Young Writers Society

Once the skirmish for a decent spot at the vending machines ended, we reassembled at a place better suited for munching snacks. It was in close proximity to the Game Station and was a more social junction of the hangout. There was a rectangular table twice the size of the one we had sat around earlier. A set of four sofas, a tan shade scored with threadlike red lines, were paired on two sides of the rectangle, and running along the other sides were silver-star-studded, black chests overlain with cushions.

Time was an inchworm. I found myself beside Vinny as we drifted through the wilderness in search of the promise land. He still seemed agitated.

“Umm, Vinny?” I began tentatively.

He inquired, seeming dazed, “What is it?”

It didn’t escape, but I felt a laugh rising in my airways. “So Saul is in this because he wants to oversee the proper treatment of his freaking launcher?”

That caught him a little off guard. Maybe because I had payed attention to the information. It was also a little off-the-wall.

He shook his head. “Close. He’s never got to use the thing. He wanted to see it in action.”

That made sense, though unfortunate now. “Right. He probably pulled it out of a happy meal.” I joked. “It’s a rare instance when you have something of that caliber at your disposal and a fitting occasion comes along to use it.”

“That’s the thing.” he drilled, irritation edging back in. “This wasn’t a fitting occasion until that bird took a deuce all over us.”

“Well, now he can blow something up and release that Sasquatch side of him.” I offered, “For you.”

Vinny was far from a destructive person. “His dad was a shoot ‘em up enthusiast too.”he laughed but it faded quickly. They had different fathers. “Sometimes Saul is a dork like that.”

“I’m sorry you have so much wrapped up in this.”

“Don’t, Don’t.” he urged, face straight ahead. “It doesn’t help things. It’s my problem anyway.”

He had a right to be upset and self-oriented. And here he was, putting that aside, or at least trying to. In any scenario, if he lost Saul, himself, or both, somebody was going to be cursed to live through another’s death. For Vin, the only win would have to be total, and he knew it.

“Hell no. Let you go through that place alone?” I assured him, “You’re tribulations are mine. I’m right here. And I’ll be there in the future--so long as I’m not dead.”

“Okay then,” he accepted as we set down our grub. “If you happen to make it and I don’t, give Kelly this.”

He reached into his back pocket and shoved a necklace at me.

“Take it.” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I argued. “Must you insist on dying?”

He slapped it into the meat of my palm and closed my fingers around it. “Just take it, I don’t feel lucky today. I can always pull it off your body if I need to.”

I fumbled with the locket. Inside was a black and white photo of them at the beach. They both had dark hair, so if it hadn’t been for the beachy surroundings you wouldn’t have noticed it wasn’t in color. It mostly just disguised their black souls--naw they were good peeps. As far as I could tell. And I had known Vin for quite some time. Been a long time since I could call someone my significant other.

A long time since I had been broken. So long I almost couldn't remember how it felt. And then I realized I had formed (not so much an impressive as depressive) a fist to where it felt like the locket had been branded into my palm. Guess I did remember how it felt, maybe it was one of those things that never goes away.

“One less thing I have to worry about.” he added.

It was like he was giving up, like he was composing his will, but he skipped writing it and moved right on to the process of his possessions changing hands. With more oomph than necessary, I sat down on a cushion. The seat was too short and my knees were compressed against the table, but for some reason it felt good to be discomforted. I roamed over my water-shedding pants.

“It seems I don’t have a place to carry this.” I informed him.

The din of wrappers being opened began to intensify as the others arrived. “Hmm,” he meditated from behind a mouthful of a Big Drumboat cinnamon roll, “Wear it.”

That seemed improper, but I obeyed and hoisted the gold neck chain above my head, gathering my hair in a fist to make sure nothing tugged, and slipped it on beneath the bundle of locks.

I posed as if I was about to have my picture taken. “How does it look?”

“Gay.” he said without looking up, gobbling pure sugar. “Sit down and eat your food.”

Tucking the jewelry down into my shirt, I made up a name on the fly and said resentfully, “I am sitting you festering moose cranny,” then dug my teeth into the plastic packaging of a Dear Cake, which had shepherded my idea for the insult. It would have been great to have nourishing calories, but as usual, something was better than nothing.

We chose to rest our vocal chords while we fed, and if my company was anything like me, every single taste was relished, if not divided into categories so as to isolate the premier flavor. I leaned in for another hearty bite--and bashed bone against bone. I opened my shocked eyes in disgust and chucked the package toward the middle where it joined a flourishing mountain. It was gone so fast. My tongue was screaming robbery--it seemed like I had only taken the first bite. When did I offend you, Time? I pondered. Wait. It wouldn’t be the way I squander time away when I'm bored and stuff? Is this some kind of sick irony...Is idleness what you hold against us?

“Now what?” chopped through my wonderment like it was warm butter. I couldn’t tell who said it.

The Gutter responded with passion, “Dole out the stuff you came to get.”

“Will those little guns hurt the thing or just piss it off?” indicated Matt before anyone could move. “It’s a popular take in all those movies that the rounds can’t stop the huge creatures.”

“He’s right!” Dallas readily fired. “You see all kinds of stuff shot at Godzilla, robots, sea serpents, overgrown insects--nothing conquers them.”

Rocky waved it off. “Those are movies. They’re theoretical.”

Tell ‘em Rocky.

“Ah,” Vinny acknowledged casting his share of debris to the lot. “But there is some truth to them.” Really, I’d like to hear this. “Near the end they solve it in some unordinary manner: a breakthrough discovery, drop a bomb, sucker it into a bizarre trap, or simple, pure luck.”

I wouldn’t call that truth, not reality to begin with.

“Fire.” inserted Matt. “Fire consumes all.” His small dark eyes shifted. “Right?”

Gutterson chuckled, “I can’t remember the last time I was asked for a flamethrower.” All eyes were trained on him. “You, were getting at that, correct?”

Pheonix showed off her pearly whites, “I play with fire all day long. As my name so implies.”

“Well,” Gut renewed, “It is possible I may have been the slightest giddy for some S'mores.”

“Flamethrower. That the angle you're coming from Matt?" Rocky was looking for an affirmation.

Matt nodded eagerly, relishing the fact his idea had enticed some deliberation, or at least some interesting comments.

"That sounds like a good way to go.” Vinny endorsed. “Guys?”

He had my vote. Heads gradually nodded in appreciation.

Dallas admonished, “Hey, I set this up. I call the shots.” Then he certified with clear resentment, “Okay.”

Malibu was electric and nodded in approval. “Don’t fit like clockwork, as a refined bunch might, but you are tough, and cross the stumbling blocks anyway. That’s all that can be asked of a team, to make it work.”

I looked around and tried to think beyond myself. A team. Not blameless or unafraid, just striving for common goals, tenacity glittering in our otherwise obscure eyes.

Rocky’s face tilted downward, “We sure hauled ass like a team.”

Again, there was that. It was time we quit harboring those feelings. The time to mourn had elapsed, and now it just made my blood boil.

“Of course we feel accountable for that. That’s natural. We can wallow in despair, hope the nightmare will end and retract the consequences, or some superhero will swoop in and save the day,” I went on preaching, “But the manual says if we do that, we can’t win because we won’t have played. Someone,” I gulped, “or something, will play for us. I say the power to conquer despair is ours if we place our selfishness slash self-loathing aside. Then we’ll be able to put things in motion for the greater good.”

I wished Tezer was there to give a good speech in my place and give us something to really cheer about.

I remembered what I mentioned about my desire to graduate. “Before we completely forget ourselves though, why don’t we go around and provide a cradle of motivation. With each individual, we may knit together a strong group force.”

“That’s iddyawwdik.” Dallas immediately denigrated. “With a capital I.”

Mine was easy and I felt I should lead the way on this since it was my idea, so I put forth, “I want to actually show up at graduation.”

“Kelly.” Vinny shoved through clenched teeth.

I could only speculate why he had not named Saul too.

“This is retarded.” bellyached Dallas.

Pheonix said, “For the family.” and more glumly, “Especially back at home.”

Rocky firmly added, “Same.”

“Try not to repeat.” I stated. “I should’ve cleared that up at the beginning.”

He did roll his eyes at the new rule. The big guy pointed at the pile of rubbish accusingly. “I could go for some genuine chow.”

“I hear ya man.” consented Matt. “Feasting while my eyes are glued to ‘Cost of Corn Acres’. A marathon of it to be exact.”

I think that was a comedic cartoon. The title rang a bell but I never watched it. Only Malibu and Dallas had not shown us motivation to punch and kick and scream our way home, and the wait was killing me.

Gutterson stepped up to the plate. “Five arduous years ago,” he detailed, “there was a gruesome murder.” What does this have to do with anything? “It happened in the dead of night. They never even turned up any suspects, beside myself.” himself? “I happened to partially witness the crime, but,” he shuddered. “I should’ve just hid under the covers. You see, the victim was my dear Minca.”

“I woke when I felt a load on my chest, to see something flash over me and knock my wife out of bed. Before I could shake her single ghostly scream and the dream feel of it all, she was across the room,” his voice broke, “beyond repair.” It took a few moments to gather himself. “And the thing that did it was hunched over her with black ragged fur, stabbing at her with ungodly velocity like it was pounding away at piano keys in a frenzy. And all the while it kept its wolfish face turned backwards at this neck-snapping angle, latched onto me,” Gut was spitting his teeth at the memory now, “celebrating my pain. It didn’t come after me, it just wanted to cause me ultimate grief.” And he hung his head.

My mind gaped at the images it had been treated to. Instant heart failure would be my demise should I ever have a brush with that sort of devil. If nothing else a permanent coma. No wonder he never told me how she died. And I couldn’t feel worse for him, seeing his chin on his chest, misery undying.

He had his face between his hands now. “I never dreamed of going on without her. I never thought that I would be plagued by another of that kind. Two in one lifetime. It isn’t fair, but here I am. For her.”

I had just been assassinated. Nobody peeped a word. At the moment I couldn’t invent a memory eraser, but needed to do something for the time being. A memory eraser was actually going to be added to my list of personal aspirations.

“For her.” I earnestly said.

Even Dallas’ heart of stone had become pliable, and right on cue, a chorus sang out after me, “For her.”

“Hey umm, Old man.” Dallas mollified. “I take back how I bad-mouthed this exercise before.”

Gut was busy fiddling with his glasses again but managed a terse nod.

I knew it was highly narcissistic of me, but I couldn’t help thinking it. My thoughts spiraled out of control, howling like the wind. Hey, over here ungrateful dipshit! Why don’t you apologize to the designer of this exercise? It was a horrible thought, for several reasons, I know. For starters, with Malibu over there being eaten by his memories, all I could think of was self-gratification. Don’t look at me like that. Unless you want to strut and crow you’ve never done it, then, of course, feel free to lock me up for life.

“Slibbonriff.” Dallas pronounced without further kerfuffle.

Of course no one knew what he meant by that and all inquired about it.

“My puppy!” he went on as if he had had to introduce his doggy friend a hundred times before, “I named him after my favorite band. That’s not weird and b--”

There was a thunderous sound towards the roof that sounded like a bulldozer had just toppled a brick house. All the light fixtures flickered, those suspended bobbed about on their cords, and dust peppered down from the rafters. A heavy dragging sound followed, causing the entire structure to creak intensely. There weren’t too many things it could be.

Then, in a voice that grated like somebody was scraping the hardened crust from the bottom of a skillet, a fiend taunted, “Come out, come out to play.”