Bitter

Fernando poured a cup of coffee and passed it to Britta. She accepted the cup happily and breathed in the aroma. It was a cold, winter morning, so having some hot coffee would do her some good. She usually added creamer to her coffee, but she didn’t want to delay warming up, so she decided to take it black this time.

She looked at Fernando as he poured a cup for himself and thought about her feelings towards him. They were just friends – him with his girlfriend and her with Rick – but she often wondered if things would be different were they not tied down. Not that she wanted to break things off with Rick; she just wondered if she and Fernando would be compatible as a couple, or if being friends was for the best.

She continued thinking on the matter when she took her first sip of coffee. Not only was it still rather hot, it was also very strong. Strong and incredibly bitter. She looked back at Fernando and was suddenly annoyed at him. Why hadn’t he told her that the coffee was like this? Didn’t he care about her at all?

Her annoyance grew until she was not just angry, she was furious. All of the time that she and Fernando had spent hanging out and this is how he repays her friendship? He might as well slap her in the face. No, a slap in the face would be better than this. This was like a stab in the back.

Fernando turned to offer Britta some creamer, when he saw that she was glaring at him. He seemed to know what was going on and spoke up.

“Britta,” he said, “you can’t drink this coffee straight: it’s very bitter and can sometimes affect the drinker.” He opened a shot of French Vanilla creamer and held it out for his friend. “Drink this, it will help mellow out the coffee.”

Britta looked at him, scowling. “Don’t you mean it'll mellow me out?”

“Just drink it, Britta.”

“Why should I do anything you tell me to do, Fernando?” Britta asked, her words dripping with venom.

“Drink this and I’ll leave you alone forever.”

“Good,” Britta said as she grabbed the shot and threw her head back as she downed the contents. Suddenly, she wasn’t angry anymore. In fact, she wasn’t sure why she had been angry at all. She looked at her friend. “What happened?”

“I forgot to tell you,” Fernando explained, “this is pure, uncut Columbian coffee that my tia sent me. It can be a bit strong for the uninitiated. It sometimes makes the drinker as bitter as the coffee itself. Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Britta said, still a little surprised at what had happened. She looked at Fernando and thought about how he was such a good friend. Here he was sharing with her something that his aunt had sent him. That was just like him to be so kind. Maybe if things were different …

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.

Unexpected Visitors

"Hello?" John called into his dark living room from his bedroom. "Who's there?"

A voice called back to him, though not one that he knew. "We don't mean to startle you, my good man. We are simply a pair of weary travelers that unfortunately wound up in your domicile."

Great, thought John, some crazy hobo's broken in and now he's lost. Should I call the cops? Do the cops even deal with crazy hobos? While he was trying to decide what to do next, he stepped out far enough to turn on the lights.

"Ah, splendid! You have electric lamps!" said a different voice, with what sounded like a Russian accent. John's eyes were adjusting to the light, but he could see that there were two men in the living room with him, but they didn't look like any homeless person he'd ever seen before. One man was very tall and thin with a dark mustache and was wearing a very old-looking suit. The other man looked like, well, he looked like Mark Twain.

John tried to raise the baseball bat he was carrying menacingly, but his expression was far too confused to intimidate anyone. "What's going on here? Did you guys come from a play or something? Why are you dressed like Mark Twain?"

The Mark Twain doppelganger smiled broadly. "You recognize me! That is quite nice to know. Tell me what year is it?"

John was thoroughly confused now. "Is this like a gag or something? Are you guys, like, making a video for YouTube or something?" he asked as he lowered the bat to his side.

"What my friend means," said the Russian-sounding guy, "is that we have recently traveled and are no longer aware of the date. Would you be so kind as to inform us?"

Completely at a loss for what was happening, John told them.

Mark Twain laughed "Ha ha! Over one hundred years later and my name is still well known!"

"Your pen name is well known," corrected the Russian-sounding man.

"Very well, but he recognized my face as well. I would say that's even more remarkable!"

"Just a second," John said, gathering back some determination. "What is going on? Why are you in my apartment?"

"Our sincere apologies," replied the tall man who's accent wasn't quite Russian, John decided. "My name is Nikola Tesla. You appear to already know of my companion. We were conducting an experiment in my lab in New York City in the year 1896 and we were transported through space and time."

John rolled his eyes. "You expect me to believe that you time-traveled here?"

"The choice to believe our tale or not is entirely yours," said Mark Twain, "but your rejection of our explanation will not change the facts."

John thought for a moment. He decided that if he had to deal with crazy people, he might as well have some fun. "Out of all of history, why'd you come to my apartment at 1 in the morning?"

Nikola explained: "In truth, this is not our first journey through time. We were attempting to arrive back to our starting time, but we appear to have missed our target, but by only about one hundred years this time. I am confident that the next attempt will be successful."

John smiled a little. "It's starting to make sense now. You guys are high, right? You guys on mushrooms or somethi--" John was interrupted by the sound of glass breaking in the bathroom. "There's more of you?" he asked as he walked quickly towards the bathroom. As he walked, Nikola called behind him, "If there's another traveler, it is purely by accident!"

John opened the bathroom door and saw a guy in his late teens or early twenties, wearing a dress. All around him on the floor were shards of glass that used to be the bathroom mirror. The man looked up, clearly shocked. Nikola and Mark appeared behind John, peering over his shoulders. Without turning around, John addressed the two men to his rear. "A friend of yours?"

"Not quite," Mark said. "That is a young man we recruited to help us when we were last stranded in ancient Greece. He can become very distracted by his own reflection. For this reason, I believe that he is the one that the myth of Narcissus was based on."

"Okay," John said. "Let's get him out of here before he cuts himself trying to make out with a shard of broken glass."

~~~

Wide awake, John was pacing back and forth across the living room floor. "So let me get this straight. Nik, you worked for Thomas Edison and he stole a bunch of your ideas. Later, you started you own lab and became friends with Mark - sorry, Sam. You two were hanging out and tried an experiment when you were transported to sixteenth century England. You tried to duplicate the experiment, but ended up somewhere in France during the Crusades. You tried again and wound up in ancient Greece where you picked up this guy by mistake. And now you think you can make it back to where you started if you try one more time?"

"Yes, very good summary," said Sam from his seat on the sofa.

"Why will this time work when the other times just sent you off all over the place?"

"With each attempt," answered Nik, who was sitting next to Sam, "we obtain better control over the place and date of our destination. For example, we finally made it back to the United States, though Philadelphia is clearly not New York. Also, this was our first successful forward leap in time rather than go backwards again. Even if we don't make it exactly to where and when we are attempting, we will surely be much closer than now."

John nodded his head, thinking. "And the equipment you build to make these time jumps gets destroyed every time?"

"Correct. However, with your materials and appliances in this, our future, we should be ready much faster this time."

John looked over to Narss (as he had started calling him), who was sitting on an ottoman and was occupied taking selfies with John's cell phone. "And what about him? Are you going to take him back to his time first?"

"As much as I hate to say it," Sam said, "we can't risk getting lost again. We'll have to take him with us to our time. I'm certain that his family will miss him, but they surely won't miss all the time he took watching his reflection. That aside, we can provide him a good life in our time, one much better than he would have lived in his own."

"I can probably convince my sister to adopt him," offered Nik. "She is very caring, even to strangers."

John stopped pacing and looked at Sam and Nik. "Let's pretend that I believe what you're saying. Why should I help you?"

Sam stood up and looked John squarely in the eye while placing a hand firmly on his shoulder. "Why, for the adventure! Just think, no one in your time will have ever met a time-traveler. Not only have you already met three, but you can now help us get back to our own time. No other man in history will be able to say that!"

"Except for Narcissus," pointed out Nik.

Sam shot an annoyed glare at his friend. "Well, no other man will be able to say that and won't also be stranded in another time."

"How much time do you need to build your equipment again?" asked John.

"I expect that it should take only about one or two days," answered Nik.

~~~

Nearly three weeks later and the three men were finally ready to leave. Nik's estimation had been based on what technologies he assumed would be available in the year 2014. Even so, John was impressed with what they had accomplished. A couple of old TVs and a microwave from a thrift store, along with various odd bits of wire and parts from a few calculators, and Nik and Sam had supposedly built a time machine. Now, here in the parking lot behind the closed-down movie theater, it was time for the moment of truth.

"Thank you again for your kindness, John," said Sam. "This has been our best trip as of yet."

"Agreed," Nik said while still making some final adjustments to the machine.

"I still don't know why you two didn't want to look anything up on the internet," said John, "to see how things worked out for you."

"Knowing the future won't stop me from dying one day," Sam said, "but it would make me fret over each moment until the final day. I'd rather enjoy the time I have, however long that may be."

"And I," Nik said, turning to face John, "do not wish to lose out on the experience of discovering new ideas and concepts on my own."

"Beside that," Sam said, "Narcissus has been using your machine to view this inter-net the whole time, so we'd hardly have a chance ourselves even if we'd wanted it."

"I meant to ask about that," John said, looking over at Narss. "What's he been looking at?"

Nik called Narss over and said a few words in another language to him. After a reply, Nik translated. "He said that he very much enjoys something called the 'Book of Faces' and how anyone can take photographs of himself to share with others. He is especially impressed with some young woman named Paris. He has learned a lot from her about loving one's own self. Also, he says that he very much enjoys moving pictures of cats."

John nodded his head. "It looks like he really understands the internet. Did he see anything he didn't like?"

Nik said a few more words to Narss, whose reply was much shorter than the previous one. "He said that a man named Khan-yay West needs to get over himself."

With that, the three men each took turns shaking John's hand before grasping the coiled-wire handles that allowed them to interface with the machine. John stepped back to what Nik had assured him was a safe distance and waved good-bye. The other men waved back as Nik pressed the initiation button. Suddenly, there was a flash of light and John had to shield his eyes with his hands to keep from being blinded. After a few seconds, the light faded and John lowered his hands.

He had to admit, he was impressed. The three men were gone, along with about half of the machine. What remained of the machine was partially on fire. Everything looked about how Nik and Sam had predicted.

After such witnessing the operation of a legitimate time machine, and spending nearly a month with legendary historical figures, John summed up his feelings: "Man, that was weird."

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.