The Fallen

It all started when the psychiatrist asked what I had done with the cat. In reality, I hadn't done much with the cat, I sort of hit it a few times, kicked it around, but mostly, just played a bit too rough with it. The way he was looking at me, I knew exactly what he wanted to hear. Looking at the ground with my hands falsely shaking I regaled him with a tremor in my lip on how I had butchered my neighbors cat.

Truthfully, I thought he would leave it at that. From my previous experiences with pseudo-psychologists, whenever they felt they had gone too far, a backing off would be in order. However, as I finished my story and raised my eyes, the look on his face told me otherwise. He had relished in my story; his eyes demanding more. I knew that I would be found out for my lie if I stopped there, so I continued.

Beginning with the stories that floated in my head at night, I began to tell him fanciful tales of how I had watched my neighbor die. The look in his eyes as he overdosed with methamphetamine was something I explained that I'll never forget. Stories of how I had seen the gangs kill a member at the end of my block came forth as he pressed me on in earnest. I began to realize that this was a hole that I could not dig myself out of. He demanded me to proceed in the same gentle voice he had greeted me with.

As the stories progressed, I found myself running out of false ideas. Somehow, the time had slipped by me and we had been together in his small room for hours talking. While I searched the far corners of my brain for more lies to tell him, I realized that I was beginning to throw truths into the falsehoods of the stories. The sight of my friends younger brother laying beaten on the ground had slipped in there, as had when the gang killed my brother's friend. The sight of the closed casket and his mother crying were told with such veracity, I almost feared that he could tell a truth from the lies I had given.

The day surged into night, and I began telling the stories that I had reserved for no one but the far reaches of my mind. With detail, I explained the rape, how I had been forced to do ungodly acts. I showed him the scars that the burns had left on my skin, the wounds that had been hidden by years of regrowth. My mind felt like a sponge as I told him each passing story. No longer was I telling him lies but truths that I had hidden even from myself. The torture, the pain, everything was given to him on a platter. There he sat in his chair, taking them from me with the same soft spoken manner that he had used all along.

As I rose to leave his room, I realized that all this time he knew what my stories were about. The dead cat was merely my frustration, the murdered friends were my abandonment. In his own way, he had earned my trust by allowing me to believe him to be a man who couldn't see my lies. I felt secure in the fact that I could still retain my sense of self without his prying mind scouring it. He had gotten exactly what he wanted, and so had I.

To this day I do not believe I would have ever answered a single question of his truthfully. Yet, he never had to ask a single question to elicit the truth from me. It was inside of me all along, waiting to be told. All he had to do was listen.

Flight of the Matchstick Man

Orlando to Dallas. Three o'clock.

Dallas to Memphis. Nine forty five.

Memphis to Chicago. Eleven thirty.

Chicago to Detroit. One fifteen.

I sit there on the place, after an entire day of take-offs and landings, staring out the window. Each city is exactly the same. Through the small, thick glass, I looked out over each place I had been in. Houses, buildings, apartments, cars, trains; each one of them containing lives. Each life contains a story; one I will never know.

The entire day seems like a blur. My job sends me all across the states. However, due to the economy, I'm forced to make numerous stops in cities to catch connecting flights. Each stop is always the same. Families with children, worn out men in cheap suits, soldiers returning home. I want to stop and talk to any one of them and just find out where they're going; figure out what makes them want to leave where the are and travel to another place. But each time I go to approach them, I stop. To talk to them would introduce me to another person I will never again be able to experience life with.

The take off is the worst. Most people are excited, watching the city become smaller as we fly closer to the heavens. All I can think about while the plane rises higher is how each life down there is so disconnected from the others. I've never much cared about human life until I realize that I can not connect with any of them. So much potential, wasted in commutes, driving, boring jobs, fights with a spouse. I don't think I could bear to even begin to help any of them. I close my shade as I hear the stewardess repeat the same speech I've heard four times previous today.

The turbulence always calms me for some reason. As I look around the cabin, I can see other passengers reactions to it. Some are nervous, other annoyed. But subconsciously, they're all thinking the same thing. What if the plane were to hit the ground? What if the shaking is really the engines quitting and we're all about to die? It's in the fear that I can see who they really are. The impending sense of doom always helps bring out a person's true emotions, if only for a moment. That flash in their eye, the hugging of a loved one, even the arm placed across a child's chest; it all shows who they are inside.

The shade stays shut until I can hear the pilot thank us for such a nice trip. Everyone seems happier now, relieved that we made it safe and sound. Now they can return to their usual emotions; the ones that mask how they really feel. The mother berates her child for fidgeting, the man shouts on his cell phone to his lazy employees; we have landed.

As I stare at the baggage going round on the carousel, I can't help but notice that mine isn't in there. It's been twenty minutes since the buzzer sounded and my dark brown bag still hasn't risen from the hole. Thirty minutes pass and the buzzer sounds again. It doesn't even bother me. I fish my keys out of my pocket as I walk towards the exit. My bag has my name on it. Someone will find it and mail it to me. Maybe they'll even deliver it personally. At least then I'll get some mail.

The street is barely lit as I pull into my driveway. The city still hasn't fixed the light at the end of the street. Somehow the dark calms me instead of inducing the usual fear. I don't even turn on the lights as I sit in my chair. The room is so empty, just how I left it. I look left at my answering machine on the floor. No missed messages. The remote is still missing, and I'm too tired to even get up and turn on the TV. Darkness envelopes me as I finally drift off to sleep. I am alone but at peace.

By the time I wake up the sun is almost setting. I've missed an entire day sleeping in. My work always gives me three days off to re-adjust after returning from trips. As I mull around the house, everything is exactly like I left it. The wall socket sparks as I plug the microwave in. Three minutes of waiting until the food is ready. There are only advertisements in the mailbox. No one really writes me any more. It never bothers me much, seeing that I don't write them.

As I watch the sun finally set behind the clouds, the thought occurs to me. What am I still doing here? I've spent seven years working for the same company, traveling for them, giving them my life. They're not a bad company to work for. The boss is quite nice and I'm always invited to the office parties. But it just feels like something is missing; like they've all got an understanding of what life is supposed to be. Here I am, standing outside of an empty house, bank account full of money I will never spend, wondering if this is what life was supposed to be.

Four cigarettes and a box of matches. That's my worldly possessions at the moment. The smoke spindles off of the end, escaping into the night sky. I wonder if this is what teachers meant when they said go chase your dreams. Did I really aim so low that I've accomplished everything? I am in want of nothing, everything I desire is in my possession. My last cigarette glows brightly as the match meets the tip. A life time of dreams completed at the age of twenty six. The match leaves my hands and falls to the ground. The flame burns brightest before it is snuffed out. I turn my back on it, returning to look at the dark sky.

The sound of the fire engines draw near. One of my neighbors must have called them. I stand on my sidewalk with the dead cigarette in my hand just watching as my house burns down in flames. A fireman tells me that the origin of the blaze was right in front of my porch, that some old leaves had caught fire and blew into the open crawlspace. He asks me if I'm alright. I cannot help bursting into laughter. A paramedic is called over to evaluate me. I am still laughing as he checks my vitals. That one match never went out. It survived to become the blaze that is before my eyes right now. My delight only increases as the roof collapses. It is beautiful. The match never burned out.

I feel alive as I walk away from the policeman. His confusion is understandable. Normal people don't laugh as their entire lives burn to the ground. But that house, that couch, the microwave, stove, answering machine; they weren't my life. That match was my life. It never went out.

I am alive.

Clocks

Time’s up. Are you even ready?

“The hell does that even mean?” Tom thought as he stared at the bathroom wall graffiti. There, amongst the crude language and off color jokes, someone had written the phrase in red ink.

“Had to be a programmer.” He murmured as he traced his fingers over the neat handwriting. It was too nice to have been written by any low-level grunt. Yet, it still was written on a bathroom wall. Must be a programmer.

Tom’s watch beeped, pulling him out of his mindless stare. Nine-thirty. Already, he had wasted an hour and a half by just sitting in the stall. No one ever asked where he had gone. Everyone in the office hated it there just as much as he did. The same amount of work would be there when he got back. Slowly, he rose off the toilet, grabbed his paper and pushed through the stall door.

*Crack*

“You awake there buddy?”

“Must be ten-twenty.” Tom replied as he reached for the new stack of papers in his tray. Every morning, at ten-twenty, new work would arrive, and every morning it seemed, Tom’s boss would catch him staring at a screen saver. It used to bother him whenever he would be caught day-dreaming, but now it just became part of the routine.

By noon, Tom had gone through three cups of stale coffee. Somehow, his inbox was still just as full as when to whittle down the stack. Fifteen more minutes until lunch. It was the same thing every day. At quarter past the hour, he’d take his sandwich, apple and pudding and go listen to the same three co-workers fake their enthusiasm about a distant project. They’d inevitably turn to politics and start a heated discussion about a topic that each knew little about. As the minute hand finally lurched onto the three, Tom picked up his bag and walked downstairs.

“So how do you feel about it Tom?”

His co-worker’s voice broke his train of thought.

“Feel about what?”

As the previous argument was being re-explained to him, Tom thought back to earlier in the morning in the stall. Time’s up. Somewhere deep in his memory, he had heard the phrase before. “May be it was from a movie.” he figured as the worker’s rant came to a close.

“…and that’s why stem cells should be allowed. Don’t you agree Tom?”

Before he could even reply, the lady on his right launched her view on the subject. Tom bit into his apple as the quarreling continued. Are you ready? The words ran through his head as he looked for a meaning.

“You coming with us Tom or are you going to sit there all day?”

The lunchroom had cleared. “One o’clock” Tom mumbled as he hurried to throw away the remains of his lunch.

Four bell chimes sounded across the office. Two o’clock.

“Three more hours until home.” Tom said to his computer screen. The last three hours were always the worst. By now, the morning’s work had either been completed or filed away for another day. He couldn’t even start on tomorrow’s work because his boss was inevitably at some meeting. After last weeks talk about employees leaving early, no one attempted to swipe out before five.

Two-fifteen. His fingernails were too long.

Two-twenty-five. All of his pens needed reorganizing,

Three-ten. There were one hundred- thirty seven staples in the stapler.

Three-fifty. Twenty-nine ceiling tiles needed repair.

Four-nineteen. The bathroom stall had no new graffiti.

Finally, the clock struck four-fifty. The office buzzed as people readied themselves for the drive home. Tom looked outside as his computer powered down. It was raining. “Should be a long drive home.” He commented as he turned off his screen.

It was seven-thirty by the time Tom arrived home. There had been two accidents along the way. One was a simple fender-bender, but the other, both cars were totaled. Despite the ambulances that blocked the road, four long black bags lay next to the burned-out cars. Tom just stared as the rain sizzled off the hot metal.

At eight, Tom grabbed a pre-made dinner and rushed over to his recliner. For the next hour, he could just sit and relax, zoned out while contestants shouted answers on the tv.

“Time’s up. Are you ready?”

The phrase snapped Tom back to reality.

Tom didn’t even wait for the contestant’s response as he grabbed his coat. Every night had been the same routine. Tonight, it was time for something new.

The sidewalk was still wet from the rain as Tom hurriedly splashed down the street. Even though he had no destination in mind, his pace was quick.

“If I walk long enough, I’ll find whatever it is I’m looking for.” He mused to himself.

Turning down street after street, Tom became lost in his thoughts. For as long as he could remember, he had been working in the same office, day after day. It seemed like only a month ago that he had set up his cubicle with little knick-knacks and photos. There he was, still young, with plans of advancing in a fast-growing company. Back then, he had goals, a vision of how life was going to be in five, ten, twenty years.

Yet, it seemed that each passing year saw others being promoted ahead of him. People who he knew worked less and knew far too little were advancing while he remained where he was. Slowly, his work ethic began morphing into something he never thought it would. Tom stopped as he stared into the dark street. It wasn’t just work he quit caring about. It was life itself.

“Don’t turn around, or I’ll shoot you.”

Tom’s insides turned to ice as he felt a barrel pressed into his back. The assailant’s next words were jibberish to him as his mind began to race. While he slowly reached for his wallet, a thought that had been bothering him for years screamed in his head.

“It’s never too late to start over.”

As Tom moved to hand over his wallet, the robber lowered the gun to his side. Before he could even think twice, Tom grabbed for the gun. The two began to tussle as the wallet fell to the ground. Suddenly, the gun went off. Both men stood still. The would-be robber slowly looked down at the growing red stain on his shirt. As Tom pulled away, the man fell to the ground.

Terrified, Tom looked around. The shot hadn’t attracted anyone and the street was deserted. Panic began to set in. What if someone came up right then? They would surely blame him for the murder. Scrambling for his wallet, Tom jammed the gun into his pocket, his mind numb, and tore off for home.

The door slammed behind him as Tom entered his house. He had just killed a man. The blood was still on his shirt. He paced back and forth in his living room for an hour. The clock’s chimes brought him back to his senses. He had to clean up, of this he was sure. He watched too much CSI to know that all they had to do was match the blood from the body to that on his shirt to find him guilty of murder. He barely had time to remove his pants when the doorbell rang.

Tom ran to the door, still in his boxers. Through the peephole, he could see the figure of a man standing outside. The breath inside of him stopped in his throat as he looked at the man’s clothes. It was a cop. The doorbell rang again as Tom rushed to the bathroom. Throwing the bloody clothes under some towels, he shouted a reply to the door. With fresh clothes, he slowly walked to the door. With one hand, he unlocked the deadbolt, the other cocked the gun.

“I found your license in the street.”

Tom was too scared to reply. Somehow, his license must have fallen out when the robber dropped his wallet.

“You alright?”

Tom could barely speak, his voice cracking as he replied.

“Yea, yea. Everything, yea. Everything’s fine.”

Tom’s eyes darted down to the officer’s gun.

“You mind if I come in and look around?”

Tom stepped away from the door as the policeman walked through.

“Sir, what do you have beh-“

Before the officer could finish, Tom drew his gun from behind his back and fired. The cop fell to his knees clutching his stomach. Keeping the gun trained on the fallen man, Tom screamed.

“It wasn’t my fault! He tried to rob me! I had to shoot him!”

The officer writhed on the floor, still holding the deep red stain on his shirt.

Outside, the cop’s radio sounded.

“Unit 9, respond. Come in unit 9.”

Tom slammed the door and locked it. Methodically, he began turning off all the lights and shutting the shades. The cop lay on the floor, breathing heavily.

“This isn’t my fault!” Tom screamed to the dying man.

Outside, the sound of sirens grew closer. Tom paced around his front room, running his hands through his hair. How did his life come to this? He was just about to change everything. His life was going to turn around. Why did this have to happen now?

Tom jumped as his phone rang. With a shaky hand, he slowly lifted the receiver.

“Tom? This is officer McBrady. We heard some shots from in the house Tom. Is everyone ok?”

“I never meant to shoot him.” Tom whispered. “He was going to shoot me, so I grabbed the gun. It’s not my fault.”

“Never meant to shoot who Tom?”

Tom looked around him at the lights flashing off of the blinds. It was all his fault. All his life, he had let it come to this. At every turn, he had let others take his promotions. Instead of going back to school and earning the title, he just let it get worse and worse, blaming others for his failure.

“Tom? I need to know; is everything ok in there?”

Nothing was ok. He had let everything go. All of those times he had said he was going to change, those were lies. There was never going to be anything more to life than what lay in front of him day after day. Deep down, he didn’t want to change.

“I’m not getting any response chief.”

Tom looked at the man lying on the floor. All his indecision, his frustration, his inability to change; it had led to this. Two men’s lives taken all because he was too scared to change.

“Time’s up. Are you ready?”

Tom lifted the gun to his head.

“I am.”

A New Approach

I've decided to start a new approach to writing. After months of leave, I've decided to drift into the realm of where reality meets fantasy. In the coming weeks, the stories will consist of dreams, aspirations, hopes, and fears that exist in my head.

Should be fun.

Roses

Frank started his day like every other. His alarm clock rang precisely at six thirty, blaring with the daily news. Never hitting the snooze, he sat up straight and began to start his day. Three messages had been left on his phone from the night before, no doubt his boss calling him with the morning's assignments. He barely noticed what the speaker was saying as the shower water got warmer. By the time his shower was over, the news had arrived. A bank had been robbed, twins had been born at the local hospital, and the forecast predicted a sunny day. Frank noticed none of this as he hurried to the financial section. His stocks had gone up three points. Today was shaping up to be a good day.

On the way to work, Frank walked through the market, not bothering to stop and say hello to the vendors. Work needed attending and life would not simply allow him the time to slow down. He barely noticed the small child standing in his path, carrying flowers. Too busy concentrating on what yesterday's sales were, the two collided. Papers and flowers flew in all directions. Angrily, Frank stood to his feet, gathering what was left of the morning's paper around him. The boy looked up and asked,

Would you like to smell the roses?

Without an answer, Frank brushed past the child. Soon, on the subway to work, he forgot all about the fall and became engulfed once again in the numbers. His stocks had risen once again. With the economy shaping up, he thought, cashing in now would be foolish. Better to save my investment and wait for it to rise again. A ringing came from within his pocket, snapping him off of his train of thought. It was his boss, asking him how long until he arrived at work. The new product was about to be tested, and he needed to have the sales done by noon. Frank mindlessly got off at his stop, reassuring the man on the phone all the while that the reports would be done.

By the time he stepped into his work, the boss had already started the daily morning meeting. Frank hurried to his seat, hoping that he was in time for the bagels. Blueberry was his favorite, but by the time he got there, people usually ate them. While the new product was being shown around the room, he spotted the last blueberry bagel sitting next to the cream cheese. Munching on it happily Frank knew that today was definitely going to be a good day.

Lunch came and the sandwich man came as usual. Every day Frank got the egg salad, barely having time to eat it before he had to return to work. For some reason, the sandwich man was standing outside his cubicle, as if waiting for something. Frank went to the door and asked the man angrily if there a problem. The man looked at him with a flower in his hand and asked,

Would you like to smell the roses?

Frank shut the door as the sandwich man walked away. Too many people had too much time on their hands he thought. He quickly returned to his work, separating the piles of papers by priority. There were papers needed by today, and some needed by next week. Picking up a pen he took the numbers and began making sense of them. Today was looking to be another long day at work. That didn't bother Frank; at work he was happy.

It came as no surprise to Frank when his wife left him. He barely saw her on the weekends he had off. Work had completely engulfed his life, consuming what little time he had reserved for his son. Custody was awarded to the mother, which didn't bother him at all. Time spent with the kid was time wasted; the boy didn't like him anyways. All he ever talked about was how much he wanted to be at his mother's. After their last fight 2 weeks ago, Frank told the kid that if he wanted to be with his mother so badly, that he never had to come over again. Sitting at his desk now, surrounded by work, he didn't even notice the dusty picture of his boy, standing next to him with a bat and glove.

As Frank walked out of the building, night had fallen around him. Twelve o'clock had come so fast. He had simply lost track of time working on the new project all day. Today was the day that he was supposed to see he son. It didn't matter; there were more important things to do. He was sure that his son didn't want to see him anyways. As Frank walked through the marketplace, he saw the same child standing there alone in the street. He stared at him as the boy asked,

Would you like to smell the roses?

Frank walked by, dropping a dollar in the young boy's basket. He reminded him of his son, there was something in his eyes. Even still, He needed to get home in a hurry to catch the nightly news. By now, tomorrow’s sales would be ready. The night would be spent figuring out the new numbers, making sense of the day's graphs and charts.

Frank's alarm clock flashed three by the time he was done. Putting away all of his night's findings was all that was left. The cold shower felt good as he prepared to go to sleep. Today had indeed been a good day. He had accomplished all that he wanted and even a little more. Already he could see that tomorrow was going to be rough. The new numbers were showing a problem with sales. Frank set his alarm and went to sleep, ready for the next day.

Six thirty in the morning came like usual. The alarm went off, blaring the morning news. Frank lay still. A half hour later, the phone rang. He still did not move. After an hour, men finally came to check on Frank. As they pulled the sheet over his head, his son ran into the house. They pulled him back off the body as he cried out apologies. The boy's mother hugged him closely and took him away. As they walked home through the marketplace, a young voice called,

Would you like to smell the roses?

Of Vice and Victory

(Foreword. I'd like to personally thank Kelsey for this piece of work right here. I had typed it in the Navy, though, due to a computer malfunction it was deleted from both my hard drive and my external hard drive. Through her, I was able to get back not only the story itself, but all of the revisions I had done to it over the period of my stay on the ship.)

A chill blew through the graveyard as two strangers walked through the gates. Night had fallen, bringing in a bitter cold. With flowers held in the hand of the taller, a pair of men slowly walked through the site, checking each stone. Finally, the shorter man stopped, standing over a freshly covered grave. With a wave, he motioned for his friend to join him. Silently, they stood there, looking at the tombstone with somber expressions.

“It’s truly over isn’t it?” said the taller man as he wiped his glasses.

“You knew it had to end this way, there was no other choice.” replied the shorter man. The tall man placed the flowers gently on the grave.

“Even still, somehow I just wish, well, I wish it could have it ended another way. Maybe there was something we could have done.” Slowly the short man turned around and began looking around

“Regrets will get us nowhere. What happened, happened. We can’t go back and change the past. All we can do is go from here.” The tall man sighed in resignation. Together, they both stood there in silence, staring at the grave as the wind blew around them.

Matt jumped as a car backfired down the street. For the fifth time he looked at his watch as paced down his street. Tonight Tim was supposed to pick him up for the party. Had he forgotten? After what seemed like hours, the sound of a muffler’s scrape on the ground came from around the corner. As the car rolled to an idle, a shout came from within for Matt to hop in.

“What, you can’t park anymore?” asked Matt angrily.

“Nah man, transmission is shot, if I stop, she stops for good. Oh yea, that reminds me, pull some fuses from the glove box, we need headlights. The cops have been on me about that.” Fumbling around the compartment, Matt dug through papers and half smoked cigarettes until a small plastic fuse fell to the floor.

“Change it while I slow down bro, its right over here by my left leg.” called Tim from the driver’s seat. With a loud snap, Matt broke off the fuse cover and put it into place.

“Make sure we get there in one piece alright? I don’t want this hunk of metal falling apart and blowing me to hell and back, alright?” Tim looked over and laughed,

“Shut up and light me a cigarette you damn bum. If you want to walk go right ahead. Otherwise don’t make fun her, she’ll get us there ok.” He patted the dashboard gently. “You hear that baby? You’ll get us there safely, right? Am I right? Work with me baby.” With a flicker, the headlights turned on.

“Success!” shouted Tim. The sound of the muffler grew quieter as the car picked up speed. Off in the distance lightening flashed across the sky. Matt smiled as he took a small puff of smoke. It’s going to be a hell of a night he thought as the car rode on, shaking slightly.

With one last bang, Tim’s car finally came to a halt. It had started to rain about halfway to the party. By the time they pulled in it had stopped, but both men were soaked. “Tim your car is absolute garbage. Didn’t your mother tell you if you can’t afford windows it’s time to quit your job?” Tim pushed his long hair out of his eyes,

“You keep making fun of my car and I’ll take you home alright, dragging you behind it the entire way.” The sound of the party grew louder as they walked up to the door. Despite heavy knocking, no one answered.

“Are they deaf or did they drink all of our beer already?” yelled Tim as he hit door the door again. The doorbell lay broken on the mat, frayed wires sticking out between broken siding. As they walked around to the back, a light turned on by the back porch. Stepping over broken window glass and shingles, they crossed to the back door. Tim smiled as he approached what was left of the door.

“TIMMYBOY!” came a shout from inside.

“Ray!” he shouted back. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen that jacked up face of yours.” said Ray as he walked toward them with a beer in each hand. Matt looked at Ray with surprise. The way Tim had described him, he had expected some sort of strongman fighter to come to the door. Instead, before him stood a short but stocky man who clearly couldn’t hold his alcohol. As Ray stumbled toward them, Tim reached out a hand to ensure his safe travel over the littered floor.

“Jesus man, you get robbed or something?” The host of the one man party stumbled and fell on the floor.

“Hey man, it’s a home. Last time I checked you were still living with your parents.” Tim stood there for a moment before he picked Ray to his feet.

“Yea well, my Ma’s place at least has these weird inventions called windows and doors. I bet you’d like them if you joined us here in the 20^th century you barbarian. Look at this place man, looks like the yeti came by, and walked away because he couldn’t find a place to sit down.” Ray laughed as he threw one of his beers to Tim. Together, the three of them walked over the mess and into the living room. While Matt looked for the volume on the stereo, Tim turned to Ray and asked,

“So what have you been up to lately?” It took Ray a few seconds to realize that it was Tim who had spoken and not his imagination before he replied;

“You’re looking at it man. It’s nothing but beer and babes in this joint. It’s a regular harem of gorgeous women every night. You just happened to come on the one night that most of them were busy.” Matt turned away from the stereo and shouted back,

“Yea, women come to this place like Tim’s car can make it another 20 feet. You two seriously need to get off your asses and get some money.” Ray jumped up suddenly. Stumbling furiously, he rushed to the boxes set up in the corner and began to throw them behind him. Cautiously, Matt began to back away. Finally, Ray stood up with a piece of paper in his hands.

“That reminded me why I called you man. I had to show you this.” Tim stood up and took the paper from his hands. He looked quizzically at the drunk as he asked,

“Where did you get this, and why would I care about the floor plan to some building?” Ray stood there and began to laugh as he spoke.

“That, my friend, is the key to our problems. That’s what will get me out of this excuse for a house, and you out of that excuse for a rusted piece of scrap metal you have out there. This is the key bro, and you’re going to help me.”

Tim sat in the chair, staring silently at his old friend. Finally, he stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. Without looking at Ray, he talked to the wall. “I knew there was a reason why I quit coming to see you man. You always come up with some crazy plan like this and then we end up going to hell in a hand basket because of it. Man, I don’t know what you’re planning to do with this building but I can promise you this, you’re going to get caught and then you’ll end up getting a human booster shot from your cellmate in prison.” Ray walked over and grabbed Tim by the shirt.

“Haven’t you ever dreamed of a better life? You know what it’s like for guys like us. We were born into a world that doesn’t give a damn whether we live or die and it takes nothing less than a miracle to pull us out of the hole. Well what I’ve got here is that miracle, I’ve got a way out. I don’t know about you but I sick and tired of waking up and looking around me and all I can see is broken glass and rotted wood. I can’t get out of this man, I need your help.” Matt spoke up from the corner.

“Tim man, at least listen to what he’s got to say. If it’s utter crap then we’ll drink some beer and be on our merry way; but if it’s actually interesting and has a point, then whatever. I’m intrigued, so let’s at least give it a listen.” Tim stood there staring at Matt. Finally, he walked over and picked the card table off the ground.

“Alright man, lay it out. What’s the plan?” Ray spread the paper over the table as he whispered to his guests in a hushed voice, “Alright guys, here it is.”

Tim sat back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. “Are you out of your mind? I mean seriously, I could have smoked rocks all day and would have come up with a better way to get shot. You’re absolutely crazy.” Ray moved toward Tim and said,

“Come on man, it could work. The building is virtually empty at night. I’ve been watching it every night. After the guards leave there’s only three men left inside. Two of the fat mall cop rejects fall asleep right away and the other gigantic waste of air just goes and jerks his meat in the bathroom for hours at a time. I heard him say something about bad intestines but he takes some dirty magazine in with him every time. We could do this man. We could honestly do this.”

Matt walked back over to the card table and looked over the papers. “Alright, so you’ve got how you’d get in. You have a way to get to the safe. You even have a way to crack it. Have you any idea about how to get out? I mean seriously, are we seriously just supposed to walk on out of there, waltz over to our horses and ride off into the sunset?” Ray looked at him over the table.

“That’s just it man. If we blow the hell out of the place, they’ll just think that those oversized morons left the gas on or something. I mean Christ, they’ve got enough explosives in there to take over Detroit.” Tim stood up suddenly and laughed humorlessly.

“So let me get this straight, you use blowing a building that were currently in as an escape plan? I mean hell, I’m glad I took those teleportation classes last week because they’ll come in handy when it’s time to walk through the roof collapsing around us.” Ray walked back and pounded his fist on the wall. Silence fell over the room as he stood there, hands in the dents in the wall. Finally, he turned around and spoke dejectedly,

“Alright man, I get it. It’s a stupid plan. You guys can leave now here if you want.” Without warning, he threw the table into the wall and walked up the broken stairs.

The sun had been up for several hours by the time Ray crawled out of bed. Slowly, he began to walk down the stairs. On the last step, he stopped in shock; Tim and Matt lay sleeping in the mess on his living room floor. He crossed over to Tim and shook him awake.

“What, your car couldn’t limp out of my driveway? I’m not calling Triple A just because you don’t know how to make car payments.” Tim stood to his feet as Matt opened his eyes. Stepping over the empty beer bottles he walked over to the now upright able and began to pick up papers. Matt got up and joined him there, clearing a space on the floor for them to sit. As Tim began to spread the papers on the ground, Ray noticed that Tim and Matt had added their own handwriting to the papers, making corrections and drawing lines to various parts. Tim looked up and called to Ray.

“Are you going to stand there like a idiot or do you still want to do this? You better thank this idiot for stopping me man. He at least came up with some better ideas. We’ve been up all night improving on this wretched excuse for suicide.” Matt cleared Ray a spot on the floor as he handed him a heavily marked paper.

“Did you honestly think that it would be smart to walk in the front door? I don’t care how hard that dumb ass in the bathroom is stroking his chicken, he’ll still come out once the alarm sounds. Who are these guys anyways, and how do you know that what’s in the safe is worth two pennies?” Ray looked at his feet for a few minutes before he spoke quietly,

“Trust me man, I know that what’s in that safe is worth enough. As for who’s guarding it, well, let me just say that there’s a very good reason why I wanted to blow the place to hell after we got out.”

Once again Tim found himself rubbing his forehead. “Are you kidding with me? You have got to be. I mean seriously. Who in their right minds would go around stealing from those guys?” Ryan stood up and walked to the kitchen. He stood at the fridge door, staring off into space as the cool air surrounded him. Tim raised his head and called over,

“You’re insane, you know that right? You’ll be lucky to make it out of there alive, let alone with the money.” Matt looked from Tim to the doorway as he whispered quietly,

“I’m all for fun and games man but getting shot by a bunch of trigger happy rednecks is not my idea of a great plan. I don’t think we can do this man, those guys are notorious for being the toughest dogs in the pit. Stealing from them is like signing a death warrant. It’s doesn’t matter how far you run, they’ll find you. You’ve heard the stories man, you’ve watched the news reports on TV. They don’t play around.” Ray leaned on the doorway and he spoke,

“If you two aren’t up to it, I understand. I know, stealing from the Aryan Nation is like stealing from the government. They have ways of tracking you down. But I still think we can pull this off. I know we can do it man. I want to get out of here man. I want to get out of this life for good.”

Tim sharply rose to his feet. “Do you think I like living like this? You think I like living paycheck to paycheck until my boss decides to fire me because he can’t handle the thought of his own son stealing from the registers at night? You think I like having everyone point and stare as I walk down the street in these tattered clothes? I don’t, but it’s not worth getting killed over man. That’s it, game over, the end of your life. This isn’t a game, you can’t come back after they kill you. What about our families man? They’ll come after them too until we’re dead. They won’t stop. I’ve still got a Mom and Dad, brothers and sister. I don’t care that you don’t have anyone man. Congratulations, you can officially die and no one would care. I want to get out of this life but I don’t want to get shot for a few dollars.”

Tim collapsed back on the chair, completely spent. The sound of the birds outside came in through the broken windows. Finally, it was Matt who broke the silence.

“Tim, look. I know this sounds crazy, but just listen. Maybe Ray is right. Maybe it’s time to quit sitting around. I mean look at us. We can’t even scrape up enough money for breakfast let alone gas money to drive home. You don’t have a job anymore and my job is barely giving me any hours at all. This weak economy has no room for guys like us. And who’s going to give a damn if those Nazi muffins are missing a few dollars? I think we can still do this man. I’m tired of living this life. I’m tired of scraping by day by day. I seriously think this can work.” Ray held his breath as Tim finally spoke,

“Are you sure you want to do this? Do you honestly think this can actually work?” Matt nodded his head. Tim looked back at his hands “Alright, let’s do this.”

Night began to fall as the streetlights began to turn on. One by one, the lights in the houses on the street began to turn off until only one remained lit. Inside, the three men sat around the card table, silently awaiting the coming of midnight. After what seemed like a month, the clock finally sounded twelve chimes. Ray was the first to stand, too excited to sit around for another minute.

“Alright guys, it’s time, let’s get it on.” Matt remained seated, his feet propped up on the table. Despite his relaxed manor, his heart began to race. Tim slowly stood to his feet, placing the cards that he had shuffled for the past hours gently on the table. He turned to Matt and asked him for a final time,

“Alright man, you sure you want to do this? Once we’re in, that’s it. No turning back man.” Matt smiled from his seat.

“You ask me that one more time and I’m going to leave you here while the big boys go out and get paid.” Tim gave a weak smile as he checked the clock.

“Alright guys, show time.” Ray stopped Tim as he pulled out his keys.

“No car for us tonight. It might fall apart on us halfway through. It’s only four miles away from here. You’re not afraid of the dark still, are you Tim?”

Not a word was spoken between the trio as they crossed through the woods. A tree crashed midway through causing Matt to jump. Tim put his hand over his mouth, stifling his scream. They were no where near their destination, but somehow the feeling of being watched was felt by them all. Quietly, they resumed walking. After a few minutes, Tim stopped and checked the map again. The flashlight’s dim glow showed a slight deviation of the course. Crumpling the map back into his pocket, they turned right and began to head for the road. Headlights drove down the street as the three men hit the ground. Carefully, they watched the car drive swiftly away from a building far off in the distance. Without a word, Ray pointed to the building. Tim nodded and crouched down. Matt looked behind them as leaves began snapped. All three froze and he fumbled with his flashlight. With a click, he turned it on and pointed it wildly into the brush. A small squirrel jumped out and ran away from the light. The men breathed a sigh of relief as he turned around and began advancing once again on their target.

Ray stood up outside the gate and motioned for the others to come closer. Suddenly, Tim jumped up and threw Ray to the ground as the last car pulled out of the parking lot. Matt shook his head as his heart began to beat even faster. He closed his eyes and began to count backwards from ten. At four he was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. Tim laughed silently at how far Matt had jumped. With a finger over his lips, he motioned for them to follow. Slowly, they looked over the vine covered fence and into the windows. The scene was the same as Ray had described it. Two men lay sleeping in small chairs around a safe. At the end of the large room was a large closed door marked bathroom. The room was fairly empty, a few tables and chairs lay scattered about. Trash was piled high by the window, blocking the view of the second room. Ray smiled as he pulled the mask over his face.

“I hope you enjoyed your breakfast men.” Matt shook his head as he put gloves over his fingers.

“Next time use a quote from a movie where the main character didn’t die in a hail of arrows alright?”

Seconds passed into minutes as the three men waited next to the fence. Finally, Ray came to a crouch. Tim looked up and nodded his head, approving the movement. With two fingers pointed toward the door, Tim jumped the fence skittered across the pavement, stopping only when he reached the garbage. The room was motionless as Ray made his move. After waiting a few more minutes, Matt jumped on the fence. Suddenly, his pants got caught on the side. Holding in shouts, he lay on the fence upside down, frantically grabbing at his pants. With a loud crash, he fell to the ground. Frozen in place, he looked through the window. The two men inside lay fast asleep. He flew across the ground, not even breathing as he crossed the parking lot. The distance seemed to grow as he ran as fast as he could to his waiting friends. Finally, he slid into the pile of garbage, barely able to slow down his heart as his chest heaved up and down. Tim put his hand on his back. With a nod, Matt smiled as his breathing began to return to normal. Out of his pocket, Tim pulled out a small kit and began to work on the door. He could barely contain himself when the lock gave way in less than a minute. With his hand held closed in the air, the large metal door slowly swung open.

As Tim and Ray crept inside the building, Matt began to move the garbage around him. Despite the smell, he was now fully hidden by the trash. With a small flick he opened his pocket and pulled out the binoculars. Settled in, he breathed a sigh of relief. His part of the plan was set. He checked his watch as the door remained closed for what seemed like an hour. To his surprise, it had only been thirty seconds. He shook his head and began to scan the parking lot. Suddenly, from behind the door came a muffled shout. Matt’s heart began pacing again, beating faster and faster with each silent minute. He sat on the ground, rooted to his place of hiding. Finally, the door began to open. Holding his breath, Matt shrank even further into the trash.

Tim peered out from behind the steel door. With a low whistle, he called Matt. It took a few seconds for him to realize where he was hidden. The trash shifted as Tim finally called him name. He flicked a banana peel off of Matt’s head as he smiled.

“The guards are out cold, man. Ray’s in there right now with the safe. You should see this place man, it’s absolutely nuts.” Tim shut the door behind them as they walked into the building.

Matt looked around him in awe. All around the walls were pictures of Nazi Germany. In the corner, a statue of the Fuhrer himself stood upright, saluting his knocked out comrades. Matt looked to the side of the room and gasped.

“Don’t worry man, they’re just out cold. I don’t mess around with guns and knives. Apparently Mr. Klansman doesn’t like the feel of a baseball bat. It was probably Hitler’s anyways. Score one for poetic justice man.” Ray called loudly from the other room.

“I got it guys! We’re in!” Tim and Matt rushed into the other room, almost tripping over the knocked out guard. At the base of the safe stood Ray, holding something in his hands. As they drew closer, Tim’s stopped dead in his tracks, mouth hanging open. Matt looked on in awe.

Ryan laughed as he tossed the objects in the air. Deftly, he snatched it out of the air and held it out to Tim. “See what I mean? This stuff is worth more than the three of us combined.” Tim could only shake his head as he slowly walked forward.

“Do you have any idea what that is? It’s got to be worth thousands.” Matt could only stand in shock as he watched the two men load up gold bars into bags.

“Are you going to just sit there or are you going to give us a hand?” Finally, after loading the gold bars in the bag, Tim and Ray let out a laugh. Matt looked around the room.

“This is too easy man. They wouldn’t just let us walk in here and take this shit. There’s something fucking wrong.” Suddenly, car lights appeared in the parking lot. Tim froze only for a second before shouting,

“RUN!”

Metal clashed loudly as doors were burst open. Five men rushed through the building, finally approaching the room with the safe. With a finger over his mouth, he stood behind the door and drew his gun. With a loud bang, the door flew open. Gunshots rang throughout the room as bullets ricocheted off the walls. Finally, the first man felt around for the lights. However, when the lights flickered on, all that sat in the room was a closed safe. Holes riddled the walls as he looked for a way they could have escaped.

“Find them. Now.” The four remaining men began to spread out through the building. Slowly, the lone man began to walk toward the safe, gun drawn. With his hand on the handle, he put his ear up to the door. The thick metal yielded no sound. He took a step back, hand still on handle, as he aimed his gun at the door.

“I found them, come back now.” Feet pounded on the floor as the men returned to the room.

“Where are they?” asked a voice from the back.

“They never left the room. Get ready to shoot.” With a heave, the door flew open. The five men stood there, confused at what lay before them.

The brush crashed around them as the three men ran back through the woods. The trip back seemed to take no time at all. With chests rising and falling steadily, the clamored back through the door to Ray’s house. Tim collapsed on the chair, breathing easier with every minute.

“You are Einstein. Did I ever tell you that? You are downright genius .” Ray smiled as he lay spread out on the floor.

“Have some faith in me next time bro. I’m not an idiot, I wouldn’t go around getting us shot at for nothing.” Matt threw a shoe at Ray.

“You could have at least told us that you had fake gold bars to replace. Jesus Christ. I mean damn, that was nuts.” Ray laughed as he stood up.

“Those Nazi’s are going to be in for one hell of a surprise when they try to pedal those things on the black market. By then we’ll be good to go.” Tim rose to his feet, walking over to the bags. In them lay 15 gold bricks, each with no blemish or tags engraved upon them. He held one in his hand as he turned toward the others,

“You know what boys? I think we just won the lottery.” Matt smiled as he pulled out the black paint.

“Alright guys, enough celebrating. Time to hide these fucking things.” Ray stood up as walked to the back of the room. Tim turned to Matt and said

“You know the first thing I’m going to buy? A new car.” As Matt turned to reply, his voice froze in the back of his throat. Slowly, Tim turned around and gasped at the sight of a gun, pointed directly at him.

“Ray what in the hell are you doing?” Tim asked quietly. Ray said nothing as he walked forward, the barrel never leaving its target. Matt pleaded as he moved toward the door.

“Dude, calm down alright? There’s enough money to go around.” The targets changed as Matt found himself in front of the loaded gun.

“I’m not playing around anymore. I need this money more than either of you could ever imagine.” Tim put his hands in the air.

“Man, don’t do this alright? You can have the money, its ok. Just put down the gun alright?” Ray laughed as he moved back to Tim.

“You don’t get it do you. Those skinheads won’t stop once they’ve realized that their gold is fake. You think they’re going to be fooled forever? They’re probably checking it out right now. I’m not about to die, not when I’m this close to getting out of this hell hole.” Steadily, Ray raised the gun towards Tim’s head.

“They’re going to need a body bro. Thankfully, I’ve got two of them to spare.” Suddenly Matt jumped up and lunged for the gun. Shots rang out as the two wrestled for control of the weapon. When the commotion finally ended, the three men lay still on the ground. Only the sound of the wind rushing past the windows could be heard as the house lay silent.

Ray clutched his chest as he stood to his feet. With a smile, he felt where the bullet had barely grazed his body. He walked over to his former friend who lay still on the ground, blood spattered across the floor. Carefully, he bent over to check for a pulse. Without warning, the door burst open. Five bald men quickly surrounded Ray. Before he could open his mouth, five bullets joined the one lodged in his stomach. As of the men quickly left the room, the last one walked toward the carnage. He stood above Ray, staring at the three bodies on the ground. With a flick of his hand, he tossed his gun on the couch. As he walked out the door, he took a quick glance at his muddy boots. Unlacing them carefully, he walked back to the car without them. A soft rain began to fall as the car drove down the darkened road. The sound of the car vanished into the distance as the rain fell quietly on the ravaged house.

The graveyard chains rattled as the two men moved through its gates. “I never truly trusted him you know. Something about the way he talked, I knew he didn’t give a damn whether or not we lived or died. Blowing up the building? That guy was crazier than those skinheads” said the short man.

“Matt, you can’t judge him by what happened, did you see his house? He was living like a hobo. I knew him since I was a kid, he never was like that. I mean yea, he always had some messed up ideas but that night, Jesus, there was something crazy in his eyes.” Matt laughed as he replied,

“Yea well, he got what was coming for him though. Trying to shoot us in the back, what kind of weak crap is that? I don’t give a damn if he was you friend or not, he was tried to kill us. You’re too trusting Tim.” Tim said nothing as they approached the car. He stopped, hand on the ignition. With a blank expression he turned and faced Matt.

“You don’t know what it’s like to hit rock bottom. I don’t blame him for what he did really. I don’t care what you think of him, he was my friend. That guy that tried to kill us, that wasn’t him. I don’t know what happened, but whatever did, played with his mind in more ways than I can even imagine.” Matt merely nodded as the car rumbled to a start. The sun had begun to rise as Tim looked back for the last time at the grave. Fifteen black bricks sat dully on the spot where his friend lay. With a sigh, he put his foot on the accelerator. His eyes lay set on the road in front of him, never turning to look as the graveyard vanished from sight.

The Finer Points of Truth

It all started with a small lie. When that man looked me in the eye, I just didn't know what to say. Years ago when my own brother took his own life, I saw the look in my dad's eyes when he heard the news. I just couldn't do that to another person; let him know that his son had given up. There, with the police lights flashing and the screams of his mother ringing in my ears, I looked him right in his eyes and lied.

Alright, it was a big lie. It wasn't my fault though. Everyone was shouting, people kept asking me questions and I just froze. Looking back on it though, telling him that his son died by throwing himself in front of me as bullets hazed through the house was a bit much. What else was I supposed to do though? His son was a complete druggie. We had barely begun smoking before he began his usual rants about how much his life sucked. I figured that he was just on his kick about how he'd change his life tomorrow. I must've had my head turned when he pulled the gun out. By the time I turned around, the gun was lay on the floor, smoking inches away from his scattered brains.

As they pulled his body out of the house, I should have just told the truth right then. I mean, all I had to say was that I was nervous before, and here's what really happened. I got all ready to go talk to the father when I saw him talking to the police about how his son lived. This guy must have been either the most gullible man in the world or in some sort of sick, extreme denial. The way he described what he thought of his son's life was almost comical. I knew his son, and he definitely wasn't the kid this poor guy was describing.

The more I listened the more I began to wonder if it was worth telling the truth to the dad. From the sound of it, this man believed his son could do no wrong. Why ruin his memory by shattering the dream of the perfect son? I could even tell the policeman wasn't fully convinced about the kid's heroism as he wrote in his notebook. The smell of poppy seeds in the house and the white sand on his nose certainly didn't help the father's story either. Fortunately, the parents never got a chance to see the body as it was being carried out.

I wracked my brain as I tried to think of a single good thing this guy had done in his life. All of the memories that came to mind were of us getting high or the two of us vandalizing the town. In reality, all I wanted to do was just walk up to his dad and tell him that his son really was a good guy because of some great thing he did. As I stood there I couldn't help but feel a bit bad as not a single kind memory came to mind. By the time I made up my mind, his parents had left with the ambulance.

The cop frowned as he took my statement again. Obviously he wasn't impressed with me selfless act of sparing the family the pain of knowing their real son as I told him the truth. As I got to the part where he pulled the trigger, I realized that no one had been watching him at the time. There he sat, in the corner of the room, muttering to himself about how terrible his life was. The policeman motioned for a few other officers to come over as I stared off in the distance. This guy really wasn't a bad guy, he just had a problem. I handed over the last of the drugs as they told me to get out of there.

On my walk home I passed the hospital. I saw the family's car in the emergency parking lot and decided to head in. I felt bad for them, mainly because I knew that a bullet in the head wasn't called an emergency as much as it was a dead body. As I walked through the doors I saw his mother sitting with her head in her hands, shaking on the seat. Next to her was a young girl with her arm around her mother consoling her. Next to the double doors of the operation room stood the father, pacing as he stared off into the distance. I didn't want to be the one to tell them that I personally saw their son's brain on the floor.

As I turned to leave I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked around and there stood the guy's dad, once again giving me that terrible stare of hope. He asked me if I knew his son when he was alive. As I stammered for words a memory floated to the top of my mind. It was his son and I going to the park when we were younger. We were playing on the swings when I fell backwards. I remembered not even being able to breathe as my friend ran and got help. My eyes glazed as I saw his father's eyes scanning my face, looking for the slightest bit of fondness as I remembered his son.

I put my hand on his shoulder and nodded my head. I told him about all the fun we used to have as kids, how much joy we found in skating around the town. It wasn't easy as I had to edit certain parts of the stories on the fly, leaving out incidents of vandalism and mischief. His son and I had really been alright friends. Over time though we just grew apart. He stayed the same while the rest of us changed. I finally stood up as the doctor walked out of the doors, shaking his head sadly as he took off his gloves. I'll never forget the look on his mother's face as she screamed into her daughter's arms.

Hospitals and I don't mix, so I excused myself to have a smoke outside. I had barely lit my cigarette when I was joined by his father. He asked for my lighters as we stood there. The silence was broken as he turned to me and asked me the question that I dreaded most. I left my cigarette in my mouth as I stared ahead of my into the street. There wasn't an thing in the world that I could reply with right now that wouldn't shatter this guy's view of his son. this guy thought so highly of his son, I just didn't want to take that away from him. As I turned to face him, I finally understood what my dad was feeling all those years ago when my brother died. I put my cigarette in the tray as I began to tell him the real story of his son.

It had grown dark by the time I had finished. Despite the remaining light, I couldn't read the look on his face. Whenever I mentioned the drugs or violence his son and I had participated in he winced, though he remained silent throughout the entire story. We must have smoked an entire pack and a half of cigarettes standing there. After I stopped, we stood there, neither of us talking once again. Finally, he turned to me and smiled. I couldn't understand it. How could he give even a faint smile after all I told him? That's when it hit me.

I shook the man's hand as he turned to walk back inside. As he sat in the chair, hugging his wife and daughter, I finally realized how he felt. No matter what his son did, he will always be the boy who broken his arm learning to ride a bike in his father's eyes. There wasn't a thing in the world that I could have said that would have changed that. I finished my cigarette and smiled. Memories, like beauty, are truely in the eye of the beholder.