"Escape," another short story

11:00. He sobbed that night.

The morning afterward, he walked to school. There was a photo of her in his room. He threw it in the trash. The day was a dreary gray overcast as it was for the past four days. He sighed as he walked, seeing none of his friends along the way.


8:40. Appointment with the school psychologist. He rushed in at 8:42 but his appointment was rescheduled again for 2:30PM. He had to accept.


Homeroom was unruly. Chris popped paperwads at the back of his head again. He did nothing for fear of the homeroom teacher and her vigilant eye... over him.


9:00. Period 1. Chris and his friends tossed garbage over at his head from the other side of the lockers onto him. He changed his shorts for fear of getting caught by the Phys. Ed. coach as he had before.


9:50. Period 2. She was in the same class and refused to even look at him. He wanted an answer, but there was no answer.


10:40. Period 3. The teacher handed in their essays. He scored a 40 and a requirement to have it signed to his parents. She still refused to look back at him.


11:30. He ate lunch at his usual table. They didn't notice him sit down, but they talked at length about how great this movie was, how good this game was. He was still quiet until one of them, Ben, asked if he agreed, which he gave a slight smile and nod to. Ben replied to the others, "You see?? Even HE knows it!"


12:00. Period 4. His advisor's class progressed normally. He wanted to ask her something, but before he could, it was the end of the class and she recommended that he hurry to next class.


12:50. Period 5. Larry joined in shooting spitwads with Chris. He went up and tried to explain to the teacher, but he told him to be a man about it.


1:40. Period 6. The art teacher questioned his drawing of Jesus burning the other day and wondered if he got to see the Psychologist as he wanted him to. He told the teacher about his reschedule, and he looked at him strangely "This is the third day already! Are you avoiding your appointments?" He wrote up his hall pass to go to the psychologist.


2:30. They school psychologist finally let him see him. "Tell me your problems." He could really say anything that would work. He tried to explain his problems with this girl. The psychologist replied that he needs to be more assertive. He tried to explain about the bullies. He explained that he needs to be more accepting. He explained that the picture was just based off of what his parents thought of him at times when he didn't do well. It was 2:50 before he could finish explaining and he was shoo'd out of the room, given another appointment at 8:40.


When he went to catch up with his friends, they were gone again. Chris was there and he threw rocks at the back of his head until a teacher caught him. As he was halfway home, Chris reappeared again and pelted tiny rocks at the back of his head until he could get home.


3:10. No one was home. He turned on the television and saw an angry protestor wanting to kill Arabs for the World Trade Center. He turned the channel again and saw a bunch of muscular men defeat their villain with their weaponry and fists as they pummeled him to the ground. Next channel, three people die by gunshots. Culprit was sentenced to death by chair. Next channel... mother was home.


Mother came in, asked him to help with the groceries. He complied. She asked how was school. Before he could reply, she started rummaging through his backpack and quickly found his test. Mother yelled at him, wondering why he didn't do better: if the Saturday and Sunday classes weren't any help at all. She told him to go to his room and work on his homework, and he had to comply.


3:50. His mother came into his room and gave him a thirty minute lecture on the importance of education. He sighed and his mother immediately asked what that meant. He said nothing afterwards and he was grounded for the rest of the week.


6:30. His father entered the door and yelled at him, wondering what he was going to do with his life if he kept getting scores like that. He couldn't reply, and he received one hour of lecturing on the impirance of education. His father reminded him that he was grounded for the rest of the week to make sure he didn't spend any of his time with his friends.


10:10. She came online to talk to him on his computer. She asked him how he was. He had to say fine. She asked him why he didn't talk to her. She then told him about the nice guy that was better than him in every way and before he could reply, she went offline.


11:00. He sobbed that night.

The morning afterward, he walked to school. There was a key his father had that he hid under the cupboards that he had. The day was a dreary gray overcast as it was for the past five days. He sighed as he walked, seeing none of his friends along the way.


8:40. He went to visit the school psychologist. He was nervous and felt a need to speak, but his appointment was moved to 2:30.


Homeroom was unruly. Chris popped paperwads at the back of his head again. He did nothing for fear of the homeroom teacher and her vigilant eye... over him. He was still nervous.


9:00. Period 1. Chris and his friends tossed garbage over at his head from the other side of the lockers onto him. He changed his shorts for fear of getting caught by the Phys. Ed. coach as he had before. He knew he had to stand now.


"Stop..." He said nervously.


"What?" Chris replied "You want to do something against me, punk?"


Chris' friend replied "You see that? He thinks he's trying to be better than you."


"He ain't nothing." He tossed another piece of garbage that struck him in the nose. They laughed.


"Stop.." He said with a little less of the nervousness.


"You see this? He's trying to be all gangsta about it." He tossed another piece of trash at him. the others saw and they laughed at him. At him. The Phys. Ed. coach still didn't see it.


"Stop." He said it. He finally said it.


They still laughed.


Before Chris could toss another piece of trash, there was a gun aimed at his nose in the nervous hands of Chris.


"Holy sh-" he exclaimed.


"Stop." He was getting worried, but he tried to hold the gun still.


The phys. Ed. coach noticed and was about to tell him to stop throwing something... and then he saw what he held.


"Put down the gun." He said.


"STOP!" He yelled. His hands were shaking violently. He tried to hold the gun still even more.


She noticed.


Chris tried to laugh "It's... it's probably not even loaded. Who are you trying to k-"


"Chris, shut up!" the Phys. Ed. coach said to him. For once "Look, just put down the gun..." He tried to approach again. He had to turn the gun at him and he stopped. Chris took advantage by grabbing his legs, He turned around, turned the gun, pulled the trigger.


A shot rang around around the school, awakening the students, the teachers... His hands were stained in blood.


"Stop..." his arms held down the gun as he looked down with his body quivering. He felt so cold. People started crying. He started crying. The phys. Ed coach rushed for him, he turned, he had to aim, he had to-


The students were told to calm down as teachers began to go and see what it was about. Some continued with their class as it was.


He couldn't take it. He was going to get arrested. He was going to be executed by the chair. He turned around. People immediately started to rush back. She feared him, yet she listened to him yet she-


He ran.


He could hear the police sirens, even though he ran for an hour. His hands were still stained, his shirt was stained, his legs, his arms, his torso... he touched his face and found a red stain that dried onto his fingertips. He looked at the school, at the police cars that began to have officers running out into the school...


He cried one last time...


12:00. A live exclusive was being reported about a boy who commited a school shooting and then commited suicide. The reporters asked his parents about it, and crying they said they couldn't believe it since they were good parents. They interviewed a girl who knew him who cried saying she loved him, an advisor that said he told her nothing about it, a psychologist who said he knew there was something wrong but he never said it, and an entire school that said they couldn't believe it since he was always a nice boy.


1:20. "I Love Lucy" was returned to the air with another rerun.

"Escape," another short story

11:00. He sobbed that night.

The morning afterward, he walked to school. There was a photo of her in his room. He threw it in the trash. The day was a dreary gray overcast as it was for the past four days. He sighed as he walked, seeing none of his friends along the way.


8:40. Appointment with the school psychologist. He rushed in at 8:42 but his appointment was rescheduled again for 2:30PM. He had to accept.


Homeroom was unruly. Chris popped paperwads at the back of his head again. He did nothing for fear of the homeroom teacher and her vigilant eye... over him.


9:00. Period 1. Chris and his friends tossed garbage over at his head from the other side of the lockers onto him. He changed his shorts for fear of getting caught by the Phys. Ed. coach as he had before.


9:50. Period 2. She was in the same class and refused to even look at him. He wanted an answer, but there was no answer.


10:40. Period 3. The teacher handed in their essays. He scored a 40 and a requirement to have it signed to his parents. She still refused to look back at him.


11:30. He ate lunch at his usual table. They didn't notice him sit down, but they talked at length about how great this movie was, how good this game was. He was still quiet until one of them, Ben, asked if he agreed, which he gave a slight smile and nod to. Ben replied to the others, "You see?? Even HE knows it!"


12:00. Period 4. His advisor's class progressed normally. He wanted to ask her something, but before he could, it was the end of the class and she recommended that he hurry to next class.


12:50. Period 5. Larry joined in shooting spitwads with Chris. He went up and tried to explain to the teacher, but he told him to be a man about it.


1:40. Period 6. The art teacher questioned his drawing of Jesus burning the other day and wondered if he got to see the Psychologist as he wanted him to. He told the teacher about his reschedule, and he looked at him strangely "This is the third day already! Are you avoiding your appointments?" He wrote up his hall pass to go to the psychologist.


2:30. They school psychologist finally let him see him. "Tell me your problems." He could really say anything that would work. He tried to explain his problems with this girl. The psychologist replied that he needs to be more assertive. He tried to explain about the bullies. He explained that he needs to be more accepting. He explained that the picture was just based off of what his parents thought of him at times when he didn't do well. It was 2:50 before he could finish explaining and he was shoo'd out of the room, given another appointment at 8:40.


When he went to catch up with his friends, they were gone again. Chris was there and he threw rocks at the back of his head until a teacher caught him. As he was halfway home, Chris reappeared again and pelted tiny rocks at the back of his head until he could get home.


3:10. No one was home. He turned on the television and saw an angry protestor wanting to kill Arabs for the World Trade Center. He turned the channel again and saw a bunch of muscular men defeat their villain with their weaponry and fists as they pummeled him to the ground. Next channel, three people die by gunshots. Culprit was sentenced to death by chair. Next channel... mother was home.


Mother came in, asked him to help with the groceries. He complied. She asked how was school. Before he could reply, she started rummaging through his backpack and quickly found his test. Mother yelled at him, wondering why he didn't do better: if the Saturday and Sunday classes weren't any help at all. She told him to go to his room and work on his homework, and he had to comply.


3:50. His mother came into his room and gave him a thirty minute lecture on the importance of education. He sighed and his mother immediately asked what that meant. He said nothing afterwards and he was grounded for the rest of the week.


6:30. His father entered the door and yelled at him, wondering what he was going to do with his life if he kept getting scores like that. He couldn't reply, and he received one hour of lecturing on the impirance of education. His father reminded him that he was grounded for the rest of the week to make sure he didn't spend any of his time with his friends.


10:10. She came online to talk to him on his computer. She asked him how he was. He had to say fine. She asked him why he didn't talk to her. She then told him about the nice guy that was better than him in every way and before he could reply, she went offline.


11:00. He sobbed that night.

The morning afterward, he walked to school. There was a key his father had that he hid under the cupboards that he had. The day was a dreary gray overcast as it was for the past five days. He sighed as he walked, seeing none of his friends along the way.


8:40. He went to visit the school psychologist. He was nervous and felt a need to speak, but his appointment was moved to 2:30.


Homeroom was unruly. Chris popped paperwads at the back of his head again. He did nothing for fear of the homeroom teacher and her vigilant eye... over him. He was still nervous.


9:00. Period 1. Chris and his friends tossed garbage over at his head from the other side of the lockers onto him. He changed his shorts for fear of getting caught by the Phys. Ed. coach as he had before. He knew he had to stand now.


"Stop..." He said nervously.


"What?" Chris replied "You want to do something against me, punk?"


Chris' friend replied "You see that? He thinks he's trying to be better than you."


"He ain't nothing." He tossed another piece of garbage that struck him in the nose. They laughed.


"Stop.." He said with a little less of the nervousness.


"You see this? He's trying to be all gangsta about it." He tossed another piece of trash at him. the others saw and they laughed at him. At him. The Phys. Ed. coach still didn't see it.


"Stop." He said it. He finally said it.


They still laughed.


Before Chris could toss another piece of trash, there was a gun aimed at his nose in the nervous hands of Chris.


"Holy sh-" he exclaimed.


"Stop." He was getting worried, but he tried to hold the gun still.


The phys. Ed. coach noticed and was about to tell him to stop throwing something... and then he saw what he held.


"Put down the gun." He said.


"STOP!" He yelled. His hands were shaking violently. He tried to hold the gun still even more.


She noticed.


Chris tried to laugh "It's... it's probably not even loaded. Who are you trying to k-"


"Chris, shut up!" the Phys. Ed. coach said to him. For once "Look, just put down the gun..." He tried to approach again. He had to turn the gun at him and he stopped. Chris took advantage by grabbing his legs, He turned around, turned the gun, pulled the trigger.


A shot rang around around the school, awakening the students, the teachers... His hands were stained in blood.


"Stop..." his arms held down the gun as he looked down with his body quivering. He felt so cold. People started crying. He started crying. The phys. Ed coach rushed for him, he turned, he had to aim, he had to-


The students were told to calm down as teachers began to go and see what it was about. Some continued with their class as it was.


He couldn't take it. He was going to get arrested. He was going to be executed by the chair. He turned around. People immediately started to rush back. She feared him, yet she listened to him yet she-


He ran.


He could hear the police sirens, even though he ran for an hour. His hands were still stained, his shirt was stained, his legs, his arms, his torso... he touched his face and found a red stain that dried onto his fingertips. He looked at the school, at the police cars that began to have officers running out into the school...


He cried one last time...


12:00. A live exclusive was being reported about a boy who commited a school shooting and then commited suicide. The reporters asked his parents about it, and crying they said they couldn't believe it since they were good parents. They interviewed a girl who knew him who cried saying she loved him, an advisor that said he told her nothing about it, a psychologist who said he knew there was something wrong but he never said it, and an entire school that said they couldn't believe it since he was always a nice boy.


1:20. "I Love Lucy" was returned to the air with another rerun.

"The Second Batch"

The news only tells as it always does: another sector lost to the aliens, another battle lost and another hundreds of lives lost. I feel sorry that of all those killed, there is not much to give them for a funeral save a cannister of frozen ashes to be shipped to their home colony for proper burial. That is, for most of them.

Captain Twelve was one of the older experiments for the Genome project. You could tell from the way he talks that there is something about him that even I could tell that shows he was an example of a more aggressive experiment. He takes his meals in liquid packets, never talks except when it is necessary, and always walks in a military fashion. Whenever I tried talking to him, he does not have much to say, except for a few pointers on my piloting that he thinks needs improving. Most of the homeworlders usually look at him with a sort of disgust. Analysis tells me it is disgust. Captain Twelve never was taught psychology for the simple aspect that he was a replaceable soldier.


From what I was allowed to read of the technology back then, the AI project was a flawed experiment. AI could be achieved for the more logical things necessary for it to behave like a living being, but sentience and a proper learning mechanism was still something that was too difficult for the engineers to manufacture. In some sense, people said the AI "lacked a soul."


To replace the great shortage of manpower, the Genome Project was initiated to breed soldiers that did not have parents. For the homeworlders, it meant more morale boosts. It did not mean fifteen years of growing and training just to see their deaths. The Genome project reduced the time to five years. The first batch were antisocial in nature and some commited suicide. Soon all one hundred and eighty one died even before being applied to combat. Captain Twelve was from the second batch.


The second batch was a correction of all the neurologists and geneticists major mistakes. Fixed of the major problems instilled into them from instinctive encouragement supplied by their natural hormone adjustments and learning mechanisms, the second batch were an extreme improvement, but not a total one. Homeworlders complained of their lack of hair growth, of the way they stared like they were of empty minds, and the way they took everything seriously as they were taught to. One of the neurologists told me that while the second batch were not to be destoyed, a lot of care was placed to make sure that they were not immersed into the outside environment for fear that their sensitive learning mechanisms would take in the wrong stimuli. Some received neurosurgery in the next few months to make sure they did not create errors and then kept in rooms to be monitored.


They were made for intensive combat unlike the others. When I was serving under him, he always repeated three things before going into battle. "Aim to cripple then finish";"Suppress all opponents"; and "Protect and learn from the mistakes of others". The new ones never understood why he said it until they saw him in combat, moving with a reaction time and accuracy unlike anything they would have seen. The homeworlders sometimes watched to learn his combat data, and talked of it like he was "something out of a horror movie." When I asked the neuropsychologists about this, they would smile and tell me not to worry about it.


It is strange when you see someone like Captain Twelve. I wonder if he is alone all the time. The records I was allowed to read stated that out of the one hundred and sixty created from the second batch, only thirty-two still exist. They are working on the thirty-fifth batch now, though batches are now done in ten thousand instead of a hundred and sixty, and are more sociable. Some are even allowed to mix with the platoons of homeworlders though they still have careful screening of what they are allowed to see.


I remember the day I was with Captain Twelve and asked if he was alone. He turned next to me, looked at me funny, and then wondered what I meant by it. I told him it was being without someone and I told him if he felt alone then it would be all right to talk about it. He looked at me, and then he saw me smile, and I think he smiled back for once.


During a battle against the forty-three assault ships the aliens posed against the platoon, I remember Captain Twelve about to destroy the last assault ship with the fifteen others. Before he could fire the last shot, the ship managed to catch his in a blast that threatened to destroy his ship. Before he died, his radio asked for me, and he told me he finally understood what I meant. His craft exploded 0.12 seconds afterwards.


His remains could not be scavanged, so I found a flower growing in the atrium of the space station and I placed it in the hangar and then opened the airlock. As it drifted into space, I felt it was fitting that I could not find something more to say about a man like him.

"The Second Batch"

The news only tells as it always does: another sector lost to the aliens, another battle lost and another hundreds of lives lost. I feel sorry that of all those killed, there is not much to give them for a funeral save a cannister of frozen ashes to be shipped to their home colony for proper burial. That is, for most of them.

Captain Twelve was one of the older experiments for the Genome project. You could tell from the way he talks that there is something about him that even I could tell that shows he was an example of a more aggressive experiment. He takes his meals in liquid packets, never talks except when it is necessary, and always walks in a military fashion. Whenever I tried talking to him, he does not have much to say, except for a few pointers on my piloting that he thinks needs improving. Most of the homeworlders usually look at him with a sort of disgust. Analysis tells me it is disgust. Captain Twelve never was taught psychology for the simple aspect that he was a replaceable soldier.


From what I was allowed to read of the technology back then, the AI project was a flawed experiment. AI could be achieved for the more logical things necessary for it to behave like a living being, but sentience and a proper learning mechanism was still something that was too difficult for the engineers to manufacture. In some sense, people said the AI "lacked a soul."


To replace the great shortage of manpower, the Genome Project was initiated to breed soldiers that did not have parents. For the homeworlders, it meant more morale boosts. It did not mean fifteen years of growing and training just to see their deaths. The Genome project reduced the time to five years. The first batch were antisocial in nature and some commited suicide. Soon all one hundred and eighty one died even before being applied to combat. Captain Twelve was from the second batch.


The second batch was a correction of all the neurologists and geneticists major mistakes. Fixed of the major problems instilled into them from instinctive encouragement supplied by their natural hormone adjustments and learning mechanisms, the second batch were an extreme improvement, but not a total one. Homeworlders complained of their lack of hair growth, of the way they stared like they were of empty minds, and the way they took everything seriously as they were taught to. One of the neurologists told me that while the second batch were not to be destoyed, a lot of care was placed to make sure that they were not immersed into the outside environment for fear that their sensitive learning mechanisms would take in the wrong stimuli. Some received neurosurgery in the next few months to make sure they did not create errors and then kept in rooms to be monitored.


They were made for intensive combat unlike the others. When I was serving under him, he always repeated three things before going into battle. "Aim to cripple then finish";"Suppress all opponents"; and "Protect and learn from the mistakes of others". The new ones never understood why he said it until they saw him in combat, moving with a reaction time and accuracy unlike anything they would have seen. The homeworlders sometimes watched to learn his combat data, and talked of it like he was "something out of a horror movie." When I asked the neuropsychologists about this, they would smile and tell me not to worry about it.


It is strange when you see someone like Captain Twelve. I wonder if he is alone all the time. The records I was allowed to read stated that out of the one hundred and sixty created from the second batch, only thirty-two still exist. They are working on the thirty-fifth batch now, though batches are now done in ten thousand instead of a hundred and sixty, and are more sociable. Some are even allowed to mix with the platoons of homeworlders though they still have careful screening of what they are allowed to see.


I remember the day I was with Captain Twelve and asked if he was alone. He turned next to me, looked at me funny, and then wondered what I meant by it. I told him it was being without someone and I told him if he felt alone then it would be all right to talk about it. He looked at me, and then he saw me smile, and I think he smiled back for once.


During a battle against the forty-three assault ships the aliens posed against the platoon, I remember Captain Twelve about to destroy the last assault ship with the fifteen others. Before he could fire the last shot, the ship managed to catch his in a blast that threatened to destroy his ship. Before he died, his radio asked for me, and he told me he finally understood what I meant. His craft exploded 0.12 seconds afterwards.


His remains could not be scavanged, so I found a flower growing in the atrium of the space station and I placed it in the hangar and then opened the airlock. As it drifted into space, I felt it was fitting that I could not find something more to say about a man like him.

"Rain"

For those curious, I haven't been posting all my stories from FOD onto here, so I felt it was appropriate to place them here.

He looked through the clear four-panel window of his room, and as he looked, his lips pursed in disgust that it was still dank and gray. "I was told that people actually revel in this weather... how they can is-" He cut himself off and quickly shuttered the window to hide the gray and immediately switched on a nearby lamp to flood the room with golden light. While his face faced the wooden tabletop of his desk, he only felt compelled to look back at the blinds, almost hoping that he could see through it... Hoping for something that he knew would never come.

A year ago, New York City, John F. Kennedy Airport


The college student carried a framepack on his back and tugged a wheeled luggage case along the perpetually gray concrete he walked on. Looking around for a cab, the student then rummaged his paper-laden pockets and, finding what he wanted, pulled out a slip with a few names and some addressed printed neatly in Times heading but crumpled slightly from the hours of travel. He then walked over to one of the cab drivers lazily sitting in the driver's seat, the windshield just as lazily fending off the specks of drizzle that started to spatter from the dull gray darkness of the sky.


Through the trip in the cab, the drizzle that was being slowly fought off with the slowest strokes of the windshield wiper began to grow heavier in beat. Soon the rain was tossing in loud drumbeats as the driver wordlessly switched the wiper to go more quicker to fend off more of the wet drops that fell. When he paid the cab driver for the trip, he stepped out with his luggage and an immediate attack from the sky's water. He looked up as he quickly reached to the double doors.


"I wonder who's crying..." he muttered to himself in a half-second reflection before pushing through the stainless steel window pane doors.


The lobby of the dormitory was a small area with wood panel walls, a fine grain wood counter with a computer and a desk attendant, and a pigeon hole from behind. An elevator and a mailroom were not too far behind.


The desk attendant immediately took notice and shot up from her seat and stated a "May I help you?" as though he had caught her at a most embarrasing time.


"Ahh, I'm the intern from Missouri?" He tried to mat his hair a bit in the hopes of pushing the water out of his dark brown cowlicks but seemed to just force more of the water into his hair.


"Oh! Yes, I was told about you!" She reached underneath the counter and produced an index box and opened it, searched through a number of papers, and then removed an envelope "You have room 314. No noise after eight p.m. and laundry room is on the second flo-" she stopped herself as the door behind him opened and he turned around to look.


There was a girl not too much shorter than me, in a sweatshirt and sweatpants and long light hair that dripped heavily from what may have been from being doused deeply in water. There was makeup on her face, though it ran heavily and while it was prevented from running down to her cheeks, there was a fragment of a fingerprint that hinted of the wiping. She looked up with dark blue eyes with a look of disdain at the woman behind the counter.


"And where have you been, hmmm?" asked the attendant with a look of subdued annoyance.


She sneered angrily and stormed across the carpet.


"You come and speak to me when spoken to, Margaret!"


She did not listen and headed down a hallway, and as the desk attendant ran off after her, I heard a sound of a heavy metal door slamming shut behind her.



---

The student surveyed his room. The meager belongings he brought with him was barely an amount of things that seemed amazing in amount, but was enough for him to live without too much trouble. He patted the laptop on his desk thankfully and turned to the sole window that viewed outside. In the night, without a lamp light to guide one's eyes, one could see the light of a busy midtown street, even if all he saw through his window was an alley. He peered down in curiosity and saw from below a light yellow-haired girl and a pair of large men that seemed to be approaching her. He saw her turn back slowly into the wall.


He turned to his phone but then turned instead to his still half-filled luggage...

"You still owe us. Now you gonna pay or are we going to have to take?" The larger one sneered a malicious grin. His hand still was deep in his pockets, reaching for something.

The girl looked back and looked as though she was about to mouth something back, but then stopped.


They stopped when they began to hear footsteps from behind them.


A tall man about six foot four was walking this way. His hand held a long wavering sword and by his side.


"Hey, get the fuck out of here!" one of them shouted.


"Not until you do first." He replied as he brushed by his dark brown hair.


The girl looked at him with surprise, perhaps astonishment but certainly surprise.


The men turned their back "Yo, Andrew, take care of him." and he drew a switchblade from his pocket. The man was quick and quickly rushed into him, and the girl was shocked, since a rapier would have been nothing against such quickness.


The boy replied against Andrew with a quick flourish as he rushed, ducked and then dodged, and then pushed the end through the man's pits, forcing him to scream in pain as he pulled back the blade, drawing blood.


"Bitch!" The other drew a handgun and immediately as if knowing, he reached behind him and pulled out a firearm, smiling, the rapier quickly sheathing into his belt as he cocked the gun.


"Leave." Was all he said as he stared at him back.


She then saw that behind him Andrew was coming close and she screamed "Behind you!"


He turned and saw the man about to aim for his face. His reply was a quick duck and he replied with a spinning kick in reply that fell the man to the filth-ridden ground. He pulled a grin, but then heard the loud reverb of a high pitched ring as the alleyway flashed from gunfire.


...


He was not bleeding.


The girl had kicked the gunman between the legs with a fierce pull her own leg. He misfired and the shot ricocheted someplace else. He took the opportunity to yell "Leave!" to her. She did not listen though.


At that moment, Andrew got the pace on him and he felt something heavy pull him to the floor. The large man quickly pinned him to the floor. He looked up and saw the gunman, who only smiled as he pressed the soles of his mud-stained shoes into his face... and then kicked him with it.


The first blow he recoiled against. It was the third that drew blood, the seventh that drew a small scar. By the twelveth... the flashing red and blue of a police car flooded the alley.


"You should be lucky he was there to help you," Margeret's mother said as she approached the kitchen with the dull brown bottle of iodine and the cotton balls. She replied with a sulking silence as she sat in her seat. "Still giving me the silent treatment I see," she remarked as she uncorked the bottle and dabbed the ingredients. "Hold still..." and then she applied the cotton to the knuckles of the girl. She flinched slightly in her chair as it was applied.


"Later tonight, I want you to come to his room and thank him for risking his life for you."


The girl continued to glare at her knuckles.


...


Margaret looked at his door and then at her hands. She brushed her long gold hair back for a moment and then stood still for a moment in the hallway. Her hand came close and began to finger the knob of the door, the digits rubbing closely against the smooth surface. A quick pull of the wrist, and she noticed it was locked. The digits pulled close... until she felt the sting of the still-raw skin. Her hand pulled up and she pulled it back a bit before she would knock the door and-


"Hello?"


She turned and saw the man, a few rolled bandages across his face and a black eye but still walking normally. He blinked in curiosity and then his eyes widened and he gave a smile.


"Ah, it's you! Are you all right?"


She turned back to him and stared into his dark eyes. He blinked again, and she saw that despite the great bruised circle around his pupil, it was still a cool even brown.


"Is something wrong...?"


"Thank you."


"What?"


She turned around and started to walk away "Hey! Wait!"

She did not turn back, continuing to move away. His mouth pursed into a peculiar formation at the confusion.


The door opened and he went through, closing the door behind him. The sound of the phone began to vibrate its three tone verse. He reached up and picked up the receiver.

"Oh, hey babe!"

"No... no... it went well, just got a little injured, nothing too bad."

"Sure, I have some time, my internship won't be for awhile."

"Uh huh."

"Uh huh..."

"Oh."

"..."

"I'm sorry..."

"..."

"Yes, I understand... it's for the best."

"Yeah... friends is good."

"...bye."


---


"Did your internship close well?" greeted Tanya the Desk Receptionist.


He smiled back "Yeah... not as bad as I was worried it would be. Feels like time has gone by so fast... almost like I stepped in just a moment before." He looked back glancing to the rain outside, shaking his umbrella slightly as he did so.


"When do you leave for home again?"


"Tomorrow, at the crack of dawn."


She shook her head "Margaret's not going to take well to it..."


"Oh, I'm sure she has other things to think about." He said almost as a brush off.


"Haven't you noticed her?"


He shook his head "No, I can't say I have... has she been watching me?"


"She's been looking at you every day. i think she's just being shy." She smiled "I find it cute. Before she used to be outside all the time doing who knows what... and now she's a homebody always looking out the window. Will you be here all night?"


"Yeah, I've got a lot of packing to do..."


"Then I better send you on your way."


---


He returned to his room and as he began to pack away his items, he looked at a photo frame that had begun to gather dust, pulled it up and looked at the photo of him and a girl. He gazed into it for awhile, a thumb slowly reaching for the face of the girl slowly... and then he heaved the photo into the wastebasket, producing a crashing sound.


He turned as he heart a knocking "Come in, the door's open."


The door gently pushed open and he saw the bright hair and the dark blue eyes of Margaret as she quietly looked through the side of the door.


"Hey there," he said almost as though he was greeting a child "Heard you're going to be graduating to college soon. Choose a major?" She shook her head from behind the door and then quietly shut it behind her, without answering the question.


"Is... something wrong?"


She ran to him, tears falling from her cheeks in heavy drops, and her arms quickly wrapped around him. The lamp flashed and soon winked out with the rest of the world as lightning pealed crackles and the wind hissed behind it through the endless coming of falling water.


---


She was not there when he left. He looked up and thought that she may have been looking down from a window, but shook it aside.


"What could that have meant..." he muttered to himself.


"Eh?" The driver grunted.


"Nothing, nothing. To the airport please."


---


"Did this rain stop yet?" His fingers leaked open a crack, the water still falling in heavy drops was his sight, linked with a gale of winds. He sighed and looked at the laptop on his desk. A doorbell rang and he pulled himself up as he yelled out "I'll get it!"


His ears caught the endless downpour outside. "Who could it be outside in this terrible weather?"


The door rang again "I'm coming, I'm coming!" He shouted in response and he made it to the front door.


He turned the knock, opened it, and saw a girl in limp wet yellow hair, large dark blue eyes that were stained with running makeup, and a sweatshirt and sweatpants that were doused heavily from the outside rain.

"Rain"

For those curious, I haven't been posting all my stories from FOD onto here, so I felt it was appropriate to place them here.

He looked through the clear four-panel window of his room, and as he looked, his lips pursed in disgust that it was still dank and gray. "I was told that people actually revel in this weather... how they can is-" He cut himself off and quickly shuttered the window to hide the gray and immediately switched on a nearby lamp to flood the room with golden light. While his face faced the wooden tabletop of his desk, he only felt compelled to look back at the blinds, almost hoping that he could see through it... Hoping for something that he knew would never come.

A year ago, New York City, John F. Kennedy Airport


The college student carried a framepack on his back and tugged a wheeled luggage case along the perpetually gray concrete he walked on. Looking around for a cab, the student then rummaged his paper-laden pockets and, finding what he wanted, pulled out a slip with a few names and some addressed printed neatly in Times heading but crumpled slightly from the hours of travel. He then walked over to one of the cab drivers lazily sitting in the driver's seat, the windshield just as lazily fending off the specks of drizzle that started to spatter from the dull gray darkness of the sky.


Through the trip in the cab, the drizzle that was being slowly fought off with the slowest strokes of the windshield wiper began to grow heavier in beat. Soon the rain was tossing in loud drumbeats as the driver wordlessly switched the wiper to go more quicker to fend off more of the wet drops that fell. When he paid the cab driver for the trip, he stepped out with his luggage and an immediate attack from the sky's water. He looked up as he quickly reached to the double doors.


"I wonder who's crying..." he muttered to himself in a half-second reflection before pushing through the stainless steel window pane doors.


The lobby of the dormitory was a small area with wood panel walls, a fine grain wood counter with a computer and a desk attendant, and a pigeon hole from behind. An elevator and a mailroom were not too far behind.


The desk attendant immediately took notice and shot up from her seat and stated a "May I help you?" as though he had caught her at a most embarrasing time.


"Ahh, I'm the intern from Missouri?" He tried to mat his hair a bit in the hopes of pushing the water out of his dark brown cowlicks but seemed to just force more of the water into his hair.


"Oh! Yes, I was told about you!" She reached underneath the counter and produced an index box and opened it, searched through a number of papers, and then removed an envelope "You have room 314. No noise after eight p.m. and laundry room is on the second flo-" she stopped herself as the door behind him opened and he turned around to look.


There was a girl not too much shorter than me, in a sweatshirt and sweatpants and long light hair that dripped heavily from what may have been from being doused deeply in water. There was makeup on her face, though it ran heavily and while it was prevented from running down to her cheeks, there was a fragment of a fingerprint that hinted of the wiping. She looked up with dark blue eyes with a look of disdain at the woman behind the counter.


"And where have you been, hmmm?" asked the attendant with a look of subdued annoyance.


She sneered angrily and stormed across the carpet.


"You come and speak to me when spoken to, Margaret!"


She did not listen and headed down a hallway, and as the desk attendant ran off after her, I heard a sound of a heavy metal door slamming shut behind her.



---

The student surveyed his room. The meager belongings he brought with him was barely an amount of things that seemed amazing in amount, but was enough for him to live without too much trouble. He patted the laptop on his desk thankfully and turned to the sole window that viewed outside. In the night, without a lamp light to guide one's eyes, one could see the light of a busy midtown street, even if all he saw through his window was an alley. He peered down in curiosity and saw from below a light yellow-haired girl and a pair of large men that seemed to be approaching her. He saw her turn back slowly into the wall.


He turned to his phone but then turned instead to his still half-filled luggage...

"You still owe us. Now you gonna pay or are we going to have to take?" The larger one sneered a malicious grin. His hand still was deep in his pockets, reaching for something.

The girl looked back and looked as though she was about to mouth something back, but then stopped.


They stopped when they began to hear footsteps from behind them.


A tall man about six foot four was walking this way. His hand held a long wavering sword and by his side.


"Hey, get the fuck out of here!" one of them shouted.


"Not until you do first." He replied as he brushed by his dark brown hair.


The girl looked at him with surprise, perhaps astonishment but certainly surprise.


The men turned their back "Yo, Andrew, take care of him." and he drew a switchblade from his pocket. The man was quick and quickly rushed into him, and the girl was shocked, since a rapier would have been nothing against such quickness.


The boy replied against Andrew with a quick flourish as he rushed, ducked and then dodged, and then pushed the end through the man's pits, forcing him to scream in pain as he pulled back the blade, drawing blood.


"Bitch!" The other drew a handgun and immediately as if knowing, he reached behind him and pulled out a firearm, smiling, the rapier quickly sheathing into his belt as he cocked the gun.


"Leave." Was all he said as he stared at him back.


She then saw that behind him Andrew was coming close and she screamed "Behind you!"


He turned and saw the man about to aim for his face. His reply was a quick duck and he replied with a spinning kick in reply that fell the man to the filth-ridden ground. He pulled a grin, but then heard the loud reverb of a high pitched ring as the alleyway flashed from gunfire.


...


He was not bleeding.


The girl had kicked the gunman between the legs with a fierce pull her own leg. He misfired and the shot ricocheted someplace else. He took the opportunity to yell "Leave!" to her. She did not listen though.


At that moment, Andrew got the pace on him and he felt something heavy pull him to the floor. The large man quickly pinned him to the floor. He looked up and saw the gunman, who only smiled as he pressed the soles of his mud-stained shoes into his face... and then kicked him with it.


The first blow he recoiled against. It was the third that drew blood, the seventh that drew a small scar. By the twelveth... the flashing red and blue of a police car flooded the alley.


"You should be lucky he was there to help you," Margeret's mother said as she approached the kitchen with the dull brown bottle of iodine and the cotton balls. She replied with a sulking silence as she sat in her seat. "Still giving me the silent treatment I see," she remarked as she uncorked the bottle and dabbed the ingredients. "Hold still..." and then she applied the cotton to the knuckles of the girl. She flinched slightly in her chair as it was applied.


"Later tonight, I want you to come to his room and thank him for risking his life for you."


The girl continued to glare at her knuckles.


...


Margaret looked at his door and then at her hands. She brushed her long gold hair back for a moment and then stood still for a moment in the hallway. Her hand came close and began to finger the knob of the door, the digits rubbing closely against the smooth surface. A quick pull of the wrist, and she noticed it was locked. The digits pulled close... until she felt the sting of the still-raw skin. Her hand pulled up and she pulled it back a bit before she would knock the door and-


"Hello?"


She turned and saw the man, a few rolled bandages across his face and a black eye but still walking normally. He blinked in curiosity and then his eyes widened and he gave a smile.


"Ah, it's you! Are you all right?"


She turned back to him and stared into his dark eyes. He blinked again, and she saw that despite the great bruised circle around his pupil, it was still a cool even brown.


"Is something wrong...?"


"Thank you."


"What?"


She turned around and started to walk away "Hey! Wait!"

She did not turn back, continuing to move away. His mouth pursed into a peculiar formation at the confusion.


The door opened and he went through, closing the door behind him. The sound of the phone began to vibrate its three tone verse. He reached up and picked up the receiver.

"Oh, hey babe!"

"No... no... it went well, just got a little injured, nothing too bad."

"Sure, I have some time, my internship won't be for awhile."

"Uh huh."

"Uh huh..."

"Oh."

"..."

"I'm sorry..."

"..."

"Yes, I understand... it's for the best."

"Yeah... friends is good."

"...bye."


---


"Did your internship close well?" greeted Tanya the Desk Receptionist.


He smiled back "Yeah... not as bad as I was worried it would be. Feels like time has gone by so fast... almost like I stepped in just a moment before." He looked back glancing to the rain outside, shaking his umbrella slightly as he did so.


"When do you leave for home again?"


"Tomorrow, at the crack of dawn."


She shook her head "Margaret's not going to take well to it..."


"Oh, I'm sure she has other things to think about." He said almost as a brush off.


"Haven't you noticed her?"


He shook his head "No, I can't say I have... has she been watching me?"


"She's been looking at you every day. i think she's just being shy." She smiled "I find it cute. Before she used to be outside all the time doing who knows what... and now she's a homebody always looking out the window. Will you be here all night?"


"Yeah, I've got a lot of packing to do..."


"Then I better send you on your way."


---


He returned to his room and as he began to pack away his items, he looked at a photo frame that had begun to gather dust, pulled it up and looked at the photo of him and a girl. He gazed into it for awhile, a thumb slowly reaching for the face of the girl slowly... and then he heaved the photo into the wastebasket, producing a crashing sound.


He turned as he heart a knocking "Come in, the door's open."


The door gently pushed open and he saw the bright hair and the dark blue eyes of Margaret as she quietly looked through the side of the door.


"Hey there," he said almost as though he was greeting a child "Heard you're going to be graduating to college soon. Choose a major?" She shook her head from behind the door and then quietly shut it behind her, without answering the question.


"Is... something wrong?"


She ran to him, tears falling from her cheeks in heavy drops, and her arms quickly wrapped around him. The lamp flashed and soon winked out with the rest of the world as lightning pealed crackles and the wind hissed behind it through the endless coming of falling water.


---


She was not there when he left. He looked up and thought that she may have been looking down from a window, but shook it aside.


"What could that have meant..." he muttered to himself.


"Eh?" The driver grunted.


"Nothing, nothing. To the airport please."


---


"Did this rain stop yet?" His fingers leaked open a crack, the water still falling in heavy drops was his sight, linked with a gale of winds. He sighed and looked at the laptop on his desk. A doorbell rang and he pulled himself up as he yelled out "I'll get it!"


His ears caught the endless downpour outside. "Who could it be outside in this terrible weather?"


The door rang again "I'm coming, I'm coming!" He shouted in response and he made it to the front door.


He turned the knock, opened it, and saw a girl in limp wet yellow hair, large dark blue eyes that were stained with running makeup, and a sweatshirt and sweatpants that were doused heavily from the outside rain.