Survival Kit

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

I had gotten the hoodie from the lost and found at my work. I am aware it sounds kind of gross to put on a strangers unwashed jacket, but I couldn’t help myself, I had to wear it, I don’t know why. Anyway, that was six months ago, and I had hardly taken it off since. Now, we were deep into the Sacramento summer. Every day was 100 degrees, there wasn’t a lick of wind, and yet still I wore that sweatshirt. I swear I never even broke a sweat. It was like my security blanket. It had become a part of me. In hind sight I probably should have gone to talk to someone about that.

So I was at the mall, on a frantic search for some normal looking brown heels to match my dress for my cousin’s wedding. I was standing in the shoe department at Nordstrom’s when the whole building shuddered, like a chill had run up its spine. Everyone stopped mid-footwear appraisal, a thick silence settled in the air. Then it happened again, harder this time, like an earthquake, only we don’t have earthquakes in Sacramento. The lights went out, and it wasn’t quiet anymore.

I was a stone pillar amongst the chaos. People all around me were running, screaming, and writhing on the floor in agony (and pools of blood). Holy shit how could there be so much blood so quickly! What. Was. Happening.

I hugged myself tight, sliding my hands into my pockets, and whoa, there was something in there… I never keep stuff in my pockets. Tentatively I pulled it out. It looked like an over-sized ink pen, the kind someone would have gotten after 20 years of dedicated service on the force. I turned it over in my hands, where had it come from? Suddenly it began to glow green, it got brighter and brighter until it emitted a blinding pulse of light. When I opened my eyes again there was a pile of indistinguishable goo at my feet.

I didn’t think, I just ran has fast as I could towards the beckoning light of the mall exit. For some reason I was still clutching the pen thing in my hands and it continued to emit pulsing flashes of light like some sort of crazed glow stick. When I reached the door I turned around. Everything was quiet once more, people were picking themselves off the floor, dusting themselves off, and there were piles of goo everywhere.

I dropped the pen thing on the ground, took three steps back, and shoved my hands in my pockets. I felt it immediately, smooth, cylindrical, the pen was back in my pocket. I pulled it out again, and just before I hurled it across the parking lot I looked up, to the round disc in the sky that was blotting out the sun. Suddenly the pen flashed green and another smoldering pile of goo appeared at my feet.

“Huh” was all I could muster.

Missed It By This Much

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

It was the first really cold morning of fall and I was running around the house trying to find my jacket, and oh shoot, where were my keys? It was a Monday of course.

So that was how I not only ended up running late for work, but how I found myself on the dreaded bus instead of in my car (I never did find my car keys that morning). Hurrying down the street, crunching through a carpet of red leaves with my high heels, I rounded the corner to the bus stop just in time to see the bus pull away. Of course. If only I had been wearing my sneakers I could have run to caught it.

The next bus arrived, standing room only, at least it was cold out so the air inside the bus was only mildly perfumed with body odor. About half way through the journey we reach downtown where the hardened commuters were replaced by confused tourists. This is the problem with where my office is located, right smack in the middle of tourist central, Pier 39. I braced myself for the inevitable onslaught of mundane questions I would receive when the selfie stick wielding masses realize they were in the company of a real live San Franciscan. Just when I thought all hope was lost, a savior appeared in the form of spilled coffee on my once white (now mocha) colored blouse. Thankfully the coffee was lukewarm, but the man who spilled it on me was not.

“So sorry!” he exclaimed with a strong accent I couldn’t quite place.

As I looked up from my ruined top my anger was melted by his smoldering brown eyes, and I was immediately transformed into a stammering idiot.

It was his idea to take me out to breakfast to make up for the accident. It was my idea to text my boss to say I was sick.

Enzo was Italian, and breakfast was amazing. Okay the food was standard tourist-trap slop, but the company, well that was something else. And he felt the same way too, OH MY GOSH HE FELT THE SAME WAY TOO! So we did what any two people who were quickly falling in love would do, we went back to my place… so I could change out of my coffee stained blouse and into something a little more comfortable than high heels and a pencil skirt.

When I emerged from my bedroom in my carefully curated outfit I was once again awestruck by this perfect man, who was now standing in the middle of my cramped living room.

“Are you ready to accompany me to Stow Lake?” he crooned.

“Oh yes” I replied, “just let me put my shoes on.”

As I picked up my sneakers something clinked out and landed on the floor. My car keys. I casually retrieved them and hung them on the hook above my shoe rack, took Enzo by the hand, and sauntered out the front door.

Night's Beginning

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

New city, new apartment, new job; Gigi hated change, and yet here she was. The first day at her new place of employment wasn’t horrible, but as she stepped out of the climate controlled office at the end of the day a sense of dread came over her. There was nothing left to do but go home to her tiny apartment, all alone.

The 51A bus pulled up to the corner of Park and Santa Clara, and Gigi tumbled off onto the busy sidewalk of the downtown shopping district. She strode quickly down the sidewalk toward home, dodging happy couples striding arm and arm as they headed out for dinner. She resisted the urge to body check a couple that had stopped directly in her path, instead quickly ducking past them she found herself in the doorway of a rather dimly lit bar.

“Lost Weekend Lounge” the sign over the door read, and though she never would have considered going to a bar on a Monday night in her past life, the thought of her empty apartment filled with boxes waiting to be unpacked was enough to lure her inside. Without thinking she found herself seated on a leather bar stool, cool glass of liquid relaxation in her hand.

As the weeks passed by she slowly settled into the routine of her new life. Work was work, home was home, but that little bar next to her bus stop became her refuge, it’s patrons her friends, it’s bartenders her family. It was her place to go when she had no one else, and she felt it had saved her.

Gigi’s parents had scarcely heard from her since she moved, and they were starting to get worried, especially since it had been more than a week since she had returned their last call. Even more troubling, they had called her office to see if they could find her and were told that she no longer worked there. They refused to give any more information. Gigi’s parents knew what they had to do next.

They showed up at her apartment bright and early on a Saturday morning but when their knocks at her door failed to produce any results they went and found the super. It didn’t take much convincing for him to let them in, after all Gigi was almost two months behind in rent. Nothing could have prepared them for what they would see on the other side of the door though.

The apartment was pitch black, curtains drawn against the bright morning sunlight. Once their eyes adjusted they saw her, a figure hunched in the middle of the room, surround by empty liquor bottles and still packed cardboard bottles.

Her dad spoke first “Oh my god, Gigi, is that you?”

The figure at the center of the room stirred, fell backwards, and rolled to face the door. Her puffy face brightened at the sight of her parents and she slurred “Mom, Dad, hi, welcome to the Lost Weekend Lounge!”

I Know What You Did Last Summer

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

It’s not as bad as you think. The words just kept repeating themselves over and over in her head, like some sort of crazy mantra.

Lucy opened the door slowly, any noise would draw his attention, and she peered through the crack into her living room. Tom was standing with his back to her, his shoulders were slightly slumped, his arms dangled lifelessly at his sides. Despite how quite she had been, he somehow sensed she was there. Shuffling, he turned towards her. Lucy stifled a scream as she caught sight of his hollow eyes and strangely twisted, drooling mouth. Quickly she swung the door shut again, turning the key in the lock to secure it.

Oh yes, this is definitely way worse than she thought.

Lucy walked to the window at the end of the hallway and looked out over the apartment’s parking lot, contemplating her next move. Should she call 911? Would they even know what to do to help him? As she pulled out her cellphone she heard loud knocking. She wheeled around just in time to see the building super twisting the key in her apartment’s lock.

“No” she screamed as she rushed forward, but it was too late. In a flash a hand shoved through the crack in the now open door and grabbed him, pulling him inside.

She raced forward, and as she reached for the door handle she couldn’t help but to look into the room. There was her husband, hunched over the super, making a mess of her Pottery Barn area rug. Squeezing her eyes closed against the gruesome scene, she pulled the door shut and locked it once more.

Tom wasn’t the only one, though she hadn’t known about the others when the changes started. It was subtle at first, a sudden craving for red meat, the rarer the better. Then he began to lose color in his skin and eyes. In the beginning the doctors didn’t really have an explanation, some sort of anemia they thought? Whatever it was, Tom said he felt fine, better than ever actually, so they just continued on with their lives. Then last night everything changed. She awoke just after midnight to the sounds of a snarling animal, but it wasn’t an animal. It was her husband. Lucy barely made it out of the apartment alive.

As time went on more people became infected, and the public demanded answers, but it took a while for doctors to piece it together, mostly because there was a nine month gap between infection, and well, what Tom had finally become. The virus, they discovered was only spread one way. Furious at the news, Lucy grabbed an axe and marched down to the detention center where the infected were kept, waiting for a cure. She barged past the guards to Tom’s cell, and with one swoop of her axe she lopped off his head while screaming, “I know what you did last summer, how dare you cheat on me!”

Facing the Conversation

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

They are talking about hair, specifically what salon they go to, and what they get done there, and blah blah blah. How did I get ensnared in this conversation? I don’t give a shit about hair, I cut mine maybe twice a year, and yet here I am, trapped.

I am having an out of body experience, or maybe it’s a split body experience? One part of me is in this conference room, listening to this benign banter, desperately trying to interject something, anything, to make it seem like I belong here and am not just waiting for another, different discussion. That is, indecently, where the other part of me is, already rehearsing what I’m going to say when this insipid small talk ends and the real conversation begins.

I didn’t get the promotion, I already know that much. Danielle has been putting off telling me for a while now, but she seems to finally have gotten up the courage, which is why she asked me to stick around after the meeting to talk. But then Cindy stayed too, and they somehow started chatting about their hair, and here I am, waiting. Cindy can’t seem to take the hint that she should leave, get out, so we can get this over with. Meanwhile I’m trying to build a strong front, impenetrable. I’m trying to anticipate what Danielle will say when she tells me, so I can provide the appropriate response, thank her for the consideration, and obviously, avoid crying.

Cindy stands to leave, finally, the door clicks shut behind her. Danielle turns to me, the look on her face squashes that last little inkling of hope that maybe I actually had been chosen. The tone in her voice sends a spider web of cracks through my carefully crafted façade. I can feel my eyes burning, growing misty. I am trying to smile, not too much, but my mouth seems to be pulled down at the corners by some invisible force. I find, for some reason, I’m nodding at every word she says. I’m not really paying attention, though; I’m just willing the conversation to be over. Finally she stops talking, I stand up, shake her hand, thank her for her consideration. There is a catch in my voice. Thankfully we are headed in separate directions as we leave the room.

I’m in the bathroom crying, it’s Friday afternoon, and I realize she has ruined my weekend. Selfish bitch, she probably wanted to unburden herself so she could enjoy hers at my expense. I push that thought away, I tell myself it’s just business, and besides, I didn’t really want the promotion anyway. Hadn’t I been thinking ever since the initial interview that I’d made a mistake by applying? That it was more responsibility than I wanted? No, I am not going to let this ruin my weekend. I splash water on my face and force a smile as I return to my desk. I hope nobody notices my red-rimmed eyes.

The Empty Wrapper

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

He had been by the cave many times before, sneaking through the shadows because he knew he wasn’t allowed, but he just couldn’t help himself. Curiosity often got the best of him, it would be the end of him, his mother claimed, but he just couldn’t help himself. Of course he often got caught, by his friends, or his brothers, or worst of all, his mother; if she caught him then he would have to endure one of her lectures.

“You are too young to sneak out on your own like that, if the others find you before me...” blah blah blah.

It didn’t matter anymore though, because today was his birthday, today was finally the day he would be taught the ways of those he so admired, his father, the other elders. Today he was finally old enough to know the secrets of his people.

The first stop was the caves, those glorious caves that he had snuck off to so often as a child, to watch from the shadows as the elders entered to perform the secret rituals. Now he would finally know what they did inside. As he approached, the smell was what he noticed first, it was intoxicating and drew him closer to the black maw of the cavern. Confidently he strode past the shadows of his hiding place, following the footsteps of his father, until finally he was right outside. The darkness of the cave stood in stark contrast of the full moon light that was cast over the valley, and as he entered, his breath caught in his throat. It was more beautiful than he ever imagined, everywhere he looked, they hung, mere shells barely holding the form of what they once encased, their bright white color fading as they cured in the damp cave air. As he stood there, taking it all in, he felt a firm hand on his back, and he looked over. He saw the question in his father’s yellow eyes, and he nodded, he was ready to see more.

Together they moved beyond the first cavern, into the deeper recesses of the cave.  It was back here where they were kept, he could hardly wait to see. As his eyes adjusted to the blackness, it was their skin he noticed first, so pale, so smooth, and with hardly any fir. The next thing he noticed was the screaming, not the beautiful roar he had been perfecting his whole life, this was more desperate, and terrified. Yes, the humans sounded scared. His father approached again and drew his attention.

“Take a good look son, because this is what separates us from them, their fear. As a werewolf we know no fear. Sure, we may resemble them much of the year, but despite our outward appearance, we are always a wolf at heart. Now come, and sharpen your claws, it is time you learned the delicate art of removing their paper white wrappers.

Made at Home

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

Okay, so I might have just ended the world, but it was an honest mistake. I’d had a really bad day at work, so when started to drive home I cranked up the music, Mariah Carey of course; I was trying to make myself feel better, not worse. Only it wasn’t working, I just I kept fixating on that stupid mistake I’d made. That’s why, when I approached Park Street, I decided to stop at Lucky 13 for a quick beer, or three. To be fair though, the parking spot right in front was open, it was like fate or something.

I slammed those three beers a little quicker than I should have, and when I stood up from the barstool I found I was quite unable to walk in a straight line. With a sigh, I resigned myself to hoofing it home; I would have to pick up the car the next day. The thing is, once I have had a few drinks, I have trouble saying no to a few more, which is why I stopped at the corner store near my house and  grabbed six pack.

I remember drinking the next two beers, but after that things get a bit fuzzy, so I am not really sure how it happened. I can kind of piece it together though based on what I found when I woke up the next morning. There was a burned and half eaten quesadilla on the stove, so obviously I tried to make food, though I am not sure if I stopped eating it because it was so thoroughly scorched or because I had dumped half the bottle of hot sauce on it. Anyway, it was while I was cleaning up the mess of my kitchen escapades that I saw it, something red and glowing coming from the shed in my backyard. I knew immediately what I had done.

You see, I am a nuclear physicist, and my bad day at work the prior day was due to an experiment that had gone wrong. I had this theory, it is too complicated to explain here, but let’s just say if I was correct then all of the world’s energy’s problems would have been solved. Unfortunately, something went wrong, which was really upsetting since it had been my life’s work, but at least the lab was set up to contain the resulting explosion. My tool shed, on the other hand, did not have all the safety features of my lab, which was really a shame, because it appears, sometime after the fifth beer of the night, I had an epiphany of how to make my experiment work. Sadly, based on the menacing glowing, pulsing, red light coming from my tool shed it looks like I was wrong again, though with any luck the imminent explosion will be contained to North America, because it would be a shame if my little bender ended up causing the extinction of the human race.

Watch Your Step

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

She loved going to the grocery store with her parents. Of course, they would always stop by the meat counter first, which was kinda boring, but there was a tank full of lobsters nearby that were pretty fun to watch as they crawled on top of each other, their claws bound in colorful rubber bands.

Once the lobsters were thoroughly inspected she’d move on to the cereal aisle to contemplate just how much sugar her parents would let her get away with at breakfast this week. The decision was always tough, there were so many to consider, and she had to have her arguments ready by the time her parents caught back up with her.

After the cereal compromises had been made she’d swing by the Brach’s candy display, if she had a quarter to deposit in the little receptacle for a piece of taffy. Then the final stop, her favorite, beyond the dairy cases, and past the rows of vegetables (yuck!) was the bakery. Every kid knew that there was always a free cookie waiting for them at the bakery. It used to be you actually had to ask the lady wearing the white apron behind the counter for a cookie (and sometimes she made you go get your mom to say it was okay), but now they put them out on a little tray with a sign that read “kids, please take ONE.”

It was mid-October and she had gone to the grocery with just her Dad, who was in a hurry to get home to watch some baseball game. As usual, her Dad headed for the meat counter while she veered off to the cereal aisle by way of the lobster tank. She was standing there, contemplating the corn pops when suddenly someone pulled the floor out from under her feet. BAM, she hit the ground hard, and by the time she got back up the lights had gone out. She didn’t even have a moment to think, she just started to run, or at least she tried to, but the floor had somehow turned to liquid. She found herself scrambling like those cartoon characters with feet spinning in circles, going nowhere, as the yellow and red checkered tile undulated in waves down the aisle. She couldn’t keep her balance and fell again, cereal rained down on top of her.

By the time the ground decided to regain its normal, solid, consistency, almost every box of cereal had fallen from the shelves. She dug herself out and immediately heard her Dad’s voice, loud, bellowing her name in a tone she’d never heard before. She ran for him and once he had her in his arms, and was sure she was okay, they slowly picked their way out of the store.

They called it “The Big One”, but all she knew was she didn’t really like going grocery shopping anymore. That was 30 years ago, and even now she still refuses to step foot inside a Safeway.

Smaller Than Remembered

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

It felt like the end of the world, but really I guess in a way it was the new beginning. Still, a whole lot was about to change, like everything. So I’ll admit it, I took out a second mortgage on my house, but common’ it’s not like I was the only one! It’s just that plane tickets were so expensive now… But I guess that was to be expected, this being the last two months of plane travel. Okay, that’s a bit dramatic, I’m sure someday the scientists and engineers will figure out a high speed mode of transport that doesn’t result in the brutal death of the planet.

It was pretty amazing really, the whole entire world managed to come together on this one. That just goes to show how desperate the situation had become. So here we were, on the brink of changing life as we knew it, you know, so we wouldn’t go extinct, or whatever. Basically, if it wasn’t powered by clean energy, then it wasn’t going to be allowed anymore. It’s the only choice we had.

The addiction was strong, though, and like the fiends we are, jonesing for that one last fix of those delicious, planet wrecking fossil fuels, it had been decided that the world would wait to pull the proverbial plug for two months. The entire human race was rushing to take advantage of this last brief reprieve, which is why I took out the second mortgage on my house. I just had to see Hawaii one last time.

They were limiting all pleasure trips to five days though, so I didn’t have long, but I was determined to make as much of it as I could. Sadly luggage was severely limited on the airplanes as well. They were trying to use every inch of space on these last commercial flights to ship needed goods to those hard to reach places. Life was going to be rough on the islands for everyone once the diesel belching tanker ships stopped chugging their provisions across the rapidly warming ocean. So yeah, we were each only allowed one small carry on, which meant I had packed sparingly, sacrificing outfit changes for an empty duffle bag so I could bring home all of my souvenirs. I envisioned the tales I would tell to my as yet unborn children of the magical islands of Hawaii, while showing them a ukulele, or a pukka shell necklace.

The five days went by too fast, of course, a whirlwind of sunsets and pina coladas. On the last morning I stood in my hotel room, the plumeria scented trade winds blew gently in through the open louvres while I surveyed the pile of souvenirs I had on the bed. Satisfied with my haul I pulled out the empty duffel bag, and my heart sank. It was smaller than I remembered, much smaller, and no amount of creative packing was going to make all of my carefully curated keepsakes fit. Damn.

The Last Time in Their Bed

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

I was straightening out the blankets in the morning when I noticed it. Vomit. Oh God one of the pets had thrown-up on the bed, and the worst part? It was rock hard, crusty… it had pretty much fused with the sheets. How long had we been sharing our bed with this puke? I didn’t even want to think about it.

I opted not to tell my husband about my little discovery. Better to save him from the knowledge that we had been sleeping with a gross pile of vomit for the last who knows how many nights. I eyed the cats and dog suspiciously as I grabbed my work bag, gave my hubs a quick peck on the cheek, and ran out the door. It was 7:38 am and I was running late for work as usual

You know how when you are having a rough day you picture your bed at home, all warm and cozy and waiting for you? Well it was only lunchtime and already my day had gone to shit, but it’s hard to picture our bed as inviting when it was caked in vomit.  I’d have to do laundry before I could succumb to the sweet embrace of sleep. Could this day get any worse?

The phone call came at 3:07 pm. I left my cellphone plugged in at my desk while I was in a meeting and didn’t get the message until 4:02 pm. It’s one of the thoughts I linger on, if I hadn’t let the charge run so low on my phone then I would have had it with me, I would have seen the call come in, I would have been able to rush to the hospital on time. If I could have gotten there earlier… maybe I could have given him enough strength to hold on, to fight, to survive.

I got home at 12:14 am. I took a Lyft, I was in no shape to drive. The house was dark, of course, and when I walked in I was met by four angry, hungry little faces demanding dinner. They didn’t know what had happened, they never would, but they would feel his absence, they would wait for him to come home, they would rush to the door whenever they heard a car pull up, or footsteps on the stoop, always hopeful it was him. Eventually they would adjust to life without him.

I sat on the couch until 1:31 am. The time on the clock reminded me of him, January 31^st was his birthday. I rose abruptly and fled upstairs, to the bed that still held his smell. I needed to be enveloped by that smell again. I flipped on the light and started uncontrollably laughing because there was the vomit. The fucking vomit. I hadn’t told him about the fucking vomit that had shared our bed for our last night together, and now he would never know. Now there were so many things he would never know.

After Dinner

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

The screams pierced through the sleepy quiet of the neighborhood at exactly 8:01 pm. Jeanne had just been placing the last impeccably polished crystal glass back in her breakfront and the shock of the obtrusive noise nearly made her drop it on the floor. More annoyed about the sudden disturbance than afraid, she carefully pulled aside her living room curtain and peered out to the darkened street, looking for the culprit. Across the way old Mrs. McClatchy was staring out her window as well, and Jeanne followed the elderly woman’s gaze down the road to the yellow house on the corner, sitting solemnly in the shadows, but nothing appeared to be awry. Then, just as abruptly as it started, the screaming stopped and silence settled on Blue Pine Lane again. Jeanne looked back over to Mrs. McClatchy’s house just in time to see a papery hand close the drapes. Hmm, she thought, if Mrs. McClatchy isn’t worried, then it’s probably nothing.

As Jeanne settled into bed that night she still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something was amiss on her normally serene little street, and if Mrs. McClatchy, the self-appointed neighborhood busy-body, wasn’t going to do anything about it, then it was up to her, she supposed. I don’t want to be nosey, she assured herself, but perhaps I should go over to that house tomorrow and introduce myself, after all the new occupants moved in several weeks ago but have scarcely made their presence in the neighborhood known… I could bring over some muffins as a welcoming, and make sure everything about them is alright.

So the next morning, bright and early (but not too early as to seem impolite, of course) Jeanne took her perfect little basket of freshly made muffins to the new neighbor’s house and gently knocked on the door, but there was no answer. After waiting the appropriate amount of time (and not a second longer, mind you), she knocked again, just a little bit louder this time, but still there was no response. Disappointed that her curiosity would not yet be satiated she tucked a welcome note she had written on her second favorite stationary into the basket of muffins and set them on the porch (which she noticed was overdue for a good sweeping).

Much to Jeanne’s dismay the muffins remained on that porch, exactly where she had left them for the next two days. On the morning of day three she decided she had better do something, after all, the muffins would begin to attract pests. As she bent down to pick up her basket from the still un-swept porch she was startled as the door to the house suddenly creaked open. Her tentative “Hello” morphed into a blood curdling scream as an unseen figure grabbed her and yanked her inside. The last thing she saw was an exquisite, though unacceptably cobweb-covered chandelier, hanging in the front hallway, right next to a gently swinging body that had once been Mrs. McClatchy.