen, I know you still think I’m crazy, but I know that that little seed of mine is cursed.”

She didn’t always listen to him anymore when he was trying to explain his ideas. “I guess you did tell me that. So what do you want to do about it now?”

“Take down the sign. We have to take down this sign and the one on the other end of the street. Once they are down, he will disappear, along with all traces of him.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to take down a road sign in the middle of Manhattan with all these people around. We could get arrested.”

“I don’t care. I’ve been arrested before. Just don’t let them put me in that hospital again. Jail I can handle, but I wouldn’t be able to take being put in with my others again. Plus, they’d figure out that I was lying last time just to be let out. Come on help me with this.”

He was stacking two plastic crates in front of the sign post. She knelt down and held onto it so that it wouldn’t tip over when he climbed on top. He took out the multi-tool that his father had given him for his last birthday. It had his name and date of birth inscribed in white letters along the side. When he held it up to start twisting off the first nut, the pairing of his name in white twice made him freeze again.

“What if I’m not the original? What if I’m just carrying on the multiplication of Leroy ‘somebody’ and I’m just his clone? What if every time I have an orgasm, I’m not creating another me; I’m creating another him? He could be trying to wipe me out of history.”

He stepped down and stared at her. She just stared back. He put his multi-tool back in his pocket and walked away.

Life in Transition

I’m sure, if you check in regularly, or if you look at the dates of posts, you have noticed that I have been absent from my own blog for a while. The reason for this, I’ve kept fairly secret, because there were some friends who check in who are also coworkers. We decided to move and pursue new jobs, a wrinkle which could have caused problems should it become known to my now former employer.

In November, my wife quit working for a company that was, shall we say, less than ethical. Her action became the catalyst for us looking at moving halfway across the state. I actually moved her and our three rambunctious furry companions the day after Thanksgiving and leased out our house. I then, with the fortune that I have--not monetary--was able to stay with a friend until Christmas, traveling back and forth on the weekends. Being apart from her for five day stretches was a bit trying at times, but, given the examples of some of my acquaintances who left there families behind for years in order to complete college programs and emigrate to the U.S., I don’t think it was too rough.

So, we are now settled into our new town, taking in the eccentricities that abound, and enjoying every moment of it.

To all of my friends with whom I was unable to share a proper goodbye, I’m sorry. I hope that you understand my predicament. I greatly respect everyone with whom I worked and hope that the time I spent with you will be remembered fondly.

Soon, you will begin seeing new fiction, the way it used to be. Until then, enjoy the writings of those linked to the side.

The Warmth of a Cold Nose

“Don’t you just love Christmas?” Her exuberance and cheerfulness grated on him as though someone were trying to add a little zest of Rick to their eggnog. “I mean, look at the lights. They add fantasy to the physical world. Come out of that realm inside your head and experience this imaginary scene with me.”

Rick grunted and lifted his chin from his chest. “Why, so that I can be a part of this ridiculous excuse to waste energy? I hate having to buy lights and trees, because they are so very temporary at that point, and both are drains on the environment.”

“Don’t look at it that way. For me, just try to let go of those practical views for just a little while. Think about how nice it will feel when you go back inside where it’s warm. I’ll fix you a glass of bourbon and bring you a book while you get settled into your chair. When I’m done with dinner, I’ll get you a big glass of eggnog for dessert.”

He acted as though he hadn’t heard what she said and just continued his mini tirade. “All this is a commercial push for everyone to consume more and more. I mean I understand that in order for the economy to grow we have to consume, but is there not a limit to how much things can grow? I hate that I’m told how to feel this time of year. There is a physical shock to my body every time someone blows one of those damn noisemakers at New Years. Even after the holidays, I still have to deal with my skin drying out and cracking. My nose bleeds all the time. Remind me again, why is that I’m supposed to like this time of year.”

She smiled, and rubbed her cold, red nose on his neck as she kissed his cheek. In a whisper, “Because when it’s cold outside, I like to get under the covers and make our own heat.”

Finally a smile crept across his face. He looked up and said, “You know, these lights do take you to a different place.”

This post is in response to being tagged by DBA Lehane to continue from a meme about ‘Five Things I Love & Hate About Winter’ over at Jefferson Davis’ blog.. Since there is really only one person left that I know who hasn't been tagged, the OregonMan is up next.

Six, Six Word Stories to Introduce DBA Lehane's Contest

To introduce the Short Short Short Short Short Short Fiction Competition hosted by our friend DBA Lehane (aka Windscreen Fly) (Click Here to View), I will post here six example stories that I have written. The contest is for each entrant to submit one story that is exactly six words long, hence the title. I actually have written 18 of them so far. Here are my six favorites. Please let me know which one you think I should submit.

• Warm, tingling, tongue explores her body.

• Accusations. False. Guilty. Abandoned. Truth. Guilty.

• A severed breast. Reconstructed, it feeds.

• Penetration. Dry. Mean. Scratched. DNA. Prison.

• Tainted blood. Virus. Skin and bone.

• Paps sure loved that old dog.