kaellinn18's Stories

The Mark (3)

2008-05-30T22:20:44Z

Shane spread the contents of the envelope out on the floor and delved into the life that was William Bledsoe. According to a newspaper article, he was a prominent CPA with some very high-level clients, including the mayor himself, it would seem, given the several photographs of the two outside City Hall, the local country club, and various luxury automobiles. Another rich asshole who had stepped on the wrong person’s toes.

Shane enjoyed jobs where the target was a wealthy aristocrat. They always felt like they were invincible, as if their money had bought them immortality. Most of them didn’t live long enough to realize the inaccuracy of this perception.

Sure, he occasionally enjoyed executing a hit up close and personal, but it was safer to do it from a distance. That was one reason he had never been caught and why he was on the Most Wanted list in nine countries. He never got within fifty yards of a mark, if possible, unless it was explicitly laid out in the contract. This was not one of those contracts.

The Mark (2)

2008-05-28T21:47:17Z

Shane made his way down the dimly lit corridor of the storage facility to number 14. He glanced up the hall to make sure he was alone and quickly keyed in the combination: 18090212. Shane had many birthdays memorized, and he couldn’t help but smile at the appropriateness of this choice. Darwin, evolution, survival of the fittest.

The latch clicked open, and Shane stepped into the unit. It was almost completely empty, with a single incandescent bulb hanging from the ceiling. On the floor in the center of the room was a single black briefcase. He grabbed it and made his way down the hall to his car.

Back in his hotel room, Shane dialed in the code for the briefcase, sorting the digits of the password used before: 00112289. It was a good system, cutting the number of passwords he had to memorize in half. He pressed the buttons on the case, and the latches flipped open. Inside was a large manila envelope with WILLIAM BLEDSOE scrawled across the front in black marker. He tore it open and got to work.

The Mark

2008-05-28T01:19:00Z

Shane walked slowly around the studio apartment, glancing at the oddities displayed on various pieces of furniture, careful not to disturb anything. You can learn a great deal about a person just by observing a room. He passed the time looking, rebuilding her life in his mind.

Shane heard the envelope slide through the mail slot and onto the apartment floor. He leisurely made his way to the door, picked up the envelope, and tore off one end. He shook a single folded sheet of paper into a gloved hand and placed the envelope on the kitchen counter. The paper contained three lines.

14, Darwin
William Bledsoe
4/13/08

Shane scanned the page multiple times, careful to memorize every detail. Once he was certain he had the information committed to memory, he placed both the paper and envelope in a glass bowl, lit a match, and burned them. He washed the ashes down the sink, rinsed and dried the bowl, and let himself out. The only evidence he had ever been there was the dead woman on the living room floor.

DO NOT READ

2008-05-21T00:58:03Z

Well, we’ve established that you’re not very good at following directions…

Coming of Age: Ritual of Light

2008-05-19T00:37:35Z

Eton could sense the feelings of awe, respect, and reminiscence resonating throughout the Mind. The other Persenian consciousnesses were gathering, wrapping around him like a warm blanket. His excitement shifted to nervousness as the thoughts of the Elders grew close, the other minds growing silent as the ceremony began.

Eton, Progeny of the Community, we gather with great pride to welcome you among the Sensing.

Congratulatory thoughts swirled around him and drifted away as the Elders continued.

For twenty-five cycles, you have grown and served, nurturing young ones as you yourself were fostered. We, the Elders of the Mind, ask you now to become more. As the body needs intellect for wisdom, so it also needs vision to perceive. Would you, Eton, now serve as an Eye, to look out into the Universe to see that which has not yet been seen?

I will.

Then open your eyes.

It was then, on the eve of Eton’s 25th cycle, that he saw for the first time. He did not know what he beheld, but it was beautiful.

To Rebuild A Man (3)

2008-05-17T22:10:34Z

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” The man helped me back into the folding chair and resumed his place at the table. “I want to be clear, Mr Pritchard. We haven’t taken away everything from your mind, just the parts that…” He paused, searching for the correct phrasing. ”...that led you down a certain path.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out several objects, lined them up one by one on the table in front of him. “Do you recognize these?”

I scraped the chair across the floor and peered at the items. There was a thin metal tube with two wires protruding from one end, a smooth gray block, and a small electronic device with numbers on a display. I found I could describe these things to myself, but I didn’t know their purpose. My forehead furrowed in frustration.

“None of these are familiar to you?” he asked with some surprise.

“No… should they be?”

“Well, I would have thought you would have at least recognized a clock. I apologize. It appears our technicians may have been a bit… overzealous.”

Spring

2008-05-17T22:09:07Z

Winters come and winters go
Each with ice and sleet and snow.
But after winter comes the Spring,
And warmth awakens everything.

The squirrel stirs, as does the bear,
And both depart without a care.
Roses bloom both white and red.
Next to lilies in their bed.

And everywhere it can be seen
That nature loves the color green.
Seedlings sprout and bushes grow,
where once they were entrapped by snow.

Save Us

2008-05-17T20:45:21Z

“How are you feeling?”

“Nervous. I mean, I just got here, and pretty soon I’m going to be gone? Just like that?”

“Yep, just like that.”

“It doesn’t seem fair. I have as much a right to be here as anyone else. I mean, there’s barely enough time to flesh me out in any sort of detail.” He brushed a piece of lint off of his shirt. “Jeez, it’s almost half-way through, and all they know is I’m a guy in a shirt.”

“Yeah, I know, but there’s only so much he can do. It’s up to them to save us, now.”

“That’s crap, and you know it. He could save us if he wanted to.”

“Yes, he could, but he won’t. That’s not the point.” She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear.

“Well, what is the point?”

“Community. Creativity. Imagination. Sure, he could write everything himself, and we’d be fine. But there wouldn’t be any sociology. There wouldn’t be any interaction.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure someone will save us.”

“There’s not much time left.”

“I know. But I’ve got a feeling.”

Demands (Make Me Laugh Challenge)

2008-05-14T00:03:16Z

The office door opened and a thin man accompanied by a young boy stepped in. “Jon! Charles! What can I do for you?” Paul asked.

“We’ll get straight to the point,” the man said. “We want better parts.”

“Better parts?”

“Don’t play stupid. We’re tired of being the butt of all the jokes. All I do is complain about my sexless life and feed that goddamn cat lasagna every day. I’m sick of it.”

“We’re both sick of it,” the balding boy yelled. “If that bitch pulls that football away from me one more time, I swear to God…”

“Gentlemen, I’m sure we can work something out.”

“You damn well better, or we walk. I’m tired of this shit. I want a full week of Nermal strips. Remind everyone there’s a character more hated than me.”

“And I want more scenes with the little red-headed girl. And it better go somewhere. I want a kiss, full tongue, none of this on-the-cheek bullshit.”

“Make it happen,” the man said, and the two stormed out of the office. Paul sat in shocked silence. The business sure had changed.

Anniversary

2008-05-09T21:30:44Z

“Do you think he’ll show this year?” Travis asked his brother as he flipped another steak. The meat popped and sizzled as the raw side made contact with the grill. Travis leaned back a little as the coals flared up, a little bit of fat dripping down into the embers. The sun was setting behind the elms, their shadows stretching out into the yard, ghosts in the Kentucky bluegrass.

“I don’t know if I even care at this point,” Ricky answered, finishing off his beer and grabbing two more from the cooler. He tossed one to Travis.

“You don’t mean that.” Travis closed the lid to the grill, pried the top off the bottle with an opener, took a sip. “Losing mom was hard on all of us, but especially him.”

“I know, but that doesn’t excuse what he did.”

Travis nodded to himself. “I suppose you’re right.” He raised his bottle. “To Mom.”

“To Mom.” Their bottles clinked and they each took a swig. Travis looked over to see tears flowing freely down his brother’s face. Ricky sniffled and wiped his nose. “Goddamn cancer.”

Paper Trail

2008-05-07T21:55:23Z

She heads out the door, and he stares after her, mouth half open, vaguely aware the phone is not ringing. She is back in the kitchen before he realizes it is unplugged. “I’m sorry it has to end this way,” she says, leveling the gun at his chest. The fluorescent light of the kitchen reflects off the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

It is an interesting feeling, he thinks, as the shot rings out. More surprise than pain. He drops to his knees, glances down at the wound in his chest, and crumples, lifeless, to the floor. She places the gun gently on the counter.

He smiles as he steps around the corner from the living room into the kitchen. He silently walks up behind his wife, picks up the gun from counter. She shrieks, spins around, looks at the body to make sure it’s still there.

“What, you think you’re the only one who knows about the factory?” he asks coyly. “You almost got me.” He aims the gun squarely at her forehead.

“Too bad you save your receipts.”

To Rebuild A Man (2)

2008-05-07T01:50:43Z

“Traitor?” My mouth stumbled and fell over the word like Dick Van Dyke over an ottoman. My mind raced nowhere at a million miles an hour, desperately searching for any valid register in my brain associated with identity, with self.

File not found.

I was suddenly aware that I was throwing up and managed to turn my head in time to save the man’s suit. “It’s an intriguing feeling, isn’t it, Mr. Pritchard? Looking with such intent, with such need for an answer.”

“Fuck you,” I spat.

The man chuckled. “Skipping denial and going straight to anger, eh, Mr. Pritchard? I like your style. We’ll be at acceptance before you know it.” I lunged at him, my arms outstretched, my hands longing to crush his trachea and snap his neck.

The next thing I knew I was on the ground, the remnants of 50,000 volts coursing through my veins. He stood over me, taser in hand. “Let’s hope, for your sake Mr. Pritchard, that you reach bargaining as quickly as you arrived at anger. Patience is not one of my finer qualities.”

To Rebuild A Man

2008-04-02T17:58:57Z

I awoke slouched in a metal folding chair, my mouth and throat parched. I worked my tongue around in an effort to reboot my saliva glands. Wincing, I briefly assessed my surroundings. I was in a small concrete room, its only features being a rusty metal table with accompanying chair and a large metal door set flush into the wall.

No sooner had I acclimated myself than there was a loud clank of metal on metal. The door opened, and a man in a brown suit with matching goatee stepped in. “Ah, you’re awake,” he said with a smile. The door closed behind him. He dusted off the chair, sat down, and folded his hands on top of the table.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” he said. “Do you know who you are?” My eyes widened as I tried in vain to access this vital piece of information. “Please attempt to remain calm,” he said softly. “The fact that you don’t know who you are just means the treatment was successful.” He paused before continuing. “Your name is Robert Pritchard. You are a terrorist and a traitor.”