Spoiler
3. Awakening To a Mad World
*I have consider a re-title of, Awakening to Madness*
Oh yeah, when you see a first person point of view, that's a characters thoughts*
On the Eastern side of the world, Eitan's eyelids fluttered open. His room was black, but his eyes quickly adjusted and he could see moonlight stream in through slits in the window drapes. Eitan felt goose bumps on his arms. The nightmare had seemed so real.
He was no stranger to having bad dreams. The worst his dreams had him reliving the tragedy that made him the bad person that he was now. At the age of ten, Eitan and his friend Habil had been playing soccer outside, and then he was gone, faster than the kick of a ball. His friend had lost his life in a suicide bombing by a Palestinian terrorist.
Eitan had witnessed it, from the moment the man pressed the button. That explosion. The smoke and dirt that rushed toward him in a cloud. His eyes were blackened with it, and it had entered his mouth and lungs. It may have been induced by breathing in all those fumes, but Eitan faintly recalled hearing a wolf’s howl mingle with the explosion.
But, that was impossible. There were no wolves in the city. He wasn’t even sure if Israel had wolves at all. It was silly to actually believe that he had heard anything but the explosion and screams. That day he had come to know death with all five of his senses.
His parents had found him sitting against a wall, rocking back and forth. For weeks Eitan feared just leaving his house. And day by day, he felt a rage building inside of him toward the Palestinian people.
He had become what the Americans would call a racist. His parents didn’t know. If they did they would see him for what he really was. A boy consumed by a monster that he created.
Eitan noticed that his mouth was dry and tasted foul. He needed a glass of water. Eitan cast his bed cover aside, opened his door, walked out of his room and into the darkened house. The room light of his little sister Jonina's room shined through the top and bottom cracks. What was she doing awake at this hour? He had just begun to her door when the knob turned; his sister rushed past him and ran to her parent’s room.
Her face was shrouded in shadow, but by her erratic breathing he knew that something had her frightened. Eitan stood next to her room and waited to see what his parents would do to calm Jonina. His little sister was pounding on their door with a force that didn't belong to a gentle four year old girl.
His mom burst out and immediately asked what was wrong. Her black hair clung to her sweat moistened forehead.
"I had a bad dream," Jonina whispered.
Whatever dream she had it couldn't have compared to his. Eitan would have expected his mom to tell Jonina that there was nothing to worry about and should just go back to sleep, but she didn't. In fact she looked worried.
"What did you dream about, Jonina?" his mom asked.
"Lots of fire," said his sister in timidly, “and animals fighting.”
Eitan was stunned. Had he and his sister had the same dream?
"Was there a gazelle in your dream?" Eitan said. He couldn't contain himself, he had to know if it was the exact same dream.
His mother looked at him, surprised. She brushed away a stray clump of hair dropping over her eyes. "I hadn't seen you there, Eitan."
"What's a gazelle?" his sister said.
"It looks kind of like a deer, except-" Eitan had begun to say before his sister cut him off.
"Mother, I saw a deer in my dream. His branches were on fire!" Jonina said, tugging at her mother's night gown. It stuck out from her body like a shedded snake skin.
That was all the confirmation Eitan needed.
"Namir," his mom said. Namir was his father. The big muscular man appeared in the doorway.
"Yes, dear?" Namir said.
"Jonina had the same dream me and you had.”
Namir's face flushed. It was all too much for Eitan to take in. First his sister, and then both of his parents had had the same dream. Did his brother Zeev also dream it? A light in the hall turned on and his brother approached, his long black hair covering his right eye like a patch. Seeing his visible shifty eye was all Eitan could do to keep from shouting an English swear word.
***************************
The second Chloe awoke at 5:24 ante meridiem; she rushed over to her pets ignoring the cold sweat on her forehead and under her yellow pajamas. She was the first of the Westerners to awaken. She fell asleep late into the night and always woke up early in the beginning of the black dawn. Chloe flipped on the light switch. The sudden brightness irritated her eyes.
Chile, her chinchilla, reared up on his hind legs and pressed his tiny forepaws against the cage bars.
"Hey, Chile," Chloe said, tickling the animals chubby stomach. His bushy squirrel like tail curled up behind him. She pulled her fingers out from the bars and plopped down on her bed.
Chloe’s room was almost entirely white. From the walls, desk, bed, pillows, television, movie player, and many other miscellaneous objects. The carpet of the floor, however, was green, her favorite color and also of her eyes. Her dad often teased her calling her foliage because of their leaf like luster. Chloe did not resemble either of her parents. Her mother’s eyes were brown and she had blonde hair. Her father’s were blue, and he was brown haired.
She and her family didn't talk much. Mostly her mother just told her how much she loved her. Choe would merely nod. It was annoying really, how her mother said she loved her, but never listened to anything she had to say. Her father, on the other hand, was always busy doing something, so they didn't talk much either. And when they did it was usually greetings, sarcasm, and departings. Chloe didn't even know how to start a conversation with her own parents.
The whole reason for Chloe’s room being almost exclusively white was because she hoped that in doing so it would ensure that Snoweys coat would stay white year round. So far it hasn't been put to the test since summer hadn't arrived. But Chloe doubted that she was a match for the laws of nature. While Chloe was a bright girl, her goofy side still showed. And my bad side.
Chloe threw herself back on the bed an shut her eyes. She had found the Lepus othus leveret in the wild when she had gone with her parents to Alaska. The mother had just been killed by an arctic fox, along with the rest of the offspring in the nest. As much as her parents argued about her interfering with nature, Chloe could not leave the tiny snowball of a animal to die.
She scared the predator away. That was the easy part. It was a nightmare getting the young hare through customs.
The reason for the trip was that her parents had been there on assignment. They were to check if the rumors of the locals that the permafrost of tundra regions was thawing at the wrong time of the year were true. A documentary crew accompanied them throughout the entire time that Chloe and her parents wandered the Alaskan tundra, using high tech equipment to test the permafrost, and take ground temperatures, even using special devices to test the moisture in the air.
She liked that her father, Benjamin Campbell, had a sense of humor. And he wasn't afraid to crack a joke or two when the cameras were rolling. Her mother, Gloria, was the opposite. She was all doom and gloom, temperatures are rising and there’s nothing that can be done about, all that stuff. She was right about green house gases being the culprit behind the thawing, which were proven to be all too real.
Chloe ran a hand through her moist hair. She smiled, remember how she had found it so repulsive compared to the lion's luscious gold fur. Chloe stopped stroking her hair and clamped her fingers around a clump. Her parent's environmental philosophy was wide spread. They were television icons.
Even a number of the kids from her school watched The End of Nature, Extinct Habitats, Expedition Blunders, and Curiosity Sent The Cat Around The Globe. All of them were among the highest rated nature shows. Of those shows, her personal favorite was Expedition Blunders, her father was pretty funny in the episode he appeared in. Laughter was a rare luxury Chloe ever had the joy of experiencing.
Feeling a sharp pain on her scalp, Chloe gritted her teeth. She realized that she was still tugging at her hair, and loosened her grip. She opened her eyes and turned her neck to the right, resting the side of her face on the bed. She smiled at a picture of she and her family on the wall. In it, they were all wearing Hazmat suits, grotesque trees, and a gritty skyline behind them.
Some of her fondest memories were there, in Chernobyl. She giggled, remembering that her father had whispered to her, "Those aliens following us are giving me the creeps." He had been referring to the documentary crew who shuffled after them like robots, carrying equipment. There erratic breathing making sucking sounds the entire time. He didn't know until later that their highly sensitive sound equipment had been recording the entire time.
Chloe pressed her palms over the bed and pushed herself off. Sucking sounds. Chloe went over to a trash can and spit in it. The memories are always coiled up like snakes, ready to strike and inject their sadness inducing venom.
She snickered nervously. I've always wanted a poisonous snake to bite me on my family's trips to South America so I can die without causing my parents too much grieve. I'm disappointed it hasn't happened.
The Chernobyl trip was interesting, but what it really was, was an eye opener. A nuclear disaster had snuffed out all forms of life, hundreds of miles around the disaster site. And prior to the trip all animal life just died around the site where the nuclear meltdown took place. Nobody knew why, and they still didn't. Some speculated that secret tests for nuclear weapons had taken place there. Perhaps dirty bombs that spread something like fallout that could actually kill people, rather than just be a weapon of mass disruption. Like the ones that were recently used in Ashdod and Tel Aviv.
But then why had they been allowed to film in Chernobyl? Maybe they didn't care about their safety; they probably counted on them dropping dead from radiation sickness sometime soon. I wouldn't mind.
Who, "they" were if anybody, was unknown. However, the horror of nuclear destruction remained. Chloe could only begin to imagine what a nuclear war could do to the natural world she had grown to love. Just thinking about it broke her heart. Just as seeing all the animals fighting in her dream had.
Why are we humans so destructive? We live a parasitic lifestyle slaughtering each other for our own benefit. We may primarily live a commensalistic relationship, but that is still a form of living only for ourselves. Rarely do we live in mutualism in which we can help each other grow and come closer together.
Chloe crouched down in front of Snoweys cage and looked in at her. She was stretched out in the middle.
“Hey you little spoiled princess, “she said, opening the cage. Snowey's ears perked up and turned to Chloe like antennas.
She giggled. “You're so adorable.” She reached in the cage and pulled her pet. It was time for her exercise in the backyard of her Omaha, Nebraska home. She slipped on a pair of slippers and snatched her field notes journal and a pen on her way out. It was also a diary full of dark memories of her not too distant past. The sprawling frantic sloppy writing was evidence of it, and the tear stains.
*************************
Stacey was the second of the Westerners to wake up from the dream. She brushed her short dark brown hair away from her eyes and got out of bed. The old clock hanging from a rusty nail against the wall read 6:48. Stacey was used to waking up earlier than other kids. She had to since she walked to school everyday. She did so because her dad didn't own a car, and wouldn't have taken her if he had one anyway.
Stacey shuddered. Riding the bus was a dreadful experience she did not want to repeat.
Stacey walked barefoot over the cold wooden floor to the window. She pushed the baby blue shades aside and gazed at the sky. It was a dark bluish gray. The banana shaped, crescent moon was still visible. Looking at the street, she saw the paper boy toss the morning newspaper on people’s front lawns, skipping her house.
No newspaper was ever dropped on her lawn; It was always barren. A few years back, the grass on the side of the street had been left to grow wild. Only when the city people sent in letters did her father get around to cutting it. Stacey now took the ordeal of cutting it herself with a heavy rusty old lawn mower that only worked half the time.
Stacey rubbed a finger along her left palm. Blisters creased below her fingers like mountain ranges. Hard labor was her way of life. She closed the shade and got dressed, choosing generic clothes on purpose. In one of her clothes drawers she kept a Bible that she had to hide from her anti-religion father. Stacey pushed it further back and covered it lightly so she wouldn't leave an obvious bulge where it was. She knew that her father often raided her room for beer money.
Stacey dug out her work uniform and stuffed it in her backpack. She went straight to work as a waitress as soon as school ended. The customers usually gave her hefty tips. It was like they knew that she needed it. The faded red and khaki uniform in her backpack was the only one she owned. She washed it every night during the summer when she worked. During the cool weather of this time of year she only did so every two days. Her work shoes were also her school, and casual shoes.
The sky blue paint with a grayish tint on the walls of Stacey's room was oppressing and threatening in the twilight. It was like she was surrounded by fathomless stormy ocean water in her rectangular room. The rest of the house was the same color. Stacey had not only bought the paint for the house but also did all the painting herself. The paint had cost a fortune considering she was on a budget. Her father hadn't worked ever since he had been fired from his job as a garbage truck driver.
Stacey's room was originally the living room but years ago when her mother still lived there and before her father had become a drunk he had built a wall and door to isolate a large portion of the living room from the rest of the house. It made the single bedroom home into one with two. In a way, it became her parent’s master bedroom when they were together.
Her dad now had his sleeping quarters in what used to be Stacey's room as a child. Her father never told her why he insisted on trading rooms with her when her mother left. She assumed it gave him bad memories being in the room where he and her mother spent their time together.
When she was done dressing, she looked at her reflection in a large wood framed mirror. Stacey saw a teenage girl wearing faded blue jeans and a gray sweatshirt. She was beautiful and knew it. No matter what she wore she always got a lot of interested looks from guys.
Any other girl would have taken in all the attention if they were in her body. But Stacey didn't see things that way. She didn't live by the same rules as the youth of today. She sighed. What has the world come to? It's like me and my friend Veronica are part of some elite group rebelling against the Now Society. Stacey grabbed her backpack and crept toward her door. She cautiously opened the creaking door.
The house was quiet, which was a good thing; Stacey did not want to have her morning begin with verbal abuse from her father. She tiptoed through her small house toward the bath room. She brushed her teeth and stepped out of the puny room. She headed for the front door taking baby steps. She wished a back door existed.
Her tiny home was vibrant because of her hard work around the house. Her dusting and cleaning of windows until they sparkled like crystal in the sunlight more than made up for the short comings of the rotting floorboards and the deteriorating walls and roof. She even cleaned the dust off of all the ceiling fans which no longer worked.
Her father, on the other hand had never done anything around the house but make a mess which she would promptly clean up. She smiled at her work. Her hard work had transformed an indoor landfill into a liveable household.
Stacey jumped when she heard someone say, "Goodbye sweetie." The floor boards strained under her sudden movement. The voice was that of her father, not of a burglar.
She turned to the kitchen and saw her father sitting on an old wooden chair smiling at her. He looked ten years younger his actual age. She couldn't recall any time she had seen him so happy. Even Stacey’s mother said the happiest she had ever seen him was when he held her in his arms after she was born. The sight of him without a beer can in his grip also didn't compute.
Stacey thought her dad was just trying to be funny. She waved at him and said, "Bye dad," as she headed out the door. Before the door closed Stacey heard her dad say, "I love you." I do too. I just wish you really did. You haven't called me Sweetie since when? Nine, ten years ago?
She wondered if he was just acting nice because he was about to ask her to cook him some breakfast. A meal he never ate, he would skip right to drinking a beer. “Dad, that's just not healthy,” she whispered to the empty street. A dove perched on a wire, chirped at her.
Stacey smiled up at, but her smile became a grimace as a hawk swept down on it like a scythe.
*I have consider a re-title of, Awakening to Madness*
Oh yeah, when you see a first person point of view, that's a characters thoughts*
On the Eastern side of the world, Eitan's eyelids fluttered open. His room was black, but his eyes quickly adjusted and he could see moonlight stream in through slits in the window drapes. Eitan felt goose bumps on his arms. The nightmare had seemed so real.
He was no stranger to having bad dreams. The worst his dreams had him reliving the tragedy that made him the bad person that he was now. At the age of ten, Eitan and his friend Habil had been playing soccer outside, and then he was gone, faster than the kick of a ball. His friend had lost his life in a suicide bombing by a Palestinian terrorist.
Eitan had witnessed it, from the moment the man pressed the button. That explosion. The smoke and dirt that rushed toward him in a cloud. His eyes were blackened with it, and it had entered his mouth and lungs. It may have been induced by breathing in all those fumes, but Eitan faintly recalled hearing a wolf’s howl mingle with the explosion.
But, that was impossible. There were no wolves in the city. He wasn’t even sure if Israel had wolves at all. It was silly to actually believe that he had heard anything but the explosion and screams. That day he had come to know death with all five of his senses.
His parents had found him sitting against a wall, rocking back and forth. For weeks Eitan feared just leaving his house. And day by day, he felt a rage building inside of him toward the Palestinian people.
He had become what the Americans would call a racist. His parents didn’t know. If they did they would see him for what he really was. A boy consumed by a monster that he created.
Eitan noticed that his mouth was dry and tasted foul. He needed a glass of water. Eitan cast his bed cover aside, opened his door, walked out of his room and into the darkened house. The room light of his little sister Jonina's room shined through the top and bottom cracks. What was she doing awake at this hour? He had just begun to her door when the knob turned; his sister rushed past him and ran to her parent’s room.
Her face was shrouded in shadow, but by her erratic breathing he knew that something had her frightened. Eitan stood next to her room and waited to see what his parents would do to calm Jonina. His little sister was pounding on their door with a force that didn't belong to a gentle four year old girl.
His mom burst out and immediately asked what was wrong. Her black hair clung to her sweat moistened forehead.
"I had a bad dream," Jonina whispered.
Whatever dream she had it couldn't have compared to his. Eitan would have expected his mom to tell Jonina that there was nothing to worry about and should just go back to sleep, but she didn't. In fact she looked worried.
"What did you dream about, Jonina?" his mom asked.
"Lots of fire," said his sister in timidly, “and animals fighting.”
Eitan was stunned. Had he and his sister had the same dream?
"Was there a gazelle in your dream?" Eitan said. He couldn't contain himself, he had to know if it was the exact same dream.
His mother looked at him, surprised. She brushed away a stray clump of hair dropping over her eyes. "I hadn't seen you there, Eitan."
"What's a gazelle?" his sister said.
"It looks kind of like a deer, except-" Eitan had begun to say before his sister cut him off.
"Mother, I saw a deer in my dream. His branches were on fire!" Jonina said, tugging at her mother's night gown. It stuck out from her body like a shedded snake skin.
That was all the confirmation Eitan needed.
"Namir," his mom said. Namir was his father. The big muscular man appeared in the doorway.
"Yes, dear?" Namir said.
"Jonina had the same dream me and you had.”
Namir's face flushed. It was all too much for Eitan to take in. First his sister, and then both of his parents had had the same dream. Did his brother Zeev also dream it? A light in the hall turned on and his brother approached, his long black hair covering his right eye like a patch. Seeing his visible shifty eye was all Eitan could do to keep from shouting an English swear word.
***************************
The second Chloe awoke at 5:24 ante meridiem; she rushed over to her pets ignoring the cold sweat on her forehead and under her yellow pajamas. She was the first of the Westerners to awaken. She fell asleep late into the night and always woke up early in the beginning of the black dawn. Chloe flipped on the light switch. The sudden brightness irritated her eyes.
Chile, her chinchilla, reared up on his hind legs and pressed his tiny forepaws against the cage bars.
"Hey, Chile," Chloe said, tickling the animals chubby stomach. His bushy squirrel like tail curled up behind him. She pulled her fingers out from the bars and plopped down on her bed.
Chloe’s room was almost entirely white. From the walls, desk, bed, pillows, television, movie player, and many other miscellaneous objects. The carpet of the floor, however, was green, her favorite color and also of her eyes. Her dad often teased her calling her foliage because of their leaf like luster. Chloe did not resemble either of her parents. Her mother’s eyes were brown and she had blonde hair. Her father’s were blue, and he was brown haired.
She and her family didn't talk much. Mostly her mother just told her how much she loved her. Choe would merely nod. It was annoying really, how her mother said she loved her, but never listened to anything she had to say. Her father, on the other hand, was always busy doing something, so they didn't talk much either. And when they did it was usually greetings, sarcasm, and departings. Chloe didn't even know how to start a conversation with her own parents.
The whole reason for Chloe’s room being almost exclusively white was because she hoped that in doing so it would ensure that Snoweys coat would stay white year round. So far it hasn't been put to the test since summer hadn't arrived. But Chloe doubted that she was a match for the laws of nature. While Chloe was a bright girl, her goofy side still showed. And my bad side.
Chloe threw herself back on the bed an shut her eyes. She had found the Lepus othus leveret in the wild when she had gone with her parents to Alaska. The mother had just been killed by an arctic fox, along with the rest of the offspring in the nest. As much as her parents argued about her interfering with nature, Chloe could not leave the tiny snowball of a animal to die.
She scared the predator away. That was the easy part. It was a nightmare getting the young hare through customs.
The reason for the trip was that her parents had been there on assignment. They were to check if the rumors of the locals that the permafrost of tundra regions was thawing at the wrong time of the year were true. A documentary crew accompanied them throughout the entire time that Chloe and her parents wandered the Alaskan tundra, using high tech equipment to test the permafrost, and take ground temperatures, even using special devices to test the moisture in the air.
She liked that her father, Benjamin Campbell, had a sense of humor. And he wasn't afraid to crack a joke or two when the cameras were rolling. Her mother, Gloria, was the opposite. She was all doom and gloom, temperatures are rising and there’s nothing that can be done about, all that stuff. She was right about green house gases being the culprit behind the thawing, which were proven to be all too real.
Chloe ran a hand through her moist hair. She smiled, remember how she had found it so repulsive compared to the lion's luscious gold fur. Chloe stopped stroking her hair and clamped her fingers around a clump. Her parent's environmental philosophy was wide spread. They were television icons.
Even a number of the kids from her school watched The End of Nature, Extinct Habitats, Expedition Blunders, and Curiosity Sent The Cat Around The Globe. All of them were among the highest rated nature shows. Of those shows, her personal favorite was Expedition Blunders, her father was pretty funny in the episode he appeared in. Laughter was a rare luxury Chloe ever had the joy of experiencing.
Feeling a sharp pain on her scalp, Chloe gritted her teeth. She realized that she was still tugging at her hair, and loosened her grip. She opened her eyes and turned her neck to the right, resting the side of her face on the bed. She smiled at a picture of she and her family on the wall. In it, they were all wearing Hazmat suits, grotesque trees, and a gritty skyline behind them.
Some of her fondest memories were there, in Chernobyl. She giggled, remembering that her father had whispered to her, "Those aliens following us are giving me the creeps." He had been referring to the documentary crew who shuffled after them like robots, carrying equipment. There erratic breathing making sucking sounds the entire time. He didn't know until later that their highly sensitive sound equipment had been recording the entire time.
Chloe pressed her palms over the bed and pushed herself off. Sucking sounds. Chloe went over to a trash can and spit in it. The memories are always coiled up like snakes, ready to strike and inject their sadness inducing venom.
She snickered nervously. I've always wanted a poisonous snake to bite me on my family's trips to South America so I can die without causing my parents too much grieve. I'm disappointed it hasn't happened.
The Chernobyl trip was interesting, but what it really was, was an eye opener. A nuclear disaster had snuffed out all forms of life, hundreds of miles around the disaster site. And prior to the trip all animal life just died around the site where the nuclear meltdown took place. Nobody knew why, and they still didn't. Some speculated that secret tests for nuclear weapons had taken place there. Perhaps dirty bombs that spread something like fallout that could actually kill people, rather than just be a weapon of mass disruption. Like the ones that were recently used in Ashdod and Tel Aviv.
But then why had they been allowed to film in Chernobyl? Maybe they didn't care about their safety; they probably counted on them dropping dead from radiation sickness sometime soon. I wouldn't mind.
Who, "they" were if anybody, was unknown. However, the horror of nuclear destruction remained. Chloe could only begin to imagine what a nuclear war could do to the natural world she had grown to love. Just thinking about it broke her heart. Just as seeing all the animals fighting in her dream had.
Why are we humans so destructive? We live a parasitic lifestyle slaughtering each other for our own benefit. We may primarily live a commensalistic relationship, but that is still a form of living only for ourselves. Rarely do we live in mutualism in which we can help each other grow and come closer together.
Chloe crouched down in front of Snoweys cage and looked in at her. She was stretched out in the middle.
“Hey you little spoiled princess, “she said, opening the cage. Snowey's ears perked up and turned to Chloe like antennas.
She giggled. “You're so adorable.” She reached in the cage and pulled her pet. It was time for her exercise in the backyard of her Omaha, Nebraska home. She slipped on a pair of slippers and snatched her field notes journal and a pen on her way out. It was also a diary full of dark memories of her not too distant past. The sprawling frantic sloppy writing was evidence of it, and the tear stains.
*************************
Stacey was the second of the Westerners to wake up from the dream. She brushed her short dark brown hair away from her eyes and got out of bed. The old clock hanging from a rusty nail against the wall read 6:48. Stacey was used to waking up earlier than other kids. She had to since she walked to school everyday. She did so because her dad didn't own a car, and wouldn't have taken her if he had one anyway.
Stacey shuddered. Riding the bus was a dreadful experience she did not want to repeat.
Stacey walked barefoot over the cold wooden floor to the window. She pushed the baby blue shades aside and gazed at the sky. It was a dark bluish gray. The banana shaped, crescent moon was still visible. Looking at the street, she saw the paper boy toss the morning newspaper on people’s front lawns, skipping her house.
No newspaper was ever dropped on her lawn; It was always barren. A few years back, the grass on the side of the street had been left to grow wild. Only when the city people sent in letters did her father get around to cutting it. Stacey now took the ordeal of cutting it herself with a heavy rusty old lawn mower that only worked half the time.
Stacey rubbed a finger along her left palm. Blisters creased below her fingers like mountain ranges. Hard labor was her way of life. She closed the shade and got dressed, choosing generic clothes on purpose. In one of her clothes drawers she kept a Bible that she had to hide from her anti-religion father. Stacey pushed it further back and covered it lightly so she wouldn't leave an obvious bulge where it was. She knew that her father often raided her room for beer money.
Stacey dug out her work uniform and stuffed it in her backpack. She went straight to work as a waitress as soon as school ended. The customers usually gave her hefty tips. It was like they knew that she needed it. The faded red and khaki uniform in her backpack was the only one she owned. She washed it every night during the summer when she worked. During the cool weather of this time of year she only did so every two days. Her work shoes were also her school, and casual shoes.
The sky blue paint with a grayish tint on the walls of Stacey's room was oppressing and threatening in the twilight. It was like she was surrounded by fathomless stormy ocean water in her rectangular room. The rest of the house was the same color. Stacey had not only bought the paint for the house but also did all the painting herself. The paint had cost a fortune considering she was on a budget. Her father hadn't worked ever since he had been fired from his job as a garbage truck driver.
Stacey's room was originally the living room but years ago when her mother still lived there and before her father had become a drunk he had built a wall and door to isolate a large portion of the living room from the rest of the house. It made the single bedroom home into one with two. In a way, it became her parent’s master bedroom when they were together.
Her dad now had his sleeping quarters in what used to be Stacey's room as a child. Her father never told her why he insisted on trading rooms with her when her mother left. She assumed it gave him bad memories being in the room where he and her mother spent their time together.
When she was done dressing, she looked at her reflection in a large wood framed mirror. Stacey saw a teenage girl wearing faded blue jeans and a gray sweatshirt. She was beautiful and knew it. No matter what she wore she always got a lot of interested looks from guys.
Any other girl would have taken in all the attention if they were in her body. But Stacey didn't see things that way. She didn't live by the same rules as the youth of today. She sighed. What has the world come to? It's like me and my friend Veronica are part of some elite group rebelling against the Now Society. Stacey grabbed her backpack and crept toward her door. She cautiously opened the creaking door.
The house was quiet, which was a good thing; Stacey did not want to have her morning begin with verbal abuse from her father. She tiptoed through her small house toward the bath room. She brushed her teeth and stepped out of the puny room. She headed for the front door taking baby steps. She wished a back door existed.
Her tiny home was vibrant because of her hard work around the house. Her dusting and cleaning of windows until they sparkled like crystal in the sunlight more than made up for the short comings of the rotting floorboards and the deteriorating walls and roof. She even cleaned the dust off of all the ceiling fans which no longer worked.
Her father, on the other hand had never done anything around the house but make a mess which she would promptly clean up. She smiled at her work. Her hard work had transformed an indoor landfill into a liveable household.
Stacey jumped when she heard someone say, "Goodbye sweetie." The floor boards strained under her sudden movement. The voice was that of her father, not of a burglar.
She turned to the kitchen and saw her father sitting on an old wooden chair smiling at her. He looked ten years younger his actual age. She couldn't recall any time she had seen him so happy. Even Stacey’s mother said the happiest she had ever seen him was when he held her in his arms after she was born. The sight of him without a beer can in his grip also didn't compute.
Stacey thought her dad was just trying to be funny. She waved at him and said, "Bye dad," as she headed out the door. Before the door closed Stacey heard her dad say, "I love you." I do too. I just wish you really did. You haven't called me Sweetie since when? Nine, ten years ago?
She wondered if he was just acting nice because he was about to ask her to cook him some breakfast. A meal he never ate, he would skip right to drinking a beer. “Dad, that's just not healthy,” she whispered to the empty street. A dove perched on a wire, chirped at her.
Stacey smiled up at, but her smile became a grimace as a hawk swept down on it like a scythe.
Andrew awoke with a start, not registering why he could hear a blaring ring.
"Oh yeah, the stupid clock," Andrew grumbled, his hand over his mouth like a muzzle. He felt a little nauseous, but relived to be awake. For once the clock was good for something as a nightmare escape.
He pushed down roughly on the clock. In a too toughly manner, because it slipped off the counter and fell with a muffled thud onto the carpeted floor. A piece of it clipped off and bounced on one of his toes. His cousin Vivi, had given him the clock.
Andrew wasn’t sure why; he already had four others in storage. It didn’t really matter, though. He was happy that somebody cared, and felt bad keeping secrets from her. But Andrew was afraid she would tell her friends or worse, her dad Rodger. And if he got word of the tragedy he would no doubt tell his wife Terry, who was his dad's sister.
Andrew opened his eyes a pinch, they blinked involuntarily as sunlight seeping in through the half opened blinds struck them. Dust particles floated through the rays of light. He flung himself to his left and sat on the bedside, his eyes still droopy.
Lifting his eyelids, Andrew made his way to his dresser. His vision hadn't quite adjusted to the new light so he stumbled through the haze of his room. Andrew bent down and pulled open the drawer were he had his storage of shirts. He randomly pulled out a plain Navy blue T-shirt, then opened two other drawers one containing socks and boxers, the other pairs of pants. Like with his shirts he pulled out the first things his hands got a hold of and kicked the drawers shut.
By now his vision had adjusted to the ambiance of the room. He kicked an electronic bible on the floor across the room. Andrew stalked to his door and pulled it open. He was six foot three, any taller and he would have to duck to get through the doorway of his room.
He went into the restroom to brush his teeth then he rushed over to the living room to grab his backpack on the floor, next to his snoring father on the coach.
"Rest well, dad," Andrew said. Looking at the wall across from him, he bowed his head. The family portrait always struck a nerve. In it, his mother with an arm around his shoulders. Her smile was eternally glazed on her face, but never again would he see her flash it.
Andrew looked down at his father, who could have been a future version of himself, before stepping out of the house. His friend Sam was waiting for him on the curb in his red pickup truck. Loud rock music blared from inside.
One of these days that racket is going to deteriorate his brain, Andrew thought climbing into the truck where music boomed like an exploding mine field.
Sam gave him a mock military salute and zoomed off toward school before Andrew could put on his seat belt.
Andrew fumbled with the belt. After a struggle, he cliked it on. "I thought I told you to lower the volume of this trash when you are in proximity of the Major!" Andrew shouted, trying to be heard over the music. Major was a nickname he had for his dad.
His dad was done with the Army, and he was now a part of the National Guard. They both killed people, so they were pretty much the same. Except, the National Guard killed its own. It was eerie, knowing he lived with someone who was a part of a force that killed anybody who protested against the nation.
“Hey, Sam?”
Sam lowered the volume of his music. “Yeah?”
“Don't you think Democracy is a bit forced these days?”
“Of course,” he said. “It's like, you're either a patriot or a terrorist. If you vote, pay your taxes, and generally love your country, you're a patriot. But if you protest- well, the Major can tell you all about that.”
“He's told me, but he says he doesn't think he'll ever have to be a part of that.”
“You never know,” Sam said before he increased the volume of his stereo again.
Andrew never called his dad “Major” to his face, because he wouldn't be able to talk ever again. His father liked to be called by the title of, "Dad" not his military rank. Andrew respected his him, not because he had to, but because it was the least he could do for him.
“Sam, do you have to have your music so loud?” Andrew said.
"What was that, Major's son?" Sam said.
"I said you have no right owning a license!"
"Gotcha!" Sam said, passing a stop sign.
"One of these days you're going to become a traffic fatality statistic," Andrew said, tisk tisking.
Sam stuck a finger in his ear and pretended to clean it out.
"How did me and you become friends again?" Andrew joked, and then he sighed. Sam was the first friend he ever had. Andrew reached out to the trucks stereo controls and turned it off.
Unsurprisingly, Sam didn't complain. Nobody did to Andrew, and he didn't have to explain why. Andrew smiled to himself resting his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. He found the silence both relaxing and scary.
Can I carry on like this? Scaring others just like kids used to scare me? And why my first friend? And then he thought of the dream that he couldn't seem to get out of his mind. How had it ended? He couldn't remember.
The last thing he recalled was that he was running among some trees. The fighting animals, was something he would never forget, along with the storm of fire and ice. It was all going to affect his focus in school.
*******************************************
Gasping and shivering with fear, Daniel awoke. He slid out of bed still trembling. The suns rays penetrated the blue curtains of the single large window in his room. His erratic shivering slowly subsided. A sunny day was a nice change from what had been the stormiest last few weeks that North Dakota has had in decades.
In some parts, the Missouri river flooded severely. But no matter where he lived, the weather was dangerous. On May 13, in Dallas, the city where he had previously lived a tornado so powerful that the Fujita Scale could not measure it, had roared through the metropolis.
The glowing green digits of his digital clock read: 6:25. He walked barefoot to the polished double doors of his closet. Sunlight reflected off the smooth surface. He twisted the shimmering metal knob and shuffled into the walk through closet. He didn't buy any of the countless assortments of clothes himself. Daniel hated shopping, so his mother did the best she could to buy him clothes that she thought he wouldn't mind wearing.
He wasn't too self conscience about his body-image. His friends, however, were constantly telling him that they had to stick with the latest trends in clothing and getting bigger. Daniel was no stranger to exercise, but he didn't over do it.
Looking at the rainbow of clothing, he knew that there was no way he would wear all of them before they were outgrown. Most of the clothes ended up being donated to less fortunate people by his mother.
Daniel didn't mind. Alicia, his mother, was a very caring person. She was one of the most well known of the many new residents of Mandan. And so was Isaac, his father, which made Daniel a bit of an oddity to other kids his age. He had brilliant, successful parents, and yet he was as stereotypically unique, because he fit no stereotype.
Daniel picked out a dark blue, nearly black T-shirt, blue jeans, and brown leather boots. He threw in a belt with a silver buckle for good measure. Nobody would see it because it would be hidden under his shirt.
Tucking the clothes under his arms, walking out of the large closet, which wasn't an appropriate term for the room. He could keep a lion in there and his parents would never know. When he was out of the clothes room he kicked the door closed behind him.
He stopped, remembering that a friend of his had told him about a troubled girl that he wanted him to send an email to. Daniel was the best at soothing others among his band of friends. At least, that's what they said. Vincent, had told him the email address of the girl. As far as he remembered it was, snowhare@globalfriends.com. Or was it?
Yes, it had to be, because a name like snowhair didn't make sense. Daniel crouched down next to the outlet where his phone was charging and picked it up. He touched the web icon and went to his mail profile and typed in the girl's email address. He rubbed his chin, wondering on what to write.
The girl was shy, Vincent had told him, and yet, she was not an innocent flower. She felt “all screwed up” and didn't know what to do. The girl had been taken advantage of by some guy. It was to be expected. No matter how many times it happened to other girls, they never learned. But he wouldn't say that in the message.
He stood there, staring at the wall until something finally clicked and he began to write. When he was done he looked it over.
I know times are not going well for you, in fact to you, that's an understatement. But don't feel alone, you are cared for, and don't you dare deny it. Because in doing so, you'd be lying not only to everybody else, but to yourself. Remember, letting all that turmoil build up inside you is not only bad for your physical health, but also your mind. It can get in the way of school, or a job, if you have the luck of having one. Yes, like the economy, if you don't resolve your problems, they can cause a collapse. But that doesn't need to be the case for you. You are a strong woman, and you know it. If you have this kind of mentality at the moment: “Good girls get played with and good guys get cheated on” know that they see each other everyday. The reason they often don't encounter each other is because they aren't dogs on the prowl, they're just letting life take its course. Love is not a treasure to be found, it just happens; it's a mystery. And who doesn't love a great mystery? If everything was known there wouldn't be anything to discover, and life couldn't go on without progress. And don't forget, growing up may mean putting childish things aside, but it doesn't mean that you have to get rid of child's innocence. It is that innocence that keeps people from becoming mad because of things that they will never understand. It is from those things that conflicts begin and become wars. If you ever need anybody to talk to reply to: chainlinkedenemies@globalfriends.com.
Daniel had never had to help a girl like that, so he hoped that his message wouldn't make things worse. The message itself could take anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours to get to the recipient. Messages had to go through various security checks by robotic programs to check if they contained any terrorism type content or files.
He set his phone back down and walked out of his room and went past one that formally belonged to his brother, Steven. He gazed at the eternally closed white door. Daniel had never been fond of his brother for various reasons, and practically bounced off the wall when he moved. But after a while, his absence left this part of the house silent, and barren of life.
His and brother and he shared many bad, sometimes horrendous memories, but at the same time, good ones. But like an incurable disease, the bad memories lived on. It truly was tragic, that they had to part feeling hatred and bittersweet compassion for each other.
Like every other day, the sound of the television greeted him from down stairs. A male voice coming from the living rooms sixty-inch plasma screen speakers was clearly audible. Daniel's mother always watched the morning news or a talk show. Turning his feet to the right he opened the bathroom door to take a shower.
He stopped when the reporter said, “Three members of a Texas rural family was found dead this morning. We're switching to Raphael Hunts, who is at the scene.”
“Thank you, Alex, as you know, a family of three was murdered, seemingly without motive, and no evidence has been found to hint of one. It seems that the kids were being raised by a single mother as the father-” the reporter began before a frightened howl cut him off.
“That's Justin! Quick, let's get to his location!”
For a moment Daniel heard nothing, but then the reporter spoke again, in a broken voice.
“What you are seeing,” the reporter began in a spastic voice, “is the body of what is apparently the father of the murder victims, hung in his cornfield, like a scarecrow.”
Not wanting to hear anymore, Daniel shut the bathroom door behind him.
