In the Wind

The moment your existence is questioned or threatened, the rule of priority of life sets in. You understand all of its implications, all its necessities, all of its sacrifices. The fight seeps through your skin permeates the air around you and provides you with the strength to make it through almost anything.

For me, a shark provided the clarity I needed to survive.

My girlfriend and I were on our vacation for the summer. A one week get away, down in the Duck area of North Carolina. Late August provided the cheapest prices for the nicest rental houses and proved to be the less populated season, with late June and deep July claiming fame to prime beach time.

It was a simple morning. Early and crisp, with the sun just peaking over the horizon. I threw on my dark swim shorts and decided to go for a swim before the rest of the vacationers lugged their coolers and umbrellas out on to the sand like beached whales. It was comical to see whole families walk uncomfortably across scorching sand, hands full of chairs that created wedgies, coolers that kept the beer cold, and suntan lotion for babies.

Now, though, the sand was cool between my toes. Traces of crab scuttles marked the sand, giving evidence to an active night before. I had one pole resting on my right shoulder. The orange flag attached to the end flapped aimlessly in the wind. Since I needed nowhere to sit to soak up the twilight rays, I had to mark my place somehow. I brought the flag with me every time we visited this beach because every set of stairs leading to the back of each waterfront house was notoriously similar.

Similar. It’s how life had been feeling lately. Not monotonous. Definitely not boring. My girlfriend was anything but a bore. She kept my life at a pace I could barely keep up with and I loved her for it. We were both paramedics, saving lives and such. It was a beautiful and haunting job. Many of the calls we went out on were traffic incidents. And I say incidents because it would astonish the layman to know how many auto accidents were not accidents at all, but road rage and retribution for a small cut off here or a missing turn signal there.

But back to similar. More like déjà vu. Déja vu of me standing somewhere alone reflecting on my thoughts, of the world around me, of the multitude of problems everyone else had. What I had was simple. I had a job I loved, I had a girlfriend whose careful strokes across my forearm gave me goosebumps, and I had this morning.

With the wind blowing against my ankles, I jabbed the pole into the sand near the shore and waited a moment until the flag caught in the breeze. Its flapping was a familiar and comforting sound. As I walked to the water, the sand moistened. My hairs stood at attention in response to the coolness of the water. And just as the sun peeked over the horizon, I dove in.

The water jetted over my ears, down my back, and across my feet. The waves propelled me down and up as I pushed my way through the current. I always swam against the current so the swim back was easier and more relaxing. The waves kicked up sand and small shells, yet nothing bothered me. I swam with my eyes closed and listened to the churning ocean and clicking dolphins underwater miles away. As my head broke the surface of the water, I took a deep breath in and submersed once more.

And at that moment, it hit me.

A force, stronger than any I have ever felt, pushed my back into the melting sand on the ocean floor. As I was pushed deeper into the sand, I felt shells dig into my shoulders and puncture skin. And then the burning began. Searing, lightning, stinging pain in my left shoulder. I opened my eyes and spotted the beast on my left. It gnawed at me as if I was a piece of meat.

And then it really hit me. This was a shark. My heart skipped a beat at the realization and time slowed. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes to hours. Albert Einstein had relativity on point.

I felt the animals teeth seek deeper into my shoulder and it began to swing it’s snout back and forth. I clawed at its slick skin, looking for a hook in the shark’s gills but I had no luck. It slung me forward, and gave me the advantage. Raking the sand for some kind of weapon, my fingers stumbled upon a shell large enough to injure. I grasped at it and hurled it at the shark. It made impact and startled the shark, making it loosen its grip on my shoulder but bit down harder lower on my arm. Blood coursed through the water and I could taste its coppery tang.

My heart raced and my body tensed. I could literally feel the shark’s teeth ripping though my skin, muscle, and tendon. I lost all sensation of my left hand and knew I was in trouble when the shark began to wrangle. Shaking me around like a rag doll until suddenly… it stopped. It let go and darted off into the darkness.

As I was released, I pushed my way up to the surface and gasped for breath when my face hit air. Cold air filled my lungs and it felt like God had granted me a second chance. Floating there for just a moment, I caught my breath and then realized that as I swayed my arms around in the water to keep afloat, that I was loosing massive amounts of blood.

I swam as fast as I could, thanking the current for not changing direction on me. I saw my flag. The orange one I had set up just a half an hour ago still waved in the breeze. When I reached the shore, I dug my feet into the sand to stand. Instantly, I fell to my knees and was pushed over by a small wave hitting the sodden sand. I felt weak, out of breath, almost childishly tired. I braced my self on my right hand to try and stand up, looking toward the sky for support, and that’s when I saw it.

Blood was pouring from the tattered remains of my arm. I froze. By tattered remains, I mean nothing. I had nothing where my arm should have been. And as I began to mentally disintigrate, I could feel my blood leaving my body even quicker with the hastening of my heart. I flopped onto my back and pushed my self out of the surf as much as possible. I had to tourniquet this. Stop the blood flow. But with what?

I looked around. I knew I only had a matter of minutes, maybe seconds before I would lose consciousness and bleed out. My breathing shallowed. Grasping for anything, I felt the string around my waist. The one that held up my swim shorts would work. I fumbled with the knot, oh god. A wet knot is nearly impossible to untie with one hand. Some way, somehow, I unraveled the tie and yanked it out of my shorts.

Breathe, breathe.

I could barely move. All of my muscled ached and burned and not only was I losing blood from my missing appendage, but the bite on my shoulder was spilling my blood onto the sand as well. Biting onto one end of the string, I tossed the other end over the remains of my arm. Thankfully, I had just enough arm left to tourniquet. Quickly, I struggled to tie the string as tightly as possible. The bleeding had slowed, but not enough. I needed help if I was going to survive.

———

When she reached her hand out and found the bed void of body warmth, she instantly curled into the sea of pillows and blankets. Camilla peered through the big sprawling window that enveloped the north side of the bedroom and admired the stars that were quickly fading into the soft light from the sunrise. She loved that Zach could get some time to himself to reset for the day, but damn if she didn’t want him here beside here.

They had been dating for three years and the spark turned into a deep flame that burned steady and blue. Somehow, they had found a week of vacation together and escaped reality.

Camilla slipped into her bathing suit sleepily and pressed brew on the coffee maker. It would be ready for when they both returned from the beach. She placed two cups next to the coffeepot and smirked. Whenever she and Zach were on opposite schedules, the one at home would always have a clean cup and full pot of coffee ready for the other, whether they were going to work or coming home. Their symmetry diffused throughout their whole relationship and provided a foundation that seemed unwavering.

She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and walked down two flights of wooden stairs from the kitchen. It was one short walk to the beach until she felt the sand between her toes, cool to the touch, not yet heated by the sun. She could hear the waves and felt her blood pump just a little quicker at the idea of seeing the ocean waves in the morning light for the first time in over a year.

Crystalline and clear, the waves crashed on the wet sand with chaotic precision. Their white foam fluffed and blew away in the wind. From the foam, Camilla’s eyes lazily floated to Zach’s flag that flapped in the wind. Orange and brightly visible from the crest of the sand dune.

And there was Zach. Lying on his back in the surf. She cocked her head as she made her way down the rickety stairs. What was he doing? Catching a twilight tan? She laughed to her self as she crossed the beach and then froze. As she neared, she noticed the sand around Zach had a sickening red tint to it.

———

I turned my head to the side when I heard my name. “Zach?!” Cam’s voice rolled over the sand like a welcome siren.

“Cam!” Just saying her name drained all of my energy. I rolled onto my side and reached out to her with my hand. She grabbed it and fell into the blood soaked sand beside me.

“Zach, what happened?” She was already pulling tighter on the tourniquet I placed on my tattered arm.

“A shark.” My brain was beginning to fog up. “Babe, we’ve got to go.” I pushed my self up on to my knees.

“Come on.” She grabbed my good arm and threw it over her shoulder. “Lets go. Come on.” She pulled me up and we both stumbled across the sand to the set of stairs that belonged to our home.

By this time, the sun was just above the horizon, shooting rays of saccharine orange and deep plum across the sky. The early winds had stilled, leading into soft coos of doves waking up. My abilities to process the meaning of the world around me were waning. Things were simplfying as my body began to shunt its energy to the more important processes.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Cam grabbed the hand railing with her right hand and placed her left arm around my waist, slick with blood. “Let’s go. Come on.” She heaved us both up the first three steps and with the momentum, we made good timing up the rest of them.

“Zach. You still with me?” I could feel myself leaning more weight on her as we descended the four steps over the dune to the back yard of our home.

“I…yeah.” I was able to muster up the last of my energy to walk through the light plastic gate before falling to my knees.

“I’m going to grab my phone and call 911. Stay here.” She helped me on to my back on the concrete near the pool. She left. Only for a moment.

———

I lost massive amounts of time. Time between arriving back at the house and now was all patched together into nonsense memory. I remember the the bug eyes of the medic that followed Cam into the back yard. I remember the searing pain of having my arm wrapped in clean bandages. I remember throwing up. And then now.

I woke up to a sharp clang on the threshold of the hospital room door and opened my eyes to see Cam, swearing underneath her breath. She held my flag pole over right shoulder, with the small orange triangle dangling behind her back. She grinned at me as she noticed me awake.

“Hi, love!” She came over to me, set the flag pole at the foot of the bed and placed a kiss on my chapped lips. “ I figured you might need it. So you know where to come back to.” She gestured to the flag.

I smiled. She was perfect for me. “I love you so damn much.”

A Rare Find ( Part 3)

As her mandible clenched tighter around my muscles, adrenaline pumped from my endocrine system and shot my nerves into overdrive. The burn went away and I became hyper aware of the barrels pointed at my head and at the woman attached to my arm. Quickly, I reached around to my gun, which hung by it’s harness around my neck, and pulled a capped dart from grip chamber. With my teeth, I pulled the cap from the needle and slammed the tip into the infected woman’s back. Almost instantaneously, she goes down; her jaw slackening and her fingernails unhinging from my flesh.

“Stay where you are!” My team moved in. I held the woman half in my grip before putting her down on the ground and standing up to face my teammates. “Hey,” I put my hands up, which were covered in blood, and looked particularly guilty of a crime that I didn’t commit. “Hey, I–” I felt something pierce my uninjured arm. “I–” I looked over at Charlie, the one who had shot me and pleaded with him. “Charlie…man…” I fell to my knees and felt several arms wrap around me before I hit the ground.

I saw so many faces. They were cloudy and unidentifiable and moved too quickly to register. I was strapped down, soft restraints on both wrists but I didn’t strain against them. I was naked, covered by a sheet. Medical professionals pumped medications into an IV. My sensations were so muddled that I couldn’t tell in which arm the IV was in or even if it was my wrist or somewhere higher. I could tell I was being monitored, sedated and operated on. In which order, I’m not sure but I…..

It was quiet when I finally awoke. The lights were dim and footsteps were careful. I could tell the facility I was in was still abuzz but the wing I was in was hushed. The restraints were gone from my wrists. I raked my fingers across my chest and groaned out of satisfaction. Anesthesia makes my skin itchy and from what I was feeling, I had more anesthetic than blood. My right hand was immobilized by a tight sling and my neck was stiff, but that itch…god damn it. I arched my back and had my arm contorted to get that one itch on my spine just above my cheeks when the nurse walked in.

“Sir! Sir, are you all right?” She hurried over to me and pulled my arm from under me just before I could reach it. “Sir,” I struggled against her. “Sir, stop!” I ceased my defense and looked at her.

“Roll toward me.” She took a hold of my slung arm and carefully log rolled me toward her midsection. And somewhat lovingly, scratched my back. “It’s your sedative and pain medication.” Vulnerably, I relaxed and enjoyed the simple pleasure of being taken care of. Her gloved fingers rolling across my back wasn’t exactly the optimal skin to skin contact a real itch requires, but I could feel her short nails through the gloves and they did the job.

“Thank you and…sorry.” She had a red mark on her arm from where I had pushed her away in my initial struggle.

“It is quite okay. Most people that wake up from what you have recovered from are usually more shell shocked. So, you’re doin’ okay.” She smirked with one side of her mouth and rolled me back onto my back.
Wake up from what I recovered from… From a bite? Plenty of us had been bitten before and recovered with plenty of time to spare. Hell, I’ve been bitten before and recovered in a day and a half, what made this one so different? “Exactly what happened?” I looked at her, inquiring about her tone.

“Well…” She was a young thing, maybe twenty- two. Her blond hair was pulled back in a pony tail and her brown eyes were bigger than billiard balls. Her scrubs wrapped around her like they were measured and fitted. She was hot. And she was stalling. I could tell because she had said I recovered from a hard surgery. I was busy looking her up and down but I was listening and the only words my ears picked up were “hard surgery.” Now, she was jabbering on about her day. Hot and….not so opaque. I could see right through her, so I gently grabbed her hand when she stood to check the IV pump just to the right of my head. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Becca. It’s nice to meet finally meet you Mr. Rhys.” She genuinely smiled at me and unhooked a tube from the IV pump and replaced the capsule at the end with a freshly unpackaged one. “I’m going to go updated the doctor on your condition. Rest. It’ll be a little while…” Before she finished talking, my eyes fluttered and I was gone again.

– – – – – – – – – – –

“Hey… hey.” Someone was shaking my injured arm a little too hard. “Hey!” Her furtive whispers became unfurtive when she raised her voice. I turned my head over to the sound of her voice and opened my eyes.

“Hey. Hey!” I put my hand on her’s, which was messing with a strap on my sling. Her cold fingers seemed nervous. “It’s you.”

Holy. Shit. It was her. Her brown hair was now wet and I could smell the feminine floral scent on her skin. She had on a blue t-shirt that was two sizes to big and scrub pants that where one size too small. She was a mess. Though…not as much of one as when I first found her.

“You made it!” I grinned from ear to ear which made her more nervous.

“I did. I suppose. I’m glad you did too. I’ve been watching you.” She rolled a stool over and put her hands in her lap. She seemed scared. “Look.” She started talking and then quickly stopped. “I mean… look.” She began again but struggled.

“Hey.” It seemed to be a word we could connect on. I said it reassuringly as I struggled to sit up. She helped me with out thinking and quickly pulled her hands back once she realized what she was doing. “Look.” I began her sentence for her. “I know what you might be nervous about and there is no need.” I was intimate with the process of recovery. From the medical stand point to the psychiatric. I’ve been through it all and this beautiful creature was just beginning her journey.

Her chin was down and she was crying now, wrought with guilt. “I just feel so bad. I mean, you almost died. I don’t even know you and you almost died because of me.” She touched her cheeks with one hand and winced. The infected tend to clench their teeth and the side effects, even after being cured, were still there. Chronic pain and a steady habit of clenching are only a few of the leftovers.

I lifted her chin with my finger and thumb and got my first good look into her deep green eyes. “You see this?” I gestured to my wrapped shoulder. “This can heal. You can too, you know…”

A Rare Find (Part 2)

These creatures that surrounded my team, seething with hunger, with anger…. waited. Their collective mind leaned back on its haunches and waited. More gathered, some slowly and some quite excitedly. I’m never quite sure what they wait on, but they always do. When there was more than one within proximity, they always wait until about five or six of them surround us to attack.

 

Now though, my team of fifteen faced….thirty, maybe more. Sputum and blood and viscous liquids spilled from the infected’s lips freely. Their stench was that of a corpse in the sun, rotting. Though along with the putrid smell came the smell of human. Came the smell of dirt. Of sweat. Of hard work digging deep into the bone on a hot day.

 

When the first one lunged, twenty nine followed. Their waxy skin stretched under excitement as each and everyone of them spread their cheeks wide baring teeth rotten and yellow.

 

We had several people on the ground around the convoy and several more atop the vehicles. Their guns trained, aimed and fired. Four went down in the first wave, several more in the second. I knocked off a few as shots rang above me; some tranquilizers and some bullets. Some dead, some saved.

 

It was a very formulaic process. Triage. Step one is to shoot them all. During step one, use your judgment as to whether or not you were shooting to kill or shooting to save. All of the targets had to be hit to move to step two. Step Two, sort and sift. Salvage what could be salvaged and discard the rest. We usually burned them out of respect. The infected we retrieved would go into truck one and overflow into truck two. They would be sedated for about two hours which was plenty of time to arrive back at Vaccilita. There they would go through decontamination and curing. The process of curing was on a case to case basis, but for me, curing took about a month before I could reenter. Reentry was the goal. Reentry was the key to the future. The key to healing this god forsaken race of ours.

 

When we arrived back at the facility, we unloaded the infected. Still sedated, still very stinky, very heavy sacks of potatoes. I laid one after the other onto decon tables that drained into the floor below. By this point, I was dressed with gloved, a buff, and plastic boots. It tended to get dirty and wet in decon. Several of my men stayed behind and helped unload.

 

I jumped into truck two and scooped the last infected woman from the back. Her eyelids fluttered and a small moan escaped her pink chapped lips. “Hey guys, we’ve got one just coming around. I would finish up in there.” I gestured to everyone in the decon rooms, placing the last of the salvaged onto their own separate tables.

 

The woman in my arms wrestled with consciousness. She was a small little thing, barely a hundred pounds. Her brown hair was still rich in color and her skin, though still stained with sickness and death, still held the promise of life. I could feel her strength resurfacing and took that as a cue to get her to a decon table. As I leaned over, I pulled her in close to get leverage and paused. I could hear her heart quicken. Inches away from her chest and I could still hear her heart beat.

 

I had no time to think before I felt her teeth sink into my right shoulder. The sensation of each individual layer of skin tearing beneath her teeth burned with admonishment. Her hands flailed, struggling to grip my arms and once she clamped down, her fingers snaked around my bicep yanking me closer.

Stream of Consciousness

With the strokes of the piano coinciding with the beats of my heart…

Freedom feels like the seams of a thousand pen lines tracing into one. Their meaning, syntax, their rhythm become one

History becomes the past and singing off key just to get into it is the beginning of it all.

Going is the beginning.

Watch someone strum a single string of a guitar and feel the reverberation of it in your spine.

I’m no musician but I can feel.

Feel it…

It.

Love.

Strength.

Grief.

Relief.

It all comes in a wave and a crescendo. With a trough in between. Never in the same order, but something surprising. Something enthralling.

A Rare Find (Part 1)

June 26, 2013

One of the most difficult parts when dealing with a large outbreak is to take care of the bodies. Whether it be a wave of typhus or sweeping plague of polio. The cure had to be created and the vaccine had to be distributed. In World War II, concentration camps had their own set of “special” prisoners that had the specific job of doing what was necessary in taking care of the deceased. They were dubbed, the Sonderkommando. And while I wasn’t forced into the job nor was I a prisoner, it was a difficult assignment.

The orders were simple. Capture all of the living infected and transport them back to the medical facility, Vaccilita. We traveled from city to city, suburb to suburb, collecting all of the still salvageable infected and bringing them back to the facility located just outside the safe zone.

The Zone wasn’t overrun by the military nor was it scary to live there these days. It’s been four years since the Outbreak and things have evolved into a functioning and comfortable place to live. There weren’t many rules to break other than the normal societal rules that led the world before the Outbreak. Don’t kill anyone. Don’t loot. Don’t break anybody’s things. You know, just don’t be an asshole. You could leave the perimeter with out many security hold ups. You could come back, only having to endure a quick DNA scan. There were even some people living back in their homes in the satellite areas near the Zone. With the more infected we captured and turned, the more space we needed to start living again. And the walls that were initially built to keep the ravenous infected out were nearly obsolete. There weren’t infected within fifty miles of the perimeter anymore. We were good at our jobs and our teams that took care of the rest were premiere.

6:15 AM

The sun was peaking over the horizon when the truck engines ignited. I had just poured my coffee and knew by the sound of the trucks that I had approximately three minutes before heading through the Zone gates for the majority of the day. We packed supplies for the team and kept them in the cargo truck that tailed the convoy, which consisted of two loading trucks and a lead pick up with a variety of navigational equipment and first aid. As a group, we were well trained and versed in techniques to avoid the bite. It tended to be an issue if we got bitten. Unlike four years ago, it wasn’t a death sentence, nor was it a threat to all human life, but it was dangerous, nonetheless.

The disease was a scary. It attacks the nervous system and burns pain receptors. It severs the brain to body connection and creates a rabid, seething killing machine in less than two minutes. But it’s not really the bite you have to worry about. It’s the infected. In their prime state, their disease won’t kill you. Their gnarly teeth ripping the trachea from your throat will. Their fingers digging into the skin and muscle on your back in search of a good grip on your spine will. Their ferociousness will get you before their pathogens.

Which is why we have to stay vigilant. With every trip our goal is to restrain and transport thirty- five to fifty infected to Vaccilita for rehabilitation. That means we face danger and death and contagion almost every second on the job. Our job is to be constantly on the line. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Delivering these people into the future with a healthy chance at a new life is what I want to do. It’s what I promised to dedicate myself to since I was one of the cured.

A Brief Release (Fiction)

1-21-13

His fingers caressed the trough of her back where her spine pearled down into two beautiful crescents upon which he laid both of his hands. He could feel her smile on his cheek as her lips pursed, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck. Fingers tightened and lifted the beauty up onto the kitchen island.

Spartan, with colors of light black and lime green, the woman’s apartment boasted elegance and simplicity. The kitchen was slick with the smell of cleanliness and roses and oversized glass balcony doors framed the couple in the dim light for the whole world to see.

She leaned back, letting the marbled counter top cool her hands. Her dress ribboned her body, as if it were an extension of the woman herself.

“You are a wonderful creature.” The words slipped his lips into her ear as he reached for her shoe. He lifted her leg, careful to get a long graze of silky skin against his cheek, and unstrapped her left heel. Placing her leg back down, he lowered to a knee and unstrapped the other while stealing kiss from her right stem.

“A beautiful creature.” Back on his feet again, the man peered into her eyes. Not for answers. Not for clues. But for something. Something pure and free. Their lips met, tentatively at first. She tasted of strawberries and menthol and he of desire. Their reticent nature soon faltered and passion flamed. As the fire burned, she wrapped her legs around his still belted waist and urged for movement towards the sprawling chaise lounge sectional. The chill in the air began to dissipate as her fingers slid underneath his belt buckle. The sliver clasp unlatched easily and the belt slipped out as she pulled sensually. Simpering, her elegance turned into artistry.

She moved up his flank, stretching out one lean leg over. Now upon him, she leaned down, touching their lips ever so lightly. Her crimson dress showered over his waist, leaving more intrigue only inches away. It was seamless. Like pieces of a puzzle, they fit together.

He laced fingers with hers and pulled her hands up over his head, bringing her face an inch from his. “A kiss.” He stole one. “Is worth.” And another. “So many words.” And as their lips were connected in a deep retreat, they joined as one. Rhythmic movements kept their emotions heightened and their physical intent clear. Her hips left him ravenous as she ebbed and delivered more and more every time she came in.

And their moment, of total escalation, peaked. The man and his muse had entered a realm of release and relief and freedom.

Strange Allusions (Ode)

(I wrote this back in the day. It was actually put to music as well.)

Elegant Allusions

Love
It’s like a rock
A big big rock
Falling faster and faster
For you.
Me
I’m falling
For you.
Easy, it’s real easy
When you look at me
I lose all sense of reality
And I fall.
Simply head over heels,
They slip, my feet
Falling right from under me.
My hear throbs, my blood pumps
At the thought of your pretty blue eyes
The shape of your thighs,
The very things that make me shy
Away from you.
Dear, you are the epitome of love.
Beauty, elegance, strange allusions
To things I didn’t even know existed.
My eyes flutter at night,
Dreams of you make me shiver.
One day I hold your hand,
Your fingers interlace mine like silk,
Porcelainly delicate, I hold them
Like a life line.
The next day you kiss me,
Sweet whispers of remedy rest upon your lips,
Chastising me for an empty life.

Zombie Short Scene: Infected Anonymous

(And the exploration begins. This is a little gross, so if you’re weak of heart, grab a barf bag!)

When I stepped in the door of Rita’s Deli, a bell rung overhead. Ahhhhh. What heaven is this. I dropped by here every three days and spent a good bit on breakfast, lunch and dinner. Rita had the freshest meats and best cold cuts in town and she didn’t make me feel bad for what I was.

“Hey Rita!” I greeted her with a smile and peered over the glossy meats displayed behind clean glass. “Could I get two beef shoulders, four rib eyes, six flat irons, two sirloins…” Hmm. Bacon or sliced meats? I tapped my foot for a second. “And… and a party platter of your cold cuts, could you do that for me, love?” She grinned and began cutting portions of brown paper in an industrial sized cutter.

“Not a problem!” Her blond hair was pretty and her skin was pale, yet her blue eyes were sharp and piercing. I took a seat at one of the tables near the front window and watched her bag up my order. With a grace, she placed the large brown bag on the counter and beckoned me over with a cock of her chin. “You’re total comes to $82.25.” As I dug out cash from my back pocket, Rita slid her gloves off skillfully and tossed them into the trash beside the register. I handed her the cash and grabbed the bag. “You can keep the change, love.” She almost blushed. I saw it. Just a little rouge met her cheeks, just barely. As I walked away, she called out.

“I stuck some thick sliced bacon in with the cold cuts. Some pig left it lying around.” She waved at me with pink colored nails and grinned.

—

She was the only one that knew who I was and frankly, I think she liked me because I kept her business open. I’m sure I was her biggest client, and there was no way around it. She caught me the first time I entered her store. I was practically drooling on the glass cased in the beautiful meats. I was new too. Newly cured, that is. I was one of the last to contract the disease and I was one of the few that was cured of it. It turned me into one of those “brainsssss” zombies from the movies. I’m ashamed because I don’t remember anything but the searing pain of “dying” and the horrific feeling of being brought back. One syringe of the cure, a two week coma and I was human again. Luckily, they said I wasn’t infected for very long, just a couple hours, but they did say I got loose and hurt people. Most people who were infected, they said, did a lot more damage and lost more dignity than I did.

 

Well anyway, I’m required to go to IA, Infected Anonymous. It was mainly for the people who began to remember things, which came a few months after being cured. It was horrible. These people can remember biting necks, tearing ligaments, scooping eyes from their family member’s skulls like eggs. Me…I can’t remember a thing and I’m supplementing it with a heavy dose of herbal remedy to prolong my amnesia. A la marijuana. The post infected have a free pass to as much medication as we need. Hell. They want us to become functioning members of society again. I was thankful because most of “us” were murders with pleas of insanity and lucky we weren’t shot on the spot.

Fortunately, though the only thing I took from the situation was an abnormal urge for raw meats. Hence the deli visits twice a week.

When I got to my car, I sat in the front seat with the bag in my lap and carefully pulled a rib eye out with a napkin. I sniffed the edge and inhaled that metallic organic smell. I took a bite and savoured the taste. It was so…tender. It separated easily from the rest of the cut due to the thick marbling of fat, which is why it was my favorite. Tender, fresh, bloody. I licked the drips of blood from the edge like ice cream. I might like my meat raw but I don’t like a mess, and I most certainly don’t like smelling like I used to be a zombie. Come on now…

No Second Chances

(Writer’s note: This isn’t the finished piece of my Portfolio 3 for my Creative Writing class, but this is definitely my favorite version of my main story. This version is rather raw and unedited so please excuse the couple mistakes and awkwardness.)

Michael slid the paring knife from the wooden block on the counter and looked at the blade. Sharp and metallic. It would do just fine. On the cutting board laid several oversized strawberries recently rinsed under cool water. The red bled into the wood of the board. He picked up one, inspected it and nodded. Placing it back on the board, Michael placed the edge of the knife gently on the skin of the fruit. With a flick, the knife slid through the flesh of the berry like butter. The top leaves popped off and fell into the sink. After he had cut the tops off all of the strawberries, he tossed them into a food processor for quick spin.

It was a simple process he went through on each anniversary. Cleaning the fruit was always his favorite part to the whole thing. Washing the impurities off of something so beautiful and delicious. What’s more satisfying than that? With the strawberry puree covered and fridged, Michael stirred some angel hair pasta into some boiling water. Alfredo sauce simmered in a pot on the opposite oven element. It tasted spicy with a hint Cajun seasoning, red bell peppers and bacon pieces. It was a masterpiece of a sauce he had perfected over his years of taste testing and trials. As a chef for nineteen years at a little place called Une Petit Bol, one tended to learn the ins and outs of good cooking.

The celebration honored his wife, Marianne. They had been married for four years. It had been a good four years too. Starting out with a honeymoon in Paris that took them all the way to Greece and back to the United States. It was a beautiful trip full of good things. Good food. Good smells. Good sex.

Michael hesitated for a moment, spoon in hand. Good sex. It had been good sex. He thought back to the time when he and Marianne sneaked from the hotel suite they were honeymooning in to the lapping waves just below their window. There, they made love for the first real time. Unburdened, unbound, free love. Under the moon and the stars they were alone with no one to bother them. But now…

She had been a sweet girl when he loved her. Her long blond hair seemed to give her a look that took him back to her youth. Rarely brushed to perfection, her curls swirled over her shoulders effortlessly. They were golden like ambrosia. Her blue eyes matched her hair’s flawlessness. Deep crystal blue eyes stared back at him when ever he looked at her longingly. It was the lips though that really got him. They blossomed like roses in a winter storm. Plump, gorgeous lips. If you gazed downward you could tell she took care of her skin. She had an porcelain complexion that claimed no blemish. The very touch of her skin would send goosebumps up his spine and spin every thought from his head. If her fingers touched his, the whole day would disappear.

Michael began to stir the sauce again and snapped himself back to reality. That way of viewing her was over with. He longed to be ignorant. It was bliss, wasn’t it? He longed to have not smelled the odor on the back of her neck one morning. The scent of another man. Some cheap cologne that he would have never bought himself. Thirty- three days. It had been thirty- three days since he first smelt that scent on her. There had been other clues though. Earlier mornings to worker, later nights away from home that there were no reasons for. There wasn’t more work to be finished. She was a bad liar and he could taste it every time she kissed him in the last thirty three days.

There seemed to be nothing wrong with their relationship. Things had settled into a nice routine. Wake, work, home, eat, sleep. Michael stepped back from the stove and thought. Maybe it was the routine? Was she bored? Boredom doesn’t merit whoreishness though.

Michael grimaced at the thought. Tonight’s dinner would make up for all of her secret misgivings. And as if thinking of her lured her home, the door opened and Marianne walked through in red heels. She had on a maroon dress that showed her curves and a black headband that pulled her hair away from her face. She closed the door behind her and smiled over at Michael.

“Hey, honey.” Her heels clicked as she crossed the kitchen tile to him. She gently kissed him on the cheek. He could smell it. Again. It was different this time. More… more musky and strong. He gripped the edge of the counter to repress any reaction. How was he going to bring this up to her? He liked that she was happy but hated her for it at the same time. He liked that she was a sexual dynamo, but it felt dirty at the same time. Knowing that other men were putting their paws on her disturbed him.

“Hey.” He touched the back of her arm when she leaned in for the kiss.

“What cha cooking?” She whiffed the air and smiled at the familiar scent.

“Cajun Alfredo pasta with red peppers. And strawberry sorbet for dessert.”

“Mmm, that sounds delicious!” Marianne said as she sifted through the pile of mail she had carried in with her.

Michael stared at her for a moment. How should he do it? Her lips… as they moved they seemed like slugs crawling across a stone floor, leaving a trail of disgusting slime of lies behind when ever she spoke.

“How was your day?” Michael removed the sauce from the heat and placed it on a cool element. He could burn her. Just toss the sauce right on her see what happens? But that might not kill her and he’d have to deal with her being sad again. No. That won’t work.

“It was good!” She got up and tossed some of the junk mail in the trashcan. “I met my new boss today.” And by met she meant hand job.

“What happened to your old boss?” As he spoke, Michael leaned over and grabbed a bottle of wine from the top of the refrigerator. Using the corkscrew, he popped he cork out and poured two glasses. Holding the bottle, he imagined what it would look like crashing over her head. Would it break? Or just donk her on the skull? That would be unsatisfying…

“Oh, he quit. Some internal affair or something.” She graciously took the large glass of wine and took a sip. She didn’t even smell it. No swirling. Jesus Christ. How was he even attracted to her in the first place? She used to stop to smell the roses.

“How was your day?” She looked up at him as he moved around the kitchen.

“It was okay.” He tasted the sauce. Mmm. Perfection. “I hired a new chef. He’s pretty good.” He reached out, testing the water. “You’d like him.”

“Really?” She quirked a brow, hearing the underlying beckoning in his voice.

“Yeah! He makes these signature chocolate truffles.” He watched the furrow in her brow soften. Phew. She hadn’t been caught. Right…

“Oh yummm.” She stood up from the table and flipped off her left heel. It landed under the dinner table. That could be useful. Heel to the jugular. Nahh. That won’t work either. Too much of a mess. She took off her other shoe and tossed it under the table next to the other.

The knife. He eyed it on the counter, still dripping with strawberry juice and seeds.

“Dinner’s ready.” He lured her over with the promise of food. She came, predictably. With one step, he blocked her from the stove and embraced her.

“I want to let you know…” She hugged him back genuinely. “that I know what you’ve been doing.” She stiffened in his grip. He held a bit tighter. “You’ve been going around behind my back.” She tried to pull away but he kept her close in a hug so she couldn’t see his face. “You’ve been fucking other men. At least two that I know of.” He smelled her neck like an animal. “And this is a new one.” His inhale left cold condensation on the nape of her neck.

“Michael.” She put both of her hands on his chest in order to push away, but he backed her up against the counter. He centered his strength in his hips so he could hold her still and grab the knife from the cutting board.

“It’s been thirty- three days.” He pressed the edge of the blade against her skin.

“Michael, oh my god.” She now knew her situation was dire. “Stop it Michael!” She struggled against him, like an antelope in a lion’s grasp. “I’m sorry.” She began to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” He pressed the blade into her skin. She screamed. He felt her warm sticky blood run over his hand. It was satisfying. To feel her lies stream over his hand down the back of her red dress.

“Yes I am!” She struggled more, driving the knife deeper in between her ribs. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She gasped for air and began to cough.

“That’s your lung collapsing.” He sneered and pulled the knife from her back, tossing it loudly in the sink. He stepped back, releasing her from his grip and watched her slide down the cabinets. Her chest heaved and she had no breath to speak.

Michael knelt down close to her and lifted her chin as she slowly drowned, internally on her own blood. “You did this to yourself.” She gripped at his knee weakly and begged with her eyes. “You should have just told me you weren’t happy.” He brushed her hand off his leg. It hit the floor floppingly.

Michael stood, and stepped over her pooling blood, making sure not to track it all over the kitchen floor. He strained the angel hair, smothered a plate with Alfredo and mixed the noodles effortlessly. He took his plate and glass of wine over to the dinner table and sat down at the head of the table. While taking the first bite, he looked over at Marianne slumped against the cabinets. He watched her lose consciousness. He took another bite and sipped the expensive wine.

“No second chances.” Michael wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin.

Strawberry Sorbet: One Scene

 Her dress was a fine ribbon that wrapped around her delicate figure. Cerulean in color and silky to the touch. She stood out in a crowd. James sat adjacent to her and touched her knee with his hand under the table.. He smiled. Dessert had just arrived and the thought of touching food as beautiful as his wife seemed like a sin in itself. They both were silent when the server placed the square plate on the linen table cloth. Two scoops of Strawberry sorbet were flecked green, with basil. A sugar balsamic glaze was drizzled generously over the two pink scoops and the rest of the plate, adding a dark hue to the playful sorbet.

James was the first to pick up his fork. He tentatively sliced the sorbet and lifted the small bite to Sarah’s lips. She coaxed the fork into her mouth with her tongue and closed her eyes when the taste hit her senses. “Mmm.” Was all she could muster.

James cut a portion for his own pleasure and lifted it to his nose. He could smell the fresh basil mingle with the balsamic. When he tasted the strawberries, he was taken back to their first kiss.

Strawberry lip gloss, classical music, small murmur in the back ground. The whole scene was the same, yet they didn’t know each other during their initial kiss. Sarah was a capricious, wild thing. She walked up to an unsuspecting James in the very same restaurant and dropped her clutch. Happily, James picked it up from the floor and handed it back to her, their hands touched briefly. She continued on to the ladies room, leaving James begging for more interaction. He brazenly left his table, at which he was not the only one sitting, and pushed open the ladies room door. She waited there, just next to the door and pushed him against the wall aggressively. Strawberry lip gloss moistened her lips, classical music juxtaposed their bad behavior, and small murmurs in the background were never heard.

James opened his eyes when he heard something fall on to the ground. He looked down and noticed Sarah’s small purse half open on the fine carpet.