Some Assembly Required pt. 2

Some Assembly Required pt. 1

Artie realized the gravity of the situation. He was trapped. His leg was in agony and he thought it was surely broken. Above all, his chief concern was that his beer buzz would pass without him watching his Netflix shows.

His cell phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. “Help!” he meekly shouted. He tried banging on the floor, trying to get the attention of the tenant below. His efforts were met with a few thumps back from the handle end of a broom.

He felt himself losing consciousness. He decided it was better that he let the feeling take him away. Either he would wake up to a possibly more favorable scenario or the sweet relief of death would alleviate the situation.

An amount of time unbeknownst to Artie had passed before he came to. He people talking. He tried to cry out but he had no voice. His vocal chords were not damaged; just nothing came out despite his better efforts. He also had no response in his limbs. “Oh my god” he thought, “I´m paralyzed.”

The voices were clearly talking about him. There was no urgency to help. They seemed to be gossiping about Artie. Nothing they said was flattering. In fact, it was hurtful. Artie even tried to cry, but no tears fell. He slipped back into unconsciousness.

Artie was startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was still encased in the darkness of the armoire, yet the arm seemed to just pass through the wood.

“Artie, are you all right?” the voice asked.

Artie came to and saw his neighbor. The armoire was still in the upright position it had been before the fall. The ladder was capsized on the floor. Artie had smashed his head on a pile of lumber.

“Artie, I heard a crash and I ran up as fast as I could. I found you here unconscious! Good thing you keep your door unlocked.”

“How long ago did you hear the crash?” Artie asked.

“A few moments ago. The time it took for me to get up here”

“Wow, great!” Artie was relieved that it was only head trauma that made the episode feel like a long time had passed. He was happy to know the window of buzz was still open for optimum Netflix viewing.

The end

Some Assembly Required pt. 1

Artie carefully slid the box cutter down the taped seam as to not damage the contents of the intricate packaging. He was excited, yet nervous. He was still unsure if he would be able to assemble the armoire by himself.

In his anticipation he had watched hours of YouTube videos about putting this monstrosity together. He made a list of do’s and don’ts cultivated from perky, over caffeinated, wannabe internet celebrities. He had his unused and fully stocked tool bag and he was ready to go.

The first thing he noticed was the quality of the wood. It was extremely thick and heavy, considering how little he paid. After all, he had spent hours reading reviews and they all spoke highly of the quality materials so he shouldn’t have been surprised.

After a few hours of fervent assembly and dutiful beer drinking, the armoire started taking form, as well as his buzz. He marveled that the once pile of wood was transforming into an actual piece of furniture. The alcohol increased his amazement even further.

All was going smoothly until he got to a piece of trim that he couldn’t for the life of him figure out where to put. His determination and attention to detail were starting to float away with each gulp of cold beer. He was starting to get antsy and wanted to be done so he could watch another episode if the Netflix series he was currently on, while still buzzed.

He thought he figured out where the piece fit, on the inside of the opening for the sliding door. He had to climb in to screw this piece on. He saw it was a little high up so he propped the ladder on inside of the armoire. The screw hole was just out of reach but Artie was too much in a rush now to reposition the ladder.

As he reached over to insert the screw, the ladder slipped from under him and as he fell to the floor and the heavy armoire fell with him. It laid over him like a tomb. To make matters worse his leg was smashed and pinned under the internal drawers.

The first thing he thought was to reach for his cell phone. He was in a lot of pain, entombed in the armoire and completely stuck. A wave of panic washed over him when he realized his cell phone was on the kitchen counter. Charging.

 

To be continued…

Some Assembly Required pt. 2

A Speedy Recovery Part 5 (Final)

Part 1    Part 2     Part 3    Part 4

Months went by and although business was gangbusters, Carl had a lot of questions. First, where was Dustin? Second, how did his business go from almost going under to breaking all previous sales records if basically nothing had changed? He sold his entire stock every single day since the promotional party that Dustin threw together.

One Saturday night, as Carl was sweeping up, Dustin appeared, from what seemed like out of thin air, walking from the kitchen into the dining room.

“Hey” he said, startling Carl half to death.

Carl was at a loss for words. On one hand Dustin had, for lack of a better term, pulled a Dustin. On the other hand, things were going great and quite possibly the promotional party that Dustin had produced may have played a role.

Carl sighed “Hey. Where have you been?” he asked.

“You’re never gonna believe this” Dustin answered.

“Try me”

“Well, let me show you” Dustin said, before vanishing.

Carl demonstrated his shock with a loud “Huh?”

Dustin appeared again. “Crazy isn’t it?”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m dead Carl!”

Carl just fixated on Dustin without blinking or saying a word.

“Well, I owed someone, like, a lot of money. So I decided to sell our stash to pay it off because they were going to kill me! But, the deal went bad and I got “got””

“Oh my…” Carl said, putting his hand to his mouth, “That’s why you disappeared”

“Yeah, but check this out. Apparently, on the other side, where you go when you die, you get to call up a favor. Even a scum bag like me! So, I felt bad, for like, fucking you over, so I asked to help out the shop with my favor”

“I’ll be…” Carl just stared at Dustin, even passing his hand through him.

“I know you said ‘no fuck ups’, but I made it right, didn’t I?”

They talked through the night until Dustin had to go. Carl told of the success of the shop and Dustin told what he was allowed to of the other side. Dustin also told Carl that the shop would only continue to have success if Carl personally ran it. As soon as he stopped or tried passing the shop along, the favor would not work anymore. It was part of the “Rules”. Dustin promised to visit Carl as often as he could and that made Carl very happy.

The End.

A Speedy Recovery Part 4

A Speedy Recovery Part 1

A Speedy Recovery Part 2

A Speedy Recovery Part 3

Weeks past and business boomed. The store was crowded from the time it opened until the last call. No one had seemed to be the wiser about the special ingredient.

Carl was very conscience about trying the sandwich himself. After all, he had watched the movie Scar-face and rule number one was “don’t get high on your own supply”.

Dustin was good about keeping the supply of product flowing but was a little flakey about actually coming in and working as per the agreement. Carl was okay with that as long as he had his special ingredient.

Carl didn’t worry much when three days passed and Dustin hadn’t shown up. On the fourth day, delivery day, he became rather upset when neither Dustin nor product showed up. In fact he panicked.

With the prior stress of being in the financial doldrums, mixed with the new stress of his illicit activities, he was already having small panic attacks. Now that his special ingredient, the chi of his success, dried up, he was experiencing full blown anxiety.

He needed an escape. He wanted to feel better. He wanted to at least feel different from what he felt currently. He decided to eat a sandwich to see if it would make him feel good. Thousands of local customers couldn’t be wrong, could they?

He sat down at a table with a root beer and thought to himself, here goes nothing. And that was exactly what he felt after downing half of the sub. Nothing. He thought he should eat more but he could only put down another half because he was so full.

He felt no different, except that he was stuffed. He was perplexed. The bread was made this morning. He went to the vat that held the remainder of the secret ingredient. He scraped enough to make a pretty decent sized line and laid it out on the stainless steel prep table.

He cut a third of a straw off and snorted the substance. “What the fuck?!” he yelled aloud, eyes watering. He knew nothing about drugs but was an expert in baked goods. It was nothing more than manioc flour.

“I’m gonna kill Dustin!”

 

To be continued…

 

 

 

A Speedy Recovery Part 3

A Speedy Recovery Part 1

A Speedy Recovery Part 2

A few weeks later on a Saturday afternoon, the place was packed.

“It worked! You really pulled it off. How did you get D.J. Cyanide, one of the biggest DJs around to agree to do this?” Carl asked Dustin.

“Well, I’m a fan of his and he’s a fan of a certain product. I just called in a favor” Dustin answered.

“I’ve never seen so many people here before. This is bigger than when 94.1 ZROK did a remote from here 15 years ago!”

“And everyone’s eating sandwiches!” Dustin added, rubbing his hands together in a sinister fashion.

The place remained at capacity until closing time. Dustin and Carl had to practically beg a few stragglers to leave so they could clean up and count the day’s money.

“We did well, Dustin. This is by far the most successful promotion the store has ever done” Carl said as he sorted debit receipts from credit receipts.

“This is nothing, bro. This just gave the public a taste. The real “W” will come when the people are trying to smash down the door to get more”

“Your mouth to God’s ears”

“Ha! God…I’m not sure He’s gonna be a big fan of this endeavor”

The next day Carl saw a crowd in front of the store as he pulled up. It was only 7:00am and the store wouldn’t open for another three and a half hours. He was there to make the day’s bread.

The crowd cheered as Carl stepped out of his car.

“Sandwich man!” a man in the crowd shouted.

“We’re hungry!” another voice shouted.

“Folks, we don’t open until 10:30!” Carl said “I still have to make the bread”

“I’ll take some dough raw!” a voice cried. It was followed with a salvo of “Me too!”

Carl had a sinking suspicion that he may have gotten himself in over his head.

 

A Speedy Recovery Part 2

A Speedy Recovery Part 1

“Let me get this straight, it’s like speed, but you can eat it?” Carl asked out of morbid curiosity.

“Yes! Not only that, it doesn’t lose its potency at high temperatures. That means it can be baked into foods…like bread!” Dustin answered.

“But it’s gotta taste like shit, right?” Carl probed.

“That’s the beauty, no! Doesn’t change taste or texture. You’d never know it’s in there. Also, the buzz is subtle. You gotta snort it to get really high. But when you eat it, it gets metabolized by the liver and smooths out the buzz” Dustin stated with pride for having knowledge of something.

“Is it addictive?”

“Well, I don’t need it and I’ve been using it for months, but some people catch the hooks”

Carl knew “the hooks” meant chemical dependency; he also knew Dustin was not being completely honest when he said he hadn’t caught them himself. They went on to discuss price, availability of product and Dustin’s possible cut if they were to go through with this. One thing that held Carl back, not morality or ethics, was knowing Dustin was a world class fuck up.

“If we’re gonna to do this we’re gonna start very small and Dustin, look at me, no fuck ups. Especially that mouth of yours. You’re gonna have to keep real quiet about this”

“Scouts honor” Dustin replied, raising his right hand with his index and middle fingers extended.

“No one is even coming in to the shop, how are we going to get people hooked in the first place?” Carl asked.

“Leave that to me. I have some ideas”

“That’s kind of scary but I’ll have to trust you. I don’t know much about this world”

“Well, that’s about the only thing I know about”

“Make the calls, let’s do this” Carl said with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

To be continued….

A Speedy Recovery Part 3

 

A Speedy Recovery Part 1

As the fiscal year was winding down, Carl realized that his sandwich shop might not break even for the first time since opening. He had even made a nominal profit his first year in business. A more health conscience public and a rough overall economy were his proverbial rock and a hard place.

He tried a marketing campaign on social media, but the coupons had an error and he ended up losing money every time someone redeemed one. He tried having an in-store even but his brother got so drunk he embarrassed himself and Carl. That event was deemed a disaster. He even tried taking the healthy approach to sandwich making but that, too, fell flat.

One slow afternoon, Carl was googling small business consultants when his ne’er-do-well friend form high school, Dustin, barged in.

“Hey man! How you doing? It’s been a while. Shop’s looking good. Got any water?” Dustin said in what seemed like one breath and with incredible speed.

“Hi, Dustin” Carl replied, “You can grab a water from the fridge”

Dustin paced around the empty tables in a curious manner to get to the beverages. “Thanks man. Hey, it’s lunchtime, why so empty?” he then drained the bottle of water and let out a loud “Ahhhhh”

Carl sighed, “Everyone’s on the low carb kick and if you take the bread away, what is a sandwich?” he asked rhetorically.

“Uhhh, a shitty salad?” Dustin earnestly answered, getting a chuckle from Carl.

“You’re a little extra fidgety today, what the hell you on this time?” Carl asked.

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that” Dustin smirked.

“You haven’t changed a bit” Carl laughed.

Dustin startled Carl when he exclaimed with all the animation he could muster “I can save your store and make some cash too!!!”

“Dustin, if it’s illegal I don’t…”

“Just hear me out!”

 

To be continued…..

A Speedy Recovery Part 2

Fear of High

 

“I’m exhausted” Adie said aloud, though to herself, as she poured vodka into a glass. She had just put her baby, Belle, to bed after much fussing. As she put the bottle down, she reached for a half smoked joint. She went right to the kitchen window and smoked what was left.

The alcohol and marijuana always offered the same one-two punch. The booze numbed her while the weed sunk her into a pit of guilt and memories, deep inside her mind. She sat down on the couch with a familiar feeling of satisfactory intoxication and echoing regret.

“Why am I here again?” she pondered. The feeling was compounded by knowing she told herself she would “take a break” today, when she woke up with a slight headache from the previous night’s exaggerated indulgence.

These thoughts vanished like a puff of smoke in the wind when she heard a desperate scratching at the front door of her apartment. At first she thought it was a cat. Then she thought, but how? None of the neighbors on her floor even had a cat.

Furthermore, how would a cat get through the front door of the building and past security? After that feat, it would have had to either used the elevator or managed to open two fire doors and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor.

She was petrified with fear. The scratching continued, slightly more frantic now. Belle started crying. Belle only woke if she was sick. Something must be dreadfully wrong. Adie rushed into the baby’s room and immediately locked the door behind her.

She soothed the agitated baby; herself shaking all over. She couldn’t focus on a single thought of the many swirling in her head but they were all colored by terror. “What kind of mother am I?” she thought. “I can’t even protect my daughter, I’m so high”

As Belle calmed down, Adie fought back sobs. She put the baby back down to bed and went to confront the threat.

“If I die tonight protecting Belle” she thought, “At least my life was useful for something. Up to this point I’ve been a worthless loser” Calling for help was completely out of the question when Adie was in this state. Her paranoia of people didn’t even let her answer her phone when she was like this. Hearing footsteps in the communal hall sent her into panic so she knew she had to conquer this on her own.

She fumbled with her purse for the mace and stun-gun she had never used. Everything fell to the floor. Between the panic and the inebriation, her motor skills were compromised.

The scratching reduced but had not ceased. As she walked to the door, she played out many scenarios in her head. None ended well for her. After what felt like a long journey, she made it to the door.

First, she undid the chain, then the bolt. When she went for the lock on the doorknob the scratching picked up in intensity. She threw open the door. A shadowy figure darted for the couch. In the melee she couldn’t make out what it was.

Her eyes focused. There sitting on the back of the couch was Hope, her very own cat. In her intoxication she had forgotten she had one. That night she promised she’d reel it in and clean herself up. It wasn’t the first time she made that vow and it wasn’t the last.

 

Sloths to a Flame

 

Felix and Gilbert were hanging in a tree doing what sloths do best, relaxing in the hot afternoon sun. They were also observing Dale, who was busy collecting buds that were particular to the season and also considered a delicacy to the species.

“That Dale! Who does he think he is, making us look bad for doing what we’re supposed to do?” Felix grumbled.

“It ain’t natural, Felix” Gilbert lazily answered.

Dale overheard the conversation but he didn’t let it bother him. He was used to it. Ever since he was a kid, he had more energy that the other sloths. He was never content just hanging in a tree.

The council of elders tried many interventions. There was counseling, homeopathic therapies, even pseudo-medicinal rituals involving chanting, rainforest plants and dancing. Nothing took the wind out of his sails. The elders reluctantly gave up and let him be an active sloth.

Dale spent weeks collecting and stowing buds in hollowed, fallen trees. He garnered enough buds for many times more sloths than were in the group in which he lived, yet he felt compelled to gather more. When he slept he dreamt about buds.

A few weeks later Felix and Gilbert were hanging in their favorite tree when the sun was slowly covered by a thick grey that wasn’t cloud formations.

“What do you think that is, Gilbert?” Felix asked.

“I don’t know, Felix but it don’t look good” was his only response.

Little did they know, the rain forest all around them was ablaze. Pure coincidence protected them. A few geographical features, like a wide stream to the north and a sheer rock face to the east were keeping them safe.

Close to evening a massive group of foreign sloths slowly dragged themselves to their safe spot.

“We’ve made it! We are safe!” the leader said as he looked back to his comrades. The news was met by a hail of cheers.

“Not so fast!” Felix said, “What do you all think you are doing here?”

“We’ve escaped unthinkable horrors! The forest is burning. There has been a lot of death and destruction. Please, show mercy, let us stay. At least until the fires die down…” he pleaded.

“There aren’t enough leaves in this patch of land for all of us! You might have survived these fires, but we’ll all die from starvation if you stay!” Felix shot back.

“Can I say something?” Dale meekly interjected.

“What could you possibly have to say, you busy body?” Felix snapped.

“With all due respect” Dale said, “We most certainly do have enough food for us and them. And for a good while”

“How so?” Felix asked, genuinely curious.

“I have buds stored all over the place. Almost every fallen tree from here to the outer edges is stuffed with them. There might be enough for months” he answered.

The group was so quiet one could hear the distant crackle of the burning jungle. “All right, you can stay until the situation improves” Felix said.

The crown roared with joy. In a few weeks the rains put out the remaining fires. The displaced sloths found a suitable home fairly close to their new found friends.

 

That’s the Ticket! Pt. 5 (Final Episode)

That’s the Ticket! Pt. 1

That’s the Ticket! Pt. 2

That’s the Ticket! Pt. 3

That’s the Ticket! Pt. 4

Glenn was violently brought back to reality when someone tackled him. A few other valiant movie goers decided to jump onto the pile of bodies, probably seeking their own personal moment of heroism. Glenn felt like he was suffocating.

Despite an elbow smashing his face, he managed to say “He had a gun”

Someone close to him heard the words and cried for the mob to let up. The message spread slowly and Glenn felt a little relief. Then came confirmation, “Holy shit! Guy DID have a gun!” This informant had rolled the corpse over, exposing the firearm.

A few people in the mob offered apologies to Glenn. There were even a few shouts of “He’s a hero!” and “He saved our lives!”

Glenn’s mind went back to Heather. Surely she was somewhere in the menagerie of bodies. He even called out, “Heather!” A few Heathers even answered, but none where the one he was interested in.

The mall was shut down and a few people, including Glenn, were held for questioning about the event. Glenn sent off a few more messages to Heather, the last being –I hope you are safe-

As the police were wrapping up their investigation, their radios went crazy. A shooting had taken place at the Somerset Mall, across town. There were murmurs of it being a tandem crime. It happened at the movie theater at the same time the premier of the same film was about to be shown.

*          *          *          *          *

As Heather and her boyfriend filed into the screening room she took on last glance at her phone. “I hope you’re safe???” she read aloud. “Well that’s fucking creepy. I guess he figured out what happened and now he’s pissed”

“If that nerd-loser is threatening you, I’ll kick his …” her boyfriend’s words were cut short by screams. The crowd started to stampede. It quickly was made clear as to why. At first, the bursts of noises were thought to be fireworks going off, maybe even some pyrotechnics in honor of the big premier. Then the crowd grew wise and cries of “Gun!” rang out.

Heather got pushed over. She cried out to her boyfriend but he had already shoved his way through the crowd and was well ahead of her heading towards the exit. She first felt her legs and hands get trampled, then her torso. It became difficult to breathe. She couldn’t get up. She went into panic. She felt as if she was in the ocean and a wave had knocked her over and was holding her under water. After some excruciating time and a few unfortunate stomps, she cried the last tears of her short life.

Her boyfriend thought he was going to get out unscathed. Little did he know, he was pushing his way right towards the shooter. When he was confident he would finally escape, he came face to face with the deranged gunman. The man was expressionless. He uttered the words “pretty boy” before foiling the escape plans and claiming one more victim.

*          *          *          *          *

Glenn never spoke to Heather again. After a few days of trying to call and message her to no avail, he gave up. He fathomed that she must have been traumatized by the events at the theater and wanted to move on with her life. He still believed that their meeting was impeded by the averted tragedy. He had never learned of her fate. He shunned the news because he didn’t want to see his face anymore. He was considered a national hero and reluctantly did a media tour around the country. He only took up the offer as a way to see the country.

The pinnacle of Glenn’s rewards was a private screening of the movie he so dearly wanted to see. The whole cast showed up. It was a red carpet event. When the invitation was extended, he thought of asking Heather to accompany him. Although he decided against it, he did fantasize about walking the red carpet, hand in hand with her.

 

The End.