FOUR MORE TALES OF FICTION

I. - GETTING LUCKY

The beginning of they year seemed appropriate. What better time than all sorts of joyous celebration to bring about this sudden change in the single most important action to all of humanity. On the morning of the first of January, absolute scores of people failed to put in appearances at work or just seemed to no longer be at home. It was regarded as one of the most massive hangovers mankind had ever seen. In sparse locations, there was a missing persons alert issued. In hindsight, it appears missing children should have been the most concerning.
But no one yet knew what was going on.
On the second day, more people vanished. Suspicion would have dictated it must be a child abduction ring, but it was soon noted more adults were disappearing than children. There was a missing persons notice issued for a couple of politicians; two senators, a congresswoman.
In the span of mere days, a mutitude of mayors and governors vanished. Was the senator unhappy with his home life? No, because his wife vanished with him, as did the husband of any missing female politician. Those that were married and not single also saw their respective spouses disappear as well, leaving behind small children in many of these cases.

Perhaps that should have been the second clue. But children vanishing and children being abandoned in their own homes were opposite ends of the spectrum.

A serial killer of epic proportions. Hundreds of sex workers now joined the mysterious migration. Police were overwhelmed by pimps complaining about their employees disappearing while on a job. A couple of investigations determined the 'john' also took off. In each instance, all anyone could think was couples finding happiness with each other and running off together.
No bank accounts were trifled. No change of money to a foreign account from someone who had vanished under an obviously assumed name. Every cent from every missing person was untouched.

Unbelievable amounts of teen-agers vanished, never to be seen again. Eventually, whole families were gone over the course of time, except for anyone not yet a teen-ager. The world population was diminishing and they were barely a week into the new year. And nobody knew what was happening.

In a small mobile home, Carmen Constance flopped on her couch and stared at the tv. She hit the remote, going through commercials and old movies. None she cared to see. She stopped on a news report about the disappearings. She listened to it a bit. So many famous people in Hollywood, actors and singers. Why would they leave behind their careers, she wondered.

Carmen sniffed discouragingly. She knew lots of people who had disappeared as well. She was surprised about some, just up and leaving their children. Things got so hectic and overwhelming, there was consideration of making people take charge of abandoned children, but Carmen couldn't do that, as much as she would have loved to. She wanted a baby of her own, but no man would come near her. She wasn't what any worthwhile man would want, and the men who did pursue her were hardly what she wanted. She'd never give those guys the time of day. She tried to be pleasant, but to no avail.

"Hollywood starlet Mandy Willows has disappeared, . . . " the newsman said.

Carmen looked at the still picture of Mandy behind the reporter. She'd seen Mandy Willows in some movies. She sure was pretty, Carmen thought. What man wouldn't want her? She could have any man she wanted and now she was gone. Who knows when she might turn up again. None of them seemed to be coming back from wherever they were going. She wished they would come get her and take her away from her filthy mobile home and just give her a better outlook on life.

"Jim Danvers and his wife have expressed concern over the disappearance of their son and daughter-in-law, . . . " the newsman went on.

Jim Danvers. Oh, Carmen thought to herself. How she used to love him on the old detective show he appeared on. What was it called again? Armed Law? No, Long Arm of the Law. She had such a crush on him back then, as did many women in the country.
And now his son and daughter-in-law have vanished, leaving Danvers and his wife of thirty-eight years to see what they can do for their ten-year-old granddaughter. Carmen sure did love him back then, when he was on Long Arm of the Law. Now he was all white-haired. That sexy dark hair was long gone.
Gone the same way his son was. The tv put up a picture of the younger Danvers, named Shane. Carmen looked at him and noted how much he looked like his dad, and how much he didn't. Probably why he didn't try to become famous like his father. Not as handsome.
Carmen yawned and took a drink from her glass. Outside, she heard the howling of the dogs in the neighborhood, loud and rancorous. She wondered if there was an intruder in the area, since so many people were no longer around. Some mysterious figure might be creeping about her trailer.
She stood and made her way to the window to peek through the blinds, see who might be out there. Anybody. Just somebody she might be able to make friends with. She wasn't lonely, she just thought maybe she should try to be nice to someone else, then maybe they would be nice to her. If she honestly thought that was what she wanted.
Carmen frowned in disappointment at seeing the cause of the ruckus; the dogs were paired up, practically in the middle of the street. One dog behind the other with the rhythmic motion of his hind quarters. Carmen watched the spectacle, then suspected the owners of one of the dogs might have vanished and now the dogs were free to roam and do as they pleased. She wondered if they were hungry. She might try putting a bowl of water outside later, to see if they are thirsty and should wander over to her yard, as they seemed to be going where they wanted in the neighborhood.

Carmen turned away from the window and looked back to the tv. The talker was saying some high price escorts had vanished in Los Angeles. Carmen looked at the picture of the woman on the tv with scorn, thinking about someone so beautiful living such a life, but also with envy that she herself couldn't do anything like that. She remembered she was going to get some water, in case the dogs became thirsty. And that was when one of the dogs gave out with a tremendous howl, excruciatingly shrill.

Carmen stopped. She looked at the tv. She thought of everything she had heard a week into the new year. Celebrities, sex workers, teen-agers, parents leaving behind small children.
And children.

With the last prospect, Carmen put her hand to her mouth. That couldn't be it, she thought to herself. She heard the animals yelp outside one more time. She raced back to the window to see if they were still in the vicinity. They were still there, but were separated. The one still followed after the other.
But they were still there.
Carmen looked back to the tv, scrolling an info hotline. She sat back down and picked up her phone and began putting in the numbers. Patiently she listened to the rings. Finally someone answered.

"Vanishing Hotline," a man with a deep, velvety voice said.

Carmen choked back upon hearing the voice. She felt like she was making a prank call to a famous football player or something. Or to Jim Danvers. Imagine calling him. That shook her back to reality.

"It's sex," she blurted out, sounding like a dirty-minded spinster who wasn't getting any. "People are vanishing when they have sex."

There was a bit of fumbling at the other end, then Carmen heard the voice say, "sex, huh? What's your name, honey?"

He was patronizing her. She wanted to hang up on him for doing that, but there was other matters people needed to realize than adolescent disagreements. She wasn't going to give him her real name, then she thought use her last name, but that might be a give-away as well, so she abbreviated it.

"I'm Connie," she got out. It was still her, if and when everyone realized she was right, she'd get the credit, so they couldn't deny her and give credit elsewhere.

"Okay, Connie," he began again, "you think people are disappearing when they have sex? All these missing teen-agers and children? That's pretty messed up, isn't it, Connie?"

"But it happens," she told him. She was feeling bold now. "Children are victimized all the time sexually. And teen-agers start learning about sex and begin exploring."

She heard a chuckle. They didn't believe her.

"Okay, Connie, stay on the line, hon," the voice said. But she didn't want to. She heard the dogs yelping outside again. She stood and gazed through the blinds to see they were just barely in her yard, more in the neighbors yard. A third dog seemed to be trying to join them. She hung up the phone and sat back down. She picked up the remote and turned off the tv. She could still hear the guy's voice on the hotline.

"What do you know about sex, honey? You're not getting any. Oh, yea, that would be why you are still around, huh? LOL"

Why did he have to be so mean? She just wanted to help, just like everyone else. She was concerned for what was going on. The dogs yelped outside, very loud and very high in pitch.

"Lord," Carmen thought as she went to get a pan and fill it up with water. She quietly made her way to the kitchen and turned on the tap and took the full bowl to the front door. She set the water down on the sidewalk. The dogs looked like they were doing a circus act, all conjoined together. The lead dog made her way to the water, and one of the others shrieked. Carmen jumped. How embarrassing.
Then she looked around the neighborhood. Hardly anyone was out there. This was the new normal, she thought to herself. If it was people vanishing because they had sex, that was obviously why she was still around. She turned and headed back inside.

She didn't know why the dogs were still there, unless the departures were only affecting humans, not animals. Maybe because it is instinctive for animals. People say it is instinctive for humans, too, but humans can comprehend the consequences of such actions, while animals can't. Or animals do to a lesser extent. That would have to be for the scientists to figure out.

She went to her room and reclined on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling. People disappearing when they have sex. Children being abducted by child molesters. What a horrible thought. So the predator had his way with the child, then they both vanished.
What about all the teenagers? Young boys learning about exciting themselves, she wondered. So that must be doing it too. Anyone getting any arousal of any kind, with a partner or device or some other means, was gone immediately after.
Carmen closed her eyes and fell asleep, never realizing her phone call had alerted the masses.

The anonymous message to the Vanishing Hotline from 'Connie' had set off a firestorm. Stories of group sex and once a person or couple had reached gratification, they disappeared right in front of the people around them. Sometimes it was in an eyeblink, it seemed, or when eyes were closed and looked away, then turning back, both parties were gone.
The same began to come to light for solo acts, male or female. Once climax was achieved, they were there no longer.
When the exploitation of missing children got underfoot and the details in some instances were further realized, such as a step-father and his step-daughter who were missing, outrage ran amok.

Right from the start, there were those trying to encourage bestiality, but regardless as the acts took place, the person vanished, while the animal, no matter what kind, seemed oblivious to the events.

Everyone was trying to find a new alternative, something else to do to avoid sex. People were claiming they didn't have to touch themselves and could just concentrate to achieve sexual satisfaction. People would listen to see if they knew what they were talking about, before just even more of them would disappear.

But the most telling aspect was those who were still there. Based on everything being realized, that would mean they hadn't had sex since the beginning of the year and the second week was now approaching. Everyone seen meant they were sexually unfulfilled since New Year's Day. Newscasters who had to report a field reporter or a weatherperson who vanished meant they departed in some form of intercourse, while the reporter offering the story had done without.

Once word got out what was going on, everyone was faced with the decision of what they wanted to do; have sex or exist. Still there were vanishings.

When discussion about the human race dying out if there was no option to recreate, this then caused people to wonder if artificial insemination was their only choice to keep mankind alive. Would the woman vanish who carries the fetus, or would she remain, able to give birth?
Calls for possible volunteers went out and it seemed only the person who figured out what was going on, Carmen Constance, should be the first choice to test the procedure. Carmen had woke up and realized what she had done. The story of her seeing the dogs while listening to the newscasts and realizing what must be going on was now known worldwide. In some instances, she was regarded as a heroine. Would she be willing to offer herself for this procedure, with no one knowing what may come about?
Carmen agreed. If this was the only way she could have a baby, she was up to it, and if it still caused her to vanish, so be it.

She was asked if she had any candidate to be the father, since no man was able to father children any other way anymore. Carmen smiled and said she would like the operator who cajoled her on that phone call to be the father, whoever he may be, so their child would always stand as a reminder for how the man behaved and would not listen to the woman. This child would be the new product for humanity during this telling time.

Carmen was truly surprised when the man turned out to be none other than Jim Danvers, the actor upon whom she had her childhood crush. He had been working the phones that day as a volunteer. Carmen couldn't believe she didn't recognize his voice. Obviously she just had other things on her mind.

Danvers was glad to offer up his seed, in this truly difficult time. Since he couldn't produce anything the old fashioned way, nevermind that his days of sexcapades was long gone anyway, he had to undergo a medical procedure to gain what was necessary to father Carmen's child. Everything was set into order to have Carmen impregnated with the once-famous actor's offspring.

People continued to vanish, by leaps and bounds. There were those who were just defiant at the notion of not being able to have any kind of physical stimuli. A government conspiracy, they said, then they were never heard from again. Famous last words.

People were just beyond frustration at not being able to sexually satisfy themselves. Some nearly killed themselves with exercise, trying to expend all that drive out another way. Others resorted to the obvious cold showers. Others tried to diminish the desires with pills, medication. Still there were those who tried to drink themselves into oblivion, but that didn't work if they were then able to venture out and attack the first desirous one they saw.

Children that remained were raised with an absolute warning that sexual satisfaction would lead to their disappearing from their homes, family, friends, never to be seen again. It seemed the only way to do this. No one had any other option. It all turned into 'do as I say, not as I do' when the adults would become so made with desire, they'd no longer be seen after warning children to abstain.

The world had become an absolute monastery with what humanity survived. People resorted to all kinds of meditation and prayer to avoid delighting themselves in any way. They didn't know hwere all the others had gone, so they were afraid. No word was ever detected being from the vanished ones. Fortune tellers sought to trick people with false contact from the missing, but still any kind of sexual encounter caused people to disappear, whether they believed the seances and where they had gone or not.
And still people vanished.

While many people of all ages decided doing without sex was not worth living, so they found a like-minded partner and they both disappeared after complete and total satisfaction, there were elderly people who decided they too were ready to depart. Speculation about possible necrophilia began emerging, a spouse dying first, so the other person would do what they could to join them, but oftentimes as not, only one corpse would be found in the household.
It was widely speculated Jim Danvers and his wife may have done it this way, but that neither he nor his wife's body were ever found again seemed to suggest they were still alive and decided it was time for them to go. Didn't seem to give much regard to their granddaughter, however.

Carmen had her baby. Some people speculated the baby, a girl, would be the miracle child they needed, as she was the offspring of the person who grasped what was wrong. Carmen figured out what the problem was, now the child would grow up and divulge the solution.
Carmen didn't live to see the daughter she named Jane grow to adulthood. Whatever the cause, perhaps by her having the child with no partner present in her presence to share the experience with, she just couldn't maintain her composure and drive. Maybe the pregnancy was just too much for her. No matter. Her work was done.

Carmen Constance became one of the very few persons to die without ever having experienced sex. Her funeral was attended by whatever of the population managed to show up. They actually had a body to bury.

Jane grew up in this misbegotten world. The necessity of artificial insemination had taken hold. Often times the necessary surgery to retrieve semen from any contributing youth had to be done as soon as possible, should they give in to their human lusts and be around no longer. Males tended to vanish more than females, it was noted, but still it was a miracle if anyone, male or female, lived to be 19. there were those, however with enough fear and intimidation in their childhood years who grew up with virtually no sexual encounters. It was rather equated with never sticking their hand in a fan blade either, but they didn't want to do that, either. Sex was now the ultimate forbidden taboo if you wanted to live.
And no sign ever emerged of what happened to all the people who did have sex. Years spanned into decades and this physically isolated existence became the norm. People still married, but there suddenly became no reason to share a bed.
The old image of parents sleeping in twin beds became popular and preferable. Still, a wife or a husband suddenly contending without the loved one who must have had sex in an adulterous liasion managed to occassionally happen very often. The realization is difficult to comprehend their partner would rather have sex with another instead of them. Or maybe it was a sacrifice, to keep the surviving person around as they could no longer control their wanton cravings.

Divorce became virtually non-existent. What was there to divorce over? No one could find a person whose bedroom they would rather share with much more exciting twin beds.

Jane decided it was time for her to have a baby and resort to artificial insemination. She wanted to feel a bond with someone, anyone, that she knew was physical since no other attachment seemed obtainable. She requested her donor, a young man she had known from her childhood, which was often the case, and became pregnant. As she progressed through her pregnancy, she speculated on how the procedure was done once before, by generations past. Her parents had not engaged in sex, and now neither did she. She saw no need to marry the father, tho other couples were still persisting with matrimony, for whatever reason.

Jane gave birth to a son. She held the little boy in her arms and marveled at the birthing experience, from what she understood as others had told her. She wondered if it was the same as giving birth after a natural conception. She named her son Brad. The father never showed up to see his son, for whatever reason, if he was still about.

Brad grew up with the passing years, every bit as normal as any other child had been. Jane wondered what she would tell him when he was older, especially about sex. As was now the practice, children, especially boys, were potty trained, then explicitly warned about holding themsevles while urinating. They were told if they wanted to live to see another day, they had to do so with extreme caution.

Brad listened to what his mother instructed him, but there was always the curiosity in his head. When people he grew up seeing were suddenly no longer around, the explanation was offered up that they touched themselves too much.
Brad become a teen-ager and was completely unaware of any human encounter. He looked at girls as a curiosity, and many of them did the same. When he asked his mother about it, she would simply instruct him not to touch himself when he urinated.
One evening during dinner, Brad noticed how his mother seemed very sad. She was staring at her son, growing into a handsome young man. He did look like his father, whom Jane had never spoken to Brad about. Why bother? Brad would never meet him.
"Remember, Brad," she said suddenly, rather startling him in the process, "never touch where you urinate, unless it is to urinate, and if at all possible, not even then."

Brad looked at his mother and didn't move. What a strange thing to have said at the table. Then he noticed she was crying.

"What's wrong, Momma?"

Jane shook her head and bowed her face. She stood from her chair and slowly walked out of the room.

"Momma?"

Brad watched her as she walked outside into the dark night and slowly made her way far into the coverings of trees and shrubbery, until he could see her no more. Brad wondered if he should go after her, but decided not to. She was probably going to urinate, he thought. Every indication Brad could manage told him not to follow her. Brad went to his room and prepared for bed. He stretched out on the mattress until he was sound asleep.
He never saw Jane again.
As her mother, Carmen, had become an enigma by actually passing away and not vanishing, so then did Jane become a question mark. No body was ever found. What did she do? Did she self-satisfy herself? Did she sink herself in the lake in the destination she was heading? Again, no body was ever discovered. Maybe she wandered into a cave and just kept making her way down into the cavernous territory.

Now Brad was alone. He had been taught the practice if he wanted to have children, about being chosen by a willing female. There were a few prospects and Brad had been introduced to what the procedure would involve, as well as for the female who bore his child. He wondered about his own father who, for whatever reason, Brad had never known, not even a name.
Some girls made requests to have Brad's child, but Brad had already undergone the necessary steps to see to their needs. He didn't even have to be around. Brad made his way down that same final path his mother had taken that night and kept going, never getting a hint of where she might have gone. Finally he stopped and sat on the ground, leaning against a tree. He wondered about what his father had meant to his mother, and now he was to be a father himself. These girls, three as a matter of fact, felt Brad was the most suitable candidate to meet their needs. Brad would father at best three children.
The sun was so hot, Brad peeled off his shirt, placing it between his back and the tree. He thought about what his father must have thought about his own child one day coming into the world. Would he have been pleased with Brad?

"Brad? Brad?"

It was one of the girls who wanted his child. Brad watched her a bit. It sure was hot. She wanted to have his child, so what on Earth was she doing out here with him? That wasn't the way to do it. She was a heavy-set girl, making her way through the brush. Brad watched every movement of her curvaceous body make its way through the trees.

"Brad?"

The way she said his name just seemed to make the sun even hotter. She moved through the limbs and branches and vines looking so helpless and confined, just a lost little waif making her way about where she shouldn't even be. A vine encircled her breasts and she had to pull at it and fight with it to make it set her free.

The sun was so hot overhead. Brad didn't think he even knew her name, this mother-to-be of his offspring. He inhaled heavily, gritting his teeth and let out a groan that caused her to look in his direction.

"Brad?" she said, still pulling the small foliage out of her way as she now turned to draw near to him, but all Brad could see was her.

She took a few steps to get closer where Brad was situated and now she saw what was going on. Brad only saw her shocked expression, her mouth open with a gasp, her eyes grew wide in astonishment. She rared back and her breasts heaved in the air as she did so, and that was all Brad needed. He writhed on the ground, his legs kicked out, he gasped for air before he realized his hand had been unquestionably busy in his shorts as he watched this young girl's body move through the woods. He finally managed to ease up from what he was doing, only when he was done. He looked at his results to see what he had done, then looked back to the girl.

"I've broken myself," he said to her, rather frightened. She looked at him, too, with a horrified expression on her face.

"Brad," she said nervously, "Brad, that's how people had sex a long time ago."

"It hurt," Brad replied. "Why do I feel this way?"

"I think it is because you are about to disappear," she said tearfully.

Brad looked up at her and saw the fear in her face. He continued take breaths. Gradually, they became lighter and lighter.

"What is this on my hand?"

"I don't know," she said, reaching into her pocket to hand him a tissue. "Does it still hurt?"

"No," Brad said, wiping at his hands. "I'm still here, aren't I? I haven't disappeared?"

"No," she said. "You're still here."

She helped Brad to his feet as he straightened up his shorts and picked up his shirt. He was about to toss the tissue away, but decided he needed to offer it up for examination to determine what happened. He stuffed the tissue into his pocket.

"Let me help you put your shirt on."

Brad waved her off.

"Still too hot. Way too hot."

She held Brad's arm, ready to hold him up, if necessary, after whatever he had done to himself.

"I wonder what that was?" Brad said.

"Do you hurt, like you broke something?"

"No," he answered. "In fact, I feel fine. I might be mistaken, but . . . . it seems you had something to do with whatever happened."

He began laughing and she joined in with him.

"I think . . . . maybe . . . . I broke the restriction on sex," he said. "For whatever reason, I may be the first person to have been orgasmed and not disappear."

"You think you orgasmed?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said. "We'll just have to go find out when we get back."

She walked along with him back out of the surrounding trees and approached his home.

"Aren't you wanting to have my baby?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied.

They walked a bit more.

"Shouldn't I know your name then?"


II. RESENTMENT

I breathed my last breath. I was done. My life was over. My existence was finished. Slowly my eyes closed, but undetected by the hazy figures standing before me, my lids didn't lower all the way. I saw them move, gesture toward me, reach near me as my vision slowly began to glaze. There was the faint sensation of my hand being grasped and returned to the opposite side of my body. I had reached across my chest to my opposite arm. My opposite shoulder. I had reached and they returned my hand back to my side.
I heard the female voice inquire about what I was doing. The other voice didn't answer.
I was remembering. I was remembering the wound of so long ago, on my arm. I felt the sensation. The results. And I remembered, until I could remember no more.
They had been the memories of youth, when memories are strongest. I had all the desires of being young and any time those intentions fail, the wounds run deep and in some instances, they never heal. My shoulder. My arm.
Then there are the sounds of laughter and even worse, the words of ridicule, mocking my effort, my futility, and I grew to detest those who were so easily condescending toward me. And I hated.
The whole purpose of being with these so-called peers was the promise of development. It would take me a few more years to realize what a farce was that notion. So that left me with these people I was meeting in my teens and how things were emerging here.
I was failing on all fronts. Excelling in neither academics nor friends. And I realized this. I sought to pinpoint when this started. What happened? I wanted to stand out from everybody. I wanted to fit in. I felt the pain in my shoulder.
Where do friends go in their younger years, bound to the presence of a required ordeal? When dining is going on, of course. Was that where we were? Was that when it started? Was that the purpose to belong? I tried to see, myself sitting at the table with a group of others. Just to fit in, to belong.
So I wouldn't be alone.
It seemed to me trying to belong found me quite alone. I remembered those people, or were they strangers. I would never see any of them ever again. It all just seemed like so much irrelevance in these valuable years. What had happened? I tried to recall the occurrence. I hit him. Name-calling, insults took place, so I hit him. I didn't care. Oh, the apathy of adolescence. I quickly moved away as well, to another table, so he couldn't retaliate.
I was told later I hurt him, made him unhappy. I didn't know about that. I shouldn't have hit him in the arm. The fleeting memories tried to hold on to this thought. I hit him in the arm. But I had the injury. It was my arm. But I struck him.
More memories flowed forward in the darkness as I saw us still in that cafeteria. What was happening now? One person was absent, another one had band practice, this one had to leave early, until it was just he and I once more. We were the only two at the table.
And we sat in stony silence. He had absolutely nothing to say to me. So we sat. I didn't speak to him. He didn't speak to me. So silent in the noisy, boisterous high school cafeteria. We barely looked at one another. I tried to deduce if this was before or after I hit him, but I couldn't recall. No matter how hard I tried. We weren't friends, but why did it seem we were so cold to one another? Did he resent me? I did resent him. I despised him. Why? I didn't know, but I thoroughly detested him. I sensed the notion he was better than me. Everyone thought he was friendlier. He made better grades.
He stood to move to another table to speak to a friend he just saw. I watched him as suddenly it was time for our class to go, so as soon as he sat, he had to get back up. Maybe that was why I hated him. He really was a moron. Slowly we made our way back to class.
I recalled the classroom. Not my favorite class. I actually failed it. Waste of my time. Was that what I was recalling? What I was revisiting? I hated the class and he was in that same class, but I had numerous other classes with him. What was it about this horrendous classroom located in one of these portable trailers. Terrible arrangement. Who thought this up, but it was this class. I knew it.
He made outstanding grades in that class, the class I failed.
The school year ended and we returned after summer. The boredom, the isolation, it was all now much worse. Thankfully, I didn't see this person anymore. We were off in different directions as far as this wretched curriculum goes. I didn't want to see him, hear about him, or his friends in his group. I didn't want to hear anything about any of them. Thankfully, my attention was now elsewhere, not that anything was successful there. She appeared only briefly, then she departed, but a part of me did like the impression it gave off that I seemed to hang around with her, however farcical it was. Nobody else had to know. There was actually a picture of us taken together at a Christmas party, her arm across my shoulder.
This tenure in life, whatever it was supposed to be about, came to a close. It was over and I couldn't be happier. I was finished with it. I was so elated. Come that fall, it was a rather cool Saturday, and I had gone to the market with my mother. She shopped, since I wasn't working. I was totally aimless with no direction. We completed our task and made our way out of the building. Used to love coming to this store when I was smaller. I pushed the cart to the car. With the bags loaded into the back of the car, I turned to push the cart to its holding area, with one small bag still remaining within. I would retrieve it and then return to the car.
That was when I heard the muffled sounds, quick and in unison.
Pop! Pop, pop!
I looked down to my feet to see the thick liquid oozing across my shoes, slowly cascading down the black-topped parking lot. My teeth were clenched so hard. I immediately looked up again to see what had caused the noise. I breathed in short breaths as I looked at him, about halfway across the parking lot, with a variety of his friends. I honestly think he had one lone black friend amongst them. I watched him as I continued on, leaving the cart, the final bag clutched in my hand. There hadn't been gunfire. Then what was it?
I had dropped some of the eggs when I was so startled by seeing him again. Did I think he'd look across at me and smile? I made my way to the car, shaking off the goo from the eggs as I journeyed forth.
I didn't want him to see me, but what if he did? What if he acted like he didn't know me, the same way I was now doing him, even tho I didn't know him. I knew nothing about him. I got in the car and sat down. Mother cranked up and slowly pulled out of the spot. I continued to watch the car where he had gone. They had all gathered in that one vehicle, the best of friends in these youthful years, off to find adventure. Quietly I watched the car pull out and depart for the open road. I guess it was a good thing I wasn't driving. I probably would have pursued them, chased after them. Act like you're better than me. Yes, it was definitely for the best I wasn't driving.
But the memory held. There was blood on my shoes. Why was there blood on my shoes? There wasn't any blood. What was I saying? I wanted to watch that car pull away again, as we drove in the opposite direction. I wanted to see an eighteen-wheeler plow into it, atomizing it into pieces and hurling it all over the road.
It wasn't blood, it was the eggs. So why was I seeing blood?
It wasn't blood. I was seeing my shirt. I was wearing a red flannel shirt. It was very cool outside, so I was wearing this shirt. But it wasn't this shirt. It wasn't blood. But it was red. Slowly I opened the bag I still held with what eggs remained to retrieve the magazine my mother had bought for me; How To Succeed In Stand-up Comedy In Ten Easy Steps. I was definitely on my way. Far from wherever his life and his friends were taking him.
It was a red shirt and there was blood. But not this shirt.
It took me a while to sort out what I was supposed to do for stand-up comedy. Had to contact agents or comedy clubs, send them an audio-cassette of my jokes. Send who an audio-cassette? It would be four months before I looked at the magazine again and saw the names and addresses provided of clubs and agents. So I began compiling some of my best material, telling the jokes, trying to be calm and included a note about who I was and I wanted to get started right away in stand-up comedy. I had totally forgotten about the submissions when one came back to me, the tape enclosed, with a note saying I sounded much to eager. Of course I was eager. I was ready to make my mark on this world. I felt slightly dejected, but then the situation grew worse.
"What's this?" mother asked.
She read the letter, and she knew I had mailed off the cassettes. I told her not to worry about it, but she decided she would settle the matter. She had the address on the envelope and I could only stare in horror. Maybe I could get the letter out of the mail, but no such luck. It took a while, but eventually there was a response. Making sure she didn't see it, I raced to my room and read the contents.
One of the most esteemed agents in the business of stand-up comedy threatened her with his lawyer if she contacted him again. I didn't know what she had written, but it didn't matter. Maybe he put my name on his blacklist and sent my name around to the clubs. At that age, I didn't know, but the imagination can run wild. I knew better to show her the letter and she never asked about it again. If she did, I told her I never heard anything and that was all she had. She had returned the first letter to me so she no longer had that one, so all ties were severed.
I always heard rejections and bad encounters like this are supposed to be kept. I tried to keep them, but I was outraged. I actually destroyed one of the letters, I think the first one, but it didn't matter. Eventually they were both dismissed with time.
The magazine would lose its cover and end up in a storage bin. Every once in a while I would find it again, looking for something else. I would look at the clubs and agencies. Probably none of them functioning anymore. They aspired for steady work as did I. Well, maybe they should have worked with me. I didn't even hear about that agent anymore. Didn't know if he was still doing anything. With another couple of years or so, and the arrival of the internet, I managed to look him up and discovered he was teaching somewhere.
How ironic, I thought, that teachers in my adolescence provided me with no guidance or instruction, and now this man who I had hoped would introduce me to my desired field of interest would venture into teaching.
I decided it was time to look at that magazine again, after all these years. I hauled down the box where it should be, turned over envelopes and papers and there it was. Still missing the cover. I wasn't sure what I thought; that maybe it would have grown a new cover?
I was prepared to open the magazine when I saw the book that was beneath it. My high school senior annual.
I looked at it, dismissively. Absolutely nothing about it intrigued me. I thumbed through the magazine a bit, then tossed it back on top of the annual. There was nothing to see.
As I put the box back, I wondered to myself; did I still hate him? Did I resent him? I hadn't seen him since that day in that parking lot, when I was so starled, I dropped the eggs and thought they were gun shots. Imagine that. Thinking breaking eggs were gunfire.
But of course it was because I saw the blood, which I now knew was the red flannel shirt I was wearing, not blood.
But there was blood, and the shirt was red, but not that shirt. Not that moment.
Another moment.
A bright, shiny shirt, like a disco shirt. I knew I would be noticed by everyone. Now I was seeing it all again. As the last embers of my thought died out, I was remembering.
A shimmering red shirt, bright crimson. I just knew I was the envy of all who saw my bright red disco shirt. They couldn't believe how stunning I looked. How bold. How daring. That's right. I'm not afraid of anything.
No one ever commented on it. No one said a word, but I didn't care. It wasn't a shirt for dialogue, it was a shirt you couldn't help but see. And I was wearing it. And now I was going to wear my attention-getting shirt to my next class.
The class in the portable trailer. The class I failed. The class he excelled at. And I failed. In the trailer. And here I was in my cool shirt that saw me noticed. My shoulder. My arm.
I reached through the window of the classroom to put my books on my desk, so I didn't have to carry them in, in my bright red shirt.
There was no rip. The fabric seemed so light and airy, it just tore on the jagged pin of metal on the window. My outstanding shirt. I just damaged my shirt and stuck myself in the arm as well.
Blood.
I held my hand on the injury and walked into the class and sat at my desk. With my hand over the wound, I was pressing the shirt into the blood and it was just red on red, but still very visible.
A few people noticed.
"Ewww!"
Apparently people who had never seen blood before.
And I ripped my shirt.
More students came in, aware of what I had done.
One fellow turned around and said something about I won't do that again, something like that.
And there he was. Not a friend. He said something to the effect of what it had done to my shirt. I realized it was apparent if my arm was bleeding, then obviously my new shirt had suffered as well. I waited til lunch, then took off the restroom, to try to wash it, clean up the blood. From my arm. My shoulder. With the shirt torn where my hand had touched as I breathed my last.
Mom sought to sew up the shirt, with matching thread, but it didn't matter. The shirt was vulnerable. It was no longer astonishing to see. It had a stick running up the side, on the arm.
And there was when my animosity gradually formed into hate, total hostility. I could see it all now as my mind clouded over in shadow. I hated him more than I ever despisded anyone else. He mocked my delight, my effort.
Then I hit him. Or did I hit him first? I didn't know. And it wasn't a red shirt, it was a black shirt. A black shirt? I didn't know anymore. It didn't matter. Not even my rage toward this person mattered anymore.
Why was I even thinking about him now? I didn't know, but then I realized why.
I had seen him. I just saw him. Here.
In the after-life.
I watched him approach his moment of judgment. He never saw me. He never turned around. My thoughts departed as I detected him adorned in the bright robe, whitest of whites.
How?
I asked myself, how could he, a conceited individual who was cruel to the less fortunate as I had been, that he saw no reason to speak to me, could now receive the Heavenly blessings? He mocked my effort for recognition, in my adolescent years. He jeered at me when I was done, humiliating me.
What had he done to be so blessed?
I didn't know. I had no memory of him. After that last day I saw him in that parking lot, I never crossed paths with him again, until the day each of us died. I didn't know if I had died first or if he had.
I moved forward, seeing him ascend the Heavenly staircase to the greatest award mankind should receive and I now comprehended I didn't know him, as I wanted to.
I knew nothing about what he did that saw him anointed so. I lowered my head and closed my eyes. The memories were gone. The resentment, finally was gone.
Finally.


III. BEFORE THE WATERS

Headlights disrupted the raining, nighttime darkness, casting long, crawling images about on the surroundings. The vehicle slowly made it's way along the muddy path as it neared its destination. At an apparent close-enough juncture, the motorist was able to slow and stop the machine and remain still, leaving only the sound of falling rain to be heard. The doors opened and four whispering occupants stepped out into the wetness. They closed the doors, again followed by whispers and laughter. They carried clubs and bats with the intent to menace.
The figures approached a nearby small dwelling with one light illuminating the front room. Nearby were two parked vehicles. A couple of the silhouetted figures approached the vehicles and knelt beside the tires, with the sound of hissing to be heard, accompanied by more stifled laughter.
Now the individuals walked up to the domicile and stood still and quiet on the porch. One of them seemed to be counting. The rain had increased.
The lead fellow burst the door open and the persons charged in, yelling as they did so. Tussles and scrambles were then followed by seeming protests and yelling. Thunder rumbled amid a flash of lightning. Two or three fellows stepped out the front door and appeared to be fighting in the dark. One figure ran to an automobile, only to find the vandalism prevented his departure. There proceeded another clap of lightning. The rain grew even heavier, but the sounds of scuffling and arguing still came from the little cabin.
The cries strained even louder as the torrent of water gradually made its way down the hillside, following the road directly toward the current series of events.
The cascading water was detected by another set of headlights, but these beams were on an opposite path, slightly higher and unaffected by the rushing waves.
"Well, we can't take that road now," the man in the vehicle said, slowly continuing on his way down the road they were presently on. "We'll have to take the long way."
"Good Heavens," the woman proclaimed. "Hurry up and get us home, Clemondrique. I don't want to be out in this weather."
"I'll do what I can, but we got to stay on a high road."
The wipers squeaked loudly to dissipate the water from view, but it did little good. Vision was still difficult to maintain. With the vehicle's angle, she was now on the side facing the flooded lower road.
"Oh, Clemondrique, hurry up and get away from all this!" she proclaimed.
"Allright. Allright. Should have dismissed church earlier if they knew bad weather was coming our way."
In the darkness, the downpour and headlights brought odd and unusual shapes to behold, until finally the lights fell across the roof of a small cabin homestead, submerged in muddy water. A partially visible vehicle was nearby, turned on its side.
Clemondrique slowed the SUV, keeping the headlights trained on the roof.
"Clemondrique!" she said, startled, with hearing voices calling from the opposite direction.
"Drucine, there are people out there," Clemondrique said, shutting off the motor. "You stay here. Call for aid."
Clemondrique got out of the vehicle and splashed in the mud toward the water's edge. "What can I do to help?" he yelled. "We're calling for assistance now."
"Call the police!" one voice chimed out of the darkness.
"We already called for the authorities. They said it would be a while before they could get here, and this place may not have that long to stand."
"Call the cops! They need to be arrested."
"We need help!"
"They can stay here and drown!"
"Allright," Clemondrique said to the occupants on the roof. "I don't have a rope, but let me see what I might have that could help." He hadn't a clue what to do.
Clemondrique ran to the passenger door as Drucine rolled the window down.
"Clemondrique, the rescue squad said it'll take them about twenty minutes to get here with the flooding and the roads out. They got other casualties out there."
"I don't think those guys got that long."
Clemondrique slid back the door on the side of his vehicle and looked about. Boxes, couple of shirts, books.
Then he saw it; a large extension cord. It was all he had, but based on the distance to the roof, it should reach and even double back. The guys just needed some stability to hold on to crossing that water. He grabbed up the brightly colored cord and ran to the bank.
"I got an extension cord. If I toss it to you, can you tie it down securely?"
"Yea, that might work. It's our only chance."
"You don't have a chance," Clemondrique thought he heard one of the other fellows say to the previous guy who spoke, but he couldn't imagine what that might mean.
Clemondrique made a lasso of sorts and just gave it a good swing and let it fly over the small river. The loop landed on the other side and two fellows grabbed it, then two more got hold of it. One of them almost fell off the roof in the process. They seemed to be fighting over it.
"What are they doing?" Drucine asked from the vehicle.
"I don't know. Hey!" Clemondrique replied.
One of the men had the cord and was tying it to a partition on the roof, but one of the other persons seemed to be trying to interfere with him. There was still fussing going on. Clemondrique looked at the water and noticed it was still rising, but not as fast, but the cabin roof was slowly inching into the liquid.
"Will you guys stop?" Clemondrique yelled back.
"They tried to kill us!" a voice came back, seemingly from a fellow in a yellow top with matching yellow hair.
Clemondrique stared at the assortment across the water a bit to take in who they might be. He knew the place's reputation, as did most in the nearby community. Something obviously occurred this night.
Arguing persisted, seemingly on the verge of fighting. One man tripped across the roof and almost tumbled into the water. One person, seemingly a young black youth in a white outfit, was trying to get to the extension cord, but the disarray was blocking him from doing so. More yelling followed.
Then Clemondrique and Drucine watched as one man took a leap off the roof, aiming for the cord stretched across the water. He splashed upon the surface and secured the wire in his hands. Even in the dark, everyone could now see how strong was the current, pushing him away from his intention.
Gradually he made his way, hand over hand, along the extension cord. He seemed to take longer than it appeared he should have, but finally he reached the roadside with Clemondrique present.
Clemondrique neared to help the man upon the land, when one of the figures called out, "kick him in the water! Let him drown!"
Clemondrique brought him to standing before him. "You okay?" he asked.
"Yea, I'm allright."
"What's going on over there?"
"Oh, . . . they're just mad."
"Well, I'm not going to stay out here all night doing this. And that roof doesn't seem very sturdy either," Clemondrique said to the young man.
Once again, looking to the remaining figures on the roof, Clemondrique could make out they were in another heated discussion. No one was trying to approach the extension cord.
"Will you guys hurry up?" he yelled. He turned and looked to the other fellow, trembling in the wetness. "What's wrong with them?"
"We were just havin' fun with them, and now they're mad."
Clemondrique looked at the young man shaking from cold. He looked to Drucine, still sitting with the window open, who looked back to him, unblinking. He momentarily hesitated, then said, "get in the back of the car so you can dry out a bit." He was disappointed in himself that he gave it a second-thought like that.
The young man opened the back door and climbed in. Drucine didn't look back at him, but continued looked at Clemondrique.
By the time Clemondrique looked back to the sinking roof, a second individual was starting out across the cord, a very thin young man in a red top. Now the others seemed to be scuffling a bit more about who would go next.
"Hang on," Clemondrique said to the young man. "You're almost here."
Clemondrique helped him up as well. The young fellow was wearing pale shorts, now somewhat muddied by the water. He too was now shaking from the cold.
"Get in the vehicle and warm up," he said to the young man.
"Not with that other fellow in there," the youth stated with chatting teeth.
"Get in the car before you get pneumonia," Clemondrique said louder to the fellow, but he just continued to stand there.
"Come on, get out of the cold," Drucine called to him. He moved closer to the vehicle but still gave no attempt to open the door and enter.
Once more, Clemondrique turned to the commotion. The next person was sitting on the roof to slide off into the water while he held on to the cord, but one of the other persons still on the roof kicked at him. The man with his legs in the water in turn swung his hand at him, still holding the cord with his other hand.
"I'm going to leave all of you if you don't cut this out!" Clemondrique couldn't believe people were fighting like this when their lives were in jeopardy.
"You don't have a boat we could use? An inflatable raft? Or a canoe?" the yellow-haired man asked. His query was greeted with laughter and ridicule from some of the others.
"Call the police" was spoken again, rather muffled, as the next fellow began sliding across the extension cord. Clemondrique watched him as he hurried along. Before Clemondrique could reach down to assist him, he was scrambling up on the surface, clutching at grass and twigs, but Clemondrique still had to steady him.
"Hang on," he said quietly.
This new arrival and the previous fellow still shivering in the wet now looked at one another with animosity. Clemondrique turned to see Drucine sitting in the vehicle. "You want him in there?" he asked quietly toward her. She pressed her lips and gave a blink.
"Go on ahead and get in the car to rest up," Clemondrique said to the third fellow and amazingly, he too seemed to be reluctant to do so.
"Your friend is already in there," Clemondrique told him, yet still he made no move to the vehicle.
It was then Clemondrique heard a noise and turned back to the remaining set on the roof. Something had crumbled, given way and the cabin seemed to sink more.
"Hurry up!" he yelled to those remaining in peril. Once more, there was raised voices, yelling and now insults. Clemondrique turned to Drucine. "I am tired of this."
A fourth person sat and moved out onto the cord, and the ones remaining on the roof grew even more disruptive.
The fellow came up on opposite side out of the water, accepting Clemondrique's assistance.
"Mac didn't want to stay over there with them," the fellow laughed, then looked at Clemondrique and stopped laughing. He barely looked at the second young man, still standing there and trembling.
"Where's Hugh?" the new fellow asked, seemingly referring to the previous fellow who was rescued, yet didn't enter the vehicle.
Did he get in the car? Drucine?"
"No, he walked back that way," she replied, pointing back toward the road, the way they had come. The small shivering fellow in the red top still just stood there with his arms crossed. The fourth fellow briefly looked at Clemondrique, then likewise departed in the darkness after his missing acquaintance.
Clemondrique watched them and looked once more to Drucine. Well, one of them, the first one, still sat in the vehicle, but now these others seemed to prefer freezing instead of drying out and resting. Clemondrique all but dreaded looking back to those remaining in need of assistance.
The rain had eased up so Clemondrique could now see four people. Three stood one way, the fourth facing them. The lone fellow was telling them to go next and the blonde one was hurling profanities in response. The lone figure moved to proceed next, when one little fellow who Clemondrique could clearly make out as African-American, stepped ahead and took to the cord and into the water.
The young man scaled the cord rather quickly, holding on as tighly as possible, but almost slipped. He reached the other side and Clemondrique helped him up.
"Get in the back of the car to warm up a bit and dry out," Clemondrique said to him. The young man moved to the vehicle, and the second man still standing outside spoke to him.
"One of those others is back there," he said to the black youth. The kid stopped in his tracks.
Clemondrique walked up to the side of his car and slid the large door open for the young man to get in and take a seat.
"Where's Hugh and Will?" the first vehicle occupant asked.
"They took off walking. You want to join them, go right ahead," Clemondrique said.
The fellow looked about as if searching for an answer, then remained seated.
"Get inside if you want," Clemondrique said to the African-American lad.
The young man actually stepped forward and entered the vehicle.
"Come on, Vyam," he said to the fellow still standing in the cold. Having stood out here the longest, the fellow finally climbed in to the car and sat next to the newest occupant.
Clemondrique turned once more to see how things across the water were progressing. A sixth fellow was coming across and making his way onto land. He was shivering as well, so Clemondrique opened the door for him to enter. The fellow moved in to sit with the other two fellows, Vyam and the black kid. The first fellow now looked around somewhat uneasily.
The last two men on the roof talked calmly, but almost in a taunting manner. Finally, the yellow-haired man stepped down into the water and held the cord. He descended into the water and profanties flew, as well as accusations at the remaining man on the roof. The man crossed on over through the water and reached the other side, then proceeded to attempt to untie the extension cord.
"Hey!" Clemondrique yelled. "Stop that!" but the man continued to pull on the cord. Clemondrique ran toward him and began tussling with him.
"Let him drown!" the peroxide blonde said with a snarl.
"Will you quit it?" Clemondrique ordered more than asked as they continued to fight.
"Clemondrique!" Drucine called from the car, more out of concern for the confrontation, but then she heard the door behind her slide open. The very first man leapt out of the back of the car as if he would turn the tide of battle, but then one of the other fellows came out, too. The last man, the black youth, remained seated.
The first man seemed to be on Clemondrique's side. The second man hesitated and stood there, then did nothing.
"He needs to die! He's a bigot!" the blonde man said.
The word stung Clemondrique with intensity, driving into his temples, but this series of events had drained him to near exhaustion. Never had he been so tested to help others. Clemondrique held on to the extension cord, but so did the other man, the first rescue, who had leapt from the car.
As it was, the final man was making his way across the water and clutching the plastic cord.
The blonde fellow picked up a stick to hit the man with it as he came ashore.
"Put that down!" Clemondrique yelled.
The blonde swung the stick to strike his target, but the man was out of the water and able to fend for himself. He moved forward with his fists clenched.
"I told you over there," he began.
"Come on," the blonde said, waving the stick.
"Enough!" Clemondrique said, stepping between the two men.
"He's a racist and a bigot!" the blonde yelled.
"Enough!" Clemondrique said again. "Now, I am tired. I am wet, and if there is no one else out there, let's get back to town."
"I'm not riding with him!" the blonde said.
"Where's Will and Hugh?"
"Is there anybody left out on that roof?" Clemondrique asked louder than the others.
"No," the last guy said.
"Your friends took off walking back that way," Clemondrique said. "They didn't want to be with us. You're welcome to catch up with them if you like."
Clemondrique turned back to the blonde man.
"Can we go now? I'm leaving with whoever wants to get in the car."
Clemondrique walked around to the driver side and climbed in. He turned the key, still in the ignition to keep the headlights operating, and cranked the motor.
The side door was still ajar. The blonde guy and his two acquaintances all climbed in, joining the black youngster. The last two guys stood outside.
"You guys coming?" Clemondrique asked.
"No," the last one to be rescued said calmly. "I think we'll take off walking like the others did."
"I hope you drown!" the blonde guy yelled.
"I don't want to hear any more of that!" Clemondrique shouted.
"They're nothing but bigots and racists," the blonde hollered back. "They attacked us because we're gay! They're homophobes! They should die!"
"And if we hadn't gotten you guys up and moving," one of the fellows outside the vehicle stated, "you would have been huddled inside when the waters rose. We ended up saving you. Wish we had left you alone so you'd be the ones drowning!"
"Can we leave? Do you want me to drive?" Drucine asked.
"No, I'll drive. I've heard enough, from all of you. Now you guys don't want a ride, then close the door."
The two men outside slowly turned and walked off into the darkness.
"Somebody close the door," Clemondrique said calmly to one of the fellows in the back. One of them did so.
The vehicle took off from the way it had come. The rain was long gone and slowly the dawn was breaking.
Rescue operations and the like were all about, as well as other flood survivors and victims of the water, seeking shelter and first aid.
Clemondrique slowly drove through the assembly, then rolled his window down.
"I got four guys here who were stuck in the flood," he said to one uniformed person.
"Take them over to the school where they can get tended to," she answered.
Clemondrique drove off and headed in the direction of the school. They pulled up out front and stopped.
"Okay, guys, we're here! Guys?"
Clemondrique looked back and the quartet was give out from exhaustion. He got out of the vehicle, walked around and opened the door.
"Come on, fellas. Final destination."
Slowly, they stirred, waking up, but said little, if anything. Not even the rambunctious blonde fellow spoke.
As the black youth stepped out, Clemondrique looked at him; his appearance, his attire, his compulsion on how to handle his life.
"Take care of yourself," he said to the kid. The young man just turned away.
Clemondrique closed the door with a slam and detected in the sudden silence the nearby voice talking very loudly.
"So where are you? Where are you? Where's the truck?"
Clemondrique looked to Drucine, knowing she heard the woman's voice as well.
"You lost the truck? You had no business being out there. I can't come and get you. The rain has flooded areas all around here."
Clemondrique continued standing next to the door as tho he were tending to something and looking at Drucine. She looked back at him as well.
"You shouldn't have been out there! Who is with you? Figures! You're with Mac! I told you to stay away from him! You have no way of getting out of there, do you?"
The couple remained silent, seemingly knowing each other's thoughts as to if they should speak up or not.
"Why didn't you come back with the man who rescued you? At least you wouldn't be standing cold and wet in the mud, would you? What is wrong with you? Well, you're just going to have to wait, you and your buddy Mac and Will and Hugh. I hope this has all been worth it. You lost the truck. I can't believe this. People got enough they have to deal with and you go and do this."
Walking back around to the driver side and entering, Clemondrique sat there and placed his hands on the steering wheel.
"They didn't ask our names or anything if they want to try to press charges against those guys," he said.
"They had gone there to harass them?" Drucine asked, half-knowing it to be true.
Clemondrique inhaled and said, 'I guess that's what happened. Seemed like it was what happened. And then they became stuck with each other when the flood hit." He cranked the motor.
"I guess those other four guys will get where they are going," Drucine said quietly.
"I guess so. I'd ask if you want us to go look for them," Clemondrique began.
"Honey," she said, placing her hand on his thigh, "we must always do what we can do."
Clemondrique drove the vehicle over toward the woman still on the phone, pacing up and down as she spoke, as Drucine called out to her to get her attention.

IV. FASTEST COMPENSATION

No one said a word. Not a sound. They all knew why they were there. Why bother objecting? Why bother protesting? He fiddled with the fold in his denim jeans at his knee. Just twisted it and twisted it again. He had heard those in higher income brackets were trying to beat this arrangement, but to no avail. Everyone was having to do it.

"Mr. Daniel Parker," the woman summoned over the intercom. He turned to his name being called and walked toward where she stood. He wasn't nervous. Why be nervous? No one was being spared. No one was escaping. She really didn't even look at him, just as soon as he was within earshot, she pushed open a door and quietly said, "this way." He made his way down the silent, empty hall where she ushered him into a small, dark, nearly empty room. She closed the door behind him. Not a sound was heard. A large monitor in front of him lit up. He read the words, PLEASE STEP FORWARD on the screen. He dutifully obeyed.

DANIEL WILLIAM PARKER. IS THAT YOU? the screen asked. He quietly nodded.

PLEASE VERBALLY ANSWER.

"Y-yes," he said louder, followed by another affirmation, "yes." They heard him that time, he thought.

Images flashed quickly on the monitor, seemingly in a split-second, some Daniel managed to see, and still others he recognized, such as actual family photos that must have been posted online, certificates such as birth, marriage or death and whatever else they found. He clutched his wrist in his other hand while he looked at everything. He thought he heard yelling in the hallway, but wasn't sure. He watched more images flash on the screen. No, he was certain he heard that. Someone must be fiercely objecting to their outcome.

Then the monitor went blank. Daniel took a deep breath. The results were about to emerge. He cast his eyes down, anticipating what would occur. What this machine had decided. What all he would lose.
He heard a beep. He looked up to see DANIEL WILLIAM PARKER, AGE 34, BASED ON YOUR FAMILY HISTORY AND POSSIBLE TURN OF EVENTS HAD SOCIAL DISORDERS NOT BEEN IN PLACE, RESULTING IN THOSE CHEATED OF FINANCIAL GAIN AND THOSE WHO BENEFITTED, YOU WILL LOSE $367,000 OF YOUR INCOME, YOUR EARNINGS AND YOUR POSSESSIONS.

Daniel stared at the amount on the board. The screen bid him, GOOD DAY, then went blank, waiting for the next person. The door behind him opened and the same woman stood there, holding it open and looking at him. He hardly gave her a glance as he exited, seeing another man ready to go in. He thought he recognized the fellow, but felt certain he didn't.

"Hey, Daniel."

Daniel looked to the man to see who it was and thought he knew, but the other guy was already heading into the room to receive his own bad news.
Daniel continued down the hall, thinking of what the outcome meant. He wasn't aware of any fortuitous moments in his life or his grandparents, so how was this amount reached? But he knew it was a waste of time to even ponder.
$367,000.
Well, he knew it was coming. They all did. Everyone did. Slowly he made his way down the stairs. He was about to proceed to the second set of stairs and decided he would use the elevator. He pressed a button and waited for the door to open. Finally the door did open and inside stood five very excited African-Americans. They looked at him but hardly removed their smiles. He in turn didn't look at them much before he just stepped inside and pushed the button to close. He turned to stare blankly at the elevator door.
As noisy as church mice, the people behind him whispered and shushed each other. Daniel maintained his gaze. There was snickers. Absolutely quiet murmuring, followed by more snickering and laughter. Daniel said nothing.
"I don't care," a woman in the elevator snapped, followed by yet more whispering and laughter.
Daniel looked down. He all but felt his face burning, but wasn't sure if it was rage or embarrassment. Still more laughter. He didn't think the doors would ever open. As soon as they did, Daniel stepped out as an absolute racial minority, surrounded by African-Americans. He looked for the exit sign and turned to head toward the door. Each person spoke loudly, over each other, so no one was really listening and of course the hysterical amusement.
And he knew they were just all looking at him as they smiled and laughed. He was now the face of their fortune. He provided their means to celebrate.
Daniel stepped into the even louder gathering to reach the exit. It was the most noisy, flustered group of people he had ever been around. As he stood, he felt himself truly getting over-heated, as tho he may pass out any moment. He just wanted to get to the exit not far ahead of him.
He wondered if they'd believe maybe he was awarded a balance of sorts as well, but they could tell he wasn't happy and they knew why. They all knew why.
Daniel walked out of the building and took a deep breath of air. One young woman was talking to some other individuals and she turned and looked at him, as if she was surprised to see him there. Slowly she turned away and Daniel strived to make his way to the steps.
He then realized outside was really no better. People were louder, laughing, cheering. If anyone noticed him now, they didn't care. This was fine by him. He just wanted to get to his car, while he still had a car. The whooping and hollering never let up. His head pounded ferociously. He raised his hand to his forehead. He tried to maintain his gait, but he seemed to be slowing a bit.
"Are you okay?"
Daniel looked up to the speaker and saw two black men standing in front of him.
"I'm . . . .," he began. He looked beyond the man toward his automobile.
"Just right there, . . . " he said, "my car."
"Do you need any help?" the other man asked. That was when Daniel saw the small girl with them.
Does he need any help. There was a loaded question. Seemed certain to be the story of his life from there on in. Daniel gave an absolutely startled reaction as he felt hands go around his elbows. Each of the men were assisting him. He motioned to his vehicle and they slowly moved him toward it. Once they arrived, Daniel leaned on the hood.
"Thank . . . ." he said, almost choking, his throat was so dry. He tried again. He didn't want to look pathetic.
"Thank you," he croaked.

"Ya know," one of the men, the older fellow, began, "they really had the departure sequence set up so people wouldn't necessarily be leaving with one another."
Daniel swallowed and managed to stand to his feet.
"You mean so those who gained money didn't have to be around those who lost money, as I just did."

"Well, yea," the man said, "they were wanting it to be as painless as possible in certain situations."

"Well, . . . "Daniel began quietly, then let his thoughts trail off. He still had a headache, but was managing to stand upright without everything spinning. He turned to look at the men.

"Thank you for seeing me to my car, . . . " he said, but only saw the two men and the little girl walking away from him. They moved further away, getting lost in the crowd. Only at the last minute did Daniel see the little girl turn and look back at him, then turned away. She gave no smile, she didn't stick out her tongue. She glanced back at what it must mean to be helpless and irrelevant to her. Loud throngs of cheers erupted from the crowd of people.
Daniel got in the car and looked at all these persons as he cranked the motor. Most of the people were around the entry, but many were standing around on the steps and along the walkway. One woman was walking away from the group, making very loud conversation. Daniel watched as someone must have called out to her, so she responded back, then the distant acquaintances all burst into laughter. And he watched them.
Daniel comprehended a supposition might be he would plow into this gathering, but he saw no reason to do that. He wanted to leave. He didn't want to get away from this black mob, he just wanted to return to what he had of a home, his wife and children. He put the vehicle into drive, then heard the utterly hellacious screams.

Daniel looked around for the source and saw people motioning overhead. He in turn looked up from inside his car and saw struggling figures at a window. The persons were scuffling, struggling, slamming against the glass, until finally the glass shattered. There was unbelievable shrieking from the ground below as now two men plunged through the broken window and were propelled to the ground. Daniel heard the strike, but he lost sight of them when they hit because of the crowd, followed by more yells.
He couldn't tell what race the men were. Surely one was white and angry over hs privilege penalties. Maybe the black man was trying to calm him down and assist him. Or restrain him. Daniel didn't know. He couldn't imagine why two black men would be fighting like that. He allowed his isolated thoughts to run with a potential reason. One got more money than the other? If white people were giving up money as he had to do, they were getting money they couldn't spend fast enough if they tried.
Daniel drove out past the front of building, moving very slowly, but wanting to see if he could potentially get a glimpse or even some idea of what transpired. People were running in front of him to reach their vehicles and also behind him. They were like him, just wanting to get away from these events, but while his reasoning had been materialistic, theirs was tragic. One black man struck the hood of his car. Daniel looked at him, startled. He couldn't understand what the man was saying, but the man then turned and walked away.
Daniel looked, then slowly ventured forward, looked again, and motioned forward again, then the little girl from earlier stepped in front of his car. She was crying. Daniel wondered if she was alone, if he needed to assist her, then he saw the older man who aided him also step out and take her by her hand. Should he see if they needed to reach their car? Where was the young man? Surely he wasn't one of those who fell. Daniel watched and just accepted he would never learn what happened. Ever so gradually, he inched his way along out of the parking area and away from this establishment. He wanted to never come near here again. As he pulled out, police cars, rescue vehicles, an ambulance, all pulled into the area.
Daniel drove away. There was nothing he could do there. No way could he assist. Nothing he could contribute, other than the fine he was required to pay, no doubt like a loan for the rest of his life. And it was his life, as compared to whoever fell. They no longer had theirs.
Daniel wondered if it was the young black man who fell, the one who aided him? Could he have gotten inside and up to that floor, he thinks it was about the sixth floor, could he have gotten there that quickly?
He wasn't sure if one of the men, or both of them, were black. He didn't think they were white. Handing out money for compensation and now the lives lost. Where would the money go now? That would be for someone else to decide.