Fiction @ MindSay 
writing
Well, like I promised... I am adding one of the papers I wrote for class. Now, bare in mind that there may be some mistakes in this one, because it is the unedited version. The reason that I chose this one, was because it had more details... So, technically it is an 8 page paper... The edited version was cut down to just over 5 pages... The assignment was to write about a journey we had experienced, that expressed a quote by Confucius; “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” Well, I hope you enjoy! Comments are welcome ;)
"Unimaginable Journey"
I stepped outside the large green door into the alley way between apartment complexes where the rusted, metallic garbage cans were kept. Lifting the lid from the closest receptacle, that over powering, sickeningly sweet and sour aroma of moldy tomatoes, bananas and bread flooded my nostrils. Gagging, I quickly released the large black bag and returned the lid to its position. Gripping the opening of my maroon sweater, I tightly wrapped it around me as I turned to go back inside. Suddenly, I was startled by the shadowy figure in front of me. My heart pace quickened. My breath shortened.
“Please, don’t be frightened,” the man assured calmly. “I need your help.”
“Uh oh,” I thought. “What on earth does he want MY help for?” It was nearly 3 o’clock in the morning, and my mind felt like corn meal mush. I tilted my head slightly and spoke up, “My help?”
“Would you mind stepping inside? Just into the apartment stairwell will do; I’d like to speak with you about something.”
Technically, I couldn’t say no. He was standing in front of the apartment building door, which remained unlocked. He had a large build, but a soft voice. I made a rash decision; one I would unlikely make at a more convenient hour. “We can go up to my apartment,” I whispered quickly.
***
The old metal stairs clanked loudly as we made our way to the third floor apartments. We walked midway down the hall, my eyes wavering from the worn brown and red designed carpeting to the bald head of this stranger in front of me. “Twenty-four,” I hummed gently. He stopped in front of my red door. I unlocked it and paint peels fell as I turned the knob and pushed open the door with my other hand.
Broken tiles made up my two-foot entry way, beyond which my two tattered couches and bean bag chairs crowded the living room area. “Please have a seat,” I instructed; my hostess instincts kicking in. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” he said positioning himself on the couch facing the hall.
I sat across from him on the opposing couch. “So, you said that you needed to talk to me. I’m sure you can tell how curious I am by now.”
Thus began his captivating story. He had married a woman from Nepal and had one child with her. When he left she had just found out she was pregnant with another. This was two years before, and he couldn’t make it home on his own. A group called “Koomzad” was trying to find him and according to their rules, until he returned home to his wife, they had free reign to kill him. Apparently I was recommended as the perfect person to help him on this journey, but he could not say who had told him of me.
I breathed a prayer for a moment of inspiration; “I’ll do it!” I was taken back by my own loud response and slapped my hands over my mouth. I couldn’t believe what I had said, and so abruptly, too! Little did I know that this journey of his would also become a journey of my own.
***
Scrambling through my dresser drawer, I thought to myself frantically; “What on earth do you pack for this kind of trip? I’ve never had to do this before!” I rushed around grabbing random items and throwing them on my bed. I stopped. “What am I doing? I’m not going on vacation!” I quickly grabbed the essentials – a pair of jeans, a light jacket, a few shirts, a pair of shorts, toothbrush, toothpaste, water purifying tablets, first aid kit, and most importantly – my piggy bank (a tall blue cloth covered Electrasol can filled with random coins and dollars I had been saving for a trip to Australia). The contents I dumped on my desk.
“Four hundred dollars,” I whispered to myself as I slid the last quarter off the desk. It was now almost 5am as I carried my backpack out into the living room and threw it on the couch. The man lay sleeping while I had been packing for the last hour. I gently shook him. “Breakfast?” I asked.
He jolted awake, cocking his “guns” into a combat position. “What? Sorry. Breakfast? What time is it? Yes. I’m starving.”
I withheld the giggles. “Yes, as in the food to break the fast. It’s almost five. What would you like? Tofu and Little Links?”
“Tofu? Umm… Sure! Sounds great!”
With his hesitant answer I wasn’t convinced. But with the time frame, we rushed through breakfast without a word, until I grabbed his plate to wash it. “What’s your name, by the way?” I asked. I had just realized I didn’t know it.
He answered with an outstretched hand, “I apologize, I’m Frank Jacobs.”
“Well Mr. Jacobs, I guess we’re ready to embark on our journey.” I assumed to give him a proper title, for he was older than I by at least 10 years.
“Please, call me Frank. We’ll certainly be spending enough time together.”
***
Grabbing my black bag from the couch and flipping off the light on the table, Frank opened the door and stepped out. I took a single step out of my apartment and gazed at the shiny gold number as I locked the door. 324. Realization hit me of what I had taken on, how long I’d be away from home, and what troubles I may face along the way. I clung to the knob a moment longer, lingering at the door with thoughts of hastily returning inside, dead bolting it and remaining there until he had no choice but to leave. That first step seemed to be the hardest at that point, but I turned and made my way down the hall.
As we reached the street, we walked about half a block down the long aisle of cars. “This one,” I said motioning to the bluish-charcoal clunker. I saw the look on his face; disturbed by the sight of it as I got in. I unlocked his door while putting the key in the ignition. The engine made a soft hum as I threw it in drive.
***
This journey depended on money; lots of money. Whoever these people were – they were good. He used my cell phone to schedule several flights to throw them off, registration under his name was definitely a dead give away. We drove as far as we could until we stopped to get some food and that’s when the car broke down.
It wasn’t safe to say we were out of harm's way stranded in the middle of Ohio, although I wish I could have. Just about the time those thoughts entered my head, Frank saw them. Next thing I knew, we were down in the sewers, running adjacent to a stream of sewage. My bag swung over one shoulder; I struggled to attach my backpack to both arms. I didn’t quite understand the situation, wasn’t sure where we would end up, but I did know our destination – where we wanted to be.
***
Soon we crawled out of the man hole a couple miles away. No car. We walked to a gas station about a mile down the road where we hitched a ride with a truck driver. I fell asleep and the next thing I knew, we had made our way to New York.
Inside the city, he let us off at a street corner. We began to walk into the run down areas. Women stood on corners, groups of young men stood in alley ways; some with their arms draped around a young girl. An ominous voice shouted at us as we walked past a dark alley. “Hey! You’re not from around here, are you? Get lost on your way to a Father-Daughter outing?” He cackled.
“Keep walking,” Frank sternly barked in a hushed tone. I did, but it didn’t work. The man with a group of others strutted towards us. “Run!” Frank insisted as he hurriedly shoved his hand across my back. We both took off down the street. Creepily, they remained at their rapid swaggering pace. Somehow I knew that they were going to catch up to us and we would have to stand our ground, they knew to.
Turning a street corner moments after Frank, I was pulled into the alley way. A hand over my mouth, “Keep quite. It’s me,” the voice whispered. “We’ll have to fight them if they find us. We can’t run anymore.” Frank handed me a metal pole lying on the ground. “Ever play baseball?” I nodded. “Good. Hold tightly and swing.”
***
My arms ached from the swinging motion, and a trickle of blood dripped from the side of my head from a light blow. I looked around to six bodies lying amidst the dumpsters and randomly placed trash cans; three of the men ran away. I held back the tears from the overwhelming event that had just occurred. “Now what?” I asked dabbing gauze to my wound; hissing from the pain.
“We get on a boat,” he announced. “I don’t want to take the chances on a plane.”
“Neither do I. I’m not so sure I like alleys anymore. I met you; I met them… It just gives me a whole lot of experiences I’m just not sure I’m prepared to face.”
“You’re prepared. I saw you. I appreciate your help. You’ll be needed terribly for our next phase. Let’s go inside the convenience store and clean up. Change your clothes. It looks like there is a rack of clothes inside. I’m paying for your wardrobe change.”
***
Hesitantly, I stepped out of the small bathroom in a skirt and slightly large shirt. “Frank, I think I need a smaller size for this top.”
“No,” he said reaching for the hem of it. “It’s perfect.” He placed a piece of round foam under my shirt. “Tuck it in… Now, see what I mean?”
I looked at the potato chip rack, with its silvery mirror-like sides. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Pregnant lady coming through! Do you really think they’ll buy this?”
“Oh, I would. You’ve taught drama, right? It’s time to fit into the role as my pregnant wife.”
“But the cruise will take months.”
“Yes, I know. Here is some other foam to make you bigger, and a smaller piece to start you out with. We can put some in my bag and some in yours.”
***
I pulled out my passport and handed it to the ticket master on the docks. “Sir, my husband and I need to get back to India.” I said motioning to Frank standing at a port gift shop stand. “He wants his child to be raised among his family there, but he lost his passport.”
“Funny. He doesn’t look Indian.”
“No, Sir, his mother is Indian, his father is British. And well, his hair was thick and black before he went bald. Please, I’m four months pregnant. I want to give him this before he dies.”
“Dies?” The man asked.
“Yes sir. He’s balding from cancer treatments. Less than a year to live,” it was the strangest thing I had ever done in acting - force out and hold back tears.
“So you’ll be stranded in India with a baby and his family? That hardly seems fair. How does your family feel about this?”
The twinge of guilt began to sink in from lying, but I continued. “They don’t. They passed when I was young.”
He hesitated. “It’ll be $300, ma’am.”
“Thank you!”
***
We had registered under my name. It had worked; no need for his passport to be shown. We boarded the boat and found our room. With nearly one hundred days in front of us, we began thinking ahead. Frank gave me back the $300 I paid for the tickets; and he seemed to have plenty more with him. He paid for all of our meals, extra clothes, and after months of “adding on the pounds,” we arrived in Mumbai, India.
***
We began to travel. Rest was something we got plenty of on the boat. Hitching rides with locals combined with miles of hiking through Bombay, Kalyan, all the way to Kanpur; finally we made it into Nepal.
I thought that was it; simple for the most part. Yet again, I was wrong. It seems the Koomzad could track those thoughts, because they showed up again; several of them.
At that time of our journey, we were blessed having hitched a ride with poachers. Tranquilizer guns were a perfect fit for these men, for death hardly seemed the answer on either end. Thirteen trained Koomzad against three poachers, Frank, and me.
With a dart held tightly in my hand, I took on the smallest of the band. We circled around each other. He lunged at me; he missed. I lunged at him with my right hand aiming for his stomach; my left hand, clinching the serum, went straight to his bicep. At that point, I ran. He speedily jolted toward me, but soon slowed to a swift halt; he landed face down in the dirt.
The fight was over, and I realized our journey would be soon. We made our way into the villages of Nepal, and I realized that even though this journey would end, it would live with me forever.
***
Finally we made it to his home near Humla. The scene played like a movie; a woman squatting in a garden patch beside the house and two young boys handing her half-grown foods. I stood back and watched as Frank gently called her name. Her face turned up with knowledge of who it was; the tears welling in her eyes as she ran to his embrace. I turned to face the mountainous path that started me back on my journey home; I stopped, in awe of the masterful sight before me.
Startled by an obnoxious buzzing, my eyes opened to the flashing red numbers on my alarm clock. This had been the third time I had awakened with this memory. To some, this may be considered just a dream, but for me, that’s often where the best journeys begin.
***
“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” –Confucius
JEWDYSSEOS: PASSING THROUGH FIRE
by
Robert Michael
PROLOGUE
When it came to fighting, he dashed out in front, foremost of them all in valour. Many a man did he kill in battle. Yet when the singer sang of war, the veteran drew his purple mantle over his head, covered his face, wept bitterly, for he was ashamed to let them see he was weeping.
Homer, The Odyssey, Books XI and VIII
I was born at Parris Island.
At night, his defenses weakened. Dismal dreams of black blood. Once-beautiful Vietnamese boys and girls with emaciated faces, their bodies engulfed in flames, their dead eyes, bony arms reaching toward him. His friends with arms, legs, faces torn off. Rats and snakes and betrayal. One night, he found himself on the deck of a sailing vessel anchored in a harbor surrounded by mountains. Thousands of monsters on every side, throwing vast boulders at him as though mere pebbles. Agonized cries of Marines speared like fishes and taken home for the enemy to eat. He swam after them but it was too late to save them.
He mounted a swan from the world beyond the stars, from the golden innermost chamber of the weeping moshiach in paradise, where messiah sits surrounded by the sages and the saints and the seven shepherds. He rode its back, the cool breeze against his cheeks. He gazed down upon meadows and mountains, forests of white pine and hemlock, oak and birch and maple, autumn orange, gold, and red. A blue pond. His native New England. They landed smooth as slate. On the beach, he knelt down beside a blackbird--a red chevron on only one wing--lying still on the sand. He lifted the bird cradling its head as if it were a baby, stared at it a few moments, buried it under some needles below a tall pine. He followed sounds of laughter to a field beside a ditch by railroad tracks in Hope, where he had played as a child. The field used to be a dirty overgrown lot, parched and brown all year round, stinking of neglect. It reminded him of his childhood family and neighborhood. But now, it was green lawn, its border perfumed by jasmine and lavender, accoutered with shining slides, swings, seesaws. Insignia of goodness. Girls and boys all the colors of the human family played together. Yes. Elevated souls. Yes. Each and every one of them a moschiach. Yes. Doing the best they could with what they got. Yes.
The land that God forgot.
When he awoke, Lance Corporal Danyel Yudeos Kohan was serving in 2nd Battalion, 9th Marine Regiment, 3rd Marine Division. The same line unit that fought so bravely on Guam and Iwo Jima during World War II. The 2/9. Dan's unit occupied but did not control An Trach village located approximately 3 miles north of Hill 55, 10 miles south of Da Nang. NVA, the People's Army of Vietnam, Viet Cong, Popular Forces or so-called militia, ARVN or the Army of the Republic of Vietnam, and the United States Marines--all walked the paths of this village. Dan's company didn't get to see the Vietnam of Da Nang or Saigon. His world was thatch-roof huts, rice paddies, water buffalo, malaria, and death.
Where the sand is 18 inches deep.
Dan's unit went on their usual platoon strength, daytime patrol, following a triangular perimeter along the rice fields around the village. They started at ten hundred and expected to be back by seventeen hundred, a full day's work. A long day's work. They kept 10 meters between them in case of mines or snipers and humped along the edge of the bush bordering the rice fields. Passing a hooch, Dan heard screams and yelling from inside. A shot. He and his buddy PFC Hermes (Frenchy) Compagnon burst into the hut. An old woman's bloody hand was dripping on her face as she tried to pull away from Sergeant Polkyz's grasp. The harder Polkyz pulled the old woman's hair, the more she screamed, the louder he yelled. "Shut the fuck up, or I'll blow your fuckin' brains out!"
"What should we do?" Herm asked Dan.
"Go get help. Now! Get the lieutenant!" Turning toward Polkyz, Dan quietly asked, "What's happening?"
"The old woman was sharpening bamboo stakes and hardening them in this fire. They were meant to fuck us up."
"Look Gunnery Sergeant, the woman was just smoking. That's one of those big bamboo pipes she's got, not a stake! The young one looks like she's about to have a baby." Dan edged closer to the sergeant, whose forefinger curled about the trigger of his M16. "Look at her pants, her water broke."
"She peed her pants. Just another fuckin' gook to me." His finger tightened on the trigger. "She let us walk into another ambush. I'm gonna waste them both--with the young one, we'll get a twofer."
"Look, Sergeant Polkyz, Marines don't do that kind of thing," Dan said, reaching out his hand and slowly nudging the M16's barrel toward the thatched roof. "You taught me that yourself in boot camp."
Gunnery Sergeant Eustis Polkyz took a big breath, spit between his gapped front teeth like the Texas oilrigger he used to be, leaned his weapon back against his shoulder. "You're just bringing another slant into the world. The only good gook is a dead gook."
"We're all God's creatures."
"Who made you king of the universe? Don't get me riled, Jewboy, or I'll add their ears to my collection--maybe yours, too." Dan shook his head. Amid the smoke and the screaming of the two women, before Dan could do a thing, Polkyz brought his weapon down and fired in a line from the old woman's crotch right up her belly and chest and through her face. It reminded Dan of how Emperor Caligula used his sword the same way on his pregnant lover-sister Drusilla. But he knew that this was just the way a Harvard History major could detach himself from the situation. This wasn't ancient Roman history and he had one tough situation here.
Polkyz pointed his M-16 at the screaming girl.
"You've done enough damage. God damn it, leave her alone."
Dan knocked the barrel of the weapon aside and grabbed it. Polkyz tried the osoto-gari ju jitsu throw, but Dan wasn't the Marine recruit fresh out of Jewtown any more. As they struggled, the M16 ended up pointing toward the entrance of the hut just as the lieutenant entered, trailed by Frenchy.
"At ease! What is going on here?"
"Well, sir, this girl's having a baby, and--"
"What about the mama san?"
"Sir, better speak to gunny about that," Dan gestured toward Polkyz.
"The old one was hardening punji stakes," said Polkyz.
"Sir, here's what she was doing." Dan held the pipe up to the lieutenant.
"Sergeant Polkyz, outside, now!"
"Can Frenchy and I stay to help?" asked Dan.
"The corpsman's not with us, so go to it," said the lieutenant. About to leave the hut, he stopped. "Don't take all damn day."
"Tell me what to do," said Frenchy.
"OK, chop chop, di di mau, whatever it takes to move your ass. Get the old woman out of here."
"Time to drop our cocks and pull up our socks, right Jewboy?"
"Find some extra bootlaces or such."
"They don't call you doc number two for nothing." Frenchy dragged the body out of the hooch.
Dan helped the girl roll back her ao baba, take off her pants, and settle down on some straw.
"Here's my bootlace," said Frenchy, reentering the hut. "Oh Christ, she's bleeding."
"Don't worry about that, she's supposed to. Thank God I read up on this after seeing The Case of Dr. Laurent at the Brattle in Harvard Square."
"Here we go again! How many times you got to tell that story. The guy in the audience who fainted when he saw the baby come out and all that."
"Oh shut up. Here, take my K-Bar and hold the blade in the fire." When she grunted with pain, Dan placed his hand on her forehead.
"Oh Jesus, her stomach's bulging," said Frenchy, his eyes widening.
"It means the baby's getting closer. Help me raise her up so she can squat over the straw."
"Jeezus, she's peeing and shitting at the same time."
"Just give me your undershirt."
"No fucking way."
"I need something to wipe her off. It's your shirt or mine, buddy, and I'm doing all the work."
"Bullshit, she's doing all the work. Here, take it. God, it's happening fast."
"It means it's easy all round."
"There's the baby's head."
"You played football, didn't you? Hold your hands underneath her to catch the baby. It's going to be slippery, no time to fumble."
"A girl."
"I've got to free up the umbilical cord from around her neck. Oh oh, she's not crying."
"Crying?"
"Crying proves she can breathe." After cutting the cord with his K-Bar and tieing it off with Frenchy's bootlace, Dan massaged the infant with his t-shirt and she began to wail. "That's the way, baby." Dan handed the baby to her mother. "Now it's time to suck, baby, suck."
"I don't know about you, Jewboy."
"Let's get the mother to lie down on her back so we can deliver the placenta."
"The what?"
"The afterbirth."
"The baby's still not sucking. You've got to rub the mother's breasts."
"Are you dinky-dow?"
"Listen to me, Frenchy. It'll make the uterus contract and deliver the placenta. If you don't, the mother will die." A few minutes later the placenta came out, Dan wrapping the mess in the soiled undershirt. "Take this outside and bury it." The baby began to suck as Dan reached down and touched the new mother and child. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and chanted, "Baruch Atah Adonai. Oh Lord, may this child be a blessing to everyone she meets."
The boy came to a stop in front of a large tree bearing bright red, round objects. He cocked his head quizzically, looking at the things that grew on the tree. Within moments he was climbing the tree, grabbing a couple of the objects before dropping down to the ground. He sat down, placing his back to the tree as he studied his new find. The boy had never seen an apple before. He had been born after such things became less common since the town that he had lived in had no trees like this.
The boy though had an instinct for picking out edible food and nothing about these things seemed wrong to him. He bit into one cautiously, remembering the distasteful lettuce his providers had fed to him one day. His cautious expression turned to joy though as the sweet juice hit his taste buds and he ate the remaining object with gusto. As he was eating the second red thing, a low growl froze him in place. A pair of wolves had sniffed him out and were slowly pacing in a half-circle, watching him.
It was the first time he had seen these creatures since leaving his town but he had heard their howls before. He stood up slowly, holding the half-eaten red thing in one hand and the third in his other hand. The wolves attacked without warning, streaking across the distance in silence. The boy cried out in fear, throwing the half-eaten apple ineffectively as he crossed his arms over his face. There was a crash and yelps of pain as something heavy blundered through the trees, striking the wolves.
The young boy peeked through his arms and then let them drop to his sides. There it was again, the giant creature from before. It had eight legs and an upper body like a woman. She used one leg to grab one of the wolves and smash onto the ground. The other wolf managed to escape being grabbed and sped off without stopping. The spider woman turned toward the boy, looking at him with her emerald green eyes. The boy felt no fear unlike the first time he had seen her. She had been the one that had rescued him, though at the time, it had seemed like she was attacking his providers.
But here she was again and although she had killed the one wolf with ease, she made no threatening gestures towards him. "Thank you," the young boy said. Not knowing what else to do, he held out the third apple to the spider woman. She moved delicately towards him, deliberately slow as she plucked the apple from his outstretched hand. She passed it to her hands, bowing slightly towards the boy before biting into the red thing. The boy had expected her teeth to be like fangs but he saw that they were normal like his.
He moved slowly toward the spider woman. She noticed his movements and bent lower down to the ground so that she was eye level with the boy. She ate the red thing, allowing him to touch her. "Why did you save me?" the boy asked, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. She was beautiful and scary at the same time, her dark black curls falling down to cover her breasts. The human part of her was free of the black hair that covered her spider legs. "Your powers brought me to you." The boy looked at the spider woman in surprise. "I don't have any powers. I'm just a boy!"
"The magic in you allows us to communicate. You are like me, before the transformation. Your magic called out to me to help you escape." "You mean...I'm going to be like you?" the boy asked. The spider woman nodded, tossing the red thing away. She stroked his face, pushing the hair out from his eyes. "The transformation is a few years away for you but I will stay with you and help you. You have nothing to fear," she said. The boy gazed at the spider woman anew, looking at her while trying to see how he would look. It wouldn't be so bad. He had always hoped to be something special, to have magic of his own.
"Come, we have a great distance to travel," the spider woman said. "What? We're we going?" "There is trouble in the air. The demons are beginning to gather up the humans around these parts. If we're to be safe, we must go to one of the kingdoms." "But why? Won't the others try to hurt you?" The spider woman smiled, taking a few steps back from the boy. Without a word she transformed in front of him, the legs disappearing until she had only two. Tight-fitting clothes formed around her body, black like her hair had been. "We're shape-shifters although we can only transform into spiders," she said.
The boy stood transfixed, excited at the idea of this new power that waited for him to transform. She changed back into her half-spider form and then picked up the boy. "This will be faster and safer if I stay like this," she said to him. He nodded, looking back at the slain body of the wolf. "What's your name?" he asked her. "Lydia," she answered with a smile. "That's a pretty name. I'm Michael, but I like Mike better." Lydia laughed, her laughter sounded like chimes in the wind. "Ok, Mike. Let's get going." Mike settled into her arms, glad to have a new friend as they made their way west into the setting sun.
This place was incredible! Here it was, nearly midnight, and this
amusement park called the Boardwalk was still in high gear.
Swarms of people, most of them around her age, thronged the
carnival games, rides and stores built right on the beach.
She shouldn't be here, of course. She had left Laramie two days
before, and had exactly $73.89 to her name; and the unspeakable
hot dog and soda she had called dinner had already cost her three
dollars. And she had thought she could find a place to belong in
California! Just about everything here was a ripoff; but it had
its charm, and it was as good a place as any to waste time until
she decided what to do next.
Star wandered into a somewhat disorganized secondhand store; she
loved some of the clothes you could find in a place like this.
She was heading for the nearest rack when she caught a glimpse of
herself in a warped old mirror. What a mess! Her curly black
hair was tangled and tumbled haphazardly in all directions, and
the grubby jeans and T-shirt she had chosen for "travelling
clothes" were even worse. She hadn't done anything about the
makeup she had worn when she left, and the crying she had done
since then created an effect best described as death warmed over.
Yuck.
She hadn't been certain she wanted to spare any of her precious
cash in this shop, but she thought she might feel better if she
did something about her appearance. What the hell--if she was
dumb enough to run away from home, why not take it the whole way?
The money would run out sooner or later anyway; and maybe if she
looked a little less like a refugee from a modern-dress version of
_Les Misérables_, she might even get a job.
Well, she had decided to be dumb; this pretty much clinched it.
Star had found a public restroom, washed up, brushed her hair, and
changed into her "new" clothes. The result, while an improvement
over the way she had looked half an hour before, was probably not
terribly hireable. She had fallen in love at first sight with the
outfit, though; the lacy camisole and colorful, swirling skirt
completed the Gypsy look her dark hair and eyes gave her. It
wasn't that she regretted the fifteen dollars she spent on it; it
just wasn't very practical.
On the other hand...she looked around her at the hordes of
teenagers dressed in everything from bikinis to leather to
mismatched mishmash. With some amusement, she realized that not
one of them would fall into the strict category of "normal" as
defined at her own high school. Her ground-brushing skirt with
its sequins she had thought so wild seemed positively pedestrian
next to...well, for example, the weirdo with the muscles and the
bleached-out forelock whose only article of clothing that seemed
to be in one piece was a T-shirt screaming "Surf Nazis."
Star had never quite mastered the art of watching people
unnoticed, and the weirdo's scruffy girlfriend began to close the
ten feet between herself and Star, yelling, "What'chu starin' at,
chickie? He's taken, get one'a yer own!" The girl was pretty
obviously trashed on something, and equally obviously about to
trash Star. Not certain how to react, but knowing she didn't want
a confrontation with some crazywoman in the middle of the
Boardwalk, Star took a step backward and bumped squarely into
someone. She turned to apologize, but the guy was already moving,
stepping between herself and the nutcase. Star wound up turning
all the around to follow him, and found him defusing the situation
for her.
"Come on, Shelly, lay off," he was saying with an ingratiating
smile. He was of medium height and build, but his striking
appearance more than compensated for any ordinariness there.
White-blond hair spiked up from his head, and his
motorcycle/rocker's attire was topped off with a slightly
dilapidated leather jacket under the hugest black trenchcoat she
had ever seen. But the real jolt came from a pair of impossibly
sharp blue eyes that seemed simultaneously to appraise, threaten
and laugh at her.
That was ridiculous, of course; he wasn't even looking at her, but
at Shelly the wharf rat, and still speaking. "Why don't you go
ride the carousel before you do something dumb?" Shelly paused for
a moment, then elected to ignore his sound advice and take a swing
at Star, who instinctively jumped back again. This time someone
held up prepared hands to stop her, and she found herself
protectively surrounded by three other rocker-type guys while the
first caught Shelly's wrists and pulled her to face him. "Now, be
a good little lunatic and leave the nice girl alone, okay?"
The "Surf Nazi," whose slurred speech and bleary bravado made it
clear that he was even more pickled than his girlfriend, finally
noticed the scene and blundered over. "Hey, blondie, you tryin'
to make time with my lady?"
Star's rescuer, still calmly smiling, released the wide-eyed
Shelly and turned to her hulking boyfriend. "Of course not. I
certainly wouldn't want any trouble." He was mocking them--Star
could hear it in his voice, see it in his smile--and the lout
didn't even notice! "Much as I hate to say it, Greg, we don't
seem to have anything to fight about tonight. Unless, of course,
Shelly takes it into her head to start one?" Shelly glared at
him, but said nothing and made no move. "I didn't think so."
"That's good," Greg boomed, "'cause I'm not scared of you, or your
faggot Lost Boys neither!"
"Absolutely," the blond guy answered, still calm, still smiling.
The others around Star laughed, and she wondered just what kind of
war whe had wandered into.
"Yeah," said Greg, apparently pleased with the way things had
turned out, however that was. He grabbed Shelly by the arm and
shambled into the crowd without further ado.
The guy in the black coat, apparently the leader of these "Lost
Boys," turned back to Star. "They ought to keep her on a leash.
Now, who have I just rescued from the harpy's claws?" he asked, a
twinkle in his eyes. He really did have some amazing eyes.
Star laughed, as much from relief of tension as from the humor in
the question that had broken it. "Star. Star Lo--"
"Hold on, hold on!" the guy interrupted. "No need to tell
anybody any more than you have to. Star's enough. Plenty. I'm
David." He held out his right hand, and Star shook it cautiously.
Then David pointed to each of the other guys in turn. "That's
Marco, Dwayne, and Paul." Each acknowledged the introduction with
a smile for Star. "The Lost Boys at your sevice, milady. What
other feats of derring-do can we do for you?"
Was he mocking her now? She looked carefully at his face, his
eyes. No, couldn't be. "Thank you. Thanks a lot, really. I
can't think of any other daring deeds that need doing, though."
He had turned that smile in her direction; she smiled back a
little nervously. "Thanks again, really." She intended to walk
away, but somewhere between brain and feet the wires were getting
crossed.
"Where are you going?" David asked. "The least you can do is let
us give you a lift."
Now what? Star hadn't the faintest idea how to answer his
question but tried anyway. It didn't work very well. "I'm
going...I mean, I..."
"Don't have anywhere to go?" Once again David knew exactly what
she was thinking. Should that bother her? It seemed like it
should for some reason, but it really didn't. Something seemd
wrong about him, but she couldn't put a name to it. Anyway, he
seemed genuinely concerned. "You're a runaway, huh?"
It occurred to Star to lie, but she couldn't think of any story,
let along a convincing one. "Well...yeah, I am," she admitted
lamely. What else could she do? Nothing, except walk away, and
that seemed rude. Besides, it hadn't worked last time she tried.
David nodded. "Believe me, around here you're not unusual." He
gestured around them. "Some of these kids live in town, but most
of us belong to the Boardwalk. I don't even know where most of
them sleep--if they do at all. Santa Carla is Runaway Central."
Star looked around, trying to guess which among the crowd had
homes to go to, meals to eat; and which, like herself, had
renounced yesterday and tomorrow to do their best with today.
Some were scruffy and half-starved, easily pegged for homeless,
but if David was right at least half the rest were as well. She
couldn't quite guess who--she didn't know the place well enough
yet--but she realized she hadn't been asked to guess, so why
bother? Silly idea anyway.
She turned her attention back to David, who said, "Good thing you
ran into us. A lot of kids turn up here one night and a week
later they're gone. Some of them probably go home, but the
rest..." He shrugged, leaving the rest to her imagination, which
was careening into a dozen tragic fates for the lone runaway.
What had made her think that she, 17-year-old
Star...Star...something came after that, she was sure; but anyway,
that she was going to get by on her own? Yes, it was a good thing
she had run into these Lost Boys.
"I'll bet we can help you out," David continued. "What you need
is a roof over your head, a place you can call yours when the sky
starts dropping things on you or when you just need to sleep." He
smiled. "You can borrow ours, for tonight anyway. Sound like an
idea?"
Something was still weird about him, all of them; but she was
damned if she could figure out what it was. Then there was this
offer of shelter, just out of nowhere... "What's the catch?" she
asked, and immediately wished she hadn't. It sounded like such a
ridiculous, empty question.
David didn't seem to mind. "No catch," he assured her. Of course
there wasn't. "Just don't want to see a girl like you left in the
lurch when we've got plenty of room."
Something occurred to Star, a little fuzzily. What was *wrong*
with her, anyway? "Plenty of room where?" It seemed like an
effort to get the question out, and she was rather proud that she
succeeded.
"Why not come and find out for yourself?"
Okay, she thought she had hit her limit of stupidity in the
secondhand shop. But here she was, sitting on the back of this
stranger's motorcycle, going with him and his friends to some
unknown "home," probably a rickety abandoned house or something.
She was crazy.
The craziest part, though, was that she wasn't the least bit
afraid. Four strange guys on motorcycles taking her through the
woods along the shoreline to God-knew-where, and she wasn't
scared. Lord, anything could happen to her, like...like...dammit,
she knew there was *something*!
David turned around and smiled at her again. "We'll be there in a
minute. You okay back there?"
"Yeah," she yelled over the bikes' roar. Of course she was okay;
why shouldn't she be? She was fine.
A moment later they pulled to a rather abrupt halt atop a massive
cliff that dropped several hundred feet to the surf below.
Nothing of human construction was in sight except for a rickety-
looking wooden stairway leading down and to her right along the
cliff face. It bore a weathered sign warning "Danger--Keep Out,"
and Star looked to David for an explanation.
As she had feared, he gestured toward the dilapidated steps. "The
palace lies yonder, milady." He *was* mocking her. Wasn't he?
"Don't worry, it's safe enough. See?" He led the way, and Star
found herself following before she had decided to. Seeing where
the were headed, she gave a little gasp.
What a wreck! More warning signs were planted randomly in the
rubble strewn about the mouth of a cave that looked ready to go
crashing into the ocean at the slightest breath of wind.
Star wasn't quite sure what to say. Finally she gave up on the
tactful approach and managed, "What *is* this?"
David stood in the cave entrance with a torch. "This is our
place." Seeing her reaction, he laughed. "I know, it's not much
from outside. But come in and see if you change your mind!"
Stepping carefully among the rocks and broken glass, Star made her
way to the gaping entrance. She expected to see bare rock with a
few ratty furnishings, maybe a couple of rugs. Instead, David
dropped his torch into a steel barrel to light a fire that
revealed just about the last thing she expected.
This wasn't just a cave; what was left of the lobby of one classy
hotel was in here! The once-rich furniture and even the walls and
floor were jumbled every which way, but it was clear that this had
once been a high-class place.
"Impressive, huh?" David said behind her. "They knew everything
about building a resort except where to build it. Right on the
Fault. The Big One came along and the ground ate this place
whole."
Her hosts, it seemed, had added a few touches of their own. A
jungle of draperies and mobiles hung from the ceiling and walls,
some of them curtaining off what seemed to be makeshift sleeping
compartments. There was a lot of extra furniture acquired from
who-knew-where, and a huge poster of Jim Morrison brooded on one
wall.
Taken as a whole the place was complete chaos--but comfortable
chaos. It bore little resemblance to anything Star had ever
encountered before, but nonetheless she felt she could belong
here. It was a lot like the Boardwalk: maybe not normal, but
right. Star was truly impressed.
The others came whooping in after cacheing the motorcycles
wherever it was they kept them. Star jumped a bit at the
unexpected noise; and David, who had watched her silently as she
examined her surroundings, said, "Don't worry. You're perfectly
safe here. You're our guest."
Paul jumped up on the dry fountain in the middle of the cave.
"Don't you believe him, Star!" he laughed. "We're as dangerous
as they come!"
"Stop it, Paul," David said sharply. He turned back to Star.
"Paul likes to joke. Believe me, nobody here will hurt you."
She believed him; she was in no danger here. "Paul, you're
terribly, terribly funny," she called sarcastically. The others
laughed, and she started to feel really at home. These guys were
just what she needed to replace her fractured family, and they
seemed as willing to welcome her as she was to be here.
"Hey, you hungry?" asked the short one--Marco, his name was. "I
can go get some food."
Star noticed that her stomach was indeed demanding attention.
"Sure," she replied. "Sounds great."
"Great idea, Marco," said David. "We can make it a regular
party."
"Party!" Paul whooped. "So let's have some tunes!" He punched
the play button on a huge boom box and high-voltage rock blasted
through the cave. Paul and Dwayne did an impromptu air-guitar
bit, then Paul ran over and grabbed Star's hand to dance. Only
David did not join in, but sat quietly watching as the three
jammed around the cave.
They were interrupted by a shout of "Pizza!" at the cave entrance.
Marco came in loaded down with three large carryout boxes and
parked them on the floor in the middle of a quickly-formed circle.
Star pounced on the pepperoni and mushroom, vaguely reflecting
that Marco had gotten back awfully fast, and downing half the
slice before she noticed that the others were not eating, just
watching her. David had turned on her the full force of the gaze
that had so unnerved her when they met on the Boardwalk earlier.
It seemed a million years distant; she had completely forgotten
she was among strangers who made her very nervous, but suddenly
she was very nervous again.
"What?" she demanded through a mouthful of pizza. He reminded her
of a cobra--and she was the bird, trapped and helpless should he
choose to strike.
David's infuriating smile didn't make her feel any better. "What
do you think boys, is she in?" In what? What was he talking
about? The other three put in their approval of whatever it was
he had proposed, and he addressed Star. "And what's your vote,
Star? Do you want to stay?"
"Stay? You mean here? Live here?"
"Of course. What else were you planning to do?"
She didn't have an answer for that one, but she was definitely not
sure she wanted to stay here. "What will I do here?" she asked.
"Just what is going on here, anyway? Where do you get all this
stuff, how do you live?"
"You've seen how we live."
"That's not what I mean. You can't just party all the time.
You've got to get money from somewhere to keep going. The party
can't just go on forever!"
"Can't it?" David spoke to Dwayne without taking his eyes from
Star. "Let's show her what I mean. Bring it." Dwayne wandered
off to some other part of the cave; she didn't notice where.
Star knew that the situation had taken a frightening turn, though
she couldn't tell exactly when. It didn't matter anyway; she felt
distanced from the fear, as if it were irrational, irrelevant, and
therefore to be ignored. But it wasn't irrelevant, it was
just...dammit, she couldn't think with him staring at her like
that! What did everything he said seem to make perfect sense when
she knew she should not even be listening to him at all?
Dwayne returned then with what looked to be a decorated wine
bottle. David took it, his eyes still fixed on Star, and raised
it in some sort of solo toast. "Things can be forever, Star." He
took a sip from the bottle, eyes closed. When he opened them
again, they seemed clouded for a fraction of a second, but
immediately snapped back into focus, sharper than ever, piercing
right through Star. He held the bottle out to her.
Star hesitated. "What am I supposed to do with that?"
"Take it."
Star complied, wrenching her eyes from the mystery man to look at
his mystery gift. The liquid in the bottle was dark red, too thick
for any wine she had ever seen; and and uneasy feeling settled in
the pit of her stomach. "This isn't wine. What is it?" She
looked back at David and wished she hadn't. The answer was on his
face, in the dazzling blue eyes almost too sharp to be human.
"It doesn't matter. Do you want to be one of us?" One of
us...the words had a bizarre ring. Just what was one of them?
Irrelevantly, Star wondered what time it was. She should have
been asleep a long time ago, and here she was... "I don't
understand," she managed. She was tired, her mind wasn't working
right, and he kept *staring*...
"You don't have to. Just take a drink."
That didn't make any sense. What was she doing, sitting on the
floor of this crooked cave, struggling to comprehend what was
happening?
A word wandered into her mind, so quietly she didn't notice at
first. It didn't seem to mean anything; maybe if she said it
aloud...
"Vampire." Suddenly everything clicked into focus; it was
impossible, but that didn't matter. She knew what was happening;
she knew what "one of us" meant.
David's smile never faltered though she suspected he hadn't wanted
her to guess. "Our Star is bright! So you know what we are.
Does it change anything?"
Star thought a moment and was surprised to find it didn't. She
still had nowhere to go. She certainly wasn't about to go back to
that mess her mother insisted on calling a home; she had had quite
enough of Gina Lovell's twisted idea of raising a child. It
hadn't been so bad when Dad was there; but when he had taken off,
it hadn't taken Star long to follow his example. So where did that
leave her? In a cave in California, being offered an eternity of
nights like this one. She had to admit, the prospect of always
living like that was hardly an unpleasant one. Still, there was
something... "What will happen if I don't? You'll kill me, won't
you?"
David shook his head. "No. I told you, you're perfectly safe
here. You're a guest." His voice took on a harder edge. "But who
knows what might happen after you leave?"
Still something was not right; there was a point they were
missing. "David, this is too easy. Everything has a price tag,
doesn't it?"
"Yes."
He offered no further comment, and Star was more confused than
ever. "You're not going to tell me?"
"You already know. You know what we are, and you must know what
we do."
Something dawned on Star. "And what I must do if I choose to
stay, is that it?"
David nodded. "That's right."
It was nearly incomprehensible; her stomach turned at the mere
thought. To feed on other human beings...no, that wasn't right.
You couldn't kill "other" humans if you weren't human yourself,
could you?
"That's it, isn't it?" Star blurted. "I won't be human any more,
I'll be something else." But the idea wasn't as abhorrent as she
thought it should be.
"That's it," David replied. "So it's all laid out for you now.
Take a drink."
Star shook her head. "I don't think I can."
"You can. Just think about it." He seemed so sympathetic; surely
he couldn't be the enemy? "But don't think too long; sleepy-
time's coming soon. You have to decide."
"I can't go back once I start, can I?"
"No."
"You're so frank about it! Why don't you lie to me, hide the
price tag, make me think it's a game?"
"I don't have to." David put his hand over hers on the ornate
bottle and raised it into her line of vision. "Don't you see?
The choice is already made."
Star didn't like the conclusion she was reaching. "What do you
mean?"
"The price doesn't matter, Star. It's still better than you have
now. You're just another runaway in a town full of them. I'm
offering you a way to be more than that, something special." He
released her hand, but she still held the bottle up. "Would you
rather be one of them...or one of us?"
He was right, wasn't he? Still she hesitated, eyes locked on his,
with the bottle between them; she couldn't crystallize everything
he's said into any coherent concept.
David did it for her. "Drink it, Star." It was quiet, but still
held the power of a command. "What have you got to lose?"
Star knew the answer: nothing. Slowly she raised the bottle to
her lips and tipped it up. It was salty and slightly sweet, and
not at all unpleasant as she had expected. She swallowed once,
twice, three times, feeling the liquid flow down her throat to
drown the butterflies in her stomach.
Lowering the bottle, Star met David's approving smile. She had
half-expected to see him revealed in some new light, now that she
was one of his own, but he retained the air of mystery that had
intrigued her from the beginning. She could see why he was in
charge here--there were secrets he had no intention of telling.
He hadn't laid it all out as clearly as she'd thought.
"Good," he said, taking the bottle from her and handing it to
Dwayne. He stood and held out a hand to help her up. "It would
have been a pity to see you go back to being ordinary. It didn't
suit you."
As he gave her a hand up, the cave seemed to take a lurch and Star
pitched forward. Her legs wouldn't support her all of a sudden;
but it didn't matter because David would.
"Whoops!" he laughed, picking her up easily. "Looks like the
first thing I'm going to have to teach you is how to walk again.
Right now, though, it's almost morning. Time to sleep."
"Mm-hmm," she agreed as he carried her to an enormous old couch in
a back corner of the cave.
He put a tattered blanket over her and said, "See you tonight,
Star. Tonight you start to find out what this really means."
Then he was gone.
She thought she'd already found out; she could feel the new blood
now, spreading through her body, changing her forever. What else
was she to learn?
Then a phrase from the conversation over the wine bottle drifted
back into her mind: "...what I must do..."
A ray of sunlight found its way through the dust and draperies.
It was too hot on her face; she pulled the blanket over her head
and rolled over, wondering in the last seconds before falling
asleep just what she had done.
I ran. Out the door, to the left down the corridor. My feet pounded on the tiles. My heart -- I can't remember anything beside the terrified thudding in my ears.
Out. Out!
Bursting through the glass doors, I fell to my knees, gasping, sobbing, blinded at last by my own tears. Someone gathered me up as if I weighed nothing before dashing down steps, over wet grass that made him slip -- then recover -- and deposit me with an EMT.
I didn't need medical attention.... Not me.
--
It's been a year since then. A year. Sometimes, I want to kill myself. I feel bereft of value. Useless. As if people are expecting me to be someone I'm not. As if they're measuring me, asking themselves if I was worth it.
"Me," she told the gunman. "Me. Let her go."
I ran.
I am not her. NOT her. I can't BE her. But killing myself will only invalidate her sacrifice.
I can't do that.
She was my best friend.
Today is my eighteenth birthday. They tell me I'm a grown-up, now. An adult. Truthfully, I grew up last year, when I learned that my life wasn't just mine.
It's hers, too.
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