Felix opened his eyes slowly, they were heavy with sleep and cold. He pulled the Daily Post over his chest attempting to warm himself. Felix lay on his back facing the domed ceiling of the tunnel in which he lived. By the darkness of the night, Felix estimated the time to be about half past midnight, one learns these things after living outside for years. He closed his eyes for the twentieth time that night, and as he drifted off to sleep he listened closely to the incessant dripping of water from the ceiling into a puddle below. A rat scampered across Felix's toes, yet he did not flinch. Felix had become accustomed to sharing his home with the lovely little creatures.
About an hour later, Felix awoke to a sound he did not recognize. He sat upright and looked around, however it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dark. When finally Felix was able to see, he turned around and with a look of confusion noticed a man sitting on a ledge staring at him with a mysterious smirk on his face. The man was not exceptionally interesting or unique. He was of average height, average weight, and looked to be about about 40. He had brown hair and from what Felix could tell in the darkness of the tunnel he had brown eyes. The only remarkable thing about this man was the smug look and devilish gleam in his eyes as he inspected Felix.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Sidda's fingers left damp smudges on the papers. The ink curled under her fingertips and bled into its neighboring word. Her brow furrowed. Her tongue slid over her cracked lips. She sat under the window, near the floor vent. A thin blanket lay, draped, over her shoulders.
ReplyDeleteHer grip tightened. The papers, limp in her hands, creased softly, tugging at the corners. Her throat growled and Sidda crumpled the papers in her clammy fist.
She crawled to the kitchenette, where the tea kettle whistled. Her apartment was, for the most part, empty; she'd brought her small things (a kettle, terry sheets, the Lamp She Loved) and three cushions, to sit on. The rest of the dusty furniture had belonged to her mother's friend, her mother's late friend. An iron bed sat against the wall in the middle of the main room; a tiny kitchen sat to the left and a small bathroom with a view had its door in the back corner.
Sidda poured the water into a chipped teacup, and slid to the floor. She blinked, tasted. Blinked, sat still. The steam from the tea made droplets to slide down her nose. Sidda sighed, placed her cup on the floor beside her, and stood to leave. She wrapped scarves around her neck and slid her fingers into the wool gloves her mother'd sent. She slid her keys off the table into her pocket, and shut the door behind her.
Sidda traipsed down the dim stairwell, lazily and without urgency. She hated the cold; Virginia hadn't ever been this cold. It made her ears ring and her eyes water. She pushed the side door open, slid against the metal door and stepped into the street.
Rounding the corner, Sidda fingered a loose lock of hair. Her hair hung wild around her head, like a lion. She watched the cracked sidewalk as she walked, her eyes turned low and nose burrowed in her scarves.
She was close, now. Pools of water and scum hugged the steps leading down to the tunnel. Faded, once bright graffitti sprayed like wallpaper on the tunnel walls peeled back to reveal dirty cement and hard grime. Sidda placed her feet carefully on each step, pausing before continuing down the short flight.
Light from the street poured into the tunnel. Crouched near the wall, a man sat, twiddling a twig in his dirty fingers, dirty nails. She knew him; Felix had always been there, since she moved in. The two had an arrangement: Sidda would leave lines of poems she loved for Felix, and he'd stay silent when she passed through the tunnel. Sidda wasn't one for small talk, or any talk at all.
Sidda stepped daintily over the puddles and scraps, careful not to make a sound (in efforts to avoid disturbing the quiet peace that whispered in the tunnel).
When she emerged from the tunnel, she sighed. She'd held her breath.
You would be amazed at how alert you can be without sleep. The first day is hell, your brain is processing at full speed, but the remainder of your organs seem to lag behind a few seconds. You stare at something but fail to comprehend what it is you are staring at. Because of this I had not eaten the first few days of my sleepless cycle. When I tried to stalk my scat covered, furry, rodent prey, he scurried away before I processed the thought of catching him.
ReplyDeleteThis is my fifth straight day without sleep. Or maybe my sixth, I can't remember. When you live in a sewer long enough you begin to adapt a slight brain hiccup due to the dark cloud of methane that you inhale with each breath. People often wonder why I choose to live in such harsh conditions and why I let methane gradually decimate my neurological connections. I usually respond by conveying the fact that methane is the least of my worries; my thoughts are most cruel to my body. Johnathan Swift once stated, "Of all life's dangers, I find my thoughts to be the most hazardous." My thoughts are responsible for my insomnia, my antisocial personality disorder, and they are the sole reason that I am living in this sewer. But I can't rid myself from them. I am like a parent of an infant who is constantly irked by the child's untactful commands and unnecessary din but is attached to the kid and can't repel the non diminishing agitation. My thoughts are like an addiction--or an invasive disease or rather like wisteria that never ceases to subjugate until it has devoured my whole life. And it has started by taking away what I covet most in my shit-filled life (no pun intended)---SLEEP!
I need food and sleep. I haven't seen my furry friends in almost a week. I haven't heard the dreadful cacophony they create with their tiny mouths, nor have I smelt the horrid stench they let out from bathing in feces. For this reason, I decided to travel down the west tunnel, to find some food. Bringing only my stool boots, and striking rock I set out on my adventure to find the despicable sewer creatures. It only took me 350 yards to find my prey. Under the first man hole on Rouse Blv. I found my creature. He wasn't as hairy as my normal prey, nor did he possess the same stature. He was taller and stood erect rather than on all fours. He walked with more of a smooth stroll rather than the usual repulsive scurry of my former prey. I licked my lips anticipating the soft tender skin and incredible taste of my new entree. With each stroke of my tongue, I thought of the satisfaction and nourishment he would bring me. The very thought of the pabulum elated me. But I would have to devise a strategy in order to catch this cunning beast. Sun Tzu once said, "If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle." Therefore I must befriend Felix, my fellow sewer dweller, in order to kill him.
"Next was the tunnel near the church. Aaron still wondered why the tunnel had been built. One day, he had even looked at the records of the neighborhood, to find a hint of a reason, but there was none. The old man sat by the wall. He looked cold. Dirty nails, dirty hair, dirty clothing. All shivering. After a while, Aaron left. Yesterday had looked the same."
ReplyDeleteToday was even colder than yesterday had been if that was possible. Apparently it was. I slowly came awake to the realization that Shadow hadn't hit the alarm on the clock yet. Odd. I reached over to hit it myself and noticed that she had crawled up under the sheets at the foot of the bed to escape the cold. It was going to be one of those days. As I followed the wall around to the shower I stepped on something that crunched then squished under my heel. As I reached down to feel what I had stepped on I realized it was a roach. I slipped into the shower and reached down to turn on the water but nothing came out. The pipes must have frozen. I slipped out and dressed for the colder weather.
ReplyDeleteWhen we got outside I nearly slipped and fell on a patch of snow that had built up in front of the bookstore. Shadow whined at me admonishingly. We managed to get to the coffee shop without further incident, once I knew to feel for the slippery snow before I moved. While there a man with a deep voice and a weak handshake approached me, asked me to help him get back into his apartment, his wife had thrown him out and changed all the locks and he wanted to get his stuff out. We agreed on twenty dollars if I could get in. Shadow and I followed him. We retraced our steps past the bookstore and then past the bank to the tunnel entrance to the apartments. A lot of people who hire me go through the tunnel rather than the main door. As we walked down the tunnel the man yelled at a bum who was sleeping down there. Told them to get out of the way. I tripped over them anyway, hazards of a small tunnel I guess. Shadow growled, but at the bum or the man I couldn't tell. We walked past five landings, seventy stairs even, before the man opened a door and led me down a hallway.
I felt for the lock and found it, there was a deadbolt as well as a lock on the handle. I told the man I would need ten extra dollars for that. I slipped a torsion wrench into the deadbolt lock first. I felt around the pins with the smallest pick I had first. I selected another pick and within thirty seconds had the deadbolt open. The other lock went even faster, surrendering with barely an effort. The pins were so worn out it was easy. The man paid me in ones so I could know he wasn’t duping me and I left, back down the seventy steps and five landings. When I passed back through the tunnel I apologized to the bum for tripping over them. This time Shadow didn't growl.
I allowed Shadow to lead me to the park; she loved to run in the snow. I let her out of her harness and sat on a bench listening to the muted rustling of the wind in the trees, hearing the occasional yip or growl or a bit of snow falling from a branch. Shadow came back to the bench I was sitting on an hour or so later. By then it was getting late, and we headed home. When I got back to my house I reached over to flick on the heater for Shadow but nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing. I went over to the wall and tried the radio. It wouldn’t turn on either. I figured it must be a power outage or something. Tomorrow I would have to get the owner of the bookstore to reset my clock for me. The batteries died years ago. I curled up on the bed next to Shadow and threw an extra quilt over both of us and drifted off to sleep.
It was going on 5:30. June laid in bed with her stomach growling; she hadn't eaten all day. Her spine was practically touching her belly button, but she didn't feel like getting up to eat. The empty refrigerator wasn't particularly encouraging, either.
ReplyDelete"Damn," she thought aloud as she realized she would have to face the cold in order to eat. She slipped on her shoes and carefully made her way to the closet, making sure not to squish a roach on the bottom of her shoe. The mere thought of the frigid weather made her want to climb back in bed. Anyway, June grabbed her scarf and ten dollars from the modest stash she kept in the corner of her closet and made her way outside.
She hated being outside in the cold, let alone in the snow. So, she pulled the scarf tighter around her neck; the draft would be stronger between the buildings.
The back alley seemed narrower today, perhaps because it was almost completely dark. However, it wasn't long before her eyes adjusted to the lighting and she noticed the stark man coming from the opposite direction.
He wasn't particularly strange or eerie looking, but the fact that he was walking in the dark alley, seemingly aimlessly, coupled with the way his eyes wondered made her uneasy. As they approached each other, June clutched the pocket knife she kept in her pocket; she had seen too many dark-alleyway incidents in the movies. As they passed each other in silence, June held her breath. She didn't want to smell the smell that he probably possessed.
"God bless," he said when she was behind him and him behind her.
Her heart sunk to the soles of her shoes.
She emerged from the alleyway onto Polaski Ave. shaking her head. Being judgmental was one of her several vices. June pulled the knife out of her pocket and stared at it for a few seconds. She turned around. The man was making his way, slowly limping, out of the alley.
"Hey," she yelled down the alley.
The man's silhouette moved, jerkily, from side to side as he kept walking.
"Hey, are you hungry," June yelled.
The man turned around.
The first snowflakes of winter began to fall toward the frozen earth that morning with silent determination. Tiny white birds gliding into a gray ocean of pavement and cement. Heaving the door to her apartment building aside, an icy gust flooded Madelyn’s face, watering her eyes and catching her briefly off guard. Bowing her head to the biting wind, she gripped her coat tightly shut, not bothering to fumble with the buttons in the short walk to work. Out of old habit she counted the cracks in the sidewalk and avoided them with widening steps. Passing the doors of a gaudy day care building, Madelyn caught a glimpse of smiling faces giggling in innocent bliss. The corners of her mouth twitched noticeably, but she didn’t smile.
ReplyDeleteWarm light bathed the pavement ahead, and mirrored the square windowpanes of the salon storefront down the block. Madelyn left her thoughts only to quicken her pace. Ten minutes she said aloud. At this self-acknowledgement, she grinned. Ten minutes to get ready and walk to work had to be a personal record, she thought. Each morning, Madelyn fumbled through the dark of her room, somehow piecing together an outfit from the heap of clothes carpeting the floor. Her refusal to be comfortably early led to quite a disheveled appearance, though this grunge seemed to suit her.
The bell on the door jingled as it shut behind her, and her boss looked up from where she stood, sweeping. Noting Madelyn’s unkempt hair, Lauren frowned, but without words, ushered the girl into a salon chair. Holding several hair pins between her teeth, Lauren began work on the untamed waves of hair, pinning the dark tresses in various places.
“God, you smell like a bar,” she laughed
From behind her fallen bangs, Madelyn didn’t respond. Her eyes went in and out of focus as she gazed at her reflection in front of her.
“Hah. Yea, it was a pretty rough night," she finally replied, her sudden grin fading as the words past her lips.
The day went by in a haze. People came and went, their constant chatter filling the shop. Madelyn had other things on her mind, however, and as she ran her fingers through soapy hair and felt the heat of the blow drier, she imagined foaming bubble baths with rubber ducks and the beating summer sun in the South. She was standing on the end of a wobbling diving board when Lauren’s voice dispelled her vivid memories. Sitting in her own salon chair, Madelyn realized that she had been lost in thought for quite some time. She glanced out the window in sudden confusion and saw that the winter sky had grown very dark. Lauren told her she looked like hell. And with these words, the lights in the shop flickered. Locking eyes, Madelyn caught a glimpse of fear in Lauren’s features before the room went black. Cursing, Lauren shuffled about the room. She appeared across the shop, a candle illuminating her face. Looking on, Madelyn briefly watched as she groped around in the dim light before slipping out of her seat.
In the back alley moments later, Madelyn flinched at the crunching snow under her high heel boots. Shivering slightly, she searched the deep pockets of her coat. Withdrawing a box, she hurriedly packed the cigarettes against her open palm. Madelyn delighted in the glowing flame that shone in the surrounding darkness. In a deep drag she sank against the brick wall behind her. Exhaling, she closed her eyes.
The turbulent air licked at Madelyn’s exposed face and the hair on the back of her neck stood. From far down the alley, she heard the faint dissonance of clanking bottles. Shivering at the noise, an unsettling flutter arose in her gut. Squinting through the fading light, Madelyn surveyed the reaches of her surroundings. For a few silent moments, she strained her ears in the deafening silence. Somewhere far away, a dog howled into the evening sky. She quickly stood to go, flicking her barely-smoked cigarette into the blanket of powder. Madelyn shoved the door open, and with one last glance, peered down the alleyway. She froze. A dark figure was now visible beyond the nearest dumpster. A man stepped from the shadow, and with a sharp gasp, Madelyn slipped inside, her heart racing. The heavy locks clicked into place as she ground them forcefully shut. Striding toward the warm candlelight of the shop, Madelyn held her hands up before her. Clenching her fists, she could still feel the violent trembling of her frozen fingers.