Let's do this thing.

Once upon a time there was this virgin adult-child fella, who lived with his parents, and hated himself and wanted to die...

_________________

until he met an enchanter who some called "Tim". Tim was much worse off, and it made the manboy's problems seem trivial in comparison. For instance, Tim's penis was what the nicer women would call 'cute', hence his nickname "Tiny Tim".

... little did he know or understand he was in the company of compatibility. In the darkness of chat world he collected his thoughts, comforted, at peace for a moment. A good conversation. A funny story. An entertaining link to a song reminiscent of the world outside. He closed his eyes and imagined everyone huddled around their monitor lights like vagrants hovering over their hot rocks and he laughed at his own solitude. It was raining somewhere in AFK land, and he knew very soon he was going to have to get wet...

With a furtive cry he woke.He was sweating.The steady snores he'd become so used to emanating from Ramirez during the night, coupled with the smells and 3 gray walls surrounding him removed all doubt whether he was dreaming now.
Slowly.Methodically.Counting. Each block outlined by the mortar so full of detail and artistry leading to the cold and impersonal bars.The walls didn't keep him there,but the bars....... He reached under the mattress and found it was still there.A small pebble found in the yard among a million others, but it was his.He had swallowed it five times previously just to be able to keep it and call it his own."Three more days and this will be just a memory", he thought to himself.

_________________
A lie is something that's only valuable to yourself. Truth is valuable to everyone. If the only thing you have to offer is something that is only valuable to you, then people will eventually not seek you out for what you have to offer.

Black bird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
all your life
you were only waiting for this moment to be free ...

Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

- Paul McCartney -

Four years. Four long years. So many highways, faces, places. They blurred together in her mind like the passing traffic, melting into a misty background of landscapes and trees. She assessed the time by the fading of her clothes, the holes in her jeans, the marks on her arms and legs ... remembering, connecting the dots that were leading her further and further away. Or was it closer and closer? She couldn't tell anymore. Everything tumbled together, and it seemed no matter how much distance she put between them, he was always there waiting. A footstep, a stranger's voice, a shadow in the rain.

She liked Petal. Like the flower. It had been during the H1N1 outbreak of 2009 when she had come to in a dark hotel room on the fringes of the small, quiet city. Out of her head with fever she had cried, praying for death as he had sat at the end of the mattress whispering quietly to her, watching her, standing just outside the bathroom and mocking her as she lay in her own vomit. They had found her nearly dead ... the maid and her son. They had driven him away, cleaned her up, brought her water and food when she was finally strong enough to eat. They didn't speak English, and her Spanish was tenuous, but there wasn't much to say anyway. Their presence was soothing, and for the first time in many long years she had been comforted, and he was gone. Funny how sometimes it takes the throes of an illness to bring peace and rest. Clarity. Petal, the tiny flower growing out of the weeds along the ass crack of the south was her new home.

She looked out the window of her office and sighed. Thunder rumbled and the wind was kicking up. She liked the rain. She could hide in the rain. There was something about a good storm that made everything else in the world unimportant, even if it was just for a little while. The prospect that nature could sweep her away at any moment always made her feel blissfully powerless.
The phone rang and she jumped.

"Hello?"

Somewhere down the hall the office girls were chattering, and she realized she had reports left to do before she could leave.

"Hello?" She was annoyed. It was too close to quitting time for her to be answering phones. She was about to hang up when she heard a breath in the silence ... nearly indistinguishable from the soft static emanating through the phone lines.

"Hey, sorry whoever this is, you must have the wrong number ...." But just before she clicked off she had heard it ... there was no denying it. It could have been anyone really, anyone in the world. But she recognized the soft "heh" before she had disconnected. A chill ran up her spine. She suddenly found her palms sweating, and she wiped them furiously on her pant legs. No no no. Go away, go away, go away. Fuck!. She glanced outside and wished the storm would hurry up. I am free, I am free, I am free.. Her heart beat against the bars of her consciousness in time to the mantra in her head as she fought the urge to run. The office walls suddenly made her feel trapped. She piled the papers on top of her desk and gathered up her things. The reports could wait until the morning. Nearly knocking her supervisor over on her way out, she mumbled apologetically and rushed out the door into the wind. Yes, everything else could wait. She had a date with the thunder, and who knows? Perhaps in the morning the world wouldn't be here.

Leaving the world without a trace is a consoling idea to one who likes to walk in storms. Footsteps can't be followed in the rain, you see. But there's a fine line between running from your problems, and trying to escape the truth. Sooner or later both have a way of catching up with you.

... and the man-child who hated himself and wanted to die, found solace immersing himself in sex, drugs and rocknroll. But his inner war between his expectations of himself and the expectations he felt others have of him, raged on, tempestuously; his stoic visage giving no hint of the turmoil just beneath the surface.

In three days, he decided - he would finally end it all.

No longer would he have to deal with the mundane vagaries of life, the constant struggle against a world foreign to him, trying to pretend he is one of them.

Now... NOW! He will follow through on his as yet idle threats; he'll show them all. But how? Which method, he ponders, could he best exploit, to maximize the effect on others, an effect he may finally have in death, one he could never find... in life.

Something spectacular, to turn his cowardice into a martyrdom; his final parody - that of his own nobility.

His mother approaches his bedroom door, the door to his cell, the one he's trapped himself in all these years, hiding from the world. The snores coming from his dog Ramirez here in this cell, this hell, resonate with him into that past, when he was in a cell not of his own creation, but one manufactured by his own actions nonetheless.

He peruses, as he hears her approaching (he can tell it's her, and that she is in no mood to be denied, by the echo, vibration and insistence that she commands with each step), and thinks to himself how much more secure this new cell is, the cell fabricated from his own misanthropy, in confining his freedom, in protecting his desolation.

Opening the door, without knocking, as is her pattern, she barges in and bellows at her son.

_________________

" This room smells like Jeffrey Dahmer! go and get a job you mincing little fuck face and pay me some goddamned rent for once! And put that dog down! I can see in his eyes that he thinks you're a creepy bastard, who the fuck calls a dog Remirez anyway? I should've had you put to sleep as a small child. And don't start crying again or I'll go and get the lash out of the shed and pummel your sorry ass into quivering bloody hamburger! dinner will be in 5 minutes by the way." And she turns around and leaves the room.

...

Memories are such strange things.


"Hey, pay attention...I'm not gonna hold your hand through this. Do you want your belongings or not?" Snapping his fingers.

Like echo's in a darkened auditorium the voice snapped him back to reality.He had never been in this part of the facility.The only time you could be in this area, was when you actually left...
"Yes ,I'm sorry,I was daydreaming..forgive me...are those your children?"
He could only see the backs of the frames from where he was standing, but he knew thats what they were and he reveled in the fact that this upset the person behind the window.
He could tell.No one had ever asked that from this side of the glass partition.
Ever.

Amused, he watched the mans face muscles tense, the eyes focusing ever so slightly.Yet avoiding his gaze.He could hear the change in tone when he replied,it was *fear* and it felt good.
" Um, yes , thats none of your business...here you go "
A plain manilla envelope bulging at the seams hastily passed through the slot. " You're finished here Mr.Cable, please exit through the door "
It was done.
"Fucking spineless bitch", he thought. He didn't say it out loud,did he?. He had to pay think about if he did or not.
The solenoid of the magnetic lock mechanism buzzed and without saying a word he turned the handle, opened the door, and taking soft quiet steps walked through a short hallway with a small round circle in the upper left corner " smile , you're on Candid Camera " one_last_time .

And again, he was. Free.Time was meaningless now.

The driver of the cab waiting on him didn't seem to be any where near as happy as he was about this fact and avoided looking him in the eye too.
He didn't even offer to open the door. Neither did he offer to turn down the grinding metal blaring from the ghetto blaster on the seat next to him as he ferried him towards his next destination.

*Bob is your driver today* Nice to meet you , Bob.

"Why can't everyone treat me with respect?" he pondered to himself.... Ramirez did..." goodbye Brian " he said...
He could feel the sadness in those big brown puppy dog eyes and his voice when they parted ways last night. " goodbye Brian..." He didn't cry out at all.
And so, for a day at least, Ramirez was free too.Bars weren't a problem for him.He rather enjoyed being taken care of.Told what to do.No responsibilities.
He would,however, miss teaching his "roomie" Spanish. Ramirez had helped him become fluent.
Ramirez slept, Ramirez snored. And it bothered no one.

Devin Sanderson, employed five years and the final cog of out processing at Boise Regional Mental Health & State Correctional Services Assessment Center, decided he was taking the family pics home . No matter what his wife said.
" I'm putting my foot down this time ".He said out loud. For some strange reason he thought of his mother as he sped homeward.

The cab pulled to the side of the road. " You want me to let you out here...pal...? "
The driver was glad the interior was slightly lit.It was dark outside now.Lonely.He looked at his screwdriver wedged in the dash.
"Yeah, thanks, here is fine, I'd tip you but I'm sorta strapped for cash..." the sudden movement and the light in his eyes from the front of the vehicle caught him off guard.
With barely a sound, the driver had already slipped out, deftly opened the back door and in one smooth motion was back inside the car, the door lock " clicked " , he immediately turned the music down and radioed he was open for a new fare. He pulled away without a word spoken.Brian Cable never saw the driver of that cab again.

He turned,walking toward the tree line and never thought about the fact he was in the middle of no where . The sky was huge. Warm. He saw lights in the distance.Dogs barking.

It was supper time, and he was pretty sure he smelled grilled hamburger on the breeze.
He also heard a high shrill voice yelling that it was ready now.

His stomach was growling.The pebble was all alone.

_________________
A lie is something that's only valuable to yourself. Truth is valuable to everyone. If the only thing you have to offer is something that is only valuable to you, then people will eventually not seek you out for what you have to offer.

Who was she? She had come like they all had ... desperate, hopeful, dirty. But there was something different about this one. Her accent was strange. Dutch? German maybe. It was hard to tell. She wasn't Mexican, that's all she knew. Not with that blonde hair, round face, no matter how hardened and weathered the features. It was only mildly surprising when she had said she was 33. There were several Mexican girls working there, none of them legal, at least not yet. Various ages. Who knew if they were really telling their correct ages? It didn't matter too much. It was all about giving them a chance, a chance society rarely gave to the destitute, the wayward, the poverty level women that came her way. Peeking out from where they had been swept under the rug, fresh out of prison, rehab, drug court, some still on probation, some living in their cars, a few who had just been passing through, all of them hiding something, all at varying stages of wanting to stop running, they came. There weren't a lot of questions. There were no drug tests, background checks, or reference calls. This wasn't the damn third degree or Corrections Services. No drivers license or ID went on file. No social security number was required. They were sub-contractors, 1099s. They were paid in cash and didn't make enough to file for taxes. They weren't important enough for the IRS to even care if they claimed their pittance or not. Some of them stayed for a few weeks. Some a few months. It depended on the length of the projects, which never lasted long.

There were some success stories, girls getting their crap together, the ones that transitioned on to become stable, productive, and take control of their lives. But there were more sob stories. More hard stories. More failures, and it was difficult sometimes to go home to her house and family and not think of them, especially on cold nights. Rainy nights, like this one. She took a break from her worrying, and checked on her children. They were sleeping, and safe. She took a break from her mothering and tried to read. But her mind was too busy and awake. Monica. She didn't even know if that was her real name. There was something strange in her eyes. She didn't have much of a story, and that was even stranger. It bothered her a little. Just a little. She had been there for nearly 3 months, and was the most dependable worker she had ever had. Incredibly smart, efficient, she didn't have to be told how to do things twice. But secretive. Withdrawn. Monica was one who seemed like she had a million stories. Smoldering somewhere behind the subdued calm of her eyes there was a fierceness that was disconcerting.

She took a break from her reading, and paced around the house. Her husband had fallen asleep in the recliner with the cat and she slipped the remote smoothly from under his hand. She turned a few channels, got bored, got something to drink. Her soul was unsettled. She really should be studying. She had midterms coming up for her psyche class and biology, and she still needed to work on her lesson plan for one of next week's Christian Women's Job Corp sessions that she had somehow volunteered to lead. All this said, she did what she always did when there was too much to do. She sat down at the computer and decided to see what was happening down in cyber town....

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<Nightflyerindrag007>1369_37484 has left

It seemed like such a shame. She shook her head. Some people were entirely too sensitive when it came to sharing their personal opinions. And here, sharing your personal opinions was always under the most meticulous scrutiny. But that was the nature of this place.

<Fugue_in_Rminor365> anyone who takes any of this seriously is just a fool

Her cursor blinked, waiting, debating, ticking away the seconds between the thoughts in her head. There was laughter, there were agreements all around.

<Fugue_in_Rminor365> no one can hurt you here its just words
<Mystique> i agree Fugue no kidding
<LordPuffnSTFU> if you don’t like it you can always leave - big red X on the right
<Mystique> lol
<Hammer Head> I dont know some people can be pretty mean
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> we’re not responsible for anyone’s feelings but our own
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> if you’re not responsible enough not to get your feelings hurt you shouldn’t come to places like this i agee with Puff.

This all made sense of course. On the surface it seemed right. Simple. Yes. So simple.
Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me . . .

<Mystique> Flyer needs a life
<LordPuffnSTFU> he needs to get his head out of his ass
<LordPuffnSTFU> and Hammer STFU u malicious mofo
<Mystique> lol ya ur the meanest one here
<Hammer Head> hey i resemble that remark
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> he’s a moron he deserves to get his feelings hurt
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> he needs to stop thinking any of this is real its just words

She tapped the desktop with her pen. She glanced down at the book open next to her keyboard. She gazed at the words on her screen.

<Athena269> I don’t know Fugue. Words are pretty powerful things.

Everyone always seemed to pause way too long before responding to what she said. This bothered her sometimes. She shrugged.

<Athena269> What isn’t real about what we’re all doing here?
<Athena269> I’m just wondering, really.

She imagined them all rolling their eyes behind their screens, somewhere in the dark, or maybe light, morning light, or maybe afternoon. Where in the world each one of them was, one could never say for sure . She wasn’t good with time. But when they were all here, they were all here together. It was the same place. It was the same time, no matter what the clocks said. How’s that for a time warp? She thought. She made a note to remember this thought, and mention it in the Star Trek room. They would like that.

<Fugue_in_Rminor365> Athena, i was just saying that Flyer is too sensitive. he shouldn’t let things bother him so much at least not the things people say here.
<Athena269> Why not? Wouldn’t it bother you if someone treated you the way you treated him?
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> no one treats me that way because I’m not an idiot
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> and besides its not my responsibility to treat him nice. he needs to take accountability for his own feelings.
<Athena269> That seems fair.
<Athena269> Have you ever been bothered by what someone said to you in here?
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> what people say in here to me does not affect me.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. She could see him sitting at his computer, arms crossed resolutely, probably scowling slightly.

<Hammer Head> I agree with Athena, this is real shit here blokes
<Hammer Head> I’m very affected and simply appalled at the way you all treated Flyerfag you should be ashamed of yourselves
<Mystique> lol
<Athena269> hahahaha
<Hammer Head> I should give you all etiquette classes you bunch of manner less heathens
<Athena269> You could, Ham. You’re certainly the sweetest one here.
<Hammer Head> 8 )
<Mystique> oh gawd
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> what people need to understand is that this isn’t real. It’s just words on a screen they can’t hurt you. It’s just silly to let them affect you to the degree that they make you upset.
<Athena269> What isn’t real about them?

She sat back in her chair and waited for a few moments. Again, her cursor blinked in the silent text box, waiting. She shrugged.

<Athena269> I mean, they are words, that someone is really thinking, and really typing somewhere in the world. A real person.
<Athena269> Words are very real.
<Athena269> And words are very powerful.
<Athena269> The world has been affected, molded, guided, and changed by the words that have come from people’s minds, from their hands, for thousands of years. What of all the great literature, from all the greatest authors who ever lived? From historians, philosophers, teachers, poets?
<Athena269> Okay, maybe Flyer isn’t exactly Socrates. And we’re not all writing a thesis on human behavior here. But does that make our words less powerful, and influential? Less impacting to each other?
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> yes
<Mystique> no
<Hammer Head> I think Flyerfag’s intestines are impacted
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> I have never learned anything that has affected my beliefs or changed my point of view or influenced me beyond my understanding from this forum. This is a place of social entertainment only, a chatroom not a classroom.
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> anyone who comes here looking for something real is disillusioned beyond all doubt
<Athena269> I don’t believe you.
<Athena269> I don’t believe you have never been affected by anyone ever that you have met here.
<Mystique> I don’t think it’s healthy to form close relationships with people online that usually leads to a lot of trouble
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> okay there are a few people who I respect and who I guess you could say affect me insomuch that I enjoy their conversations.
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> I have even developed a few close relationships where I talk on the phone, exchange personal information, and once I met this guy I had talked to for years and we had a great time.
<Hammer Head> was it Nightflyer?
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> yea myst, it can be trouble but I trusted this guy we were good friends and only went out to dinner during one of his layovers in dallas Ham, heh
<Mystique> I stopped chatting for 6 months because of this one guy one time.
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> I remember that he really made you upset, huh. I wanted to kill him for treating you like that.
<Hammer Head> who was he? I’ll slice out his eyes and make him drink boiling battery acid!
<Mystique> lol
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> man he was out of control. I think he probably made hundreds of people leave the channels I’m glad he’s gone.
<Mystique> *nods*
<Athena269> hmmmm.
<Athena269> It sounds like this guy really affected you all.
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> that’s different Athena. He was a major duschebag.
<Athena269> Oh I see, so the only pertinent affecting that is real, is the kind that only happens to you and the people you like.
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> I choose who to be affected by, and how yes.
<Athena269> That’s a far cry from “no one ever affects me”.
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> which brings me back to my point – no one should allow anyone else to affect them to the degree that is upsets them and affects them in reality.
<Athena269> How in the world do you keep that from happening sometimes? It seems like to me that this kind of social interacting is very personal, despite the fact that we can’t see each other. It is still influential.
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> it’s about choice Athena i don’t let people hurt me they can’t unless I let them and I only choose to let the people I respect affect me.
<Athena269> Oh I see.
<Athena269> So when you said you wanted to kill that guy who was messing with Mystique, you meant that in a respectful way because you liked him.
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> I said that because I like Mystique.
<Athena269> I don’t think everyone is as wise and mature as you are Fugue.
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> I would agree with that.
<Fugue_in_Rminor365>
<Athena269>
<Mystique> I was pretty affected by that person
<Mystique> you know, Flyer certainly isn’t as bad as he was
<Hammer Head> I don’t know this other bloke but I gotta say Flyerfag is definitely my favorite idiot.
<Hammer Head> I say we go find him and give him some appreciation
< Fugue_in_Rminor365> Flyer deserves to be treated like an idiot
< Fugue_in_Rminor365> if you act like an idiot, you get treated like an idiot
< Fugue_in_Rminor365> isn’t that in ur bible athena?
<Mystique> lol

She sighed. The conversation was going to deteriorate pretty rapidly, she could tell. Than again, she wasn’t sure if it had ever been above that to begin with.

<Athena269> No, actually, I think it goes something like ‘treat those the way you would like to be treated’
<LordPuffnSTFU> another useless outdated mythological philosophy that doesn’t work
<LordPuffnSTFU> treat others the way they treat you, that’s the law of the 21st century
<LordPuffnSTFU> it’s a dog eat dog world babes
<Mystique> no kidding flyer has it coming
<Hammer Head> hear hear off with his head

She looked at the time. Man, she had to finish this work. She hated leaving, feeling as if she had not made her point at all. Than again she figured it probably wouldn’t had mattered much if she had. She closed her book and rubbed her temples. Outside the rain had stopped, and the sky had cleared. She could see the stars. Maybe she would take a walk to the corner coffee shop, clear her head, pump herself up with a little caffeine before she dove back into her studies.

<Athena269> Gotta go guys. Too much studying to do. Too little time to do it.
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> cya Athena
<Hammer Head> Toodles Athena
<Mystique> good night!

Athena269>_13764 (Unknown 0 files) has left

<Mystique> I like Athena but she always makes me feel bad
<Hammer Head> you shouldn’t let her affect you like that myst. Fugue slap her now man!
<Mystique> lol its okay
<Mystique> it’s a good kind of feeling bad
<LordPuffnSTFU> that’s the dumbest thing I ever heard
<LordPuffnSTFU> and I don’t think Athena really had studying to do
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> what do you think she had to do?
<LordPuffnSTFU> who the hell knows?
<LordPuffnSTFU> probably go play with her unicorns and teach them biblical principles.
<Mystique>lmao
<Hammer Head> hahahahaha, and holy ha
<Fugue_in_Rminor365> rflmao

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The streets were cold. The cars drove by, and she was alone. It was okay, she liked being alone. She relished in it. At this point in her life she found a strange kind of contentment in feeling out of place ... disconnected with the world, not fitting in. She wondered as she wandered past the lighted homes how warm they looked. How cozy. Did anyone know she was walking by their windows? While sitting in her own house on cold, dark nights, were there ever others walking by and watching her? Her nose was numb. She got her coffee and started home, thinking about Monica ....

In the night, somewhere in a tree not so far away, a bird began to sing and she cocked her head. I wonder if you know that I know you're there, and that I am listening. She paused, pondering the dark soliloquy. It was decided. In the morning she would get to know Monica, spend some time with her. Listen to her. Eventually everyone always warmed up to her. She liked to think she was good at making people warm up to her. Open up. She smiled.

She walked past the bird and headed home to her warm bed, her children, and the warm body of her husband. The song followed her, filling her up. It all seemed to click into place. It fit.