Lunch Hour Page 2

  Without hesitation Connie turned and ran.

  Rainy Day in Purgatory

  Samuel reached for his umbrella, but it was gone. Terror struck him. Where was it, he pondered, where had he put it. He ran to the backroom, which was his bedroom, lit only by the luminescent rocks that grew on the walls here, but the umbrella was not there. He checked his book room, other may have called this a library but the word had escaped Samuel as much did now. Still no sign of his umbrella. Lastly he checked his entry again, but nothing.

  He stepped out of his cave. There was no sun to sting his eyes or burn his pale skin. He trekked down to Nigel’s hole in the wall, the next cave over. Samuel slowly eased his weight onto the unsteady rocks that created the path to his neighbor. He could hear Nigel now, “Forgetful Sam, you would forget your head if it wasn’t attached.” Samuel would laugh even as he buried his anger. With one final jump, he landed at Nigel’s place.

  Normally Nigel would meet Samuel here. Samuel looked around there was no sign of his friend. Samuel assumed Nigel was hiding with his umbrella. Anger gave Samuel courage that he thought was lost. He strode into Nigel’s hole.

  “Nigel? You can come out I know…What?” Samuel’s greeting feel on deaf ears. Nigel’s lifeless body lay in his entry. Samuel investigated Nigel’s body; someone had impaled and decapitated him, but not in that order. Decapitation was what brought Nigel here. The impalement would not have killed him unless? Samuel’s hand trembled as it reached for the spike. He extended a single finger which grazed the edge of the spike. He reflexively withdrew his hand. The Intense pain confirmed his assumption. It was silver and Nigel would not be coming back from this one for death here was final.

  Samuel did not shed a tear for his friend, but left him and strode to the entrance. He stopped on the threshold. Only those invited in could enter and Nigel was Samuel’s only invited guest. Nigel had betrayed him. The scene before him resembled Mars, unending red rock, but with a dash of post-apocalyptic scenery and a sprinkle of dead vegetation. His eyes stung as he scoured the desolate wasteland that stretched out before him. The revolting reds of the ground and sky clashed where they met on the horizon. A flash of black spoke of an impending storm; he needed his umbrella or cave.

  He spotted four indentions in the sandy surface at the cliff’s edge. There he saw another indentation at the foot of the hundred foot cliff and brittle brush that swayed on this breezeless day. Samuel was not far behind the culprit.

  After weighing the options of methodically climbing down or painfully jumping down, he leapt. He did not scream on his 3 second trip to the bottom.

  Splat!

  He lay motionless. What was I thinking? He pondered. My umbrella. He shifted uncomfortably as his bones and joint resembled. He focused on his goal through the pain, his umbrella. After all it was not an ordinary umbrella. Upon death one was allowed to take an item with them. Some selected money, and others picked their spouse, rather than allowing them to live on. Samuel took his umbrella. In life it was an ordinary umbrella, but here the selected object became enhanced. Money held no actual value here so the paper became books, fibers became clothes, metals became jewelry, spouse became trophies, but Samuel’s umbrella offered protection. When held he was unseen to all that meant him harm and it offered the only protection from the deadly black rain. There was a catch for these objects; they were cursed by the desire of others.

  Samuel dove into the Dead Forest in pursuit of his umbrella. He slid to a halt in front of the imposing, but diminutive form of The Collector. A name acquired as he was known to take items others brought. He slouched over at four-foot-two with his knuckles resting on the ground. The umbrella cradled in his left hand. His bewildered eyes examined it unable to comprehend why he was not hidden. What he could not comprehend was that the umbrella had not hidden him as Samuel did not mean him any harm. The prominent brow on The Collector’s face under scored the fact that he was a Neanderthal. He turned his attention to Samuel.

  “What is it that you are hunting for?” The Collector inquired. “This broken trinket?” He offered up the umbrella, but Samuel was too taken back by the coherent language that fell from this beast’s mouth. “You will need to come and take it.” The statement was accented by a direct stare that challenged every fiber of Samuel.

  Samuel silently sprinted he focused on the umbrella. The Collector sidestepped. Samuel followed. Anger boiled over in The Collector as he punched Samuel in the face. Both froze. The Collector’s fist had passed through Samuel’s mouth and out the back of his head. A terrible smile crossed Samuel’s face as he reached for the umbrella and instantly vanished from sight. The confused Collector attempted to process what was happening as Samuel dislodged from The Collector’s arm.

  Samuel had never been so happy about the gaping hole in his head. His end had been anything, but happy and this umbrella reminded him of the good times, such as a walk on a rainy afternoon or his favorite musical where life was just a little surreal. This umbrella protected him from harm, rain and most importantly sadness.

  The Collector screamed with rage. Samuel popped open his umbrella as the black rain began to fall. Drop by drop it dissolved The Collector, as he flailed around battling an undefeatable foe. He would not be coming back.

  Samuel whistled his favorite song as he danced back to his peaceful hole in the wall and awaited the arrival of a new friend. Hopefully this friend would be better than Nigel.

  Scotophobia

  Darkness engulfed my room. Beep-beep beep-beep, my photo sensor warned of the absence of light, but I was already awake. My back-up flashlights failed to light. The icy fingers of fear slowly encroached around my throat as my sheets became a suffocating burden and no longer offered warmth and protection. I tossed them aside, and leapt to my feet in an instant. I strode to my bedroom window. My building was the only one without power. I released my heavy shade which crashed into the window and swallowed the room back into darkness. My hands found a purpose, as they reached for my baseball bat.

  The absolute darkness threw off my sense of direction. I knocked the papers off my nightstand. I stumbled toward the door and slipped on the pages scattered about my room.

  The floor rose and met my face. I exhaled spitting a little blood, and inhaled panic. The darkness was disorientating. I struggled to regain control and focus, but terror was too powerful of an adversary. I focused on where I thought the door stood. The room around me grew from eerily quiet to deafening silence. I thought I saw a movement. The shadows coalesced and took shape, but quickly fell into nothingness.

  Terror gripped me completely as I remained motionless on the floor. Time slowly ebbed away, an eternity later I found the strength to move. I pushed up to a sitting position as my left hand discovered the bat. I gripped the handle and felt terror’s grip slowly recede. The bat gave my arms a quiet strength. The darkness granted me a slight advantage, for only I knew my room. The taste of blood in my mouth was an instant reminder that the playing field was even.

  I sat and waited for something, anything to happen. One heartbeat…two heartbeats …another and another. I needed to move. I willed myself to my feet. The shadows moved and shifted against me. I fought the oppressive darkness and gravity as I stood.

  Around me the darkness had transformed my only safe haven in this world, into hostile territory. Everything in my room felt alien. My strength came from my bat alone. I lifted it into a ready position. I heard the rustle of papers from an unfelt breeze. Something brushed my arm. I swung. Nothing as I was alone.

  I spun around. I could no longer tell where I was in my room or if I was even still in my room. Perhaps I lingered on the precipice of a new alien land or something darker. I needed light, if only to steel my confidence that I had not vanished. Shadows stirred. I swung. Still nothing. My room was not safe. I had to leave, but the unseen world was more dangerous tha
n this one.

  I struggled against the darkness and myself, too afraid to move against the unknown. A single step is all it took. The darkness no longer confined me. With newfound strength I ran. I knocked into my bed, stumbled into the unyielding corner of my desk and promptly located the source of my fear, the darkness made solid. I swung my bat and tore the darkness asunder. I was granted a hopeful moment. The darkness reformed. Fear overpowered me even before the congealed darkness grabbed hold. My bat fell; helplessness took hold.

  My feet dangled off the floor. The grip was iron tight. I struggled for freedom, but it did not budge. My vision was fading. I clawed at the hand and peeled back layers of oily soot. My strength waned. I fought less. My eyelids became heavier with each blink. The darkness had won.

  Snap! Light returned. The darkness fled.

  The arm that held me slowly dissolved. I fought with renewed hope and won my freedom. As I collapsed on the floor, I felt the icy fingers of terror and panic slowly being replaced by warmth and hope. It was still difficult to breathe, but I survived the darkness.

  As the seconds slipped away the memory slowly faded like a nightmare under the unrelenting light of day. Once my courage returned I searched for the darkness but there was nothing.

  Empty Seat

  I sit in a claustrophobic room, contemplating the conversation that will transpire, shortly. My palms are moist, my breathing short. I am nervous. I mouth a question to simultaneously focus myself and calm my nerves. I respond, to the question, with a laugh followed swiftly by a pointed retort. I do this again and again in preparation.

  The door rips free of the frame. I stand to offer a clammy hand, but his hand signals me to stop short. Leaving me in a bizarre mid-stand, butt-out position. I casually nod and lower my posterior. Adjusting in my seat, I struggle to find the right combination of confidence and humility with a dash of casual comfort. The anonymous gentleman takes the seat across from me. He reviews a few pages in silence. His eyes never rising to meet mine.

  “Ahem,” I clear my throat.

  Nothing. I grow uncomfortable. The lights seem to brighten to a blinding glare.

  His eyes transfix on random details as he flips another page. Once finished with page four, his eyes flit up. He watches me as he clears his throat as though to speak, but instead pauses and takes a drink of water. His thirst quenched, he offers me some water.

  I smile, adding, “No, thank you.”

  He takes another drink, this one longer and more luxurious than the last. “It has been a long day.” His arm wipes his mouth clean. “So tell me about yourself.”

  I begin a long-winded, well-practiced monologue of my career so far, highlighting my personal experience and growth from position to position. I touch on major wins as well as setbacks. I even add moments of lighthearted humor. I can see he is along for the ride. In spite of the violent glare generated from the light crashing off the surrounding metallic surfaces, my confidence is bolstered. I’m in, I muse.

  “Ok. Well, that’s great,” the nameless man flips the file shut.

  “My strengths are simple enough. Perfection. Why you ask? Sometimes perfection can be a weakness as it comes at the sacrifice of timetables and individual agendas, but isn’t it worth it for perfection. I do not accept less from myself or team.”

  He nods his approval and dips his head, taking a quick note.

  “Weaknesses? I would have to say I have tendency to over react.”

  His head rose with his features providing an inquisitive look.

  “But I have been working on this one and have made major strides. Perfection can be a double edged sword,” I laugh.

  His pen fell to the cover of the file once more.

  As I wait I notice the next topic, Career Aspirations. I do not have a quick or precise answer. Panic begins to devour my confidence.

  His head rises once more.

  I delay him, “Retirement.”

  With a deep breath he collects his file and says the dreaded words, “We will be in touch.” He is at the door before I realize it is over. He is gone before I can wish him well or give a better non-laughable career aspiration. I am left sitting there, staring at my own reflection in the oversized mirror.

  “Um, what is he doing?” asked Officer Johnson.

  “I think he is giving an interview,” puzzled Detective Donovan.

  They both watched in silence as the suspect held the full interview with an empty chair.

  “I think he may be guilty.”

  The Jump Off

  “Come on,” she pleaded.  “Everybody’s going,” her eyes begged and I was their slave.  I attempted to dissuade her, but it was futile.  We were already walking to The Edge, a popular hangout that rested on the edge of the city. 

  We arrived in a matter of minutes.  The building was empty.  I shouldered my way ahead of my companion.  The room beyond the door was dark in a moment my eyes adjusted.  I scanned the room, but only found spilled drinks and tossed chairs.

  “In the back,” the call came as my companion disappeared around the side of the building. 

  I sent a silent scream after her.  My thoughts raced.  Was she taken?  By whom?  What is happening?  My thoughts were answered by a deafening rumble. “No,” I gasped the single word as I ran full tilt around the corner of the building.  

  It looked as if the world had emptied into this little space between The Edge and oblivion.  I called her name.  She stepped free giving me an embarrassed look. Relief swelled in me that she had not done something crazy, like the Big Jump. 

  Our hands met as we mingled with friends and neighbors, occasionally pausing for the deafening rumble.  After a while I suggested we return home and was dismayed by the apparent hurt in her eyes.

  “You want to do the Big Jump, don’t you?”

  Her response was a simple smile combined with those begging brown eyes that always sucker me in, but not this time.

  “No,” I was firm.

  Her silent plea could not break me.   Understanding this she leaned close and led me like a stray dog to see the Big Jump.  Friends, family, neighbors, acquaintances all lined the edge between The Edge and oblivion.  With the next rumble, they leapt.  Wave after wave followed behind them.

  After a few minutes only the stragglers were left, with us among them.  She moved us closer.  I did not budge.  She leaned forward to stare into oblivion, I held firm so she could come back to me.  Coming back from oblivion, she pulled in tight and kissed me.  

  Elation. Euphoria.  It was our first kiss and I needed more.  I pulled her close and we kissed again.  She pushed off and fell backwards into oblivion. 

  Without a thought, I dove headlong after her.  I could not let that be it.  I pulled my extremities close to increase speed.  I ripped through oblivion and continued falling into nothingness.  After a moment I saw her.  I spread wide, letting the air slow my fall. 

  Catching hands, she smiled.  “You came.”

  “Had to.”  Feeling a breeze, I added, “Hold on.”

  We were tossed across the horizon.  We rode the wind with a sense of whimsy.  We held each other knowing that the trip would eventually end.  Until then we enjoyed the journey and each other.

  The screams started slowly, but the emotion was hard to block out.  Soon the cacophony of terror was thunderous.  Behind us others cried out.  The white mass below grew in size to incredible dimensions decorated with brown spikes of death which jutted out here and there.  One last kiss and then we joined the symphony of death.

  I struck a spike, lost my left side, but held tight with my right.  Darkness stole my sight, a blessing as I would remember her beauty and not her terror distorted features.  I slammed into the white that was below and slip out of consciousness at once. 

  I awake to a vision.  Laying over the top of me, she wept.  I tried to adjust, but was unable.  Her eyes rose to meet mine. 
I provided her with a pained smile and added, “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not, silly.  We are melting.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “Almost all season.”

  “Wow!” I laughed. “I can’t wait to do that again.” 

   The sun warmed the world below The Edge as the snow’s frosty grip receded.

  Flames of Passion

  I laughed, as flames licked my feet and devoured my clothes. It tickled.  This enraged her even more; more than I ever fathomed. 

  Her screams crackled louder than the flames.  Her eyes redder than any unnatural coloring I had seen focused on me. 

  The flames grew with each step she took toward me.  I felt the heat roll off her bare body.  It was intense.  Droplets moistened my skin in a last ditch attempt at survival, but I knew better.  I had seen this end a lifetime ago.  Why?  Simple, because the journey was worth every moment pain I now feel.

  She took a final step in, her body rubbed mine in the right way, but now it felt wrong.  My laughter subsided, giving way to tears.  I held my smile, as my skin cracked.  It was the only thing I could do to thank her for the memories. 

  She leaned in and kissed me.  In that moment, I was gone.

  Alone she crumbled to the floor and wept, extinguishing the flames around her.  A baby’s cry from the next room spoke of my sacrifice.

  Author Note: When faced with writer’s block, I rely on a pin I found on Pinterest. It simply stated, “Your weapon of choice for the impending zombie apocalypse is to your left.” With this pin I began picking random object and wrote 100 words on how it would be used. Here are a couple of my favorites;

  Weapon of Choice

  Toilet Paper:

  To my left is a single roll of 1-ply toilet paper. This is my luck or should I say lack thereof. I can hear the hungry growls even as I try to rush my colon to completion. In this effort I am aided by terror as a door bursts open. I grab my toilet paper and scramble for the window. For it is not a weapon, but currency in the new world. I wave the lone roll of comfort in the air as a path is made for me and the prize. Maybe lady luck was with me after all.