#one of these could fix everything it hink /silly

[fizzzypopzz]

Look at him.. the creature ever... Dwaekki

I think abt him a lot...

[christas-notebook]

City of Light, City of Night... (pt 4)

 It is nearly 5 a.m. before Arthur manages to go to sleep. After tossing and turning, being part irritated - part sad - about messing up again, he suddenly realizes that he could possibly meet her on the bus. He can be so silly somtimes - so hung up in problems, he don’t see the solutions or possibilities until much later. Reliefed he finally can relax. When his alarm goes off two hours later, he is still tired. He lits a cigarette and goes to put on some coffee. He takes a shower and gets ready for work. He hums a tune as he walks to take the bus. Yesterday was such a good day. Even with the kids on the bus, and him lying for his mom. He thinks back to the time spent on the café, and goes trough their conversation again in his head. He thinks about meeting her again, and imagine what they will talk about then.

At work he is impatiently waiting for the day to be over. He have an assignment at the opening of a new toy store, which is pure routine - and goes well. Finally the day is done, and he hurries to catch the bus. She is not on the bus stop. He gets on, and feels slightly disappointed when he realises that she will not be on the bus neither. He reaches his stop, and get out of the bus. It is a warm summer evening. Slowly he walks toward the building he lives in. He halts, then walk back to the bus stop. He sits down on the low concrete wall there, smokes a cigarette. Gets up and walks back into the hallway, checks the mail box. Nothing. Then he returns back out again. It is such a nice evening. He walks up and down the pavement. Another bus stops, and his eyes scan the passengers coming off. He sighs.

Hes been hanging around the bus stop for over an hour now. He should have known it would not be as easy as he thought. It never is. With a last glance towards the street, he give up and decides to go home. As he reach the arches near the entrance to the appartment building he hear his named called. - Hi, Arthur! He looks around, and can see an arm waving at him. It is her. She is walking towards him from the other side of the entrance. He panics a little. Act normal, he hinks to himself. Just relax and be yourself. All the conversations he has thought up and gone through in his head are gone. He slowly raises his hand and make a vage gesture with his fingers to her. - You weren’t on the bus today. He bursts out when she gets there. - Good evening to you too, she laughs. - No, I had the day off. That was not how he had ment to greet her. He feels stupid again. - I’m sorry. That sounded rude. He looks so shocked over himself, she can’t help but laugh again. - Lets start over, she says. - Hi, Arthur. She waves at him and smiles broad. - Hi. He waves his fingers again. -Liv... - I just wanted to say thank you again, for keeping me company yesterday. That was the nicest evening I have had in a long time. - Yes. It was nice. - It felt really good to talk to someone again. I have mostly been alone in my appartment since I moved here. The first job I had, was in a flower shop - and I never really got to know the other ladies that worked there. They had been working together for years, and I never quite fitted in. Nor felt welcome. You know. - Yes. It was nice. He repeats. He have lost all his words. She nods. She feels insecure. Is he just shy, or is he uninterested in talking to her? - I mean, no, that was not nice. Or, the job you didn’t fit in to was not nice. Is what I’m saying. That was not nice. You are nice. He stops and just look helpless at her. Oh my God, What am I doing, he thinks. He puts one hand over his mouth as to make sure to stay quiet. She smiles at him. - That’s kind of you to say. I think you are nice, too. She continues - Well, I won’t bother you anymore for now, I am sure you have things to do. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime? You lived near by, right? - Yes, he answers and points to the appartment building that is just a few meters away. - I live here. On the 8th floor. - Really? She grins. - I’m on the 10th. We are practically neighbours. Arthurs face lighten up. - Thats nice..., he starts, then hurries to add. - I’m not doing anything special tonight. And you are not bothering me. Not at all. He feels bold now. She asked where he lived. She wanted to know, just like he have been wondering about her. - If you’d like we could go for a coffee again, and I could tell you a little about the neighbourhood? I have lived here for quite some time now. - I would very much like that. - Yeah? He Sounds surprised. - Yeah. She laughs again. -Absolutely. - Allright then!  I’ll just quickly let my mom know. He nods towards the building. - And I’ll go inside to put on something nicer. How about We meet out here again in 30 minutes? -Sure. They walk together into the building, and the elevator. He pushes the button saying «8». Then «10». And he smiles all the time.

After a few seconds, the elevator makes a strange creaking sound and stops. This is not the first time, and it will not be the last. They are not exactly overdoing the maintenance on the building, and only the most neccesary things are fixed. Things that might get the owner a fine if he don’t tend to them, that means. He turns to Liv. Her smile is gone, and she looks tense. -It will soon move again. He says. -It just takes a few seconds. She nods. But it don’t. And then the lights go out. - Well, maybe a few minutes, he adds. Liv makes a strange whimpering noise. -Are you OK? He ask. - Yeah. Sure. But he she does not sound like she is. Her breathing is sounding louder. Faster. - This is not good. Her voice is strained. - How long will they keep us in here? - I am sure the elevator will start up again very soon. It has been like this for months. Have you never had it happen to you? - I take the stairs. - 10 floors? - Mhm. - That’s a lot of stairs. You must be in good shape. He keeps talking. He understand that she is frightened, and hope that he can distract her a bit. She starts running her hands over the wall. - Where is the door? She whisper. - In front of us, but it won’t open now. Liv, it is OK. I promise. - Yes, of course. Sure. He takes her hand. - I am here, and I promise nothing will happen to you. The elevator will run again in short time, and we will both be fine. She squeezes his hand real hard, and he let her. They stand in silence for a minute. - Please, she whispers. Then she raises her voice a bit. - Please let me out. I promise I won’t tell anybody. I promise. - There is noone out there. Arthur wonders who she is talking to. - Of course. I’m sorry. She sinks down, and sits on the floor. Arthur sits down next to her. He puts his arm around her shoulder. She leans onto him. - No, I am sorry. I didn’t know you were scared of elevators. - I just don’t like to be locked in, in a dark room. The elevator rumbles and jerks, and finally it starts its way upwards again. They lights are still out tho, and she clings to his hand as they stand there. When they reach his floor and the door opens, she is first outside. She hurries down the corridor, aiming for the stairs. Arthur hurries after and catches up. He grabs her shoulder. -Wait, he says. She turns and look at him. - I am sorry. I ‘ll just go home now. - I’ll walk you. He follows her up the stairs, and to her appartments door.  - Listen, Arthur. Could we have that coffe tomorrow - or some other day - instead? I am so sorry, but I feel terrible right now, and ... and... Tears well up in her eyes again, and she tries hard not to start crying. - I really wanted to go out with you, and now I ruined everything. I’m really Sorry. -You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have to apologise. He reaches out and carefully strokes her arm. - We can go out for coffee anytime you like.

Back down in his own appartment, his mom is wondering why he is so happy. And why is he late again? Why are there not any lettes for her in the mail, and does he really send the letters she is writing? He doesn’t let her constant flow of questions ruin his mood. He is going out with a girl tomorrow. He makes dinner, do the usual chores around the house - and watch TV. But his mind is filled with other things. Like what to wear tomorrow? What to talk about? He is worried that he will move to fast, seem to intense. It is difficult to read people - still he feels confortable in her presense. He hope they will be good friends. That is as far as he dares to think about it...

[strangephiti]

Control

Written for University last year. Prompt: A wager (mild violence, some swearing)

Control

I am timeless. I did not begin in the Garden and I will not end with Ragnarök. I am everything and nothing. I am one of you; And I am so much more than you can ever conceive. 

I watch you, all you dull, unimaginative people. You’re lives are so... pointless. I blink, and you are gone. So many of you sit there, wishing your lives away. You  watch successful people and wonder: “why them, and not me?” Most of you have never even picked up a guitar, or sat down with a brush, or planned your wonder emporium. But still: “why them, not me?”

I listen to you. You think that it’s all luck. You struggle to scrape together the months rent and so you think: “why work so hard for nothing? The rich are only rich because they got lucky.” You mope about lost time, and sit around, wishing for a better tomorrow.

I have nothing but tomorrows. 

I feel so very little for you all. And yet you fascinate me. I envy you. I envy your limited days. I envy the ticking clock that pushes your peers to achieve, to grow.  Without the pressure of mortality I have no ambition, no desire. So I have had to get creative with my time.

...

Kyle Hawkins isn’t a bad person. He is polite, takes care of his parents as well as his senile, happy, Nana. He is the youngest of five children - but his eldest brother got the best of both parents: the looks, the smarts, the luck. As it filtered down through the siblings the gene pool began to dry out, leaving Kyle with nothing but the dregs. At least, so he believes. What hope could poor Kyle have in a world where “like only goes to like?” 

He goes through the same drudgery day after day. Works at 8am, completes the same chores; eats the same sandwich at the same sandwich bar; the same shops on the way home – groceries for him and groceries for Mum and Dad. Then home for dinner, and streams of videos.

Weekends aren’t much better. On a Sunday he visits Nana. She makes him laugh with her confused ramblings, and breaks his heart when she forgets his name. He cheers himself up with a pint at the local, where he and the boys talk the same rubbish each week.

Even the successes of his friends don’t inspire Kyle.

“It’s alright for some,” he scoffs into his pint.

So narrow is his sight that he scarcely noticed me slip into his peripherals and from there on into his life. I’ve sat across from him for many years now, listening to him whine about his lot. He likes to talk to me because he thinks I am just as worthless as he is: No wife, no kids, no hope. We just sit and drink and talk. And I wait. I wait patiently for him to say those fateful words:

“What I wouldn’t give...”

I shrug at at him. “Nah mate. Opportunity could come dancing through that door with neon lights and a siren blazing, and you’d still be sat there on your fat arse, looking at your phone.”

“Ye ‘hink so? Listen… If Ah’d been given the chances some folk have...”

I don’t listen. Never do. It’s the same excuses again. And I’ve heard them before. Different voices, different faces, but the excuses are always the same. Then I say to him:

“Wanna bet?”

He scowls at me but says nothing. I take a coin from my pocket, a shiny silver American dollar. I tell him I got it on a family holiday when I was twelve, when dreams still lived, and that I told myself I would go back to this “land of opportunity” and make my fortune. I kept the coin to remind me. But I still hadn’t gone. It hadn’t helped me. Maybe it would help him, I said.

“You think it’s all about luck? And Fate? Why not let my little coin decide for you?”

I turn the coin between finger and thumb, making sure to let it catch the light above us, and trace it across his drunken, hazy eyes. As he watches I say:

“Chances are all around us, all the time. But you just sit there, fat, forty and failing.”

He grunts at me. He knows I’m right. So I go on.

“It’s easier to do the same thing everyday, every weekend, because you don’t have to try, don’t have to fail.”

His eyes start to glaze as he watches the coin. I twirl it, effortlessly, between my fingers, the light dancing across his face.

“But what if something else made those choices for you? Would you grab those opportunities?”

I know when I have him. The light from the coin fills his eyes. Letting this thing decide for him appeals to his lazy nature.

“We can start now,” I say. “Loser buys the next round. Heads I win, tails you lose,”

“Heads,” he slurs pointlessly. I try not to sigh at his idiocy. I toss the coin high, its streamlined edges whipping the air with a soft zing-zing-zing. The light flashes across his face with each rotation, and his eyes can’t seem to focus on anything else. I smack the coin down on the back of my hand.

“Tails,” I say. “You lose. Get us a packet of crisps when your up, mate.”

With a grumble he drains the last of his pint and shuffles off to the bar. I call after him, equally as pointlessly:

“That’s half the trouble with you, mate: You don’t pay attention!”

We begin immediately, before he has time to change his mind. I take him out the very next day.

“Chances aren’t given. They’re taken,” I tell him. “You have to pay attention. You have to make a choice. Either you or the coin.”

The coin takes all responsibility away from him. It is a thought that appeals all too much to Kyle.

We start small: a new sandwich at the shop? Heads. It’s tasty, that’s all. No regrets. No real interest. Scratch card? He wins £10. He chuckles a little. He’s not that impressed, but the seed has been planted. It’s Sunday. Visit Nana or not?

Tails. Not.

That doesn’t sit well with Kyle, so he goes anyway. He can’t not see Nana. She waits all week to see him. They sit for hours and, mostly, he listens. His heart is heavy when he leaves. She thought he was the man come to fix the television. She kept asking him when the Queen’s Speech would be on. It is not the best state of mind for Kyle to be in for a chance encounter with his ex.

Sara.

She looks so good. Kyle swears she sparkles. They talk awkwardly for a bit: Hubby is doing well; The kids are growing so fast; work has her snowed under. She smells like summer fruits. He remembers that scent from when she used to squeeze her body next to his in bed. She could have been his if luck had been kinder. But of course, it wasn’t. He wasn’t “ambitious” enough for her. 

“You could make so much of yourself...” she told him.

He scoffed. Fat chance. So they took a break. He gave her space and time - in truth he wallowed on his couch, eating and drinking and moping. Then Mr Perfect rolled up in his perfect electric car, spouting about his perfect carbon footprint, and she was hooked. Off they went together to live the “organic” life, climbing hills, and furrowing their brows at the “serious issue of austerity” - while planning another holiday abroad. They even took to the front line soup kitchens. Kyle found that strangely sickening. The idea of ladling spoonsful of cheap soup to the less fortunate, a factitious smile on their faces, knowing they’re going back to their cosy three bedroom house, and their fridge bursting  with food and shelves sagging with their weekly Waitrose groceries.

He hates that about them. He loves that about her.

My voice cuts though his thoughts: You could follow her.

There is a beat. I hold out the coin. Kyle hesitates.

“No.”

We go a for a few drinks to chase the day away. We forget the coin. I leave it dormant on the table. But somehow, it manages to slip into his pocket, as if by chance.

When he crawls out of bed the next morning, cursing his luck and blaming me for that fifth pint, he finds the silver dollar on his kitchen counter. He is still not sure how it got there. Such a silly little thing. Completely worthless here. But then, hadn’t it won him a tenner? And if he’d listened to it and not visited Nana, he wouldn’t have bumped into Sara – Beautiful, glowing Sara. It wouldn’t have brought the memories back. Or the pain.

Always a man to blame his circumstances, Kyle pondered. Anything he did as a result of this coin toss wouldn’t really be his fault. Would it? Blame free. It wouldn’t be his fault. It would be the coins fault – my fault.

He flips the coin. It hurtles and zings.

“Go to work today or not?”  

He smacks it down – heads: no work today. He smiles and makes his way to the couch. With remote in hand his finger hovers over the buttons - but then he stops and thinks.

“Stay home? Or go out?”

Flip, zing, catch – tails. Better get dressed then.

Kyle has no idea where he is going. He tells himself how stupid this is. Opportunity isn’t going to suddenly leap out at him. But there is a voice in his head, now, that isn’t his, and it whispers:

What if?

He goes to the newsagents to peruse the photography magazines – another would-be hobby he had given up on. He reaches into his pocket for change. The coins feel dull, chalky and thunk against each other, indistinguishable one to the next. Then there was that silver dollar, pushing it’s way between his fingers. Its cold face presses into his palm and sends a shiver up his arm. It seems to whisper to him.

“Buy it?” or Steal it?

He trembles. Like a naughty child he gives the shopkeeper a few fervent glances over the magazine. Flip.

It’s surprisingly easy to walk out of the shop. His heart is thumping so loud he’s sure someone must be able to hear it. But no one hears. No one sees. He’s terrified. He’s thrilled. He wonders if he could pick up a camera that easily as well!

He parks himself on a bench, contemplating. The chills of excitement soon leave him as he flicks idly through his ill-gotten magazine, barely noticing the words. It’s only his stomach protesting that makes him get up, and his feet carry him to the sandwich shop.

Bad move and just his luck! His supervisor is here, picking up his own lunch. Usually he’d have someone else pick it up for him – usually Kyle. But Kyle hadn’t gone to work that day. Stupid mistake! He knows he should leave... but he doesn’t. The coin finds it’s way into his hand once more.

You’ve always wanted to tell him want you really think of him, it whispers.

Flip. Zing. Heads. He smiles.

The profanities that he lets fly seem unsuited to the gleeful grin on his face. Everyone in the shop has frozen, listening to this tirade. Time itself is holding it’s breath. Kyle, once begun, cannot stop. Electricity is buzzing throughout his body, powering his words. His supervisor is too stunned to respond, his face white. When twenty years of bitterness has been exhausted, Kyle wishes his former supervisor a nice day and leaves.

He can’t keep the smile from his face. He wonders what else could he do?

Zing! Zing!

Kissing the beautiful girl at the bus shelter was a big mistake. His throbbing cheek could attest to that.

“Not right. Not worth it.”

But I got I kiss out of it, the coin whispers in a voice that sounds like Kyles.

What was that saying? Regret the things you do and not the things you don’t. He took a chance. He got what wanted out of it. She got her revenge and moved on. What harm was there?

While he contemplated this, three young boys walk by. They were typical lads, hoods high and trousers low. Their height suggested age, but their gangly limbs betrayed them. Fourteen? Fifteen? If that.

Wham! An explosion of white, viscous liquid erupted against the glass, barely an inch from Kyles right ear. Milkshake spattered across his face and seeped grotesquely beneath his collar and through his shirt. The lads cackled.  

“Fat Fucker!” One of them shouted.

Normally Kyle would hang his head and walk away. But today was anything but normal.

Flip. Zing! Bam!

Blood spurts. He knocks out two front teeth from the closest boy. Who knew he could hit so hard?

The boys reel. They hesitate, gesticulate. But in the end they simply grab their friend, his bloody face in his hands, and drag him off down the road, hurling foulness back across their shoulders and threats of “next time.”

Kyle’s smile grows broader.

“That’ll teach them.”

Will it?

“They’re just boys. Just kids doing stupid things.”

They’re just stupid boys. Someone needs to teach them a lesson.

Zing. Zing. Zing.

He follows. 

There are a lot of bricks and broken bottles in the alley beside the liquor shop, where the boys have chosen to regroup. There is a loose fence post, long and heavy. Kyle unhooks it from the chain link. It fits perfectly in his hand.

The boys are making too much noise to hear him approach, the one cursing through fat lips, the others jabbing him with jibes of “you got clocked by an old git!” 

Kyle tightens his grip.

The metal bar knocks the laughter out of the tallest boy, the next boy folds around the swinging fence post as it hurtles towards his gut, and the third boy receives a crushing headbutt. The boys are a little tougher than their skinny frames suggest and land a good few blows on Kyles flabby body. The pain feels exhilarating! Even when the boys are writhing on the ground he finds he can’t stop.  

“That’s enough!” He hears himself scream.

Is it? Aren’t you enjoying it? Asks the coin.

“No.”

Yes, Kyles voice answers. They’ll think twice before they shit on me again!

He leaves the boys crying and bleeding.

I can do whatever I want. His heart beats in his ears.

“What do I want?”

Sara.

Sara is always pleased to see Kyle. She thinks it’s wonderful that they can still be friends. Kyle thinks he hears a glimmer of regret as she speaks of “still being close.” But her face isn’t glowing today. It pales as she answers the door. Her eyes trace the line of blood dripping from the corner of his swollen right eye, follows it to the fat lip, the scratches on his neck. When she reaches out to touch his arm, her face concerned, Kyle feels that spark once more. It pulses through him stronger than ever.

Zing. Zing.  

He kisses her. She reels away. But she doesn’t react the way the girl at the bus stop did. She understands. She smiles. It is her pity smile, her soup kitchen smile, the one reserved for “poor unfortunate souls.”

“You’ve had a rough day, haven’t you?” She sweetly coos.

She pities him. She has no idea! He is better now that he has ever been! She pities him? How dare she? Everything was her fault anyway! She was the one that left! She was the one who fell into the lap of luxury and left Kyle in the gutter!

You were mine first, his strange voice growls.

Zing. Zing. Zing.

You’re mine still!

The look of pity vanishes from her face as her back slams against the wall. She screams, but he muffles the scream with his own mouth. Her flailing arms are no match for his strong hands as he slaps her hard and pins her to the floor. The voice in his head is stronger than ever.

Regret the things you do.

As they struggle, the silver dollar rolls from Kyle’s pocket - as if by chance. Kyle doesn’t notice. But as it trundles away, the scrape of it’s edges on the wooden floor growing fainter and fainter, he suddenly begins to see her face.

She is glowing. A red glow. Her cheek is welted; her mascara smeared. She looks at him as if he is a stranger – a monster. He reels back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in his own feeble voice.

She runs. He runs.

There is no light left in the day and no life left in Kyle’s voice as he tells the officers everything. He confesses about the girl and the boys. He confesses about Sara, with a catch in his throat. He even confesses about the magazine, as if that mattered at all anymore.

The boys’ parents have already filed their report. They had stormed the station en masse and had not long been satiated and sent on their way before Kyle arrived. 

Sara had not been seen.

“When she does come in, or calls,” he croaks, his throat dry from crying. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

They won’t. 

He doesn’t really want them to. 

He doesn’t want to be forgiven.

...

Kyle Hawkins wasn’t really a bad man. He was lazy and unambitious. He refused to accept responsibility for himself and was too stubborn make good choices. Now his choices are made for him. He sleeps and wakes at the same time every day; Eats the same food from the same plastic tray; Completes the same chores; Stares at the same walls and faces day after day after day.

Who will he be when parole comes around?

Flip. Zing!

Heads I win. Tails you lose.