He found that he really had a lot to say to her, but the conversation was pretty one sided.
- I can't believe you really shot me.
Not even a blink from her.
-I know I wasn't the perfect man. I know I treated you badly. I even deserved to die, but still... You look so pure and innocent right now. It's hard to see you like this. This new light you're in is too much for me. I guess I'll be seeing a lot of things in a new light.
She not only failed to respond, she scratched the inside of her thigh in a disconcertingly private fashion. Rudy knew she couldn't sense him. He was extant only to himself, which was unfortunate in so many ways.
Rudy saw the bicycle taxi a long time before Brenda did. With a great deal of effort he managed to get his spectral form up above the accident. The bird's eye view did him no favors. The way Brenda tore out of the windscreen was disturbing for everyone, but it was particularly awful from Rudy's perspective.
Brenda split into two parts, he bod and her other form. She was present for just long enough to blurt out - I killed you! How are you... OH!
And she was gone.
The bicycle taxi driver stuck around for a moment longer. He looked at his shattered cab and corpse.
- F#ck man! I just paid that shit off! I was finally going to make some money. Dammit! That sucks. I was totally not ready for another incarnation yet.
And then he started to shrink and grow younger looking. His features changed and in a child's voice: - I f#cking HATE the birth canal!
And he was gone.
Rudy's attention was absorbed by this display. He completely failed to notice the man dressed like an investment banker who was walking swiftly away, holding the bulging case of cash. He failed to notice for about 10 feet.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
Part 2
Rudy hadn't lived much of a life, but he'd always thought that it would end with a whimper, rather than a bang. He'd known there were troubles between the, but when Brenda actually pulled a gun on him... well, it was a radical shift in perspective.
- Baby, what is this?
- Don't you f#cking 'baby' me, asshole! This is the way this f#cking story ends. Drop the f#cking case and move over there.
If only she'd been right. Later on Rudy had LOTS and LOTS of time to reflect on how wrong she'd been.
- I said, 'Drop The F#cking Case!' You impotent, dimebag, skinny-d!ck, piece of sh!t!
- Look, Ba..., Brenda, Brenda honey, it wasn't, it isn't like this isn't OUR money, OUR life. We're here together.
- F#ck that! I know you. You're not innocent, you're not f#cking sharing. You're looking at that money and you're f#cking making plans.
- Plans for us! Plans for US, ba.., Brenda.
- That's all I have to hear. You barely know my f#cking name! I'm just one of your damn 'Babys' Well f#ck that, and f#ck you! I'm not having that. I'm having it all.
The windmills turned over head. Oblivious to the quickly cut-off,
- Baby, NO!
and the four shots that followed.
Rudy, looking down at his corpse, reflected that she'd been too close. She was spattered, well spattered. Not like Carrie or anything, but it was a bloody mess. She stood so still that it was almost as if SHE'D died. But then her eyes moved to the case and it was like a current to a clock. Instant movement.
Rudy was a little startled. Not being a terribly metaphysical kind of guy he'd never really given much thought to what happens after death. Now it was happening. He'd been planning on checking into a hotel at around this time. Within two hours he'd planned to be showering the sex off and leaving a note. He'd given a lot of thought to whether or not he'd leave money. He'd decided not to, which had only made it more surprising to be shot. Ask anyone who has suffered a fatal gunshot wound, (consult your local medium) they'll tell you it's pretty surprising.
Rudy watched her level his body over the cliff and was impressed again at how different she was than he'd thought. She'd seemed, for the couple months he'd known her, to be one of those pretty, little bitches that one meets and discards. He'd never thought of her as something special. Clarity rarely comes to one in the full flush of rapid existence. But get to the other side and things start to clarify in a hurry.
Rudy saw that she was a little more than just a random bar slut. She was obviously better looking, but she'd also been planning this caper for a while. The ease with which she had pulled it together, the swift movements for disposal. Rudy wished he'd seen things this clearly before he'd died. With one of those goofy little smiles of his, the ones that defined his success with women when he was alive, he thought about using his new found deductive skills to, well, to what?
As Brenda started the car and drove off Rudy experienced yet another little shock. He stopped being by the windmills and found himself floating about 10 feet behind the car. With all the control he could muster over his new, apparently nomadic, dicorporeal form, he stopped in midair. But within seconds he was moving again, floating along behind the car. He considered his options. Apparently his would not be an existence of control. Something clearly compelled him.
Rudy was used to control. Not that he wasone of those control freaks or anything. He ran one of the most continually successful minor casinos on the strip for a very, very successful little syndicate, known under a variety of sobriquets and mostly feared by those in the know. The case Brenda had taken was only 1% his, and as a consequence some very, very angry men would be coming after Brenda before too long. Rudy expected to feel good about seeing harm come to her, but was surprised to find that he couldn't muster and malice whatsoever.
There was closer and there was in the car. Those were his options. By a little manipulation of the will he found that he could move in any direction, 10 feet from the car. He considered a destiny tied by a 10 foot leash to a rental car. It seemed bleak. Being in the car with Brenda, near all that blood, it was disconcerting. He found that he really had a lot to say to her, but the conversation was pretty one sided.
- Baby, what is this?
- Don't you f#cking 'baby' me, asshole! This is the way this f#cking story ends. Drop the f#cking case and move over there.
If only she'd been right. Later on Rudy had LOTS and LOTS of time to reflect on how wrong she'd been.
- I said, 'Drop The F#cking Case!' You impotent, dimebag, skinny-d!ck, piece of sh!t!
- Look, Ba..., Brenda, Brenda honey, it wasn't, it isn't like this isn't OUR money, OUR life. We're here together.
- F#ck that! I know you. You're not innocent, you're not f#cking sharing. You're looking at that money and you're f#cking making plans.
- Plans for us! Plans for US, ba.., Brenda.
- That's all I have to hear. You barely know my f#cking name! I'm just one of your damn 'Babys' Well f#ck that, and f#ck you! I'm not having that. I'm having it all.
The windmills turned over head. Oblivious to the quickly cut-off,
- Baby, NO!
and the four shots that followed.
Rudy, looking down at his corpse, reflected that she'd been too close. She was spattered, well spattered. Not like Carrie or anything, but it was a bloody mess. She stood so still that it was almost as if SHE'D died. But then her eyes moved to the case and it was like a current to a clock. Instant movement.
Rudy was a little startled. Not being a terribly metaphysical kind of guy he'd never really given much thought to what happens after death. Now it was happening. He'd been planning on checking into a hotel at around this time. Within two hours he'd planned to be showering the sex off and leaving a note. He'd given a lot of thought to whether or not he'd leave money. He'd decided not to, which had only made it more surprising to be shot. Ask anyone who has suffered a fatal gunshot wound, (consult your local medium) they'll tell you it's pretty surprising.
Rudy watched her level his body over the cliff and was impressed again at how different she was than he'd thought. She'd seemed, for the couple months he'd known her, to be one of those pretty, little bitches that one meets and discards. He'd never thought of her as something special. Clarity rarely comes to one in the full flush of rapid existence. But get to the other side and things start to clarify in a hurry.
Rudy saw that she was a little more than just a random bar slut. She was obviously better looking, but she'd also been planning this caper for a while. The ease with which she had pulled it together, the swift movements for disposal. Rudy wished he'd seen things this clearly before he'd died. With one of those goofy little smiles of his, the ones that defined his success with women when he was alive, he thought about using his new found deductive skills to, well, to what?
As Brenda started the car and drove off Rudy experienced yet another little shock. He stopped being by the windmills and found himself floating about 10 feet behind the car. With all the control he could muster over his new, apparently nomadic, dicorporeal form, he stopped in midair. But within seconds he was moving again, floating along behind the car. He considered his options. Apparently his would not be an existence of control. Something clearly compelled him.
Rudy was used to control. Not that he wasone of those control freaks or anything. He ran one of the most continually successful minor casinos on the strip for a very, very successful little syndicate, known under a variety of sobriquets and mostly feared by those in the know. The case Brenda had taken was only 1% his, and as a consequence some very, very angry men would be coming after Brenda before too long. Rudy expected to feel good about seeing harm come to her, but was surprised to find that he couldn't muster and malice whatsoever.
There was closer and there was in the car. Those were his options. By a little manipulation of the will he found that he could move in any direction, 10 feet from the car. He considered a destiny tied by a 10 foot leash to a rental car. It seemed bleak. Being in the car with Brenda, near all that blood, it was disconcerting. He found that he really had a lot to say to her, but the conversation was pretty one sided.
Friday, November 2, 2007
The New One
This is what I do while in class at Field Med.
The windmills churned round again.
On the ground the blood had almost entirely soaked into the dust. Standing by the door, like a blood-soaked gargoyle, she finally let the gun fall onto the driver's seat. As if the falling gun had restarted time she began to move. Using the tire iron from the jack she pushed the carcass off the cliff. The car started with the whisper of luxury and in the backseat the case with the 400,000 hundred dollars bills glowered accusation.
Pulling back onto The Strip an hour later she barely even glanced at the gaudy extravaganza. So focused was she on her mission, she never saw the two-seat bicycle taxi that killed her.
The collision was quick and the taxi driver barely even noticed the sleekness of her Rolls. He didn't have any customers, so it was only the loss of one resident Las Vegan. But she was through the windshield before she knew what happened and dead before the case in the backseat hit the floor.
James Lauer had given up years ago. He knew he hadn't ever accomplished anything. All his pleasures and perfections were vicarious. After High School there were a couple of years when he thought that something might happen for him, but nothing ever did and the slow movement West had finally landed him here. Vegas offered him a good disposable income. He sustained off the gullibility of tourists. The move towards a more family oriented Sin City had been a boon to him. All the brightly colored shirts and fear of looking stupid made perfect sense to a business model that covers all the angles. A suit, not a flashy one, a smile, thank God Dad was an orthodontist, and a guarantee of successful gambling skills taught in one hour increments and two hour "Intensive" courses. It all added up to money, if not in the bank, then at least under the carpet in the living room.
As he ran to the wreck though, all he could think about was the woman who's flown through the window. As the rolls had passed him, sitting on his bench, eating his late dinner ham and cheese, he'd been awed by her. She was, without question, a specimen of perfection.
It was a split second and she never saw him. His firing synapses had only just hit their receptors when her head hit the glass. Just as his heart leaped in his chest, the rolls leaped over the taxi and all the bits of perfection came crashing to earth.
So James ran.
He got to the wreck and took it in with a glance. The woman was obviously dead. She had obviously died and bled and torn all at once. The only thing left to take in was the case in the backseat. It was lying open, as if it had been placed that way, full to the top with tightly wrapped hundreds. A true child of the Media Age, the phrase, "unmarked, non-sequential hundreds" immediately tolled through his mind. He was later discouraged to find them to be both marked and sequential. Nonetheless, the case retained its emotional allure. Money does that.
Looking around him with a speed and intensity that he had rarely found before, he opened the rear passenger door and took the case. With another swift glance around, and a more tender on at the bloodied angel in the street, he closed the case against his leg and walked off.
The windmills churned round again.
On the ground the blood had almost entirely soaked into the dust. Standing by the door, like a blood-soaked gargoyle, she finally let the gun fall onto the driver's seat. As if the falling gun had restarted time she began to move. Using the tire iron from the jack she pushed the carcass off the cliff. The car started with the whisper of luxury and in the backseat the case with the 400,000 hundred dollars bills glowered accusation.
Pulling back onto The Strip an hour later she barely even glanced at the gaudy extravaganza. So focused was she on her mission, she never saw the two-seat bicycle taxi that killed her.
The collision was quick and the taxi driver barely even noticed the sleekness of her Rolls. He didn't have any customers, so it was only the loss of one resident Las Vegan. But she was through the windshield before she knew what happened and dead before the case in the backseat hit the floor.
James Lauer had given up years ago. He knew he hadn't ever accomplished anything. All his pleasures and perfections were vicarious. After High School there were a couple of years when he thought that something might happen for him, but nothing ever did and the slow movement West had finally landed him here. Vegas offered him a good disposable income. He sustained off the gullibility of tourists. The move towards a more family oriented Sin City had been a boon to him. All the brightly colored shirts and fear of looking stupid made perfect sense to a business model that covers all the angles. A suit, not a flashy one, a smile, thank God Dad was an orthodontist, and a guarantee of successful gambling skills taught in one hour increments and two hour "Intensive" courses. It all added up to money, if not in the bank, then at least under the carpet in the living room.
As he ran to the wreck though, all he could think about was the woman who's flown through the window. As the rolls had passed him, sitting on his bench, eating his late dinner ham and cheese, he'd been awed by her. She was, without question, a specimen of perfection.
It was a split second and she never saw him. His firing synapses had only just hit their receptors when her head hit the glass. Just as his heart leaped in his chest, the rolls leaped over the taxi and all the bits of perfection came crashing to earth.
So James ran.
He got to the wreck and took it in with a glance. The woman was obviously dead. She had obviously died and bled and torn all at once. The only thing left to take in was the case in the backseat. It was lying open, as if it had been placed that way, full to the top with tightly wrapped hundreds. A true child of the Media Age, the phrase, "unmarked, non-sequential hundreds" immediately tolled through his mind. He was later discouraged to find them to be both marked and sequential. Nonetheless, the case retained its emotional allure. Money does that.
Looking around him with a speed and intensity that he had rarely found before, he opened the rear passenger door and took the case. With another swift glance around, and a more tender on at the bloodied angel in the street, he closed the case against his leg and walked off.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
