Just you and me

Posted on May 22, 2014 by Catastrophe Jones

Green eyes flutter open — the sound of the little one is faint, but there, and he can hear it, and there’s no one else to help, and so he gets up, and goes to do it himself.

He’s exhausted; he hasn’t really slept more than an hour or so in the last 72. He used to be able to pull that off when he was a young man.

He used to be able to do all nighters, even weekends, strung out on caffeine, ephedrine pills, whatever it took to get things done.

Sometimes, just the thrill of working on what he loved was enough to keep him going.

There’s no thrill here, just a steady pace of numbing, grinding exhaustion.

When Lorakan walked out, Lindsey thought it might be the last he’d see of him.

He wasn’t sure, at that point, what to do for Connor, and so he just stayed, did his part. Did Lor’s part, was father and friend and teddy bear replacement, and rocking chair and source of entertainment.

Lor’s phone wasn’t working right. He couldn’t leave messages.

He knew he shouldn’t go anywhere, and after the first full night without sleep, he knew he couldn’t.

April was gone.

Trevor was busy.

Allen was busy.

Lorakan… left.

Marcus was out of town.

His father was dead.

Who did it leave?

“Just you and me, kid,” he murmured, rocking the restless baby as he paced the endless miles of floor that couldn’t tell him where everyone had gone to anymore than he could tell himself, at this point. “Just you and me.”

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The Autumn Queen No. 2 – Elodie, Again

Posted on May 21, 2014 by Catastrophe Jones

This is #2 of The Autumn Queen. If you want to start at the beginning, go here.

PREVIOUS

* * *

The only thing worse than my brother’s fury was his sadness. “What happened, Elodie?” Elias asked. He stood at his window, looking out into the eventide, without even a single candle to keep the light. He did not look back at me, even when I stumbled into the table and spilled a bag of chackstones.

I knelt, picking up the tiny spurs, collecting them in shaking hands, and put them back in their velvet.

The ball rolled across the tiles and laid against Elias’s bootheel. He didn’t glance down to see — he was too consumed by his grief to care. “What happened?” he asked again. “When they brought him here, Elodie, he was raving. I had to–” His voice broke, and he bowed his head, hands gripping the stone ledge of the window.

“He found out, Elias. Kellis knows,” I said, my voice shaking. “He would’ve told everyone,” I say, trying to justify it to myself. I crossed the room with sure steps, determined, but when I reached his side and saw his face, I faltered. “Oh, Elias–”

“Don’t,” he said, turning to look at me more fully — in the dark, he let me see his ruined eyes.

* * *

NEXT

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Disappear

Posted on May 20, 2014 by Catastrophe Jones

You’re about to disappear
and take me with you
why won’t you
take me
with
you

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Pick-up

Posted on May 19, 2014 by Catastrophe Jones

It’s been a solid fifteen minutes since Donnelly last focused on him; the blue-eyed man feels the easygoing haze begin to drop — it spirals right quick, considering they’re going up and up and up stairs. He can’t quite grasp how they got where they are, but he knows that hardly matters much.

Higher and higher.

She reaches back, giddy, and takes his hand as they step out into the burnt out lobby of an abandoned apartment building.

This particular one is condemned, leaving them only a little freer than normal of the squatters who seek shelter.

The blue-eyed man watches him step into the area, wander over to where a mama cat struggles to protect her newly dropped litter from the intruders, and step right onto her back and ribs. Paralyzation, shock… but the mama is alive. And so are the kittens.

But not for long.

She struggles to hold in a titter, and the blue-eyed man feels his stomach drop, and his gorge rise.

“Darling,” the kitten-crusher murmurs to her. “Anything you’d like to say?”

She chirps “Bye-bye, Brightman.”

And he stands there, blue eyes open, looking at her, then at the kittens, and he can’t even bring himself to ask ‘why’. He knows it doesn’t matter.

He failed. He didn’t see her for what she was — a liability. He didn’t check hard enough. He didn’t… something. He failed.

The gun goes off, and it’s pain, and he hits the wall, and watches them walk out.

She trails after the kitten-killer, the smiling man, who is going back down the stairs, so pleased with himself.

She lifts his phone from her pocket, and dials it, looking concerned, thoughtful. She hands it to him, and murmurs, quite audibly, pained, but honest, from the very bottom of her dark eyes: “I didn’t want you to come back.”

He doesn’t even know who’s been called as he holds the phone to his ear, his knees giving, his vision blacking out.

Someone picks up on the other end, “Yeah?”

His voice cracks, “S’Brightman… I need a pickup. I need–”

He hits the floor and the phone goes clattering.

She picks it up, and runs to catch the kitten-killer, leaving the blue-eyed man in an ever-widening pool of red.

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Two bullets in the TV…

Posted on May 18, 2014 by Catastrophe Jones

You fill up my senses,
like a night in the forest,
like a mountain in springtime,
like a walk in the rain.

“S’music fucking sucks, right man?”
“…”
“Samatter? You don’ like conversa’in’r somethin?”
“…”
“Jesus, man, I’m just tryina make a connec–jesuschrististhatfuckingthingreal?”
“…”
“Okay I’m gone! I’m gone, don’t freak out on me all right, I’m gone!”

Like a storm in the desert,
like a sleepy blue ocean,
you fill up my senses;
come fill me again…

“Hey, handsome… you waiting for anyone?”
“…”
“Hey you, you’re way too good-looking to be staring at a glass like that…”
“…”
“Don’t feel like talkin?”
“…”
“Well shit, fuck you then!”

Come let me love you;
let me give my life to you.
Let me drown in your laughter;
let me die in your arms.

“Another.”
“Ain’t you had enough?”
“Another.”
“Eh, s’your liver.”

Let me lay down beside you;
let me always be with you.
Come let me love you;
come love me again…

“What’s the name of this one? John Denver, right?”
“Yeah, Annie’s song.”
“Why’s it fuckin playin at noon on a Wednesday?”
“Bit of a tradition, you might say.”
“Hah. Losers.”
“You don’t have to drink in here, son.”
“You refusin to serve me?”
“Looks like I am.”
“What kind of fucking place is this? Goddamned rotten son of a…”
“Another?”
“Another.”
“Play it again?”
“Play it again.”

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