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Because you asked so nicely….
“It’s finally over. But, at what cost?” Agent Smith wearily asked himself as he slid to the pavement of the alley, his head nodding forward in an expression of exhaustion and reflection.
Only hours before, that very alley was the scene of a bitter standoff. An undercover operation, spoiled at the most critical of moments within the delicate layers of the investigation, where Agent Smith and his partner of twelve years found themselves caught in the middle of a fight for their lives.
He couldn’t help but blame himself for her death. If only he had been more aware of his surroundings, he would have seen Ramirez reaching for the gun at his hip. He could have pulled his own sidearm and spared Samantha from the bullet which severed her femoral artery. For once in his life, Agent Smith realized that it was his mistake which had cost his partner her life.
“I have no one left in my life now. No family, no friends, not even a pet to take care of. Now I wander this city, looking for meaning. Is it truly my fate to be forever lonely now?”
He had been running for what seemed like days. He wasn’t sure how it happened or why it happened…all he knew is that they were after him. In this city there are hundreds of deaths every day, but why was he at the scene of this one? How did he even get there? And why did they show up so conveniently right after he realized where he was and the blood on his hands?
Luckily he was able to use his street smarts to escape from there. He was able to run.
To hide.
He knew they would find him soon, he had been sloppy in his escape. But at least for now, there was time to rest. This abandoned alley had many exits and if only to catch a quick rest it would do the trick for a hasty getaway if needed.
Besides, he needed time to think. Where was he before he showed up at that horrific scene? How did he get there? Why was he left there?
*rustle*
What was that noise?
*hang head and breathes heavily*
Oh well…time to run again.
“Ohhhh, my head! That band sounded like they were cutting down metal lightposts with chain saws. I suppose it was an improvement on last week’s that sounded like a bag of cats being tortured. I guess their name — Shrieking Rabid Ferrets — should have been a tip-off to me.
How many of these downtown shows is she going to drag me to? She finds excitement in ’slumming’ but I’ve personally never understood the attraction. The irony is I own this damn building.
I should buzz my driver Rick to pull around to take me home — I can’t go back in there to face a second more of that cacophony. We’ll just leave her here — she probably wouldn’t even miss me. But Rick would think I was — what does he say when he thinks somebody’s being weak? Right –they’re ‘pussying out’. Ah screw it — it’s a bad idea anyway. I know she and Rick are dallying behind my back. I’ll bet Trump doesn’t have to put up with this crap.
Mother was right — ‘Stay away from the rock and roll women, they’re no good!’, she’d say. I used to laugh and tell her I could handle them. ‘Rock and roll women’ — thanks for the euphemism mother, I knew exactly what you meant. And it appears you had a point.
Damn, I can’t believe my head feels like this! I’ve got to find a nice librarian or school teacher to hook up with. I’ll get on that first thing tomorrow. Right after I fire Rick.”
http://thoughtfulnature.blogspot.com/2008/09/character-creation-assignment-from-miss.html
Prologue
I used ta do a little but a little wouldn’t do
So the little got more and more
Mr. Brownstone
I never thought I’d become that person. The person that can’t say no, that has to live in the moment because he’s afraid the next moment will never come. Life transformed into pure consumption with no hope for redemption. The revulsion all those that were close to me seems someone else’s distant memory. The skin in which I dwell is no longer my own and I only desire that next taste of a different reality, but not this, not here, not now, not this moment when I am forced to face who I’ve become. Life at the bottom.
http://mikesorg.blogspot.com/2008/09/character-creation-falling-star.html
I feel them… they are close now.
God, I feel like I have been running for days. What is happening. I feel like a frightened child. I am too old and feeble to be running like a fool.
What on earth possessed me to steal my only reason for living.
Orus, where the hell is Orus…. I know he lives here. He can save me. Orus is the only truth right now.
I can’t outrun them anymore….. I pray for just one moment to gaze at the very thing that I desire the most in this world….
Oh No…. that noise…they are coming for me……
His marriage is crumbling, his band is on the rocks. (If he hears the word “commitment” one more time…) He lost his job at the library. (How do you get fired from the freakin’ library?) He ate cheese, even though he’s a allergic. (Because. Just because.) And he just beat up a Salvation Army Santa Claus.
Things could be better.
Aaron finally just slumped against the wall. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not really. Not according to his astrological chart. Not according to his “Life Advisor” who charges him $1500 a month just to tell him shit he could have figured out on his own. Not even his psychologist predicted what had just happened.
He needed a change. Every day he signed check after check and worked until Patrice came in to empty his trash long after the rest of his staff went home. She pitied him but she would never say it to him outright. He was the single most successful man she had ever known and still he was miserable. It made her heart break a little when she saw that his trash bin only contained paper—draft after draft of the ad campaigns he worked so hard to perfect. She didn’t know what all the awards on his desk and walls were for, but she began to wonder if the number of those awards were a direct reflection on the worry lines that had started to appear on his face. Soon enough he started venting to her as she cleaned the office. She never really responded until the night she was pretty sure he was about to snap. “Why don’t you just quit?”
*******
“Quit.”
That’s what his Life Coach said. “Quit and go follow your dream. You still have a dream, right?”
“I wanted to be an artist. Painter, actually. But they make no money. How could I survive doing that?”
“Surely you have enough of a nest egg hoarded away that you can take some time off to just do something because it’s fun—because it inspires you and recharges you.”
“What if I fail?”
“So what if you do?”
Aaron had never thought of that before. It was never an option. Failure was what happened to other people, not him. Maybe his world was all balled up and coated in sticky stress because he was always racing to exceed everyone’s expectations. His clients, his family, his friends, and even the people in line at the grocery store couldn’t help but be moved by his ability to surprise.
So he quit. Not only did he quit his job, he walked away from his life. His family thought he was crazy. His employees freaked out until Aaron explained the contingency plan. He was taking a leave of absence and in his stead Patrice would be taking over. He didn’t anticipate her being a business genius, though.
He looked down at the text messages on his phone. The first was from Patrice. It showed the numbers for the month, and they were more than when he left. The second message was an absurd amount of money offered for his painting showcase. After a full year of throwing paint against a canvas, he expected to be laughed at. He was waiting for it. In fact, he welcomed it. He hadn’t even tried to learn the history or mechanics of painting. “Why bother? I’m just in this to gain perspective again.”
He even failed at failing. His phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Award ceremonies and Art exhibitions both begged his presence. Private collectors and auctioneers calls fought with investors and clients wanting the next artistic phenom to design their ad copy. He switched the ringer to silent and slipped it in his pocket.
He didn’t know how to tell them that he already agreed to take over Patrice’s old job.
As he woke up in another body in another time he realized that he had to get moving. These joints, they ached. This mind, clouded by years of booze and drugs. “Move now!” he commanded. “We need to move, before ‘He’ arrives. There is no more time to waste. For if you get killed while I am you, we both die.” This body did not care. Nothing could motivate this one. This one had nothing to live for.
Then it came. That knife edge buzz on the eyes. He was close. Probably closer than he has ever been before.
A presidential response: http://www.chogger.com/view/aae20994908a2dc71af2/
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