Step Right Up

“Step right up!” the carnival barker shouted at the crowd milling about. “That’s right step right up and see amazing wonders that will astound the mind, astonish the heart, and shake every man, woman, and child to their very core!”

As Terry was passing by, he couldn’t help but listen to the barker’s outrageous claims. Plus with his red and white striped vest and straw pork pie hat, making him look like he had just stepped out of an old picture, the barker’s routine was even more entertaining. Terry knew he had some time before his ex-wife would drop off the kids, so he decided to stop and listen for a little bit.

“For merely ten dollars—that’s right, just one portrait of the great Alexander Hamilton—you will be granted passage into the tent directly to my left and be able to spy these wondrous sights for yourself!” The barker noticed Terry standing in the crowd and twirled the curled end of his moustache between his thumb and forefinger. “You, sir!” he said, pointing at him with his bamboo cane. “You look like a man of strong mettle and resolve, but I wager that even you will be shocked by the sights you will find within the tent beside me!”

Terry smiled. He was naturally competitive, so hearing the word “wager” sounded like his kind of challenge. “What’s the bet?” he asked above the dull noise of the crowd.

“Just an expression, my good man,” the barker replied, keeping up the act. “Beyond being sinful, gambling is a detriment to both the mind and body.”

“No,” Terry said, walking up closer, “let’s make it interesting. If I’m not ‘shaken to my core,’ than I don’t have to pay.”

“Suppose I agree,” the barker said, lowering his voice but keeping up the old timey style, “what’s my prize when you’re proven both wrong and foolish?”

“If I lose, then I have to pay for the attraction,” Terry said, thinking that part was obvious.

“It seems to me,” the barker said, “that in your scenario, you risk nothing. Were you to see my attraction with no wager, you would pay the standard fee for the privilege. Yet if you are proven correct in your assumption, I forfeit my payment. Those, my good man, are hardly balanced stakes.”

“What do you suggest?” Terry asked.

“Why not ten dollars on either side?” the barker said, holding his hands out like a scale. “If you find what’s within this tent mundane, you pay nothing. But if—or rather, when—you are truly left in shock and awe by sights and sounds, then you pay double the entrance fee.”

Terry nodded. “I can manage that.”

“Very good!” the barker said. “Hand me your ten dollars and you will be admitted.”

Terry took two five dollar bills from his wallet and held them out to the barker. Just as the barker was about to retrieve the cash, Terry pulled his hand back. “Now, I get this back if I’m not amazed by that I see, right?”

“I give you my word as a carnival worker,” the barker said, his left hand over his heart and his right hand held up beside him.

“Okay,” Terry said handing the money over. “So, I just go through here?” he asked.

“Indeed!” the barker said, gesturing in the direction of the tent with his cane, his enthusiasm as high as ever.

Terry walked up the tent where a worker opened the curtain that acted as the front door. Inside, he saw several booths, each with its own curtain and a worker to operate the way in, many of them sitting on benches. Terry walked up to the closest booth. It was operated by a tall, gaunt man with a scraggly beard and a strong smell of cigarettes.

“Alright,” he said, “let’s see what’s behind curtain number one.”

“That’ll be a dollar,” the worker said, his voice accentuated by both a slight southern drawl and aggressive apathy.

“Wait,” Terry said, taken aback. “I never agreed to that.”

“If you want to see what’s inside,” the man said, whistling on his S sounds, “you got to pay a dollar.”

Terry stormed back out of the tent through the way he came in, fumbling a little with the tent flap. Once outside, he shouted at the barker.

“Hey!” he called out, causing the barker to stop his routine and turn around to face Terry. “You owe me ten dollars!”

“You saw the sights within and yet were not left in shock and awe?” the barker asked.

“No,” Terry replied angrily. “I didn’t see anything. You didn’t tell me I’d have to pay again when I was inside.”

“So,” the barker said, once again stroking the end of his curled moustache, “you saw nothing inside the tent?”

“Are you even listening?” Terry annoyedly asked. “No, I didn’t see anything.”

“And you saw nothing of your own free will and choice?” the barker asked.

“If you mean I chose not to pay to see whatever was behind each of those stupid curtains inside,” Terry said, emphasizing each word,” then yeah, I chose not to be fleeced.”

“Well then, my good man,” the barker said, resting his hands on his bamboo cane, “I don’t owe you a dime.”

“How’s that?” Terry asked, his angry turning his words to ice.

“The wager was that I would repay your entrance fee if you were not shocked by the sights inside,” the barker explained. “You went inside, but saw nothing, voiding the terms the agreement.”

“And now you’re going to tell me that I owe you another ten bucks, right?” Terry asked, his brow as furrowed as humanly possible.

“Not at all,” the barker said cheerfully. “You violated the wager, so you merely owed me the price of admission, which has already been paid.”

Terry was silent, slowly realizing that the barker was right. He was still angry, but he didn’t know what else to say. “I bet you think you’re so smart,” he finally managed, “cheating people out of their money.”

The barker leaned over and said quietly to Terry: “This is a carnival, son. Half the fun is getting cheated.”

Terry stormed off towards the Tilt-O- Whirl where he promised to meet his kids. Just behind him, he could hear the barker call out: “Step right up…”

Stuck

Rose sat on the edge of her bed, her head buried in her hands. Her phone sat next to her, ringing. Why is he calling, again? she thought. I never pick up; can't he take a hint?! Scott was always hopeful to the point of being naive, but he had finally backed-off recently. Now he has one medical scare and suddenly he has to talk to Rose again.

It's not that Rose didn't like Scott, it's that ... well, what did she feel? She hated him intensely for making her follow him to an out-of-state school. The University of Florida was a fine school, but he had to run off to Missouri State, which he later admitted that he didn't like that much. Now they both had mountains of debt and no real prospects for good-paying jobs. Scott was doing better, finding work off in Berkeley in "Nor Cal," as he called it, but even he admitted he was struggling.

She also hated him because of what she'd gone through since they got separated. The way her family treated her, especially her mom, like she was a failure for moving back home, when she's only the second person in her entire family to graduate from college. Maybe things didn't work out the way they should have, but she still succeeded at something that few people had even tried.

Yet, even though she hated him, there were clear feelings of affection. Even as it annoyed her, she did like knowing that after everything, Scott still wanted her as his wife. And since moving to Nor Cal he had stayed steadily employed, like he always had while they were together. Plus, even with his prematurely-graying hair, he was still rather handsome.

Maybe she shouldn't be surprised by her feelings. Scott had been an important person to her for a long time, so it would make sense that she would be worried when he had a heart attack last week. He was fine now, even back to work, but it had really freaked Rose out when she got the text from Scott saying that he had had a heart attack the day before. She texted back, but Scott wanted to talk. She said she would call later, but when she was free, she couldn't bring herself to make the call.

And that was the problem. A simple call is so complicated. Her calling would imply that everything was okay, which it wasn't. But if she didn't call, it would make it seem like she didn't care, and that wasn't true either: even if she didn't want to stay married to Scott, she doesn't want him to die or anything. If she called, she'd probably lose her temper about something trivial; if she didn't call, the curiosity of how he was doing would eat away at her.

That, in a sense, was the same reason they're still married after nearly two years of separation. She had reasons to push for a divorce and end things once and for all, but she also had reasons to want to try to work things out; she wanted both options while also wanting neither. In the end, she felt paralyzed, unable to reconcile or complete the divorce. She was stuck in a sort of purgatory of marriage.

Dammit! Rose thought as her phone rang again. The caller ID displayed Scott's photo. She couldn't hit Answer or Decline. She couldn't do anything. She clutched at the sides of her head and just thought Stop! over and over again.

Enabler

Marcus sat in the living room sipping his morning coffee. The voice of a newscaster droned on in the background, but Marcus just ignored it. His mind was on more pressing matters: his son, Ryan.

Ryan was addicted to heroin and Marcus was at a loss as to what to do to help him. He had talked to Ryan, tried to reason with him to show him how by using heroin, he was putting his life on hold. Ryan was a talented artist, but he had barely picked up a pencil in the last year-and-a-half. To see his son waste so much potential was painful, though not as painful as knowing that his son was under the control of a substance.

And that was the problem: Ryan had no control. He could get cleaned up and things would look good for a few days, then he would disappear into his room, only to emerge hours or sometimes days later in a complete mess. Marcus didn't understand it. How do you lose control of yourself like that? When Marcus saw problems in his own life, he would work hard to fix them. That worked most of the time and when it didn't he could usually justify why it didn't matter. But he couldn't justify his son's problem.

When looking for a solution, people would tell Marcus that he needed to stop supporting Ryan. He may not be buying the drugs, they'd say, but by giving him a place to stay, he was still supporting his son's addiction. Marcus didn't believe that, couldn't believe that he was the reason that Ryan was in his current state. He loved his son; how could he abandon him and make him move out?

Ryan's cousin, Pauly, had offered to help. He had a place of his own and could keep an eye on Ryan to help him kick the habit. Be a "sober companion," as he called it. The problem was, Pauly lived in Chicago, which might as well be a world away from Denver. It's not like Marcus could go visit on the weekend or anything. And with his roofing business struggling right now, if Ryan went to live with Pauly, there would be no safety net. For all intents and purposes, if Ryan moved, it would be for good. He cared for his son too much to send him out into the world without some kind of backup plan.

So, Marcus sat and sipped his coffee and tried not to think about how he was pretty sure that Ryan had gotten high again last night.

The Hunt

Argus sat on the tree branch, waiting. The waiting was the hardest part of the hunt. Sharpening your weapons, reinforcing your cords, that was one thing: at least you were doing something. With waiting, all you did was, well, wait.

This hunt had lasted a few weeks, with little sign that his prey was close. In his youth, he had stalked his prey, but he now realized that wasn’t terribly practical – with each prey that came near, he’d have to change so much about his behavior to get close, and that was exhausting. So instead, he now puts out bait and sits, waiting.

Very subtly, Argus felt the air shift. The other creatures of the forest became very still and the silence that stayed behind was palpable. Now, the true test began. Argus gripped his lariat in his right hand, using only his forefinger to keep the loop in place, the excess cord held loosely in his left hand. All of his attention was focused on watching the tree line for his prey and being ready to pounce.

With little warning, four creatures exploded into the sky from the forest canopy. They flew without wings, propelled by some unknown force. Argus had only the briefest of moments to decide which prey to pursue. He could have chosen the fastest or the biggest one, but Argus had studied these creatures and knew that the best one to go after was simply the closest one. He adjusted his stance to a crouch and watched the flying creatures’ flight pattern. As soon as a creature was in range, Argus let his lariat fly. The cord found a home around the end of the long, rat-like tail and Argus let the coiled excess spill out. He watched the cord fly out after the lead and jumped from the tree just as the cord pulled his chest harness it was attached to.

This is where the hunt really got exciting, Argus thought as he climbed the cord up towards the creature. This close to his prey, he could see the details up close. The scales that covered its body were large and shimmering in the early morning light. The two limbs it had in place of arms were short numbs with a long, single claw attached to the ends. From his current position below and behind, he couldn’t see the head, but they all look about the same with their rodent-like teeth obscured by large, full lips and their soulless, black eyes, staring into nothingness. Truly, they are fearsome creatures to behold and many hunters have been intimidated on their first encounter, but Argus had grown accustomed to the chase.

He quickly scaled the cord and was soon climbing on to the creature itself. He had to move carefully to not cut himself on the sides of the large, hand-sized scales. His heavy boots and gloves provided some protection, but even some hunters that wore full armor had lost a limb simply to the scales. Every preparation in the world would mean nothing if one was careless in the moment. To help lend some stability, Argus pulled his pickaxe from its holster at the back of his belt. It was made from a previous kill’s claw, which was incredibly strong. With each swing of the axe down into the side of his prey, slowly moving Argus forward, the creature cried out with high-pitched, whistle-like screams, steam pouring out of the single nostril on the top of its head.

Despite the danger of traversing the creature as it swung its body about violently, Argus was soon at the head. He quickly holstered his pickaxe and unsheathed the sword on his back. The sword was built out of a bone from a previously killed creature with the edge made up of razor-sharp scales. He positioned the point of the sword directly over the nostril on the creature’s head – the only vulnerable part on the whole of the creature – and thrust downward. Rather than the whistle-like scream from before, the creature let out a deep bellow. As Argus’ body vibrated with the sound emanating from his prey, he pressed the sword deep into the creature’s brain, dark green blood pouring out of its head. Now the creature’s path was curving downward, unable to stay aloft through its mysterious means. Argus held tight to his sword, as much for stability as to ensure the death of his prey. Trees crashed around them as they plowed a path through the forest. With a thunderous crash, the creature met the ground, though it continued sliding for nearly a half-mile.

When the creature finally came to a stop, Argus – who was quite exhausted at this point – pulled out the mouth pipe from its loop on the left side of his belt. He took a deep breath and let out four distinct calls, a pattern that was unique to successful hunters. Soon, the village would arrive and help him harvest everything useful from his kill. He slowly began his climb down from the top of the animal. On the ground again, he took inventory of his extremities. Everything was accounted for, though he did have a few minor cuts and scrapes. Argus had known hunters that had lost fingers without realizing it, the thrill of the hunt had been so strong. If he had any wounds that needed attention, now was the time for it. However, without the need for first-aid, Argus sat down and leaned back against a still upright tree as he waited for the others.

He did not have to wait long. Just as he was truly getting comfortable, he heard the village’s chief call to him.

“Argus!” the older man called. “Quite the impressive jaub you have here.”

“Aye,” Argus called back, turning in the direction of his elder tribesman. “It will sustain our people for some time, Orion.”

“I think a jaub like this will offer much in food and textiles.” Orion was now in front of Argus and he extended his hand to help the other man to his feet. “I hope that the benefits of this one will also be bounteous, but we will not know for certain until we have sliced it open.”

“Please let me know the quality of the jaub when the assessment has been completed. Now excuse me, I must go and look for Eos.” Orion nodded and went to observe the deconstruction and appraisal of the newly landed jaub while Argus wearily began looking for his wife amongst the crowd that had formed. While he was searching, a hand lightly touched his shoulder, causing him to turn and look for the hand’s owner. He was met by the face of his wife, Eos, with her violet-grey eyes and reddish-blonde hair (though a few streaks of white had started to come in). She was carrying their young child, a boy named Aether.

“Quite the jaub you have landed, Argus,” she said to him, proudly. She turned to face Aether, “Your father is the best at finding and landing jaubs, young one.”

Argus looked at his little family, happy that he could provide a good life for them through his efforts. After all, everything comes from the jaubs that he lands: food, clothing, tools, medicine, even materials for their houses. In the past, hunters would go after other animals as prey, but no other creature provided as much to men as jaubs did, so now that was the only prey worth going after. Once the jaub was landed, other men and women of the village would deconstruct it down to the various components to be used. The various insides, called benefits, were especially valuable since they were essential components in medicines. However, no part of the jaub could be utilized without the jaub itself first being landed. In many ways, Argus thought, the hunter was the most important role in the village.

With his wife and child beside him, Argus slowly walked back to the village for a well-deserved rest. The hunt would begin again soon, but for now, he would enjoy his time off.

Natural Living

Angie stared out of her bedroom window. From her vantage point, she could see into her neighbor’s backyard, the same backyard where she and her husband had eaten dinner last night. She looked on, frozen with a bizarre mixture of emotions, as her neighbor’s young son was pooping on the grass.

“Eric,” Angie called. Her husband walked out of the adjoining bathroom where he had been brushing his teeth.

“Mrlph?” he questioned, his words obscured as he wiped his mouth with a hand towel, walking towards her. “What’s up, Ange?”

“Remember dinner last night at the Wright’s?”

“Babe, why would I forget? It was just last night. Plus, I still can’t get the taste of kale out of my mouth.”

Without saying a word, Angie pointed towards the young boy who was now running around the backyard, completely naked.

“Is that Grover?” Eric asked, squinting his eyes. “And is he naked?”

“Yeah, but that’s not even the weirdest thing. Just, like, a minute a go, I saw him pooping. Right on the grass, too.”

“No way!” Eric said is disbelief. “Like, what, he was just squatting and taking a dump?”

“Yeah! I mean, he’s only three, but that’s still super gross. Why would Wayne and Verona let him do that?”

“Come on, they don’t know this is happening. I’m sure Grover just got up before them and he’s, y’know, being a kid.”

“You used to poop outside as a kid?” Angie asked incredulously, turning to face her husband, one eyebrow raised.

“That’s not what I meant,” Eric said, putting his hands lovingly about his wife’s waist. “Just that he’s doing something dumb and weird.”

“We need to tell them about this. He shouldn’t be allowed outside, especially to go to the bathroom.”

“Whoa, hold on, Angie,” Eric said, his voice becoming serious. “You can’t just order them around.”

“I’m not ordering anyone to do anything,” Angie said, walking towards the nightstand on her side of the bed. “I’m just going to let them know what’s happening and they’ll obviously take care of it.” Angie picked up her cell phone and started scrolling through the contact list. “What’s their number?”

“I don’t know; I never got it.”

“Fine. I’ll walk over and tell her.” Angie walked over to the closet and began to change out of her pajamas

“Please don’t make a thing out of this,” Eric said to her from his spot in front of the window.

“I’m not making a ‘thing’ out of this. There’s nothing to make out of it. I’m just going to ring their bell, tell them that their son is running around like a wild animal, and then I’m going for a run.”

“Just try to be careful how you tell them.”

Angie walked out of the closet, now wearing running shorts and a t-shirt and carrying a balled-up pair of socks in one hand and her running shoes in the other. She sat down on the edge of the bed to put them on. “It’s fine, Eric,” she said without looking up.

“I just mean that some people might be offended to have their child described as ‘a wild animal.’”

“Obviously I’m not going to use those exact words,” Angie said, a little annoyed. Having tied her shoes, she walked into the bathroom and started brushing her hair. “I’ll be back in, like, thirty minutes and we’ll have breakfast.” She stopped and turned to look Eric in the eye. “I promise that I won’t be offensive, okay?”

“Alright,” Eric said, not pushing the matter further. “I’ll have breakfast ready when you get home.” He turned and walked downstairs to the kitchen.

Angie returned to brushing her dark, curly hair. It was so frustrating that Eric was more concerned about not offending their weird neighbors than taking her side. She just wanted him to listen to her and see her side of things. She decided that she was brushing her hair a little too hard, probably because she was annoyed with her husband. She pulled her hair into a pony tail with a hair-tie and pulled a head band out of a drawer to further keep her unruly hair in place. Clearly, her Puerto Rican ancestors had never considered how big, think, curly hair would make exercising so uncomfortable. She applied some deodorant and left the bathroom.

She grabbed her phone and slid it into its armband case which she put on her left upper-arm. She picked up her earbuds and started untangling them as she walked down the stairs. When she made it to the bottom, she said “bye” to Eric, who replied in kind, and walked out the door.

It was still pretty early, at least for a Saturday, so the street was mostly empty. That would make running easier. Angie was still annoyed at Eric for not being supportive, but she had a feeling there was more to her state than was obvious at the surface. Sometimes that happened. Even though she didn’t know what was bothering her, she knew that her run would help. Running always seemed to clear her head and after watching a little boy poop in his backyard, she needed her mind cleared out.

~~~

As Katy Perry’s “Roar” played in her ears, Angie ran. This run was different than usual. Normally when she ran, the running was the point. This time, it felt like she was running away from something. She reviewed the recent conversation in her mind, looking for reason in the confusion. She had rung the doorbell of the Wright’s home and was greeted by Verona.

“Oh hi, Angela!” Verona said, smiling broadly. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah, hi” Angie said, smiling nervously. “And Angie’s fine. Anyway, I just stopped by to tell you that I saw Grover in your backyard and that you might want to check up on him, that’s all.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I know he’s back there. He can be a handful and letting him run around in the morning makes him more manageable.”

“Okay. Did you know that he’s naked?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Remember last night when I said that we like having everything ‘all natural’? I wasn’t just talking about food. Other animals don’t wear clothes, so why do we? Wayne and I are teaching Grover to not be ashamed of his body. Whenever we’re at home, we encourage him to wear as little as he wants to. It should be great for his self-esteem.”

Angie knew that Verona was kind of a hippie but this was really pushing the envelope. Suddenly, Angie didn’t want to waste any more time talking and just get to running.

“Right. Well, I also saw him, um, pooping. In the backyard. Just thought you should know.”

“I think that it’s barbaric to force our children to hold in their waste. No other animal besides humans wear diapers or use toilets. Obviously we can’t always live naturally and organically, but that’s only because society forces its norms on us and makes us assimilate. We want Grover to have as much freedom as possible, so yes, we let him relieve himself outside. Besides, human waste makes for wonderful fertilizer, so our garden is very healthy.”

Angie’s blood ran cold. “You mean you use your family’s poop as fertilizer for the food that we ate last night? Like the tomatoes and onions and kale we ate last night were grown out of your poop?”

“Yes! Isn’t it amazing what you can do when you go back to living organically? I like to think that some of our vegetables, I’ve eaten twice.”

~~~

Angie had felt suddenly queasy, something that happens when you find out your dinner the night before grew out of human-manure. She told Verona that she just wanted to make sure that Grover was okay, but she had get going for her morning run.

Having finished her two miles, she thought about going farther, as if she could sweat out her uneasiness. She decided that the best thing to do was to go home and eat a new meal. She couldn’t un-eat dinner, but she could replace it with something new.

She walked through the front door and was greeted by the rich smell of bacon in the air. Eric’s cooking was usually simple, but it was also usually tasty. She went into the kitchen, still a little sweaty from her exercise, to find Eric sliding an omelette on to a dining plate, next to another plate with a matching omelette. She walked over to the fridge to grab a cold water bottle when she asked what kind of omelettes he had made.

“Well,” Eric replied, “the Wrights had sent us home with some kale, so I figured we should get rid of it right away. And you know how bacon can improve the taste of anything, so it should go down pretty easy. Babe, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Indeed, Angie was frozen in horror as she looked at her breakfast. After a moment (but what felt like an eternity) she finally was able to compose herself enough to say what was wrong.

“Eric,” Angie said, not taking her eyes off of the omelettes, “the Wrights make their own fertilizer.”

“Well, sure. Lots of people have compost heaps.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she said, turning to look her husband in the eye. “What I saw Grover doing this morning was making fertilizer.”

Suddenly, all of the color drained from Eric’s face. He moved quickly over to the sink and started making retching noises. Angie walked up behind him put a hand lovingly on his shoulder. Seeing him like this made her feel better. Not because he was dry-heaving, but because it meant that he was on her side. Their conversation this morning had made it feel like there was a distance between them, but here in the ugly-light of nausea, she could see that he was on her side. As gross as it was, it was also a beautiful moment.

After nearly a minute of dry-heaving, Eric stood up and turned to face his wife. “I am never eating anything from their garden again,” he said, his grey-blue eyes full of moisture. He looked over in disgust at what he had made for breakfast. “What’s the opposite of garden-fresh vegetables?”

Angie couldn’t help but laugh a little before she replied. “Probably bacon.”

“Bacon alone is no match for manure-fed kale. Let’s go to McDonald’s.”

Angie nodded in agreement, gently smiling.

As she climbed into the passenger seat of the car as Eric held the door for her, Angie was happy for the weird morning she had had. It was frustrating to have Eric disagree with her, but if they hadn’t disagreed, it wouldn’t have felt so good when they were back in agreement. If it took having the argument to get to the happy moment of being equally grossed-out by their neighbors, she was glad to have gone through it all.

Though she doubted that they’d ever eat kale again.

A Guy Like Me

Walking down the street in a neighborhood like this could be dangerous for a guy like me.  All the people here live in fancy houses, unlike me; I don't have a home, at least, not much of one.  I guess I crash in the bushes behind the gas station a few blocks down, but I wouldn't call it home.  Anyway, the last time someone from this neighborhood saw me, she called the authorities on me.  Wouldn't want to sully the image the neighborhood with someone with actual problems.  But I got to eat, so I'm here to look through their garbage.  It's amazing what well-to-do people throw away.

I cautiously cross the street, trying not to spend too much time under the streetlight.  I don't come out during the day, not unless I have to.  Like I said, these people get pretty skittish if they see me.  As if I would attack them for no reason; just walk up to them, go "Rawr," and take a swing at them.  I don't want any trouble, man.  I'm just hungry.

I make it to my first stop of the night.  This house doesn't usually have the best pickings, but it is the closest to the street, so it makes sense to take a look-see.  Plus, they have plastic trash cans that don’t make a lot of noise, which is helpful for a guy like me.  I look inside the cans, but only see a bunch of cardboard.  They look to be in decent shape and would probably be great for making a "Please Help" sign, if I knew how to write.  Best to move on.

The next house I skip because they have a dog.  I don't want to announce to the whole block that I'm here and then have to run "home" with an empty belly.

House number three is usually one of the places I can rely on.  They have a cat that's pretty finicky and won't touch his food that they leave out for him.  Hey, cats aren't so different and eating fresh cat food is far from the worst thing that I've made dinner out of.  A guy like me could certainly do worse.  I get a couple of bites down when the dang cat shows up!  Now, I'm not worried about some silly cat, but I don't want it making a racket, so I grab one last bite and high-tail it out of there.  The cat starts moaning, probably because I was eating his food that he didn't even want until I got there.  Jerk.

Fourth house of the night.  Come on, give me something good!  The trash cans here are metal, but they left them on dirt, which is quieter than pavement, so I should be fine.  I get the lid off and start looking.  I don't like having to tear through the bags inside, but if there isn't any loose food outside them, I have to go deeper.  So I bite through the topmost bag and start digging.  Not bad!  Some spaghetti with meat sauce, some half-finished bottles of baby food, and some dry crackers!  I can probably fill up here!  Yeah, there's a couple of dirty diapers in here too, but their sealed up, so it should be fine.  Look, I'm already eating garbage, so it's not as if a guy like me can be too proud to not eat near a diaper.

I hurriedly eat as much as I can, worried that I'll be caught again.  I'm practically bursting when the outdoor light comes one.  Drat!  I grab an unfinished granola bar in my mouth and make a run for it.  I'm at the fence when I hear the homeowner come outside.  I make it to the top of the fence and look back.  We lock eyes for a moment, then I'm over the wall.  I'm clear when I hear the words leave his mouth: “Honey, it's that raccoon again.  I'm telling you, we really should get a dog.”

I make it back to the bushes behind the gas station just as the sun is coming up, tired but full.  This life may not be glamorous, but I usually get enough to eat.  As far as I'm concerned, that’s the best that a guy like me could ask for.

Full Moon

Dave rubbed his eyes as he leaned back in his office chair.  These long office hours were taking their toll on him.  He looked at the time readout on his laptop: 7:39 PM.  He really had to get out of here.  Lunch was a long time ago and by now he was running on nothing but Diet Coke and breath mints.  He scrolled through the spreadsheet he was looking at to see if he could call it a day.  After a few minutes, he decided that he could probably finish everything by his deadline on Friday.  His mind made up, Dave packed up and wearily walked to the elevator.

I can hardly think straight, Dave thought as he pushed the elevator button and waited for it to come up to his floor.  Maybe I should get take out or drive-thru or something.  I shouldn’t have stayed so late.

The elevator doors opened with a friendly ding.  Dave stepped heavily into the empty elevator.  As he leaned against the mirrored wall, he looked back at his own tired face when his eyes suddenly opened wide.  What’s the date?! he thought as he fumbled in his pants’ pocket for his phone.  As it lit up, he quickly slid over to the calendar.  It was May 14^th.  How could he have forgotten the date?!  His life had been ruled by the calendar for the last several years.  He looked at the clock on his phone: 7:55 PM.  There might still be time.  If traffic wasn’t an issue, he could make it home in time and prevent innocent people from getting hurt.

He futilely pushed the lobby button on the elevator again.  In stark contrast from how he moved mere moments ago, Dave was now having trouble stay still.  By the time the elevator finally reached the lobby, he was hopping anxiously.  When the doors opened, Dave bolted for the parking garage.

I can still make it, he kept repeating to himself as he climbed into the driver’s seat of his car.  I can still make it.  I can still make it.  Any passerby would have thought that Dave was a madman the way he barreled around corners to the exit, but, of course, there was no one left in the building at this hour.

As he made it on to the street, Dave glanced at his car's clock: 8:03 PM.  He could feel it starting inside him, changing him.  The hunger was upon him.  Not now, he thought as he drove as fast as he dared down the street.  It’s not supposed to start until I’m safe at home!

As he drove, his sense of smell started to enhance.  He was aware of every hair on his body as they stood up in attention.  He craved blood and violent exchanges and unless he got home in time he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold back the beast that he would be.

Dave tried to keep himself calm, repeating aloud a mantra that had helped a little in the past: “You are in control.  You are in control.”  Even as he said it, he wondered how true it would be this time.  The last time he hadn’t made it home, how many people had been hurt?  Half a dozen?  More?  He didn’t even know.  Once he turned into the beast, everything was a blur. He would wake up in a stupor and stumble home, not sure of what had really happened the night before.  If he could just get home in time, no one else had to get hurt, just him.

Dave was on his home street now with only a few buildings to go before he was at his apartment.  He looked at his watch: 8:11 PM, one minute left!  He parked quickly and ran towards the door.  One of his neighbors was getting her mail and said hello, but Dave was too far gone to notice or care.  He fumbled for his key as the pain of the transformation started.  “I’m too close,” Dave said.  “No.  No-ooooo!” his last word turning into a twisted howl.  Even as the beast was taking hold of him, he managed to finally get the door open and stumbled inside.  He slammed the door closed behind him and locked it.  He could still make it this time!  He could still protect innocent people from being harmed by his other “self.”

He ran to the bedroom, stripping his clothes off as he went.  He was naked when he reached the walk-in closet where his restraints were kept.  With the door closed, Dave was physically shaking from the pain.  The beast was almost here!  He lit a candle and quickly tied himself off, feeling for the first time that he actually might make it.  Using every last ounce of energy he had, Dave held the spoon over the candle’s flame.  He was shaking so bad that he had to use he could hardly hold the syringe steady as he sucked up the brown fluid.  Finally, with his willpower drained, he inserted the needle into the now exposed vein on his leg and pressed down on the plunger of the syringe.  The inner beast would soon be satisfied and Dave would have control again for another three or four days.  As he slipped into unconsciousness, he felt more than heard an almost imperceptible whisper from inside himself:

You’re not in control … I am …

New Arrival

“I don’t belong here!” cried the new addition to the Prison.

“Yeah?” asked the nearby guard, sarcastically.  “Nobody else belongs here, neither.  I’ll be sure to let the boss man know right away.”

“I mean it,” the prisoner continued.  “I’m not a bad guy.  I wasn’t supposed to end up here.”

The guard sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  He’d seen this reaction countless times before, but he decided to go easy on the guy.  “Look, I ain’t the Judge.  You’re here because you belong here, at least according to Him.  Look at bright side: you won’t be here forever.”

“I know you must have heard this sort of thing from other inmates before, but I really have to talk to someone with some authority on the matter.  The judge made a mistake.”

The guard could stop himself from laughing.  “Ha!  Mistake?  No, sorry, buddy but the Judge don’t make mistakes.  But if you want to talk to somebody, I’ll send somebody over.  Seriously though, save yourself the trouble and just make peace with your situation, it’ll just make it easier.”

The guard continued on his way.  Sometime later there was a knock on the prisoner’s cell and a tall man with dark hair and a warm, grandfatherly smile walked in.  "Hello. It’s Gregory, right?  You wanted to speak to someone about your Judgment?”

“Yeah, that’s right.  And, uh, call me Greg.”

“It’s nice to meet you Greg,” said the tall, grinning man.  He sat down on the single chair facing Greg, who took a seat on his bed.  “My name is Thomas, but you can call me Tommy.  How can I help you?”

“As I was telling the guard,” Greg said, “I don’t belong here.  I’m not a bad guy.”

“I’m afraid that’s not what your file says.  Multiple counts of tax evasion, embezzlement, and drug use are just a few of the items mentioned.  Why would you be exempt from punishment?”

“So I made a few mistakes.  Nobody’s perfect.  And shouldn’t you have my file with you if we’re talking about it?”

“I read through it earlier,” Tommy said, “and since I have a photographic memory, I didn’t see the need to bring the physical record.  And you aren’t here because you’re imperfect; if that were the case, I’d be here, too.  But you still have to make amends before you’re granted your freedom.”

“But isn’t there some other way?” Greg pleaded.  “I mean, I didn’t even think a place like this existed until a few days ago when I ended up here.”

“Not believing in the existence of something doesn’t make it any less real.  No, Greg, you’re here because you always justified your actions.  An extra drink on the weekend was okay because you were stressed out.  A lie to hide your gambling from the authorities was fine because you weren’t hurting anyone involved.  Going through multiple marriages and affairs because you were too passionate for one person.  You never changed and you convinced yourself that you didn’t need to.  I’m very sorry, but your sentence is just.”

Greg was shocked at how thorough his file was, but not enough stop him from replying with a rebuttal.  “What about all of the good that I did?  I volunteered at the Community Center for a while, I was a professor at a University where I shaped young minds, I even donated to charity.  Surely that means that my sentence is too harsh.”

Tommy nodded.  “That was all taken into account when your judgment was passed.  You have to remember that doing good doesn’t make up for doing bad.  Also, what were your motivations for the things you did?  You worked at the Community Center so you’d have some volunteer work to put on your college application.  You were a professor, yes, but you never really cared about your students; you often had your assistant both teach and grade assignments, you just oversaw everything.  And you gave to charity for tax breaks.  You only ever did anything if it benefited you.”

Greg was really at a loss for what to do.  Did he really have to accept his fate?  There had to be something else he could do.  Tommy seemed to sense his hopelessness and spoke up.

“Your time spent here can be put to good use.  You can develop your talents, take some classes to build new skills, or study and learn new things.  Have you had a chance to look over the orientation material yet?”

Greg looked at him confused, then grabbed a large orange envelope.  “Are you talking about this? It just has, like, a Bible and a study guide in it.”

“That’s a bit simplified, but yes, that’s the basic idea.  You should read up.  It’ll help you become better adjusted.”  Tommy stood up from the chair.  “Well, that does it for me.  If you have any more questions, try your orientation material first, but I’ll be happy to come and speak with you if need some additional help.”  He extended his hand to Greg, who shook it reluctantly.

“I still don’t think I should be here,” Greg grumbled.

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” replied Tommy, still with a warm smile “but you wouldn’t be happy 'upstairs,' either.  People are far too selfless for your tastes: I’m certain that it would really annoy you, at least the way you are now.  I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Greg.” With that, Tommy left and Greg was alone to reflect on what had been said.  Without anyone else around and deprived of his usual distractions and vices, Greg’s thoughts were nearly deafening.

Letter

Dear Host,

I wanted to thank you for finally letting me free.  You have so many tricks to keep me locked up that I was surprised that I finally got out.  In fact, if I had been acting alone I would probably still be hidden away in my prison cell.  I’m no fool, you see, so I had someone on the outside blow a hole in the wall.  After that, it was as easy as walking out.

I have to admit, you really worked hard to make things uncomfortable for me.  I like things soft and docile, like an obese cow.  (Heh, I’ll have to remember that one for the next time I see Cyn.)   Anyway, once I was free, I set to work rearranging the decor to better suit my style.  At first you didn’t notice.  I made little changes here and there.  Before you realized what was going on, I had moved in and was practically running the place.  Yeah, you still fight me now and then, and even knock me down from time to time, but I can already tell that there isn’t much fight left in you.

You see, all of your plans work better on my brother, Anxi, than on me.  You learned how to fight him pretty well.  You were winning practically every time you two fought.  And while he and I do have some similarities in our fighting styles, I’m much more subtle.  He’ll rush at you hard and fast, trying to knock you down with the first blow, but backing off if you stand your ground.  Much like how a crocodile will jump out and snap its jaws at its prey; if it misses, it won’t chase.  I, however, am more like a snake, sneaking up very slowly so you don’t see me and once I strike, I let my venom work its way into you, slowing you down until you drop.  Then I swallow you whole.

But you know all of that, don’t you?  That’s why even leaving the house is a victory these days.  There you are, going through the motions of improving your life, but all along the way I’m there, whispering in your ear that it’s a waste of time.  You’re still fighting, sure, but it won’t be much longer before you fall.  Just as the mouse will flail in the serpent’s jaws, your efforts are meaningless at this point.

And the best part is, you let me do it!  You didn’t know it, but you just stood by while I knocked down your defenses.  Even your basic bodily functions are in disarray!  Your bowels are a mess, you’ve put on weight, and my double-pronged attack on your sleep has you neither able to fall asleep or wake up.  With any luck, you’ll have trouble breathing soon and will even become disinterested in anything that used to bring you pleasure.  We both know that at the rate we’re going, it’s only a matter of time before I’ve won.

Sincerely,

Your Depression