At University: my adventures as SCU

The potion bubbled and steamed. I didn’t think it should be green. At least not that color of green. The best I can define it as was a brilliant pea soup. Phlegm that had an internal light. I also didn’t think that it should smell of roasted peppers. It made me hungry.

“Well,” Pete said, “I think this should do it.”

I looked over the ingredients, err, components — Madame Lupido hated the word “ingredient”. “This is not a recipe.” She’d say. I’d disagree but no to her face — finding everything satisfactory.  We’d done everything right, as far as we knew and this was going to be amazing; if it worked.

After the required resting time we made the priming circle and did our dance, err, ritual  maneuvers,  and the contents of the cauldron rose spread and landed in the circle. We both put a single drop of blood into the now vacant pot and opened out minds. I stood there waiting. Pete began to moan. Then I felt it too. My body began to tingle. It was like tying a string too tight around a finger then letting it loose, only on my entire body. My head began to swirl and light trailed. I was not happy.

After several minutes I saw the demon. It wasn’t that big. Not that it mattered what size it was, a demon actually had no size or actually no shape. it instead was what we made it  to deal with in our reality. My energies didn’t lile this thing. Pete and I gathered our selves fin time to hold the demon at bay and keep him from taking us over. Then Is rated to feel the happy. It was nice but I didn’t feel right. I didn’t like the off kilter feeling. I was done so I said my counter spell. The demon wavered stuck between my rejection and Pete’s desire to keep it around, then vanished.

“That was amazing!” Pete squealed after the energies dissipated.

I had to agree. I didn’t hate the feeling but I didn’t like it either.

We quickly gathered our supplies and stuffed the cauldron in the corner of the  room  and wondered out into the campus and to dinner. I was starving.

It would have been nice if Pete had stopped talking about it. He said he could still feel some of the effects. I could too and was a bit concerned. Tripping Demon is something we students are supposed to do. It’s part of our growing process, or so they say. This was just uncomfortable.

For days he tried to get me to go again. The ingredients were too expensive and besides as fun as it was it was also too disturbing for me.

It took almost a week before I really started to think heavily about summoning an Opyeit demon  again, he was even talking about getting Heru’win. He finally convinced me to summon Egst’asy. That was amazing and thoroughly disconcerting.

I got lost in spending time with Teressa and my studies. I’d made ia breakthrough in casting and sorcery. Turns out I’m  a rare algorplasm.  Frost fire is hard to do and I feel great doing it, exhausting. Pete is  pretty much a straight up agroplasm. I had to take extra hours at Brodricks to keep my self in supplies. So I didn’t really notice Pete.

I should have spent a little time on him. We were at McLain’s taking a break and chatting over  a few pints. Pete came it looking strange. He looked greasy. I offered to walk him home.  On the way he started to shake. His eyes started glowing and he grew. The demon was there.

I didn’t feel the hit or my feet leaving the ground. I did feel the rock I landed on. The white flash of my entire body wanting to scream passed in time for me to doge the greedy form of my friend passing.  He took in too much of the demon. He was possessed by it. The heat coming from him was intense.

I stumbled to my feet and began the quick grounding and energy building exercise so I could fight back.

I pulled my wand out of my wand pocket and cast a binding spell that failed completely on him. Next I swung the wand in a cutting motion it did nothing more than cut the clothes not pete.

Pete roared and in a move that seemed much to graceful sent a waft of green fire at me. I was too late casting the shield spell. It took and I only got mildly burned but my wand was toast. I ran right at him and dodged as he reached for me. A quick roll and I cast ice fire. I shouldn’t have but I was scared and it was the first thing to come to me. He blocked but like my shield attempt he took a lot of damage. I could see smoke rising from his arm. Steam actually, his heat and my cold.

We only fought for a few minutes but it felt like hours.

Finally  I let him catch me. He never cast when he could grab. When he did I flared my cold right into him. I dropped his core temp by a few degrees and he passed out.

He was fine but the demon had a hold of him and he’d have to fight it for ever. As long as he didn’t Trip again he’d be fine. The demon would call to it’s core, call for unity but it would overtake and kill Pete. I can’t imaging the struggle he has to go through but for now he’s fine and maybe in a few years the demon will be so diminished that he won’t have to fight the pull quite so hard.

You Can't Polish a Turd

I used to write because I wanted to express my grief. I wanted to show that I had suffered, was suffering. I believed that I had all the things a person needed to be a great writer. Then I did the stupid thing. I began to accept. I accepted that I was alone. Would be for the rest of my life. It’s not as pathetic as it sounds It’s hard and I’m sad but it it isn’t a tale of self pity at all.

I’m accepting that life will never look like I want it to. That is even worse than the ill perception of my aloneness. I say that because not being able to influence life to the direction I want  it to be is nothing more than terrifying for me. I also accept that there is no doubt that I suck at a person. 

Let’s talk about this last one.

Yesterday I was standing in line at StarFucks when I saw this lady, I’m not sure if you remember Henrietta Hippo, but if you do then I can easily say this was her. No really, this woman had to have a thyroid problem. Huge is an understatement. She kept sighing and gasping. I lost my desire for coffee at all. I was in line and I knew as soon as I could get my mind off of this woman I’d start to want my white caramel mocha, half the pumps. 

A normal person, whether or not they wanted to admit it or not, would have been disturbed by the sight. I order my beverage and listen closely to her order. A venti campfire Frappachino with whip and caramel.

Okay, This is very hypocritical of me but I began to get angry with her. I mean here this woman is dying before my eyes and she insists on continuing her plight. I had the gaul at my seventy extra to, while holding mine, look at the cup in her hand, yes I waited for her to get her order, and shake my head and say, “Really?” Then walk out. 

I sat down on a bench across the street. I had time before work and decided to sit for a while. She came out. Cane in one hand drink in the other. I noticed she was slouching a little more than before. She didn’t make it very far. She leaned against the wall between the StarFucks and Einstein’s and then threw the sugar bomb before sinking to the ground in tears. She cried these big heaving sobs. She kept touching her body and looking at herself. Her arms, her legs that couldn’t cross. Legs that people just stepped over as they walked by. She stopped the big sobs and sat there wiping her eyes every now and then.

I left my coffee on the bench and walked to work. I’m not going to laude the fact that I didn’t stop thinking of the woman all day. I mean I do know what she’s going through. How incredibly hard it is to stop the hunger. The evil nagging that haunts you all day long. How even if you are not hungry you need to eat because that is when you feel something other than the giant hole eating you. Maybe not. Maybe for her it’s something else but for me…

I know how it is. I’m not nearly as bad a she was but I know and still I did what I did. 

I can accept that I am shit in human form. Some people would like to say there is a reason and that if I could find the core pain I’d be able to heal and become a better person. Some say if I find Jesus. No a shit is a shit and I am one. So do I even deserve to have any blessings?

Regardless of what or why it is, I hold my self responsible for who I am.

It makes sense that I’m alone. I see myself choosing it actively and besides who wants someone who is as basically cruel as I am, cruel and cowardly. I could have apologized or helped her up. I could have even offered her my hot coffee to throw at me for being a hypocritical dick. Instead I stopped going there. It was my StarFucks — so named because they fired me for reporting that several of the employees were dumping the hard change in the tip jar instead of giving it to the customers — and now I go to a plain Starbucks a little further in the opposite direction just to make sure I never see her again.

I used to write because I wanted to express my grief. I wanted to show that I had suffered, was suffering. I believed that I had all the things a person needed to be a great writer. Then I did the stupid thing. I began to accept. I began to get clear that I don’t have grief. I have self pity and a sense of entitlement that borders, maybe even crashes through, narcissism. Now I write not to express my grief but instead to grieve my humanity. I have everything I need to write but it looks nothing like I thought it would.

Turning Tables

They arrived at Dragon Karaoke at 8:30. It was Sam’s favorite Karaoke Box and Billy was very nervous. He had a song to sing and he was going to do it. Most of the LARP group was there and as both Sam and Jake had said “Just make it a role, play the part, You’ll be fine.” 

So when they got their room Billy took the sword in his hand. He had to see it as a sword. The special jacket, a magic cloak, +3 protection from dispell. His lucky tee under the special, "man catcher" pink shirt; that special pink that girls won't wear. His shoes, he pulled them from the back of his closet and took them to the man on the corner to have them endued with a potion of traction. Now, into battle.

"Dude what number?" Jake asked

He knew the number. Came here, practiced for hours. The song was perfect. "Thirty three-twenty seven-one."

Holding the obnoxioulsy large remote Jake entered the number. The karaoke box got quiet and a strange video with elephants started on the screen. Quickly he grabbed and tossed back his potion of courage and waited for the familiar beat to start. 

This was it. He was going to conquer the creature keeping him from happiness. 

Woke up sweating from a dream

With a different kind of feeling, oh

All day long my heart was beating

Searching for the meaning, oh

Hazel eyes, I was so color blind

We were just wasting time, uh uh babe

For my whole life, we never crossed the line

Only friends in my mind, but now I realize

It was always you

Can't believe I could not see it all this time

All this time

It was always you

Now I know why my heart wasn't satisfied

Satisfied

It was always you, you

No more guessing who

Looking back now I know it was always you*

He looked right at Sam. He'd seen him as a squire, a servant. something not someone. This song by a group he'd always discredited, like he'd done to Sam, was speaking for him.  He sang it with all his heart. He knew how Sam felt — now. He realized how much he'd taken that guy for granted. He finally looked passed the surface and knew that he'd wasted so much time. 

Sam looked surprised. Something Billy never seen in his friend. All the years they LARPED, side by side Sam never flinched. When Billy said he was moving to Japan with Alex or at any other time Sam took everything in stride. This was strange. He made it to the middle of the song. Tears were running from both their eyes. 

The song almost over Sam grabbed the song book, flipped quickly through the pages. He erased the que and  punched in 12287. Adele Turning Tables. Billy looked back and forth from the screen to Sam. Sam had eyes wide and worried but a smile a cheshire would be proud of. 

The song ended and Sam jumped up gave Billy an awkward hug and grabbed the microphone away. 

Another awkward non sequitur video started, this one had floating fish. Every one laughed and Billy rubbed his eyes and began to sing.

Close enough to start a war

All that I have is on the floor

God only knows what we're fighting for

All that I say, you always say more

I can't keep up with your turning tables

Under your thumb, I can't breathe

So I won't let you close enough to hurt me

No, I won't ask you, you to just desert me

I can't give you what you think you gave me

It's time to say goodbye to turning tables

To turning tables

Under haunted skies I see you oh

Where love is lost, your ghost is found

I braved a hundred storms to leave you

As hard as you try, no, I will never be knocked down*

He finally broke. He put the microphone on the table and exited the room.

No one spoke. Jake made Billy stay and went after Sam. He came back about five minutes later. "He's not coming back." he said and looked right at Billy "You okay?”

Billy spent the rest of the night drinking potions of forgetfulness.

This adventure ended poorly. 

*actual lyrics. I copied them.

Angels

When Marcus called me I didn't realize that I'd be driving a thousand miles to the middle of middle america to help him clear out his mother's house. to put it on the market. I almost said no. but even now I remember all the times he stood by me. 

The sun is setting to to the left. So big flitting through the trees. It'll disappear in a few minutes but it's light filtering through the dust and pollen makes me think of the first time I knew I was in love with this guy. Like now the trees flashed pass to the beat of the son on the radio. Visually keeping the beat. Marcus was driving and I was being taken in by the light always one step ahead of us, playing the trees. I don't really know why but I started to cry. I tried to hide it and found out latter when he asked me why did I even know that he'd seen.

"I was thinking of angels." I'd said

"Angels?"

"Yeah, the light looked like it was coming from heaven and I wanted to see angels." By this time I was starting to tear up again from the embarrassment."

"Sounds nice." was all he said and lead me in to the restaurant. We both had smothered supremes. I didn't like Guacamole back then. 

I think I'm almost to the gas station slash restaurant where we were snowed in at for three days one screwed up spring break when we were supposed to be going to his mothers house. He'd been distracted the whole trip. and when we realized we weren't going to have time to get there and back he began to be himself again. 

I pull in to the weed covered parking lot. The lights, those old incandescent ones that they had in the 50s, still glowed even though the building was dark. Probably not the smartest thing for me to get out and snoop but I've been driving for nearly eight hours and I needed to streach my legs and pee. 

I grab a flashlight and begin to walk around the building. The windows were broken, so much of the diner inside was in ruins but the stool that nearly broke my heart was still there. 

We were having trouble seeing and the windows were not giving up their frost no matter what we tried. Bully, and Tray, were in the back spraying a torrent of gay panic in the form of inappropriate jokes and touching of one another. I didn't care much for them but they were on two of Marcus' teams. All three were in college on scholarship and most days Marcus seemed to accept that that was enough to be close to them. Me, I just accepted the vulgarity as immaturity and let them be. 

We saw the Diner and were in need of fuel anyway so we decided to stop. While eating a trucker who was heading out as we were going in returned with the news that the road was closed ahead. We waited. The waitress was snowed in as well and Bully surprised us with his culinary skill. He did things with Spam that would make the gods swear of ambrosia for eternity. Bacon be damned. 

Toward the end of the third day Marcus and Tray got into an argument that came to blows. I didn't know what it was about but when every one calmed down Marcus' mood was more foreboding than the weather. Dinner came —made by mel the cook — and I finally got Marcus to talk. He told me he was dropping out of school. He couldn't take it anymore. I didn't understand and I didn't want to pry. Like him I just wanted to accept. 

We left early on the fourth day. No one talked. I couldn't if I'd tried. I thought I knew what was going on but then he told me he was going to join the service. He was tired of not feeling like a man and wanted to "Be all he could be". I tried to lighten the situation by telling him that he actually wanted to "Aim High". It was the wrong thing to do. 

I do my business and get in my car. I back out and the headlights pass over the stool…

I know I shouldn't drive straight through but adrenalin and excitement have me more awake than expected. My wife won't like that I took our daughter's car seat or that I have a relic with who knows what encrusted on it rolling in the back with said seat. I can wash it up.

I get a burger, fries and a very uncoffee-like coffe at a Wendy's drive through, the strange beefiness  taste doing more  than the caffeine to keep me awake. The pulsing yellow lines doing their best to counter the food.

"I'm sorry man." He said inturrupting the silence. We'd dropped the other two off and were walking back to our dorm.

"'Bout what?"

"All of this. Bully was pissed that I hadn't told Steff."

Stephanie was Trey's sister, Marcus was leaving in a week. Before finals, and hadn't even told her that he was thinking about leaving. Inside I was dying. I'd never been away from this my best friend. Since we met in third grade. He'd alway been there for me and I confided everything in him. I didn't know what hurt me more, his leaving or not telling me. Trey was right to be mad. I loved the guy. Probably even in a way that Steff did, maybe not, but I hurt. She was going to be devastated. I didn't expect anything from him. 

I finally arrive at his mother's house. It's four in the morning and I hear the yelling. She's relentless. I roll up the window to block the noise and went to sleep.

The door opened and i jumped. 

"Shit dude," he said not caring that I'd just hit my head on the roof, "That bitch is going to be the death of me." 

He looked like shit. Well he looked great. Where I, and most men at our age were settling from the youthful V shape to a more settled B shape he was still holding up in all the ways a man wishes he could. His face however looked like death. 

"Hello to you too." I said. He smiled and dug in the Wendy's bag to see if there were any unnoticed fries. "Still hates you huh?"

"Yeah." His eyes lost a little shine, the sides of his mouth fell a bit. "She hit Chris." 'No fucking sin spawn is going to desecrate my home," He said in a high nasally voice.

"She didn't?" 

"I took him to Your mom's, I hope that was okay."

"Yeah sure."

"She thinks I'm after her money to pay for AIDS medicine or drugs."

"How'd you get her to stop yelling."

"someone gave me valium for her coffee. I put it in her sweet tea. I think she only drank it so she could keep yelling at me."

"Damn, Sorry man."

Marcus turned to me. His eyes Watering. And he started crying. I held him. When he left the Air Force, he'd done so with Walter. They were a wonderful couple. And the dick still didn't tell me until I asked in front of my mother one christmas. They'd taken to spending time with my family since Walter was an orphan and Marcus' mother had disowned him for "some reason". He didn't talk to me for four years, then two passed with him being sketchy and I finally just got tired. 

"What's this, he said holding the gift I'd given to him and Walter.

"A frame, I want a picture of you two. Take it and then give it back to me." Walter was never a good actor, Marcus however almost had me fooled with his denial.

"Who's the bottom?" my mother asked. Such tact.

The next year they decided to have a child. They talked Walter's best friend to be a surrogate for them. She and I connected. She had the baby and we got married. Chris is special to me. He's like my wife's son. A donated egg. Marcus had to fight to keep him. His mother didn't want an innocent child to be raised by servant's of satan. DNA showed that he was Walter's and so she'd not have anything to do with him after that.

He'd spent so much money trying to keep Chris that when Walter fell ill they sold everything they had to help him. He died and then Marcus had to fight to keep Chris because he wasn't his biological Father. 

His mom, the aforementioned bitch, testified against him. Things started getting back to normal and then he got a call, his mom was going to loose her house. She'd begun showing signs of dementia and had stopped paying bills. She fought him every step of the way.

I sat in the car, Marcus' head in my lap. I'm sure it looked like I'd peed my pants. I was about to if he didn't wake soon. It was my stomach growling that woke him. Right at the wrong time. A police officer had just pulled up and saw his head raise.

We explained everything. The cop shook his head and said he and his partner were having similar issues with her parents. He wasn't jewish. Finally we were able to get her out of the house, with some help. 

When he saw the stool I'd taken from the diner in the back of my car he laughed and said simply, "Angels"  

  

Gin

Gin walked through the smoke machine fog, lights flashing in a steady rhythm to interrupt his path with a seemingly solid pillar of light. His suit was for all intents painted on. The magic used to dress him was old and archaic. It was a potion, poured on him then like a living creature it flowed and formed hugging all his parts, painting him smoothing out where instructed and hiding those bits purposely cupped or taped to look like a second flesh that didn't exactly show the parts that people were still ashamed to admit were  there. 

A second layer structured and formed by a Couturisan trained in mystical Couture. He or she, androgyny seeming to be the preference for those who trained in the craft, shaping it to the latest fashion in sport coats. His belt, black and heavy with so many items as to be made unsuitable for it's original purpose. And boots so polished that they looked like glass. They rose to hug his mid calf. 

This was it. This was his chance to shine. The trial had begun and what ever the outcome it would decide the rest of his life. He'd put off the trial so long that he'd been given transmutation orders. He had this one chance to make something of himself and he hoped he was ready. 

First it was a lady in red. She came out and grabbed him the dance steps obvious. This was a tango. He turned and countered by raising his arms and lifted his knees one at a time in an exact counter to her high step march. Left, right, left, right on the third left he kicked out and planted his leg firmly behind hers, stopping the back step that would allow her leverage. He gave a quick twist and dipped her. Upon rising he grabbed a sash she was wearing at her waist and held it out. Her perfect plastic face, no doubt done up with the same magic that made his costume, glaring at him with a terrifying smile.

She pulled back, he mimicked her, connected arms touching, free arms holding parallel to the ground. They smiled manically to nonexistent judges. She came around to face him, he had to follow. He was sure to be losing points for following her, but not too many, and if he did it well enough and could lead her into a trap. 

With her sash he swung, she twisted and grabbed him by the neck. The sequins on this, a gloved hand, began to pierce his flesh. Poison was not allowed but there were other chemicals that didn't kill but could hamper. He put his arm out and wrapped it around her's to break the grip with his weight. He felt the sequins scratch, but he couldn't deal with that now. He used his grip on her arm to pull her down and back. She almost lost her footing, he would have won but she was good and let him lead her into a spin. 

One time around. She was damn good. He couldn't drop her, this was The Tango and he needed to keep her with him at all times unless she broke it off. A second time. What could he do? He could feel her shifting. She was up to something. She had so many options; a blade in her boot? A well planned twist? She seemed to have more power over the dance now. 

Then he remembered the dance was one of passion and he only needed to keep the tension up,. It was daring but he didn't know any other way out of this. They were going into the fourth spin, Too many, this would drop his points so he leaped and let her go. He landed on toes and palms straddling her. A twist and dodged her blow with the knife. 

He spun, rolled, and rose to his feet,in a move that looked planned but he did all he could to avoid three attacks. She was so smooth, he left her confused and stumbling. He hadn't won yet. He took her sash stretched it as she did a cat like crawl up his leg. Her one chance to grab the sash before it changed. He put it in his mouth and it coiled. injecting a powerful toxin into him. But she now had to steal it from him. It was the dance she had to follow the rules.

He felt the toxin pour into his body and she played him, forcing him have to drag her across the floor and absorb more toxin. With a kick he straddled her and flung her up from under her. she now had to take the rose. If she could get him in a spin he'd take the rose back but he could see it wilting. He twisted and they began the classic tango. She tried but he dipped her. The second phase of the rose began. It pumped the antidote in. She screamed and dropped he had to end wisely to get the points back. He went to her took out a scarf from his belt and laid it on her as he watched consciousness ebb from her. 

The trial of body was the easiest of the three he’d have to take. The tango was the hardest. This meant the next two were going to be advanced. He wasn’t ready for this. He’d never wanted this. He just wanted to fade into the background and do a job like food worker — not glamorous but simple. He’d made the mistake of passing the M.A.T.s with high marks. His best score in the Sciences and thinking he’d failed the practical he’d actually just couldn’t fail that day and passed full graduate when he’d only stayed in school to tenth grade. 

His heart slowed enough that he could spread his conscience out, this activated the red spot. It was far. He hadn’t realized that the dance floor lacked a fourth wall. The spot shone in the distance. He had to make it to the spot before it faded. The rocky terrain that surrounded him would have made the journey hard enough but someone decided it would be fun to put a labyrinth in the way. 

The painted suite didn’t protect him from the elements. Instead it just let everything through He had to check twice to be sure he wasn’t naked. The rubbery texture assured him he was clothed but this was nerve wracking. 

Gin opened one of the pockets of his weighty belt and pulled out a tube. Rubbing it on his hands he concentrated on gloves. soon he had red gloves that glowed on the palms. Capping the tube he put it back in the pocket and started toward the maze. 

A light flashed to his left and he dropped and rolled left hoping that the shooter would expect him to go away from the threat. He was right but the shooter adjusted fast and got Gin right in the back. His magic coat flashed super bright white. so white it almost blinded him from the reflection off the cliff face. He ran. The damage wasn’t so bad, the coat might heal itself. It had a few more tricks in it so he didn’t toss it away.

Nothing flashed at him until he’d made it to the maze entrance. This time, however, what flashed was a spell that formed into red glowing gel beasts, about 7” tall. He could hear the ground sizzle where they touched it. One jumped and stuck to his chest. It began to burn. He panicked and fell on another. Several more flashes followed by several more splats turning into 7” acid gels hit the wall of the labyrinth. He noted them but was to busy screaming to care much. He pulled off his coat, sad that he’d not see it in action. Maybe the couturisian could make him another if he survived.

He finally peeled the creature off and threw it aside in time to see another man in a painted suite walk up. He’d obviously ignored the part where he put the cup on before the suite. The suites really did form to everything. 

“yah?” He sniggered.

Gin looked up and saw the man in his white suite with a blue and Magenta lightning design coming from his shoulder to point at the un-cupped area. He had spiky hair pointy nose and a pointed chin that rapidly moved up and down on the gum he seemed to be enjoying as much as the gloating.

Gin, instead of staying to take this man on, test or no, He grabbed on of the acid creatures and threw it at the man’s face. It burned hard but he was protected with the gloves he’d just put on.

Just as he thought, the man didn’t protect himself from the affects of the little creatures. He removed the gloves and began to apply new ones when he thought of something. The top of the maze was protected from just flying to the red light. But did they protect the sides. This maze was built not cared so it had to be worth checking. He moved to the left and saw that is didn't’ go all the way through. so he went to the other. This one was open. Why? A trap?

Onward he went he could see the red spot and as he began to see the stage where the spot shone.  He reached it and as he climbed the stage and the light went out. All the lights. He’d failed. He’d have his magic stripped and he’d be sent out, enslaved most likely. 

“Gin Talawandamuckitymuck?” a dual voice rang out and a bright speck of light bobbed into view.  Gin just shook his head. He was trying not to react to loosing. A well behaved Dulled has a better chance in a rich home. Most of his personality would be wiped, of course, but there is some part of the person still in there and doing well in the fog. 

“We have come to inform you that you have passed.”

“What?” 

You showed restrain, agility and wisdom. Very few think to look at both sides of the the maze. You used Skull’s magic against him. And the contents of that belt were inspected prior to your prep. We see some advanced artificey  in there. You even mimicked the idea of the suite with those gloves. You will study as law enforcement.

Gin was so excited. There wee no limits to what you’d ever be tested as but Law enforcement was the best job in the world. 

He’d never believed he be the good enough. He hoped for something dull but ended up with the the best life ever. 

   

Glaux

You know that moment before opening your eyes first thing in the morning. That point just before you realize that you are still alive and not a part of whatever dream you decided to have the night before? That second when your mind does a quick check to see if everything is functioning well? That is when I felt the pain. Having never been in a washing machine I still feel confident saying that I felt like I made it through both rinse cycles breathing.

I let my awareness of pain be heard with a scream. Last I remember is that MMA dude getting mad at me following him. He called me a fag and the world turned off. There’s vague images of him hitting me and then I woke to this pain.

I try to open my eyes but only one seems to be wanting to and even that it wanted reluctantly. It opens and then Glaux is there staring me in the face. I could swear the little shit was grinning.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I mostly said around a gravelly voice.

Glaux, my gift from Athena greek goddess of pains in my ass hooted the metallic bubble hoot of enchanted metal. It turned it’s head from side to side then leaped to fly to a dark corner of the hospital room.

“Well I see your friend decided you are fine.” Said a very attractive young woman in scrubs and no make up.

“How’d he get in here?” I really wanted to spend a day without this terror.

“He just showed up while we were cleaning you up. couldn’t get him to leave. He attack three orderlies. We stopped chasing him and he stopped attacking. When we were done he landed on your chest and wouldn’t let anyone near you.”

Wow, I thought, better than a guard dog. Wait, no. “I was attacked.”

“not from the looks of it. You are pretty beat up but the other guy will probably never fight again.”

“What?”

“That’s right.” A deep slithery voice sounded as a briefcase landed hard on the table by my head. It belonged to a brown suit filled with a very fleshy ball of pinky-yellow, a smile that warned of hard times to come, and a reservoir of grease, from the smell of it bacon grease.

I looked hard at him with the one eye that reluctantly gave me site, I assume because it lost a bet. “Burt Jones Esquire,” The suite said with his mouth. His smile however said, “Your mine”.

I barely made a “Gnuh” noise before he continued.

“Our boy, Mausasi has agreed to not press charges if you come fight for us.”

“Maus-who? Fight?” I didn’t mean to say anything.

“Boy looks like he took on a truck. You attacking him for no good reason like that.”

The metallic hoot sounded. I agreed. “I didn’t attack.”

“I know you ain’t going to tell the truth boy but lets just say, no one who knows Mausasi, would ever believe he’d get beaten by you in a fair fight.”

“I just went for a jog. It was spooky and he seemed like a safe person to follow.”

“Now Mausasi is a good look’n boy but he don’t need you stalking him. Another charge.” he lifted a yellow notepad and scribbled something on it.

“Stalk?” I started coughing. Every bone hurt.

“Careful you.” I’d forgotten about the pretty nurse. “Those cracked ribs and fractured ulna can’t take too much. We don’t need to cast you but we will.”

“We have witnesses saying you had a weapon, and as soon as we get the footage from the camera we’ll know what kind of weapon you used on an unarmed man.”

“I don’t know what you’ve been talking about. it was all a misunderstanding.” One that made me hurt so bad.

“Where did you learn to fight?”

“Press charges.” I said who’d believe this overweight, salesman could ever fight that high powered ball of muscle.

Glaux nearly screeched.

“What in the hell was that?”  Mr. Jones said looking around.

“It’s my owl.”

He picked up his pad again and scribbled something else down. “You are in a hell lot of trouble. I want you to consider your options; fight for us or go to jail for attempted murder, or at least assault.”

Glaux gave a gentle hoot.

“No. I didn’t do what ever you say I did.” this was followed by another harsh sound from the metal thing up in the corner.

“What,” I said to the corner, “You want me to fight for them.” A soft hoot came in response. “I don’t even know how to fight.”

“From what we’ve seen you know plenty well how to fight.”

Finally with coaxing and a lot of hooting and screeching we signed a deal. Now I have to learn to fight in less than three months even if my bones don’t heal. I thought this damn bird was a symbol of wisdom. Stupid thing is going to get me killed. How is this a gift.

First Steps

Marvin knew that first steps were always the hardest, knew it but for some reason didn't overcome. Today like all the days before he just sat there. the mess around him growing with each feeding, each snack, every change of clothes and every trip to the store. A, when compared to the globe as a whole, microcosm of life existed and grew in on and around this mess.

It bothered him.

Right now it was the fly that bothered him, but it would find some other space to hover around and he’d fall to looking at the amount of trash that surrounded him. This is where he took in a deep breath through the nose and examined it for any trace of embarrassment. The rotted chicken that he threw in the trash, not rotten then of course, the spoiled musk-like reek that would come from some forgotten glass he probably filled and forgot when the stuper filled him. He thought there might be something he’d have to dispose of but on second sniff he figured he’d have at least until tonight before he’d have to make sure he removed it.

With that he grunted and with pops, cracks and pings that belonged to a man much older than he, he stood up, patted his belly, tweaked his right nipple and decided to get ready for the day.

He removed the baggy shorts, target clearance, wiped the sweat from along his crotch and sniffed the hand as it passed his nose on the way to scratching his head. He passed his bedroom and tossed the shorts on the top of a pile of clothes that long since outgrew it’s hampers.

The shower was a refuge. no man, let’s correct that, no person should take twenty minutes to clean themselves, but Marvin was thurogh. Between every toe, the arch. He rubbed and relished the feel of the cloth rubbing on every part of his body. Behind the knee and  all around his groin and crack.

He begins to show attention to the pit of his left arm and a pressure, something like a burning, pushed from behind the eyes. He could let the water out, the shower would hide it. but he couldn’t. First steps are the hardest, he just wouldn’t overcome. The day had started. Sitting didn’t work, any more today than all the other times he did it.

He had to leave the one place he felt, anything. Toweled off and squeezed into the bedroom for phase two. The hair, extra product, he just hadn’t wanted to get his hir trimmed. He’d have to go soon, but he could put it off a few more days. just so long as he did it before he had to put too much product. Then he’d look unprofessional. No he couldn’t do that.

Two days growth, at four he had to trim it, the scruff was harder to maintain than a full beard. Scruff hinted at youth and the small flecks of silver showing up needed to be countered. Chest, the hair had to be just the right length. Pubes, he’d taken care of those yesterday.

Back in his room, In a box, slacks, black, smooth, a knife sharp crease, and darker stripes only seen from inches away. The salesman, thinking he was relating, called them whore stripes, because only the one blowing you would see them, but they gave the illusion of energy. On the rack a custom sewn shirt, darker than royal the single thread silver stripes set to accent an already impressive V shape.

Underwear not chosen for their comfort but for their relatability, socks, shoes. All gathered and assembled with a military tuck and a last glance in the mirror. He looked at the front door, this time there was no running water so he blinked back the pressure, not that he’d ever let it out.

Marvin was back home. Not any happier for making it through the day. The slaps on the butt, the pinching, of the other secretaries. His ass actually hurt. Men don’t complain about those things. He and Wardo, who insists that the Ed part of his name was actually just offencive, were at the gym at lunch with Mr. Caplain and a few other C-levels. If he could just catch one of their eyes. find a way to just be hired away from the hell of women, touching, insinuating, hinting and getting mad because he did or did not reciprocate. His boss one of the worse.

He rubs the offended butt cheek and looks at the canvas in the corner. Pencil lines, and some, a few strokes with the brush. How long since he put those there? Last June? He took a first step, then the sales meeting in Atlanta.

He stripped down to the underwear chosen for relatability rather than comfort, folded everything and put them in the safe boxes, off limits to the rest of the mess, and went to the mirror.  A 38 year old looked back at him. Not bad, good shape; not sure how that happened. The eyes of that man, they accused him. Accused him for leaving Sarah, for not doing his art, for not even trying to get any of it back. They blamed him for the work he wouldn’t leave, couldn’t leave. How could he? He had no skills.

He grabbed some low sugar beef jerky, and a coconut water, the plain kind because of the lower sugar, he didn’t like it. Then with his back to the corner with the canvas that had pencil lines and a few strokes, Marvin sat again. It never worked, they said it would, but it never did. All it did was remind him that first steps were hard. The problem, the thing that none of this helped with was that he realized a long time ago. They are all first steps.