Defense

Victoria and Gordon were in love. Victoria’s father did not approve and would not let them marry. Her father reigned over a fairly large kingdom. He was afraid of being ridiculed and possibly weakened due to this interspecies romance. It’s worth mentioning that Victoria is a lioness and Gordon, a bonobo ape.

They came to the conclusion that to be happy, they would have to start life anew, far from the reach of Victoria’s father’s power. They wandered for months before settling on a new home. It was enough like the place they left to be comfortable, yet far enough away to go unperturbed. There, they were sure, they would start their family.

They adapted well to their new home. Gordon quickly ascended to power. It helped that he had a lioness behind him. He found himself the king of their territory with Victoria as queen in little time.

A group of marauding chimpanzees got wind of the new, growing empire and saw Gordon’s infancy as a ruler as a weakness they could exploit. They had spies within the domain and were gathering information. Gordon was a fair and generous leader so one of the turncoats turned once again and alerted the king of the plot.

After discussing the situation with his advisors, Gordon came up with a plan. Their numbers and strength were weak compared to the ferocious, brute strength of the hordes of chimpanzees. It was decided they would use a biological solution; the employment of killer bees.

Gordon had the advantage of knowing exactly when the attack would take place. It was to jump off at day break in three days. Defensive preparations were made and bees were secretly gathered from all around the kingdom and beyond.

The fateful day came. A conch shell was blown to call the commencement of the attack. The chimps were me by thick clouds of bees. The jungle vibrated with their loud buzz. Screams echoed through the trees. The chimps dispersed in confusion. Some fell right away due to anaphylactic shock. A few jumped back into the river only to have their muscles seize and be carried away to their watery end.

Gordon sent his first wave of infantry to counter attack. Armed with spears, they made quick work of the remaining, confused chimps. Most were writhing in agony. The chimps spared by bee or spear saw their imminent failure and ran to save themselves. The battle didn’t last more than thirty minutes from the signal to attack.

Gordon and his subjects were ecstatic. They hadn’t suffered one casualty. Their only strife no was the inconvenience of having to remove the carcasses of their fallen primate foes. After that was taken care of, they put all normal activities on hold to have a mass celebration. The festivities went well into the night.

A little after nightfall, Gordon, slightly intoxicated, went looking for Victoria. He was told she had already retired to their royal quarters. He was more than happy with this revelation. His victory had made him rather randy and he wanted to celebrate intimately with his queen.

As Gordon pushed open the door to his bed chamber Victoria pounced upon him.

“Oh, my love, I think you’ve read my mind!” he said. Feeling sharp claws digging into his sides, he immediately realized she had other intentions.

“No you fool! I’m through with you! The last domino has fallen. I shall reign over our, I mean MY, kingdom by myself from now on” she replied.

In shock and in great pain he managed to ask “WHY?”

“I’m tired of living this freak show life. My father was right, it’s not natural. Besides, you cannot give me what I most want, a son!” she said, digging her claws even deeper and baring teeth.

“Look at what we have built, my love. Look at all we have! We have survived, conquered and endured” he pleaded.

Victoria shouted an order in a strange language. In came two chimpanzees with dressed wounds. “Take him out of here” Victoria ordered in the language of the chimps.

The chimps muffled Gordon’s pleas for help as they drug him away.

A Wedge Between Pt. 5 (Final Chapter)

A Wedge Between Pt. 1

A Wedge Between Pt. 2

A Wedge Between Pt. 3

A Wedge Between Pt. 4

“What are you doing here?” Stodler asked.

“My private dick saw everything and I thought I could help” she answered, feeling victorious. “Is the old man really dead?”

“I don’t know, but I think so” he answered.

“And the dumb bitch? Looks like you haven’t taken care of her yet.”

The last sentence hit Stodler like a ton of bricks. He realized just then that Isabel was a problem that had to be dealt with.

“Isa, honey” Stodler kneeled down and took her hand. “We’re gonna get through this, right? You can be quiet about this?”

Isabel snapped out of her catatonic like state, turned her head to Stodler and said “Fuck you, you’re gonna rot in jail” She tried to pull her hand away to stand up but Stodler tightened his grip.

“No, my love, it can’t be like that. I’m sorry”

Isabel let out a shrill scream that was cut short. Blood sprayed the wall behind her. She slumped over. Stodler turned to see a smoking, silenced .40 caliber in the dectective’s hand.

“This is gonna cost you, miss” the detective said to Amanda.

“I’m good for it, besides, the bill is only going to get bigger. I’m going to need you to clean this up” Amanda replied.

“Consider it done” the detective said.

Stodler was relieved. He had seen his future come to an end only to have it resurrected by the hand of the detective. Stodler and Amanda ending up dating. Amanda eventually threw Stodler away when she became bored with him. Stodler was none the happier, he was with her more out of self-preservation anyhow. In the years after the incident, Stodler graduated top of his class and enjoyed a successful career in politics. In two decades he ran for a Senate seat. He won.

Game Over!

Foot volley, which is a mixture of soccer and volley ball is a way of life in Guarã, a small city in a remote part of the Amazon valley in Brazil. Players use their legs, feet and head to get the ball over a net. It sounds like a fun way to pass the time and it can be, just not in Guarã. There, winning a game can mean you get to live another day or will be burned alive bound by old car tires and doused in gasoline. It harks back to the worst days of the Roman empire but instead of Caesars presiding over the tournaments, there are drug dealers deciding the fates of athletes.

If parents see that their child is particularly good at foot volley, they sometimes will sell all their possessions to ensure their child has a bus ticket, one way, out of Guarã. The child will sometimes grow up in the company of relatives without their parents because the parents are too poor to make the bus fare to get themselves out. In some cases, parents end up dead for sending away a good prospect.

José had no parents to care for him or to sell possessions to get him out of Guarã. José lived on the street in a pack of about 10 boys. He was the best of around 4 really good players. When they weren´t playing foot volley, training foot volley or trying to get something to eat from the trash, the pack was usually either sniffing glue or trying to get their hands on it. Not José. Some time ago, José found some text books in the trash while looking for dinner. José was taught to read by the church and he was grateful and did not want their gift to go in vain.

José had won so much that he had built himself quite the name in Guarã. He was like a local celebrity. He was forced to go to the big outdoor “funk parties” as they were called, thrown by the local drug dealers. He was paraded around like a mascot. He despised them all. He despised the drug dealers who he saw as poisoning the community. He despised the party goers and useless people lowered even further in his eyes for idolizing such horrid people. He despised the cops who were easily bribed by the drug bosses and would abuse street children in every sense of the word for their own pleasure.

One night José lay in his concrete bed, in reality a sewer tunnel opening, trying to get the images out of his head of what he saw that day. He had won a major day long tournament closed with not only the murder of every loser but their depraved torture as well. José had seen a lot up to this point but this was worse than anything he had seen. His mind went back and forth from the torture to the faces of the spectators who watched in ecstasy and cheered on the torturers. He was forced to watch from a rickety homemade throne that was spray painted gold and had worn purple pillows fixed to it to make it look like a real king´s chair.

As he laid there, tears rolling down his eyes, he smelled smoke. It was not the usual smell of bonfires which were frequent during the nights after a tournament. It had a more chemical smell. He went out from his makeshift bedroom and climbed an electrical tower. A few thatched roofed houses were on fire. There was little to no response, probably because of the level of intoxication of the people. For the most part of the population, they were passed out drunk.

José thought quick. He knew how he could help. Help himself, help his city, help his country, help the world. He made his way to the police precinct which looked no different than the front office of a land fill. He went to the patio where the few broken down vehicles were parked. He grabbed two 20 liter canisters and went running. As he approached the burning huts he poured some of the liquid from the canisters into discarded water bottles and aluminum cans. He then proceeded to throw them near the flames.

Where the bottle and cans hit, great little explosions took place and the flames quickly spread. He was throwing containers of gasoline into the flames! He then moved on to huts that were not on fire and started to throw flaming soda cans onto the roofs. When they were sufficiently ablaze he went to the only houses in the village, slipshod building decorated by what looked like by psychopathic children, and started to fling his mini Molotov cocktails over the walls. In no time they were on fire as well.

José, satisfied with his work, started for the outskirts of the village. It was getting hot as the fire was spreading rapidly. He was surprised by the lack of commotion on the street. Surely some people were not so drunk as to burn to death without waking. He didn´t care either way. He made his way to the outskirts of the village, climbed a little foot hill and watch the fire do its cleansing.

El Gringo pt. 6

Part One     Part Two

Part Three  Part Four

Part Five

 

Gary asked for an officer who speaks English, which wasn´t all that uncommon to have. The receptionist called for Officer Medina.

Officer Medina came up to the front, greeted Gary warmly and asked him to follow him to his office. After leading him there, he sat him down and offered coffee which Gary was more than eager to except.

After throwing back the bitter black liquid and feeling a slight buzz of energy, Gary told his story, again, what he remembered. Officer Medina just shook his head in a show of disappointment. Then, his eyes opened wide expressing surprise. He threw his finger in the air in a Eureka like moment.

“Oh, Gary. I think I know why you are alive today. Let me make a call” Officer Medina furiously dialed a number on his touch tone phone. He was wildly gesticulating and speaking Spanish at 100 miles per hour.

He hung up the phone. “I was right! I know why you are alive today. The jungle saved you my friend”

“How so?” Gary asked.

“I just confirmed that two people were found torn to shreds, probably by a jaguar and it is around where you say this happened. I will send a crew to check it out. Wanna ride along?”

Gary felt uneasy but he thought, with all the help he had received, maybe this would help with the investigation. “Uh, ok” he obliged.

Gary got into a World War II era jeep and was off with Officer Medina and his crew. Gary could not have known this as his memory was so spotty, but they were on the same road that lead him to his captivity and ultimate escape. They started down a jungle road and came to an abandoned car.

“That´s it! That´s the car! I am sure of it” Gary screamed.

“I´ll be damned” remarked Officer Medina. “Let´s take a look around” They all jumped out of the jeep and walked towards the car.

“Take a look in the back seat Gary. Make sure you didn´t drop anything there” Officer Medina said.

Gary was sure he had left nothing but he knew the officer was being nice so he obliged. As he bent forward he felt a prick in his buttocks. Then he felt pressure that smushed him to the bench seat not letting him get up. The crew was speaking in Spanish and the more he tried to understand, the more he couldn´t. He started to feel the same way he did in the bar that night. Maintaining consciousness became labor some.

As the tunnels he was looking through became more black he heard something in Spanish that he could make out.

“Gringo guts gonna get us paid” then he heard laughter. Then he heard nothing.

 

 

El Gringo pt. 5

Part One 

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four 

“Hello….Ola” Gary stammered.

“Deus mio! Un gringo?” the old man responded.

“Si, un gringo” Gary answered.

“What da hell you doing here?” the old man asked.

“Chico led me here” Gary answered.

“Who da hell is Chico?” the old man asked and pumped the shot gun. The sound of the cartridge being chambered dropped Gary to his knees.

“I´m sorry, I gave your dog a name… Chico. I followed him here” Gary said, on his knees with his hands reaching for the sky. “I escaped something terrible. I mean no harm, I need help”

“Oh. You can get up” the old man lowered the shot gun. “I´m sorry about this” he said nodding towards the gun. “Around here, you can´t be too careful. A lot of crazy people”

Gary stood up and offered his hand. “My name is Gary”

“My name is Guillermo, nice to meet you. Come inside. Do you think they followed you?” the old man asked.

“I am pretty sure, no” Gary said feeling hope for the first time.

Once inside Gary told Guillermo everything he could remember. Guillermo explained how he was able to speak English. He had lived for twenty years in New York saving his money to one day go back to his native country and buy a piece of land in the bush and live off the grid.

“I am pretty sure they wanted your guts, but why they left you there, I don´t know” Guillermo said. “It´s pretty common around here. Don´t take it personally either. They do this to locals too. Gringo guts no more valuable than local guts. They saw an opportunity”

“When it light again, we get my truck. I take you to town. Nobody bother you here” Guillermo continued.

Gary thanked him profusely. Gary slept on what might be described as a couch in what might be described as the living room. Chico slept on the floor beside him and did not stir until sunrise.

When day broke, Gary, Guillermo and Chico hiked a few kilometers to where Guillermo kept his truck. It was well camouflaged in a makeshift garage made of cut bush. It was an engineering feat, Gary thought to himself.

When they made it to town, Gary thought it best to go straight to the police to report what had happened. They stopped off at an ATM first. Even though his wallet was gone, they didn´t find his emergency fund ATM card tucked in his underwear. Gary withdrew the equivalent of around $100 USD which was a handsome sum for a person of humble means in these parts. Guillermo refused. “You just come visit me at least once before I die. That payment enough”

They stopped in front of the police department. They said their good byes and the pickup was off, kicking up dust from the dirty cobble stone street.

Part Six

El Gringo pt. 4

Part One

Part Two

Part Three 

After what felt like hours, but in reality was more like twenty minutes, Gary was aroused by the sound of movement in the bush. It sounded frantic and without direction. It was coming toward his direction and getting louder by the moment. It took all he had not to cry out. He sat up with his knees tucked into his chest. Tears were flowing down his face. As the movement crept ever closer Gary decided he would succumb to whatever fate had in store for him. He didn´t have it in him to fight.

The rustling now was right outside of the tree that was hosting him. The braches started to move. He let out a childish weep and with that an animal burst through the lower bows of the tree. Gary closed his eyes and waited for death.

While Gary braced himself for excruciating pain he felt something wet and cold on his face. He opened his eyes. It was nothing more than a mangy dog sniffing him all over. He couldn´t hold it in. He started to cry. As the dog sniffed him over he embraced the wiry haired creature. Though it looked like a feral dog, it was quite domestic in the way it interacted with Gary. Gary pat the top of the dog´s head and the dog responded in kind. The dog rolled over and presented its belly to Gary. Gary pet the dog’s belly, tears flowing.

This renewed Gary’s spirits. He did not even think of the danger the dog offered, making even more sounds and in turn making it easier for his foes to track him. He decided to set out again with the dog in tow. He decided to call the dog Chico, which the dog seemed to immediately respond to.

Gary walked and the dog followed. The dog suddenly stopped and stared into the distant for a few moments.

“What´s wrong Chico?” Gary whispered.

The dog came to and started walking at a brisk pace. It was clear that he wanted to take the lead. Gary was all out of options so he decided to follow. The dog was sniffing furiously. It was clear he had a chosen path. After about a kilometer or so they came to a clearing in the bush. There was a rusty wire fence that was practically falling over in places. Chico was beside himself. He was jumping excitedly nuzzling Gary with each jump. Even in the dark it was clear that there was a little shack in the middle of the clearing.

Chico lead Gary towards the shack. As they approached, Chico bolted for the door. It was slightly ajar and he was able to open it with his snout and he entered. Once inside he began howling. Gary heard some extra movement in the house then a voice speaking groggy Spanish.

The door flew open and an elderly man was standing there with a shot gun screaming unintelligibly in Spanish. Gary understood when he heard “Who goes there?”

Gary was in a panic. This was either his rescue or his demise. It was a matter of time before the old man saw him, so running was out of the question. He decided to approach slowly with his hands over his head.

Part Five 

El Gringo pt. 3

Part 1

Part 2 

Gary sat just there for a while, alone. He started to feel better physically but emotionally he was falling apart. He was beating himself up for being so stupid. He was ashamed that he drank so much and fear started consume his mood. He heard some rustling in the bush. He wanted to call out the woman´s name but he had forgotten it. He thought to leave the car and look for help but he had no idea as to where to go.

A good amount of time passed and Gary gathered the courage to leave. He scavenged the car looking for anything that might help him find help. As he was sitting in the driver seat he noticed there was blood on his hands. He examined them. There was not a cut to be found. Then he checked his body. Nothing there either. Then he noticed a shimmer coming from the steering wheel. That was the source of the blood. There was thick coagulating blood all over it. This freaked Gary out. He jumped from the seat. He took a few moments to gather himself. He walked around the car to the passenger side. In the glove box he found a flash light that was so dim it was hardly usable. There was also a pair of pliers, a nail cutter and to his great joy, a map. He checked the rest of the car but found nothing useful.

Gary set out down the road that had brought the car to its current location. He quickly realized the folly that he was making. If the people were to come back to the car, surely they would use this road. He decided to cut through the jungle. The bush was absolutely alive with noises. Gary was shaking. The dim flashlight barely lit the area around his feet. He had to fight the urge to lay down and curl up into a little ball and cry.

He walked for about ten minutes when he thought he heard footsteps. He froze in his tracks. He felt paralyzed. It may have been his imagination because after a few interminable minutes he heard no further sign of someone or something walking around. He made up his mind to enter into the bush until he found some kind of hiding place where he could wait out the night and continue his trek with some daylight.

After some time he came to a large tree that was overgrown with vines. It provided almost a teepee like structure. He gathered up the nerved to look inside. The prospect of what was waiting for him on the other side was almost as scary as the prospect of being found by an enemy who he had no clue was.

He peeked his head inside and shone the dim light around. To his relief, there was no sign of life. Gary went inside and succumbed to the urge to lay down and curl up into a little ball and cry.

Part 4

El Gringo pt. 2

Please read the first installment here. 

“I told you I was not ok!” Gary slurred.

“You´re fine. You just felt a little sick in there. You´ll feel better soon. Maybe you should come to my place and relax” she suggested.

Gary was not sure about the idea. It was not that he felt any imminent danger, but he did not want to suffer the embarrassment of getting sick again in her home.

“Maybe I shouldn´t” he said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“I don´t want to make a mess in your house” he answered.

“Don´t worry. You´re fine anyway. Let´s go” she said.

He felt very dizzy as he got up. His legs felt weak. He knew he was going to throw up again and it was only a matter of time before he did.

The woman hailed a cab. She started speaking Spanish rapidly to the driver and her demeanor changed. She was more forceful, almost aggressive with the driver. The driver nodded at the instructions and off they went.

She turned to him and her demeanor went back to the soft, sweet version she used in the bar. “How you feeling? Better now?”

Gary tried to speak but decided against it. It was all he could do as to not throw up again. The waves of nausea passed over him. When the car slowed up to stop signs, Gary kept going forward, at least in his head. The car drove for at least twenty minutes before Gary realized that they were in the car for an inordinate amount of time. He was too busy just trying to keep it together before to notice. He also noticed that they were no longer in an urban area.

Buildings became more spread out and there was noticeably more green. Gary was not in a state of mind to really take too much notice or make anything out of this. The woman whose lap he was using as a pillow lit a cigarette. The waif of smoke did not calm Gary´s churning stomach.

He mustered enough energy to mutter the question “You smoke?”

“Only when I drink, dear” she answered.

Very out of character Gary said “That´s gross”

“I know dear”, she said as they went along.

“Where are we going?” Gary asked.

The woman was noticeably irritable. “My house. I already told you”

“You live far” he said childishly, slipping in and out of consciousness.

“You´re drunk. We´ve barely been driving at all” she said. She then blurted some rapid fire instructions to the cab driver in Spanish. The cab just kept on going. Gary completely passed out.

When Gary came to he was in the back of the car, stopped and it was very dark. He was alone. He could tell he was away from civilization because of the sounds of insects in surround sound all around him. His head was pounding. He had an awful taste in his mouth. Some people keep condoms in their wallets, he always kept an aspirin. He reached for his wallet but it was gone.

Part 3 

Violence A Weapon

 

Brad put his ear buds in as he boarded the subway for his daily commute home. He was lucky this day. There was a seat for the forty minute ride out to the suburbs. This was rare so he felt pretty good about himself. Among the usual commuters there was a group of young men speaking very loudly making the other passengers uncomfortable. He saw they were passing around a bottle and were taking turns looking up from the conversation they were engulfed in. They seemed to be looking over the passengers. Something about them made Brad feel uneasy.

After ten minutes into his podcast Brad had practically forgot about the young men. He was so involved in his program he barely noticed one of them standing right in front of him with his back to him. The youth turned around and motioned for him to take out an ear bud.

Brad obliged. “Yeah?” he asked.

“You got the time?” The youth asked.

With an icy feeling in his stomach Brad looked at his watch. “5:45” he answered.

“That´s a nice watch, man. You don´t worry about anyone taking from you?” the youth asked.

“Not a bit” Brad answered feeling negative electricity in the air. He was being honest. Brad was an amateur fighter with at least ten fights under his belt and endless hours of sparring with trained athletes.

Brad went to put the ear bud back into his ear when the youth said “Not so fast, man. I´m not done talking to you”

“Well, I´m done talking to you” Brad said as he continued to put the ear bud back into his aural cavity.

The youth smacked the hand sending the ear bud flying as far as the cable would allow. Brad instantly stood up. The youth was considerably bigger than him. “I don´t want any problems. I am just trying to get home” Brad said.

“I don´t want any problems either” the youth said. “Just that watch”

Brad was a small man. He looked like an easy target to intimidate, especially in his work attire which was a button shirt with a sweater pulled over and some khaki Dockers. The youth was banking on the fact he could scare the watch off of Brad’s arm.

“Please, buddy, just go back to your friends. We can pretend this never happened” Brad said almost whispering as to let the youth save face.

The youth dropped his right arm and Brad instinctively knew what was coming. It did. A very sloppy right hand slowly made its way towards his face. Brad easily avoided it by barely slipping it and followed the movement with a short elbow to the youth’s neck. This dropped the kid on the crowded train forcing people to cram to the sides to avoid the hulking, falling body. Brad remembered the friends. How would he handle them was his only thought. The kid was down and probably out of the fight because the wind was completely knocked out of him.

As he saw the youth on the floor of the train struggling to breath he made a decision. Passengers were on their phones frantically calling the police. Brad promptly mounted the youth´s chest and started pounding his face into a pulp with an avalanche of elbows. He looked towards the kid’s friends and realized his plan was working. They were paralyzed with fear. They saw his technical ferocity and did not want any of it. Thankfully the train came to a stop and the doors opened.

As the terrified passengers flooded out of the car, a mix of police and subway security burst in. It was a horrible sight. A scrawny business man was on top of a thugged out kid whose face was not even recognizable as human. The police cuffed a protesting Brad. “Tell it to the judge” was their only retort as they read him his rights.

Because it was Friday night, Brad had to spend the weekend in jail. He could only see the judge on Monday. Due to the severity and violence involved, Brad was kept in a cell to himself. He was without human contact, save the brief moments a tray of food was passed through the door.

Monday finally came and Brad was led down the corridor to see the judge. He was disoriented and disheveled. His sweater was thrown over his arm and crunchy with the dried blood of the youth he had beaten.

As he stood in front of the judge he asked what he was being held for.

“For now, attempted murder, possibly murder. The kid is not doing so well” the judge informed him. “Tell me your side of the story”

Brad told him every minute detail. The judge nodded the whole time.

“Well, I tend to believe you, son. Two others in that kid’s group ripped off a couple of wallets. One even smacked an old lady because she had nothing to hand over. I just have one question. Why did you beat the kid so badly?”

“Your honor, I was afraid of his friends attacking me. I felt if I scared them it would keep them at bay. It did. I saw the terror in their eyes and it kept them back” Brad answered. “The same way the kid tried to use fear to get my watch, I used fear to protect myself from his friends”

“Fair enough” the judge said. “You´ll have to go to court regardless”

“I understand” Brad said as his heart sank.

A few months later Brad had his trial. He hired a good lawyer. The charge was manslaughter. The youth did not make it. After a highly publicized trial Brad was exonerated of any wrong doing. It was ruled self defense. After the trial Brad decided to take his life savings and start a martial arts gym. It specialized in self defense.

 

The Typewriter

 

 

Clack, clack, clack went the sound of his typewriter. Frank was furiously pounding away on the vintage keys that set him back a small fortune in a little boutique shop in a gentrified, once artistic part of the city. A small mountain of cigarette butts spilled out of one of the empty cardboard coffee cups that surrounded his work space. He was writing for hours but nothing of quality found its way to the endless reams of paper.

“It´s all shit!” he screamed, though the only sentient being to hear these words were his cat and his neighbor. The walls were paper thin in his tiny one bedroom apartment in a converted candy factory in another gentrified, once artistic part of the city.

Frank had some success of late selling a few stories here and there but the well seemed to have dried up. Everything he came up with was derivative of something he had already read or had already written. He had recently gone off his mood stabilizers in hope that it would spark some hidden creativity.

With a deft sweep of his arm, the typewriter went flying across the room. It would have taken out the cat if it didn´t have such keen reflexes. He sat there staring at the typewriter, upside down on the floor for some time.

Clack, clack, clack. The keys of the typewriter started moving by themselves. Frank sat up straight. The clicking stopped. He slowly walked over to the downed typewriter and turned it over. He saw a sentence on the page after where he had stopped.

Just keep going.

Those three extra words on the page he hadn´t written. Frank was perplexed. Surely this wasn´t for real. He decided his mind was playing tricks on him and he decided to go to bed for the night.

When Frank awoke he walked over to the typewriter on the floor. He looked at the page and there were more words.

You suffer for your work. Now others must suffer for your work. Make them pay and you will reap the profits.

“What does that mean?” he asked himself out loud. He felt stupid for saying these words because he knew exactly what it meant. He needed new life experiences to draw from as inspiration. He knew that hurting people would evoke deep emotions that he could use to write.

Frank always had a violent streak that he used to punish only himself. He had never even thought of hurting anyone else but he figured that this must be a sign from above. Frank decided he would go to the park late at night and do some harm to homeless people. This way, he could do what the typewriter told him to with minimal risks with the law. Frank was also a coward and a weakling. A sleeping homeless person would offer the least resistance.

That night, Frank filled the pockets of his parka with a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, some rags and a box of strike anywhere matches. He also slipped two mini bottles of vodka he had obtained from his last flight into the breast pocket for a little added courage. He then set off for the park.

He found his first victim. It was a woman sleeping under a makeshift tent made of a cardboard box. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out one of the mini bottles. He was not a drinker and could barely get the vile liquid down his throat. A little even made its way back up and he had to swallow it a second time. He took a deep breath just to keep it down.

From behind him he heard a voice say “Having a party and didn´t even invite me?” Then he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck, saw a bright light then nothing. The metal pipe that had just smashed his brain stem cut off communication from his brain to his body. The homeless man slipped of Frank´s parka, then the rest of his clothes. He was left unconscious and stripped to his underwear in the harsh cold in the middle of the park.

When Frank came to he was in a white room with bright lights. His hands were restrained with fur lined leather cuffs. He looked to his right and he saw his case worker, John, sitting on the chair besides him.

“How do you feel Frank?” John asked.

“Terrible. What happened?” he asked.

“That´s what I would like to know. The only facts I have are, you were found in Jefferson Park in your underwear, barely breathing. You had alcohol on your breath. A nice homeless woman saw you around midnight and got the attention of a nearby police officer” he said. “Have you been taking your meds?”

“Well, uh, no” he sheepishly answered. “But…”

“But nothing Frank. How many times do we have to go through this. You must take your medications”

“Am I in trouble, John?” Frank asked.

“No, of course not”” John said with genuine concern in his voice.

Off the hook again. Frank thought. Mental disease has its advantages. This will make a great story.