Archives
Short Fiction Story in Progress titled "Who's There?"
Just a glimpse of her hair sliding over her shoulder as she turns her head. The highlights reflect the sun beating down on her crown and the heat radiates a wavy almost gaseous windsweep. New city cabs stroll across the streets lined up back to back intercepting his view as she walks farther away. She reminded him of his long lost lover who died during the 9/11 terrorist attack. He could smell her morning shower fragrance of Rainforest and peaches that was carried from the gust of autumn wind. That was the third time this month he saw her walk by. She always had a paint brush, bag of sponges in her hand,and in a hurry. He looked at his watch and noticed the time was fifteen minutes until he was late for work. So he chugged then pitched his Starbucks Latte and headed down town wiping his lips, trying to rescue is work shirt from a coffee stain he walked one block north and entered through the sliding glass doors to the elevators. Every morning at the desk was Meeko, the security guard. Meeko was from Hawaii and gave Jet the morning newspaper to start his day. "Thank You", he reply to Meeko. Jet could rely on Meeko being there with a Daily Times every morning at eight. "You know , Jet, I don't have to give you my paper but your the first guy in years that hasn't missed a day of work. The last guy I remember to work every day steadily was Wensel Johnson from 1973. I used to give him the morning paper too until he retired and now...now you". Jet stood there for a moment wanting to talk about old days in the 70's but he just smile raising the paper over his head and said "I appreciate you passing down the rusty tradition" and decided to walk up the stairs instead of the elevator taking too long to open.
Monday morning came to soon, Jet always thought as walked into his office of the 5000 square foot multi-fashioned maze journey of computers and phones ringingly danced off the wall. Jet was a writer. He was always up to date on the latest and greatest events of the global market and government. The president democracy and candidacy was his love next to art and history. There he sat at his desk with his text saved on pentium processor and Hewlett Packer. An "Investigation Time" plaque stuck on his wall in his booth like a framed painting. He checked into work by logging on his computer and re-read his schedule where he left off the previous Friday. Reading his emails he had leads to the various controversies on the Iraqi country being Palestine and biblical matters that exists as stated in the King James bible. In his emails he leads on President Bush knowing that 9/11 was going to happen and he did nothing to prevent devastations and destruction of the Twin Towers. That topic effects him greatly since he lost his wife of two years to Jessica when she was picking up her nephews at the day care located there. That day , Jessica was only doing a favor her brother to help pick up little Mathew. In seconds it was over. Waiting for days and nights to see if she was a survivor. At his desk, in a double glass panel cover is snapshot of Jessica and Jet honeymooning in Belize bikini style. It burns inside him to the point where he works consistently, completely numb inside, with no emotions.
His friend Ed, peeped over the railing to say "Good Morning" and startled him away from his current thoughts. Jet always thought Ed had perfect timing to rescue him from such unmeritorious feelings. "Don't forget your appointment at 9:30 with Mr. Randall, the man with the Lead", Ed said with his two quote fingers up in the air. Mr. Randall is a guy who stayed in his house on the computer swearing he had discovered a solution to computer identity theft! Packing his laptop, cell, and car keys, he and Ed were out the door. They drove off in the company vehicle that stays in the company parking lot and he is only entitled to drive it during working hours for his newspaper interviews. The walks home aren't too bad and besides he doesn't have a car payment. Ed and Jet proceed to the entrance of Mr. Randall's front porch knocking on the door twice waiting for his response. Several minutes pass before they hear "Who's there?" on the other side. "It's Jet Stonewell, Mr Randall, from the Local Daily News, we had an appointment". The door opens creaking slowly like something haunting from a Halloween movie. His eyes were red glazed over like cataracts from the steam of the smoke raising up from his cigarette stuck in between his lips as he talked while ashes fell down on the carpet beneath his feet. The foul stench of bachelor stale air gushed outside from his cavehood and Jet blinked asking " Shall we have the interview outside?".....
After the four hour interview of ghoulish conversation and hyper tension mixed with paranoia, Jet and Ed were ready to grab a beer downtown from he local tavern and grill. They both agreed they opened up a can of worms and was back to the office preparing the story to be out in two more working days. Meeting after work at the bar, Jet ordered his usual Coors Light (TM) long neck and hoagie. In the neon light from the bar sign, he sat in the black leather bench seat looking out the window. Rubbing his tired blue eyes, he saw her again. She was walking north instead of south returning from some where with smudges of paint on her hands and face like she had been working on a masterpiece yet this time with a long hair pug mix Pomeranian trailing behind her on a leash. She was a sight for sore eyes, he agreed with himself. When Ed walked in Jet said, "hold my seat, I will be right back". He quickly ran outside to catch up to her realizing she was already past the corner. He darted off to get her attention asking, "Excuse me, but if I may ask what kind of dog is that?"
"Oh, Um, my dog is a long haired pug" ,she replied in a low rocker styled voice. He laughed wondering if there was such a dog. "Really, I never knew Pugs were long haired?", he asked. "Well they are now, I am breeding them", she exclaimed. He was finding himself interested in her invention. "Hhhmmm, Nice to meet you, I'm Jet Stonewell and you are?"......"Hi, the name is Jessie for Jessica, likewise", she said. He felt a tug at his heart because of the echoes of her name still rang bells in his ears from his past without his new acquaintance knowing.
To be continued....
acyrlicstains at 11:38:00 AM CST Blog about this entry |
Add to del.icio.us | 
digg this
-
Time to rekindle these words....finish the stories I started. Finish everything I start.
-
Hey! You still got this thing on alerts?
Was just sitting here thinking about all who have vanished and you came to mind.
Peace~
~V~ -
NICE SITE- LOVE THE ART - LOVE THAT CHOC. TOO... GODIVA I LIKE BEST,~http://journals.aol.com/cste6
09371/writingsshortstoriesbySt ewart/ -
Ouch! her name HAD to be Jessica? Maybe she's a stalker who is out to wreak havoc on his life by impersonating his dead wife? :)
My favorite image is of the cataract eyes - I can see that so clearly!
Thank you very much for sharing!
Charley
12/11/06 2:46 AM
Best Regards, Raven
http://journals.aol.com/maste
I noticed you wrote short stories. Here is another link we started for that.
http://journals.aol.com/maste