30/30 – 12 | Payback

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Out of the subway and close to home at last, Danny sighs.

It had been a day.

His good friend Ben is usually a great boss to work for, but not today. Danny spent the morning with Ben in a rare ballistic mood over something that was the FUBAR of another department and Ben knew it. Ben just needed someone to yell at and guess whose office is the closest. Yeah. Add the pigeon that took an overhead crap on right on the table in front of Danny, just catching his food, because obviously he really didn’t want to eat lunch today. Suffice it to say he wanted nothing else to eat after that. He then spent the afternoon playing peacemaker and putting out fires from some of the staff that conveniently  and mysteriously did a disappearing act for the afternoon. Though it had not happened in over a year, this was not the first time that some people just bolted when Ben went all ape. He knew he would have to help Ben put out those fires  as well. Now throw in the overtime he put in getting his own projects back on track and he had truly earned his pay in spades today.

Danny had reached the office at 6:30am hoping to appeal to Ben’s good graces and leave work a little early. It was now 7:45pm. Best laid plans my ass he sighs again, trudging up the hill.  He promises the next place he gets will be not be on a hill. Or at least on an incline where he’s walking up the hill in the mornings when he’s rested and full of energy, not in later in the day, when he’s exhausted like right now.  Ben is so going to be paid back for this, he thinks. At least it was Friday and he didn’t have to come in tomorrow.

What the..?

He sees soft light shining on the trees in the back yard. That can only happen if the kitchen light is on and the curtains are open. Two things he knows he did not touch in his rush to get out to work early this morning were the light and the curtains. Did he leave them on last night and just didn’t notice this morning?   It’s just not like him to do so, though. Being raised by a mother with an unhealthy paranoia regarding home break-is, it was pretty much in his DNA now to double-check every lock and make sure every curtain is closed before leaving. But he was so brain-dead at the moment he couldn’t be sure.

He opens the door slowly, looking around carefully in the semi dark before entering and fully closing the door behind him. The moment the door lock engages he’s grabbed hard from behind.

Danny doesn’t even think about it. He just reacts.

His elbow catches the assailant midsection, the deep grunt letting Danny know it’s a male. Danny kicks out blindly and is rewarded with the sound of wood breaking as a falling body crashes into his coffee table when the living room lights suddenly come on.

The sudden light temporarily blinds Danny as a cacophony of voices rise.

“What the hell, Ella!”  He immediately finds his twin sister, the only other person with the keys to his place besides Ben. He was about to say more when he realizes there are some thirty people in his living room.

“I told him not to grab you in the dark! But Mr. Nah, I Can Take Him insisted, yeah great job of that!” Daniela shakes her head, coming to the side of a very confused Danny.

“Uh…SURPRISE?! I guess I owe you a new coffee table dude.”  Ben says sheepishly as others help him up from the remains. “Good thing we put the cake on the side table.”

Cake?  Danny looks around.

Only then does he notice the Happy Birthday streamer overhead.

Ben had him so warped at work Danny totally forgot his own birthday.  He looks around at a grinning Daniela and Ben and the rest of his friends and family in the room.  Exhaustion flies out of the window as he bursts out in laughter at being so perfectly set up.

“Payback is mother dude – you’ve been warned. Get me some damn beer!”

Thanks for nothing, Disney & Barney’s

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First Disney and MAC Cosmetics pulled out the cyber liposuction on Disney’s Ursula character for their Venomous Villains line in the spring earlier this year. Now with the help of Barney’s, Disney is out to ruin more childhood memories by transforming their classic icons Mickey, Mini, Daisy and Goofy into modern-day runway models…

Women’s Wear Daily: http://wwd2.wwd.com/eye/design/cartoon-capers-barneys-new-york-the-walt-disney-co-team-up-for-holidays-6202984

They say it’s a team-up, I say it’s just another subconscious gang-up on the psyches of girls and women. Another under the table way of saying taller and skinnier is better. It’s one thing to make Mickey, Minnie and Daisy slimmer. That is annoying enough in it’s own right, but not surprising in this current social climate of the slender body image. What is the deal with making them several inches taller to boot?

If even fictional characters must redesign their bodies to fit some designer’s clothing, what chance do most of us poor humans have of such? Because heaven forbid, those same designers actually design the clothes to fit their bodies, let alone ours.

Come the hell on it’s Mickey, Minnie Goofy and Daisy for Pete’s sake! Changing Ursula was bad enough, she was a secondary character, but this? This is just insane. Do you know why they are iconic characters? Their basic look does not change – that is what makes them icons.

“The standard Minnie Mouse will not look so good in a Lanvin dress.” explains Barneys’ creative director, Dennis Freedman. I call bullshit on that. Did Lanvin and company even try to design for the character’s bodies as they are? We know it can be done in two words: Miss Piggy.

A hot commodity in haute couture, her “weight” may go up and down, but Miss Piggy is always fierce, fabulous and unapologetically fat.   Proof is in the porker that designing for iconic fictional characters, without changing that which makes them iconic,  can be done with something Lanvin and company obviously do not have – imagination.

What’s next? Tommy Hilfiger and Ralph Lauren designing pants for Pooh Bear? Barney’s, but especially Disney should be ashamed of themselves. Children’s characters should not be yet another mirror of some unattainable ideal for adults. Children’s characters should be remain just that children’s characters.

30/30 – 11 | Three Litte Words

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I’ve rehearsed it all in my head for days now. I still wasn’t ready to face her. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t have an idea of what her response would be. It is just three little words to the most important woman in my life.

Carla D’Scalia – the world knew the single mother, put herself through college, achieved her masters and then her doctorate all the while raising two children. Now an ordained minister, she was well loved and respected in her church. But I knew Carla D’Scalia the woman. For instance, I am one of maybe three people maximum who know, reverend or not, she can cuss up a might fine blue streak in the privacy of her own home, to relieve tension on those rare occasions she gets majorly upset. My love for her and all that she has done for herself, her children and her community, knows no bounds, yet I’ve been ducking her for a while now and considering how close we were she’s understandably confused and upset by the distance I inexplicably put between us.

But I can’t do this any more. I need her in my life. I had to be honest with myself, with her, that this is the path I wanted / needed to take. She knows how I feel, I know she knows, but I still need to say the words aloud. And once I do – well, that’s on her. After nearly six weeks of being chicken shit, I finally called her up for dinner at my place. Ate some serious crow to get her here, but I had it coming.

So here we are sitting on my couch face-to-face. The only sign of her nervousness of the moment is the rapid tapping of her pinky against the stem of her wine glass as she patiently waits for me to get on with it.

It’s just three little words I had to say right? So I take a deep breath and say them…

“Mama I’m gay.”

30/30 – 10 | Picture

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He stares at the spot on the wall.

All around it, empty geometric shapes, where the sun had faded the wallpaper, marked where photos, plaques and knick-knacks once were.

He stares at the spot on the wall.

Somewhere subconsciously, he acknowledges movement around him as the remaining odds and ends of their life are carted out of the house. He knows he should be helping; doing something constructive. Hell, doing anything other than what he was doing at the moment.

He stares at the spot on the wall.

His sister, passing by the doorway at the time, thought she may have seen it, but the now familiar melancholy that had become his normal expression of late was back in place so fast she was sure she was mistaken. She let him have a quiet moment alone and walked away.

He stares at the spot on the wall.

When she returned twenty minutes later, he still had not moved. She entered the room and stood next to him as he stared at the spot on the wall or more precisely at the sole remaining picture on any wall in the house.

The framed oil landscape, not more than a few inches square, was in that exact spot when he and his wife first moved into the house. He thought it was the most hideous thing paint was ever wasted on. She, of course, loved it. She joked about it being removed over her dead body. In the beginning he felt she kept it just to spite him. After a while it became just a part of the décor. They occasionally forgot neither had purchased it in the first place when asked about it. Since both liked the wallpaper that was there when they moved it, neither had touched the walls in five years. It dawned on him that it was highly possible that neither of them had ever touched the painting except to dust around it.

His sister shook her head in confusion and made a move to take it down. He grabbed her by the shoulder, a little more forcefully than he intended. It all showed in his expression as she backed away from it.

She watched as he gently took the painting down. He felt something unexpected on the back of it, turned it over and burst out first in laughter, then in quiet tears. He peeled the yellow paper from the back of it before handing the painting to her. She returned the picture to its spot on the wall. Let the new owners decide. With a long deep sigh, he handed her the note he had removed from the painting.

I had better be so dead if you’re taking this down babe! read the Post-It Note.

She smiled a bittersweet smile; it was so like her sister-in-law to leave such a note.

She gestured towards the front door and he nodded, picking up the box with the last of the belongings as they stepped out. For the minutest span of time it felt like the very first time they opened the door as the new homeowners and the first thing he saw was the painting on the wall. He took one final sad look around, the painting being the last thing he saw before closing the door and stepping over the yellow and black tape of the police line.
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30/30 – 9 | Challenge Pt. 2

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If this is your first time visiting my blog, the following will make a little more sense to you if you read PART 1 of it first.

“And speak of the demoness and here she comes!” A familiar shape caught Marcus’ attention. I followed he ’ gaze to Delia and a couple of her friends as the passed by the store where we were.

When the hell did Delia get so fine!

She was always a cute if chunky girl. Even as a tomboy she was pretty and she always had that big ol’ butt! We used to ridicule her viciously as kids. It just seems like overnight the rest of her body caught up. Still, she was just Dee to me. The pigtails and barrettes that used to be all over her head were replaced with one curling pony tail, held in place with one of those stupid looking scrunchy things that the girls wear now. Her hair almost touched her shoulder blades with the scrunchie, it had close to mid back when set loose. I remember threatening to kick her ass a couple of years ago back when we were still speaking and she mentioned cutting it. I know I’m not the reason why she hasn’t done so yet, but I am glad she hadn’t.

I was joking earlier, but I realized now I was right. The rest of her body had caught up with, giving her a very, very curvy shape. Wearing a t-shirt under an over-sized shirt, bootcut jeans and some kind of biker looking boots she was the most casually dressed of the three of them. Hell, she had on the most clothes of the three of them and she was still the best looking of the three of them. Now, if she just had on Lisa’s mini skirt and Mercedes’ snug crop top . . . DAYUM! I caught myself in mid thought.

I never really thought of her as a woman before. But a woman was damn sure what I was looking at now! Which again was stupid, I know guys are always all over her. I also know she is still a virgin. Her reputation as a cock-blocker was well in place. Sometimes, I’d swear guys step up to her just to see how she’s going to shoot them down.

“I was thinking about hooking up with her, you know. The woman is cold! But I think I got what it takes to get in that!” Marcus smirked.

“Huh?” I snapped out of my trance, hoping Marcus didn’t notice.

“Damn man!” Marcus snapped fingers in front of my face as we were walking out. “If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn you were seeing Delia Larson for the first time in your life!”
So much for that thought, I shrugged more to myself than him.

“Come back to earth, yo. I was saying I was thinking ‘bout hittin’ on her.” He repeated, indicating Delia with a nod.

“I don’t think so!” I spun on Marcus so fast I surprised myself. What the fuck was wrong with me?

“Say what?” Marcus stopped in his tracks.

“You don’t touch her ever!” I stated slightly less vehemently than before.
Where the fuck was this coming from?

My sheer confusion of the moment was apparent. I rarely have to speak to my peeps in that tone of voice anymore to get my point across, least of Marcus. Especially not over some damn girl! I couldn’t decide if it was this edginess or something specific to Delia.

“Do I get to ask why?” Marcus asked, as curious by my sudden hostility as I.

“Fuck no.” I leaned against the railing looking down the center of the mall to the lower floors.

“You plan on hitting it?” I knew Marcus knew he was pushing his luck. I knew he knew he probably felt it his duty to force me to confront whatever this was that I was feeling. But the boy could not have know how close I to the edge I was – shit I didn’t know until someone does something to make me see it.

“Don’t say it again.” I warned and I didn’t bother to pretend it wasn’t a threat. Hittin’ it was what we did with the Morgue Mamas, our sister group. Hittin’ it was what we did with the girls in school. Hittin’ it was what we did with any stupid and not so stupid female we could bullshit into giving it up. “Hit it and forget it” as they say, she was just a fuck.
You “hit” what you don’t want or care about and…

Whoa!

I felt my head literally snap to attention as I stood up and realized Marcus was staring at me and smiling; easily following my train of thought. This was definitely about Delia. What the fuck was going on with me? I really didn’t know how I felt other than the extreme relief that I didn’t have to deal with her at this moment. And before Marcus could inquisition me further, the topic of the conversation walked out of a boutique a few doors down.

Lisa and Mercedes, Delia’s running buddies, definitely looked as though they wanted to come over and talk to us. Something Delia was saying was holding them back. Delia and I made eye contact just before I pulled out a pair of sunglasses and pretended not to watch the exchange. A literal split decision was made. Delia walked off on her own as Lisa and Mercedes came towards us. I leaned against the railing, watching Delia as she walked away. She had an edgy energy about her. I knew that walk. Something was on her mind as well.

Marcus and I flirted with Lisa and Mercedes, just killing time. I was just beginning to feel like I could relax when my edginess went up a tempo.

Fuuuuuuck!

I was glad I already had on the sunglasses and started to scan my perimeter. Marcus felt the change. Without missing a beat in the conversation, he casually leaned against the railing next to me and tapped out a code. I nodded in acknowledgement. Lisa, slightly more perceptive than her partner, noticed the silent exchange between Marcus and I and wisely decided it was time to go. Then again, her brother Ray is a Morguer. She may have recognized the code. Marcus turned to face opposite me. Between the two of us we now had a 360 degree view of our surroundings. Mercedes had started to protest about leaving until her cell went off.

Marcus tapped my elbow nodding to a spot over my shoulder. Delia was standing in front of Dushay’s Music store about half the mall length away from where we were standing holding her cell. I reached out and took the cell phone from Mercedes before she could answer and held up my other hand to cut off whatever stupid shit I knew was going to come out of her mouth.

“Talk to me.”

“’Raisers. Trendy’s at six down two. Bennett’s has a couple. Hank is with Jermaine Robles. Hank’s under – deep. Told them you’re running silent. Please, please tell me you’re not running silent.”

Marcus was just signaling to me about the two Hellraisers he spotted behind me and two levels down at Trendy’s while she spoke.

Fuck!

“Cool.” I spotted the reverse reflection of at least two more Hellraisers about three stores down from us – Bennett’s. I purposely didn’t answer her question. “Take your girls and go – now.”
“Brian Kendrick Palmera!” She hissed at me using my full formal name. She was not happy with me at the moment. She only used my name like that when she was pissed or scared! Unfortunately, I was a little too preoccupied at the moment to indulge her.

“Hey, looks like your girl wants to go, NOW!” I closed the cell and handed it back to Mercedes. Lisa pulled a protesting Mercedes and walked off.

They went off in one direction as Marcus and I walked off in the opposite. Lisa was already on her cell calling Ray. Marcus pulled out his to call in more reinforcements. If Marcus and I were lucky, some of our guys were already here just hanging as we were. If not, we were on our own.

“Are you silent?” I asked Marcus already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I knew we were coming here. I didn’t want the noise either.”

I couldn’t argue that. Normally our going in the mall without any heat wouldn’t be a problem. Carrying a piece is asking for trouble. You set off sensors like crazy. Even when you make a legal purchase you go off because you’re carrying. Depending on the store, that may actually get you busted for carrying as some cops work part-time as security and will call it in just to fuck with you. We either leave the gear in a vehicle, or as Marcus and I did, leave it with Ronny who was on door detail today, just for that reason. Unfortunately, Ronny was a good three levels down. Marcus started calling, but I knew we wouldn’t meet up in time.

All the local organizations, Morgue Makers, Hellraisers, Bloodworks etc., had an unofficial truce about malls; their parking lots and similar places were there was a lot of the public around. One group does something stupid in a place like this; we all catch fucking hell from bitch ass cops for weeks afterwards. Most of the time, the minor bullshit wasn’t worth the ensuing headache.

This was not minor.

A Morguer went under deep. He switched organizations, to our main rivals the Hellraisers.

This wasn’t even a challenge – this was an out-and-out fucking assassination attempt.

FUCK!

Henry Innis called Hank just like Aaron, was trying to make his mark within the Morgue Makers. He’s young and has a real mean streak in him. He likes to hurt people. This makes him useful as an enforcer, but he has little sense of self-control. I was hoping to hone his skills and his mind, but I knew he was going to be a problem after I had to take him down in front of the guys for jacking up some young girl because she pissed him off.

And he wants to be a power – bad. He beat the shit out of Frick – our former Arsenal. He beat the shit out of the guy in a challenge for his title. As thanks for the twenty-something stitches and the trouble of it all, Frick lost his job. If you can’t protect yourself you can’t protect our ammo, that’s law. Still, there was no way in hell I was letting Innis anywhere near our gear. I gave the title of Arsenal to Tagger instead, which pissed Hank off royally because even he knows he can’t beat Tagger. Point blank, every Warlord needs a killer and Tagger was mine. Tagger was short for Toe-Tagger. Even Hank didn’t need that shit explained to him. He had the chops to eventually equal if not replace Tagger someday, but not now. So, Morgue Makers and I weren’t giving him what he wanted fast enough and he thinks he’s going to get it from Hellraisers instead? The boy has a lot to learn, and I could not wait to begin class.

Hank was at the office when Marcus and I left. He knew we were going to the mall and we were running silent. Does that mean he also knows there are only a few other Morguers here? Or is he taking the chance that by the time they arrive the damage is done? Does he not realize that no matter what happens he’s a dead man? No one likes a turncoat. Your previous alliance will take you out because you turned on them. Your current alliance may take you out because if you turn once, you could turn again. You’ll be used for whatever info can be gathered and then you’re put down.

Almost always permanently.

Marcus and I heard yelling not too far behind us. The yelling did it; even Marcus had to grin under the circumstance. The woman was a royal pain in my fucking ass. What part of Take your girls and go – NOW was misunderstood? They were making such a commotion I had to look.
Somehow, Jermaine was on the floor tangled up in the bags Delia was carrying. He was cursing her out and she was cursing back. Hank was laughing at the both of them, which caused Jermaine to turn on him. Then they both saw Marcus and I and remembered why they were there. I didn’t see Digger at first. I just heard that heavy ass chain with all those keys he always carries with him and knew he was to my left. I signaled Marcus out of habit, but I could tell he already spotted the situation.

As Jermaine and Hank started to come toward us, Lisa and Mercedes accidentally into them. At least Lisa had – that was too bold a move for chicken shit Mercedes. But it worked out perfect, because in Mercedes’ haste to get the hell out of their way she wound up tripping Jermaine again, who fell into Hank, which caused Mercedes to fall on top of them. God, it was beautiful! I couldn’t have planned that if I wanted to. I swung around and sucker-punched Digger just as he was about to come down on me with brass knuckles. Marcus ducked as a guy the ‘Raisers call Jimmy swung.

Digger was strong but he was slow. The key with him was not to let any of his hits connect. At least not more than once! I heard a commotion below me, then a whistle and I smiled. Morguers were here! I didn’t know how many were in, but I knew by the whistle that at least one was Lisa’s brother Ray. Only he could whistle that damn loud and clear! The two Hellraisers at Trendy’s were now accounted for. That left it at a two to four ratio, between Marcus and I.

Easy.

I was still tangling with Digger when Jermaine jumped in. Marcus and Jimmy were at it. Hank was off to the side, just watching; the plan being to tire me out. Jermaine must have thought of it, because Hank has no head for that type of subtle strategy. Putting Digger and Jimmy on me was a pretty damn good plan. When Hank finally does make the challenge, I won’t be quite as up to par, while he’d be fresh.

Only thing, I just wasn’t having it.

Not only is Digger big and lumbering; he also doesn’t have a lot of endurance. He was already starting to slow down. Good. I circled around so that Jimmy was behind me, with Digger in front. Of course, Jimmy tried to jump me from behind. It was so easy it felt as if he had literally jumped into my throw. I simply turned around, picked him up as his feet left the floor, turned again and used his own momentum to throw him over Diggers head into the Crazy Comics window. The impact didn’t break the glass, but it cracked. Unfortunately, Digger started to charge at me just as I released Jimmy. A flying kick to his midsection sent him flying into the same window before Jimmy had a chance to move, the glass shattered all over them.

“STOP!” I yelled it at the top of my lungs.

The stupid motherfucker Jermaine actually stopped! Marcus sucker punched him and he dropped like a rock to the floor. It was so easy I couldn’t even enjoy it. Without missing a beat Marcus got behind me to cover Jimmy and Digger in case they actually had some fight left in them.

That just left Hank and I.

I held my arms out to Innis. He came off the wall and stood less than five feet in front of me, grinning, but not speaking. I’ve seen images of demons with less deadly grins. He lowered into a fighting stance, his hands up, but not completely closed into fists.

“You know the rules Innis, you gotta say it or it’s just Britch giving out another ass kicking.” Marcus reminded him.

“Shut the fuck up bitch!” Hank hissed, “First thing I’m gonna do is kick your ass, when I become the ‘lord.”

“When you become the Lord?” Marcus shook his head, inching over to a slowly recovering Digger. “Oh hell, Britch, you knew he got a Messiah complex too?”

“What?” Hank looked up confused; I smirked. I could just make out the butt of a gun tucked in the front of his jeans under a loose shirt. I knew he wouldn’t be silent, I just wondered how loud he was going to get. He could simply issue the challenge and shoot me. Technically, he would win, but he would never have either org’s respect, because I was unarmed. Not to mention the complications of going deep. Since he officially left the Morguers, Marcus automatically ascends to my title. And unless Innis shot Marcus immediately afterward, he would be a dead man within five minutes. I had no doubt Marcus would kill him. I know I would kill Innis over Marcus were the situation reversed. That means I had to keep him talking somehow and either mentally or physically out-maneuver Innis.

“Never mind.” Marcus threw up his hands and stomped Digger back into unconsciousness. “Do what you think you gotta do. Just don’t blow your balls off with that thing, or we’ll be calling you Henrietta.”

Marcus was purposely pissing Innis off; an angry fighter was a stupid fighter. Innis had great physical instinct, but he wasn’t exactly a brain trust. If he wasn’t smart enough to not let himself get goaded, who was I to stop him? He drew the gun on Marcus.

Okaaaay.

The .380 was not silent at all.

Marcus froze and I could literally hear the change in his breathing as he switched emotional gears. I liked the sound. The last time I heard Marcus breathe like that the result landed someone the other person in a coma. In this mode Innis was truly a dead man if Marcus got close enough to touch him. The only thing that could stop him would be a kill shot. Unfortunately, I also knew Hank would do nothing less.

I decided now might be a pretty good time to end this shit.

“So, are you issuing the challenge, or are you just going to keep primping bitch?” I still had not lowered my arms. He turned the gun on me. The muzzle was less than a foot from my face. I grinned. Innis glared at me totally baffled on why I suddenly smiled and then did exactly I expected of him – he got mad.
“You think I won’t bitch!” He yelled.

Our eyes never left each other as my smile broadened as I dropped kicked him.

As he fell, he cocked the gun, pulled the trigger…

…and nothing.

That’s why I grinned, in his anger the stupid little bitch forgot the safety was on!

He was totally confused for only a second before realizing his mistake, by then I had kicked the gun out of his hand. I could tell by the noise there was a little bit of a scramble as people got out of the way of the weapon. My eyes never left Innis, this was not Digger; he recovered quickly enough. I swung at him with the intention of giving up a left upper cut when he slashed my arm.

Where the fuck did the knife come from? This thing was no fucking joke!

The blade itself was about ten inches long. One side was razor sharp, the other side serrated. Not just serrated, but it edges curved inward like hooks. I glanced at my arm then returned my focus to him, he was grinning again.

Fuck, I knew that look.

I’ve seen it on Tagger enough. Hank was really ready to deal and finally issued the challenge for my title. My arm hurt like a motherfucker, but I could not afford to check it. I knew the moment I took my eyes from Innis I was dead and all Marcus would be able to do was avenge me.

All organizations respected the rules of a challenge. Once issued, you fought with what you had on you at the moment or whatever you could make do with. No one could assist you in any manner other than ensure that no one from opposing orgs number up on you or assist their member. I could feel the blood starting to run down my arm, but I opened them in challenge again. I heard Marcus curse under his breath, which meant the cut was worse than I thought and the true pain would kick in the moment my adrenalin faded.

“That’s cute, Hankie. So did your Mama buy that for you from the Star Trek store? You got the little communicator thingy too? Spock calling Hankie. Mr. Worf would like his apple corer back.” I don’t know what he expected me to do, but it damn sure wasn’t to mock him. Innis blinked rapidly. He was totally baffled by my behavior. There was a reason why I was Warlord and the little fuck still didn’t get it. Someone laughed hard at that corny ass shit I said, but it was enough to get further under Innis’ goat and that’s all I wanted.

“Bitch!” Innis charged at me.

I could tell he was expecting me to swing sideways so I dropped down to the floor. He was committed to his forward motion, and the blade went way over my head. I grabbed his blade hand on the way up twisting his wrist. He back flipped out of it. I front flipped back into it, and landed a solid punch in his gut. He bent over double. As I said, Hank was no Digger. The little motherfucker punched me in the balls. It hurt enough to stun me for a moment, but it wasn’t full contact, I came out of it faster than he expected and saw the blade coming.

The look of surprise on his face that he missed my throat was probably and the same look on my face.

I was losing blood from my arm and already felt it going numb. I didn’t think it would be in my best interest to give up anymore hemoglobin. Somewhere, behind me I heard a cop order Innis to drop the blade. Of course, being a dutiful citizen, he obeyed.

Riiiiight.

Hank came at me again and we both went over a bench. I landed on my back, with him on top of me. I quickly rolled over taking him with me and started beating the shit out of him. I was hitting him faster than he could get the knife to me, but I was still getting sliced like mad on my hands and lower arms. The cop attempted to pull me off of Innis, who used the distraction to bury the knife in my gut.

The pain stunned me so I could not yell out. Maybe I should have, because Hank apparently felt he hadn’t got me enough and twisted it.

Then I screamed.

The cop who had me, held on tighter. I was too stunned from the pain of the blade to break free. Hank stood up with that damn grin and yanked the blade out, with some help from me as I kicked him backwards and I regretfully found out what the serrated side was for the hard way.

Getting stabbed with the smooth edges blade going in was painful enough; to suddenly have it yanked out is worse. This damn thing had been twisted in me and then yanked. Only the cop holding me up as he was trying to pull me away from Hank kept me standing. I felt each and every one of those fucking hooks! I felt rather than saw Hank coming at me again. I knew I would not survive another gut slashing of that blade.

Using the cop as a brace I lunged up and used both feet to send Hank sailing away from me. Now, the damn cop lets go to try to catch his own balance and we both dropped to the floor. I screamed from the effort. I heard a lot of other people screaming, but I was in too much pain to respond. I was damn near blind with it. I rolled off the cop and tried to stand, looking for Hank, when I saw Delia running towards me.

What the fuck was she doing?? I reached out to stop her, but slipped on my own blood.

“Oh shit!” I fell into Delia’s arms and she lowered me to the floor. I was starting to feel dizzy. Shit was becoming this surreal blur of light and sound. Delia was saying something to the cops Marcus was yelling at someone about self-defense. Good, he was all right. Mercedes was carrying on about something else, when both Lisa and Delia turned and yelled “Shut! The! Fuck! Up! Now!” at her.

And all of it sounded like it was happening in a water tunnel, a block away.

I smelled honeysuckle.

Delia likes honeysuckle.

Delia.

Why was she here? I reached out to her.

“Keep still, dammit!” She admonished, “You’re losing a lot of blood. We’re waiting for paramedics.” She grabbed some kind of cloth out of a bag, placed it over what felt like an ever-growing fire in my gut and had me apply pressure. If the paramedics didn’t get here soon I knew I was going to pass out from shock. I had to stay conscious as long as possible. I was incapacitated and Marcus was definitely in cuffs, otherwise he would have been by my side. I didn’t know how many of my boys were, if they were clear of the cops and more important were there any other senior members present?

I saw one of my boys on the other side of the mall. He was leaning on the railing, just one of the many shoppers watching what was going on over here. But his fingers were moving. I was a slow pattern, because he had to keep casual in his moves. I realized he was actually signaling Marcus, correctly assuming I was out of it. I got the message. Three Morguers were down. I knew who two were who was the third? I tried to look around.

“Stop it!” Delia hissed at me. “You trained them; trust them to hold it down ‘till you get back!”
I was not even going to ask how she knew what I was doing. I simply nodded and succumbed to her administrations. She was ripping up a t-shirt and using the strips to replace the shirt barely stemming the flow of blood from me. The price tag scratched my skin as she removed it. Christ! She was using material from the stuff she just purchased.

She was staring down at me. It was more than clinical concern for my well being, but I wasn’t sure how to read it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I just knew I didn’t want her to leave, so I asked was what the return policy on all the stuff she was wasting on me.

“Absolutely nothing, which is a hell of a lot fucking more than what your punk ass is worth.” She grimaced, tossing aside more bloodied material. She looked toward the railing where more cops stood looking over the side.

“Innis?” I was starting to feel dizzy again.

She didn’t answer me, just slowly shook her head and looked at cops at the railing. I could hear a lot of noise from down below and it slowly sank in. My desperate Hail Mary kick had sent him over the railing to the main floor.

Four stories below us.

I won. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel particularly good about that and I guess it showed in my face.

“You did what you had to.” She shrugged reading my mind.
“But I’ve lost something important in you haven’t I?” I asked reading hers.
“Does it matter?” She asked her voice was very low, quiet.
“You know it does.” I answered honestly.
She was ripping up something else and had started a makeshift tourniquet on my arm. She looked at me, studying my face, not speaking.
“DiDa…?” I whispered after a while.

She blinked. I haven’t called her DiDa since middle school when her favorite saying was an exaggerated “La-Di-Da!” I wasn’t sure where that had come from, but it felt good, familiar and safe.
“Let’s just say I don’t think I could handle the alternative.” Her voice trailed off near end but I heard it.

“Don’t leave me.” I whispered.

I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I damn sure wasn’t expecting to say that! I knew she was speaking from the heart. I just didn’t know I was until the moment I said it. I think she was about to say something when a sharp pain went searing through me and my head started spinning.

“Oh shit!” I touched her face.

I started coughing. I tasted my own blood. Fucking great! I thought I hear Delia calling out my name, but I wasn’t sure, I was getting that far away feeling again.
“I’m glad you’re here, Dee.” I had left a bloodied handprint on her face.

She was saying something, but I couldn’t hear. I felt someone was pulling her away from me. No! I yell out. At least I thought I had, I. I couldn’t hear me, I wasn’t sure and it didn’t seem like anyone else heard either.

I felt someone grab my hand. Delia, Good.

That last thing I remembered was attempting to apologize for the handprint.

====================

30/30 – 8 | Challenge

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I had been on fucking edge all morning.

It wasn’t something definitive I could put my finger on. Just a thing that has gnawed at me from the moment my eyes popped opened from a jacked up dream I couldn’t even remember. I’ve only felt like this, this distinct feeling a very few times in my life, all of which turned out to be just as bad as the mood felt. As the tension built throughout the day, I found myself being hypersensitive to each and every little thing.

Trying to relax, me and my boy, Marcus were hanging at the mall. Marcus and I have been best friends for nearly half our lives. Marcus knows he is one of a maximum of three people on this earth that fully get me. Even so, there are times when I know even he is puzzled by me, like today. Being fully cognizant of my mood Marcus was prattling off at any subject that came into his crazy head to get me to loosen up, the current topic of choice being our respective GPA’s.

“Bro, I just don’t get you sometimes!” Marcus held up a wild ass pair of jeans, checking out the style.

“What’s there to get?” I shrugged, still agitated. “I passed the Regents. Big fuckin’ deal!”

“The big deal is you have – what? The 58th highest GPA in the school and your ass even ain’t there half the time!” Marcus picked up two different pairs of jeans for comparison. They both looked like shit to me, but then I was not exactly in the mood for objective critiquing and kept the opinion to myself.
“Think about it, son. Where would you be if you actually tried?” He continued, “Probably higher than Miss Smart Ass Delia.” The bad part was, while he was probably right, I still didn’t like the comparison.

Delia Larson and I were childhood buddies, even before Marcus came along. Our moms have been best friends since they were our current age. They got the notion into their heads one day, when Delia and I were still in single digits, that she and I should escort each other to and from school. Of course we both hated it at first, but someone – somehow always snitched us out when we’d try to ditch each other and it just wasn’t worth the blessing we got from both our mommas, so we were stuck with each other.

She and I were always tops in our classes and always wound in the same classes because of it. It was a competition between us. Over time we just got used to each other. The fact that she was a major tomboy, could pitch like a dream and whup your ass like she’s your mama helped. Marcus came along about the third grade and fit in perfect with us. For most of grade school and part of middle school we were damn near inseparable. We – mainly I – changed in ways no could have predicted.

She became a goody two-shoe brainiac and I became Warlord of the Morgue Makers. Marcus followed me and through his own doing earned rank as Jr. Warlord, my second-in-command. About two years ago Delia and I had a major falling out, that I concede to totally being my doing. No one can hurt you like a friend can hurt you because they know more about you to fuck you over. One day I got tired of her trying to convert me back into what she wanted and I ripped into her. I used damn near every thing I knew against her and just really fucking ripped. Marcus came down on me later because of it, but it had to be done.

Sometimes when we cross paths, I can still see traces of the hurt I caused that day. I didn’t want to break the friendship and I know I was vicious and wrong in how I handled it, but she had to be cut loose. I had my reasons, simple as that. It obviously isn’t quite as simple as that, nothing in life truly is, but that is the gist of it.

There are days when I desperately miss her as a confidant outside of this life. I trusted her with things I haven’t even told Marcus and probably never will. Like when I felt this edginess this morning, I had the phone in my hand; her number dialed and heard her speak before I remembered I couldn’t talk to her anymore and hung-up. Still just hearing her say hello calmed me for the moment. The weird thing is, sometimes I feel like she’s seeing right through me. When we passed each other in the school halls earlier, I knew she knew I called. I never spoke; it was just something in her expression for the brief moment she glanced at me and nodded once.

I think if I tried I could win her friendship back even as I am. But that could just be my ego tripping. Fuck knows she curses my ass out enough to convince me she wants nothing to do with me anymore She’s still class valedictorian while I’ve somewhat fallen by the wayside grade wise. Warlords are smart, but we’re not supposed to be bookworms. Every now and then, when we have the same class, I’ll show her up. Mostly to prove to myself that I can when I set my mind to it. When she calls me on it, I don’t even try to deny it. The competitiveness between us never left me. It a big part of why I am who I am. So all things considered, Marcus did have a point about my grades. Not that I needed to be reminded of it.

“Oh please!” I groaned. “You’d think that damn girl was born with text books in her hands! It’s a good thing she has such a big ass to balance out the humongous head of hers!”

“You know you wrong!” Marcus cracked up, pointing out a shirt high up on the wall to a sales girl. The shirt wasn’t all that, but watching the girl’s juicy ass as she climbed the ladder to get it was. Hey, I was edgy not blind!

“What I can’t figure out is: do you hang out in school half the time to escape the Morguers or do you hang out with the Morguers half the time to escape school.”

“Uh – excuse me, but according to that list you ain’t much of a slouch either.” I shrugged off his comment, but best friend or not, I was slightly caught off-guard at being so easily read even by him.

“Aw hell naw! I’m like, 228th on the list. There’s a world of difference between our scores when there’s a total of about four hundred and change kids in our junior class.” Marcus made a mental decision on the worst of the two pairs of jeans, signaling with a nod that he was heading towards the cashier. ”I’m middling at best.”

“Middling?” I laughed out loud at that. “Oh yeah, you’se jus’ a po’ ignant chile.”

“Man, fuck you!” Marcus grinned himself.

We watched the sales girl again as she retrieved a shirt for someone else, admiring the long view from all the way under the short skirt. Marcus and I couldn’t help it – we answered the usual question between us when it came to booty comparison.

“Delia!” We laughed simultaneously. It felt good to have an honest laugh, if only for a moment, to lose that edgy feeling.

Unfortunately, it was back soon enough.

Marcus knew better than to bother asking what was bothering me. I could never put a precise definition or accurate description to this mood. It was just something I’ve learned to trust in when it happened. It’s that same innate sense that made me Warlord of the Morgue Makers almost two years ago. Fifteen at the time, I am the 2nd youngest to hold the title, having earned it from the previous record holder, who had not lived long enough to celebrate his first anniversary as warlord. I’ve been challenged twice for the title so far.

The first challenger ended up with sixteen stitches across his cheek and a permanent limp. The last one put me in an arm cast for a short bit and him in a coma for nearly two months. Whether out of fear what could happen next or final respect that I can hold down my position, there has not been a challenge in almost a year.

That I woke up with this amped up level of edgy on those two mornings also did not bode well for today…

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Read Part 2

30/30 – 7 | I Can’t Help It

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I stand up on the sofa and look out the window again.

Nope not there. It wasn’t time yet, but I knew that before I climbed up on the sofa. The sofa that Mommie always yells at me and tells me not to get on. My brother, Gregor is at the window showing off again because he doesn’t need a chair to see out of it. He’s waiting for Mommie to come home too, so he can rat on me about the sofa no doubt. I can’t help it if I’m short.

The neighbor next door is playing ball and as usual it rolls in our yard at some point and Gregor starts yelling at kid to get off our lawn. He’s such a meanie-poo sometimes. I ignore him, trying to balance my body on the edge of the sofa. I liked the old sofa better. It had a flat ledge; this one was round, but I knew I could do it. I try again. And again. And again. Meanie-poo turns around just in time to see me not do it again as I fall onto the cushions. I can’t help it if I’m stubborn.

He looks at me and shakes his head about to look out the window again, when we hear it; Mommie’s car pulling onto the driveway. Gregor wants to act like he don’t care that Mommie’s Home, but I do and run for the door. When she opens it, it’s all I can do to not grab her by the legs. I can’t help it if I’m happy.

“Mommie! Mommie! Mommie! Mommie! Mommie!”

“Oh my look look at you! Now there’s a happy girl!”

Gregor is being a good, he walks over and stands next to me. Not able to wait anymore I run to her and she scoops me up in her arms. Mommie scratches him behind the ear because he likes that and tickles my belly because that’s what I like.

“How are my doggies? Were you two good today? Did you miss me?” She asks taking us into the kitchen for treats.

I stick my tongue out at my brother, knowing I was going to get treats first because I was in her arms and I do.

I can’t help it if I’m cute.

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Obviously, a story each day is not going to happen. Life has a way of getting in the way of living sometimes. I have some catching up to do, but I will have all 30 in by the end of the month.

Time Drawing Near

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‘Aladdin’ and ‘The Little Mermaid’ no longer hold a charm
‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ have lost their sway
The sound of glass breaking, holds not the same alarm
When I could conceive a multitude of frights just yesterday

Macaroni and glitter artwork, stuff that used to be bane
Along with a medal made of paper, in the scrapbook
A box with a bundle of model trains and cars and planes
Memories past, that bellow for a just another look

Emphasizing the second syllable of the word every
The volcano project that was quite a bit unstable
The melted chocolate cookie smile used to distract me
From the crumbly mess left on the kitchen table

The children who couldn’t fib, looking me in my eyes
The kids I couldn’t trust not to burn the toast
The brats who threw a party and told straight-faced lies
When confronted with evidence of their being such gallant hosts

The con-men who know ‘Please mother?’ from ‘Mommy PUH-LEEZE??’
The house slaves with laundry finished and dinner cooked, ready to serve
The hooligans who greet me at the door when I take too long fumbling with my keys
The young men who offer the aspirin, sensing I’ve had a day that tested my nerves

These days I find myself staring a little longer at their faces
And the tones of their voices, to my memory, I try hard to adhere
Some mother’s instinct I suppose, preparing for empty spaces
That once remote chance of their leaving, now drawing near
====================

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 65

30/30 – 6 | Plan

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          The Mont Blanc taps on the blotter.

          At first in a rapid staccato, then slows to a more mundane tap of someone who’s bored. The more minute details of the latest plan being finalized in a brilliant mind.  Renior to Romare  hang on the walls. Queen Anne furniture, East Indian carpets, Tiffany lamps, Lenox crystal, all the proper status symbols abound. The Mont Blanc tapper looks around the opulent living room, picking up the telephone.

          “Yes, this is Langston, Mr. Cedric Warren’s Executive Assistant . . . Yes, he wishes to order one ticket to the Eastshore Charity Auction . . . That’s correct, just one ticket for will call.  You have his account number on file, correct? . . .Yes, that is the account. Draw the funds from that account and fax a receipt to the  home fax for his records…Yes, he somewhat old-fashioned that way. I will hold for the confirmation fax.”
          An expansive view of the city’s skyline is seen through the floor to ceiling picture window. Monied means lives here.  A errant strand swaying in the air-conditioned current is pushed back in place as the time is checked on the Breguet until the fax arrives.

          “Yes, the conformation is transmitting through now . . . Everything appears to be in order, thank you . . .You have a good day, also, thank you.” A small smile plays upon the assistant’s lips as the fax is read and then put through a shredder.  A photographic memory does have its uses.

          The plan is starting to get underway.

          It is one of those low ninety-something degree NYC days that feels more like a low one hundred and something degree day with the humidity. As usual there is a line on the TKTS booth. The clerk in the ticket booth stares incredulously at the customer before him.

          “You want to pay cash?  You do realize that the tickets are fifteen hundred dollars – each?”
          “I’m aware of what it cost.”  The customer responds testily, “But thank you for putting my business all out in the street, yo.”
          “Yes, of course, excuse me. One ticket to Eastshore Charity Auction. That will be $1500, plus the processing fee please.” The clerk is taken aback, returning to the transaction. His eyes admiring the way the t-shirt clung to her body in the heat; the woman before him barely looked as if she owned one hundred dollars, let alone fifteen hundred. She was a looker though. Hell, as long as the ticket is paid for, he couldn’t care less.

          “Thanks you.” She pushes an errant strand of hair back into place as she carefully puts the ticket in her purse and checks the time on the Breguet.   The same small smile plays upon the lips as she walks away.

          The plan was definitely underway.

30/30 – 5 | Score

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Janelle looks at her reflection as she ran her fingers over the wool of the coat. The lines fit her lush form perfectly. With the collar popped up, her dark sunglasses on and her gloves she knew it was a combination that would look so good on her. It was more than she wanted to spend on a coat just then, but it would be worth it for the perfect fit alone. She just could not get past the color. Red.

And not just red, but a THAT’S RIGHT WORLD! LOOK AT ME! HERE I AM! R-E-D!, red.

As if her size alone wasn’t attention-getting enough. She could all but hear the derision of her sister Grace couldn’t you find it in black or at least navy? To be fair Janelle had initially looked for a coat in a darker *cough-slimming-cough* color, but then her eyes saw the red and that was it. Janelle sighs taking off the coat. She puts it back on the hanger, buttoning it back up perfectly before returning it to the showroom floor. It was the third time this week she came in and tried on the coat. It was the third time this week she was going to walk out without it as she slips on her navy coat. It was a little out of my price range anyway she consoles herself picking up the fabulous leopard print eternity wrap she spied earlier instead.

She sees her new neighbor Chris pass by the boutique as she stands on the line to make her purchase. Janelle could not help but smile. Tall, solid build and a very nice ass to boot. The gods were at their A game when they created that one. Janelle had done the new neighbor deed of showing up with a cake that second night after move in. Chris had invited her in, but there were still a ton boxes everywhere and they wisely decided to move it over to Janelle’s apartment where they got into a surprisingly good political discussion though they differed in some views.  They ran into each other a couple of days later at the local Asian fusion place. The next evening Janelle slipped a handful of menus for the best places that delivered under Chris’ door without a note. Much to her delight she found a note of thanks from Chris under her own door the next morning. That was a week ago with little more than a head nod in passing a couple of days ago. Janelle decided she was going to ask her new neighbor over for dinner once she got home. She then pseudo plotted ways to get Chris’ shirt wet just so she can profusely apologize while using the smallest towel possible to dry off those abs she had spotted on move-in day.  The discussion was even better than the abs and those were some nice abs Janelle had to laugh to at her own silliness.

“Aw, you’re not going to get it?” The cashier broke through Janelle’s day dreaming.

“Huh – er what?” Janelle stepped up to the register.

“I saw you trying on the red coat. Most woman try, but really can’t work a color that intense, but you do.” The cashier smiled, starting to ring up Janelle’s purchases.

Grace would not think twice about wearing such a bright-colored coat. In fact, she showed-up for Sunday dinner last week in a peacock-blue number. It looked divine on her, but not as good as this coat looks on me. Besides, she was just so tired of wearing the black and navy and charcoal grey coats she has worn for years trying to fit in some other person’s mold of what she should wear for her size. As if wearing those colors would make her less noticeable. Make her disappear.

Well she wasn’t going to disappear dammit!

“Be right back.” She nods once with conviction.

Upon Janelle’s return, the cashier slides a piece of paper for Janelle to see; a coupon for 30% the purchase of that specific brand’s coat. “Would this help?”

“Why yes, yes it would! Thank you! Oh, and I want to wear it now.” Janelle was almost giddy at her good fortune. A few minutes later, with her old coat in the store bag, leopard scarf draped around her face and sunglasses on, Janelle waltzed out in her new coat. Score!

Feeling like a million bucks, she decided to celebrate by picking up a couple of bottles of wine for dinner from the wine shop down the block and walks straight into Grace at the door.

“Oh good God girl!  What the hell possessed you to get that? Where are the cops?” Grace looked her up and down in disbelief.

“Why? Because it’s against the law me to look this fine in it?” Janelle retorted. Score!

“No, because that coat is so red and your ass so fat you look like a siren.” Grace rolls her eyes, pleased as punch by her presumed wit. Before Janelle could respond a pair of hands squeeze her shoulders from behind.

“I know, Jay is seriously working that film noir, bad ass siren vibe hard isn’t she? And with that body, she’s doing a fine job of it too. Good call! Hi, you must be Gracie.”

Janelle grins recognizing her new neighbor’s voice, reaching up to squeeze Chris’ hand in gratitude. That her sister cannot stand to be called Gracie, and though Janelle knows she’ll be blamed anyway, the fact that she never told Chris about the Gracie thing makes the use of it all the more perfect. She could not help but enjoy watching the wind knocked the hell out of her sister’s sails as introductions are made. Grace looks from Janelle, still holding Chris’ hand, to Chris who winks at Janelle and back to her sister.  Janelle raises her sunglasses visually daring Grace to say anything else. Grace wisely chooses to make her exit. Score!

“Wow you’re right, she is lovely, and a bitch, and it should be against the law for you to look this fine and not go out to dinner with me tonight.” Chris pushes a stray hair back while picking a bottle of wine to consider then placing it back.

“Excuse me?” Janelle laughs surprised.

“I was debating if I wanted to ask you out on a date. The debate ended when I saw you in that coat, as you passed the coffee shop next door. My sister is a big gal too and she would run for the hills from such an attention-getting color. That you have the moxie to do it and do it well makes you a woman I want to know more.” Chris smiles her megawatt smile.

“Well so much for my picking up wine to invite you to dinner tonight. I accept.” Janelle lowers her glasses and grins.

Oh sweet, sweet score!

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30 Stories in 30 Days | Day 5