Water

This piece of paper was found in the top floor of a farmhouse owned by C. Isaac 36 days after the rain began

The old farmhouse is crumbling into small, smooth pieces. 

The rain has not stopped for nineteen days.  No one knows why.  The sun has just gone away, replaced by gray endless clouds. 

I haven't complained.  Everyone is complaining.  What will we do? Are we all going to die?

Does it really matter?  It was something we have no control over.

The first couple days were alright.  Sure is raining a lot!  Miss the sun! Can’t wait for it to warm up!

After 6 days people began to panic.  Most of the cities that were below sea level or near it had sank.  Up here, in our mountain community, where we grew cotton, people had begun flocking up to higher ground.  The rain had washed many cities away, and people were crying “Apocalypse! He’s coming back! He’s washing us away!”

I laughed.

My brother had gone to see our mother in Tennessee after the third day of raining, claiming “He wanted to see her one last time.”  I think the weather had gotten to him.  I think staying inside had given him cabin fever.  Dealing with me for more than 30 hours was a chore, obviously.

I had waved him goodbye, watching him slide out of the driveway, never to be seen again.

The rain tipped and tapped on my roof.

I lived by candlelight at this point, as power had gone out across the world.  Electricity wasn’t much fun when water was surrounding you.

The President had declared “National Emergency” or some shit yesterday.  That was day 18. We’re on 19 right?

Some people in town have begun to build boats.  The ground is wet a mush now.  My farm has turned into a greenish-brown pile of shit. 

I’ve been by myself for-32 years? (That’s a joke) 16 days-it was heaven.  I didn’t want to see another human for as long as I lived.  I hoped the rain would wash me away.

But it hadn’t-HASN’t-yet.  My first floor was flooded.  There was no trying to communicate with anyone outside.  Even the squatters had moved farther upland.  There wasn’t much running they could do.  I can tell, it’s all over.  I couldn’t be happier.

My wife had killed herself 32 years ago.  I came inside from the farm to find her hanging from some rope, from rope that was from this farm.  It was funny, to think about that. A desperate cackle may escape my throat every few days.  That’s about the only thing that comes out.

Surprisingly, there were no looters.  We only had a couple stores, and not many people came through town.  A few young people, who camped in our yard for about 3 days, were the only ones I personally saw.  The rain let up, and then it would begin to pour.  It was random.

No matter what, throughout the day though, the drops would hit my roof, pitter patter, tick tock, the clock goes round, round the clock it goes, pitter patter, drip drop.

After 18 days the government had given up, I think.  Even the radio went off.

Now I sit alone, in the attic, listening to the rain.  Watching out the small, circular window that overlooks the farm.  Looking outside gives me a sense of hopelessness, but was it anything new? Was anything I had experienced in this life worthwhile?

If anyone finds this, which I doubt, because it is all about to end, then I hope you have fun.  I hope the world started anew.  I hope this is indecipherable.

Want to know what I see outside?

A lake.

And I think it’s about time I took a swim.

Car dealership horror thing

It was on the 29^th of October that I had acquired a particularly small car.  Known to many as a joke car or a toaster, I had lost my job as an accountant at a highly prestigious credit union, and had undergone many budget cuts.  I had sold my old car for something a little cheaper, insurance and gas wise.  At the dealership, the usual balding man scuttled out from inside the warm dealership.  It was raining, and about 48 degrees.  The wind chilled me to the bone, and I was looking for something economic.  I also was looking for a speedy process.  I hated dealing with confrontation, and I hated salesmen even more.  I had previously worked in retail, and knew the amount of sheer lying that went on day to day.  And so it was.

The small black car was sitting in one of the rows, clean as it could be with the rain, and I pointed towards it.  The salesman laughed, Marcus, I think his name was.  He tried to lead me over to the more expensive side, where the SUV’s and sports cars waited.  I told him of my financial status and that I had assumed a minimum wage job.  His smile quickly faded, as he knew along with this, warranties and other non-essentials would not be sold.  So after some haggling, he let me test drive the small car.

On the road, I got to test the lights and wipers, along with the utter slowness the car possessed.  Marcus laughed every time I tried to enter the freeway, slugging along, and once almost being rear ended by a rather angry Southerner.  His laugh and breath were completely disgusting, and annoyed me to the near point of ramming the car into the side of the freeway.  But I needed a car cheap, so I smiled and nodded my head when he made a comment.  I pretended to be the fool that Marcus wanted me to be.

After pulling into the dealership and going inside, we haggled even more about the price.  I was set on a fair figure of $7,000, with no warranties, no extras, not even electric windows.  Of course, Marcus tried his very hardest to push everything, and after forty-five minutes, and the threat of a lost sale, Marcus sold me the small car for $8,200.  I was unhappy already, but the simple act of being done with this scum of the earth was enough to make me take out a loan of $1,200 at an unfathomable interest rate.

As I drove off in my new “toy car” as Marcus called it, he smiled one last time, and waved.  As I waited to go back into traffic, I looked at him.  I stared for more than a few moments, and began to laugh hysterically.  Marcus was such a simple man, with only money in mind.  I turned on my headlights, turned the wipers on full blast, and pulled away, into the now darkness.

At about 10:00 PM, I watched Marcus pull out of the dealership in his nice sports car.  He waved goodbye to the rather handsome lady going to her car.  I had noticed a ring on his finger earlier, (a rather nice one-coated with diamonds) and gripped the wheel even harder.  I waited ten seconds, and began to tail Marcus home.

As we merged onto the entrance ramp to the freeway, my car had a bit of trouble speeding up.  I lost sight of Marcus, pulled over onto the bridge, and slammed my fist against the horn.  A small toot emerged, and I was even more embarrassed.  However, a car pulled up beside me on the shoulder.  It was Marcus, laughing, his breath fogging up the window.  He rolled his window down.

“Told you, shoulda bought somethin’ worth a shit.  Haha.  Stupid city boy.  Don’t you know a real car when you see one?”  His face knotted up into that sickening grin, and he revved his engine, burned his tires, and went off home.  By now, I was fuming, and had no control over my emotions.  I began beating the wheel mercilessly, smashing my fists against anything in the car.  Soon, the interior was smashed to pieces, and I exited the car in a fury.  I struck my hand through the driver side window as bits of glass spattered all around me.  My hand was a red mess, my mind completely gone.  The rage consumed me, I was so sick of everything.  Again, I heard a car slow down beside me, and could already hear his wheezy laugh. 

“You dumb shit.  Already crashed the damn thing?  Well, can’t say I didn’t warn ya.”  Marcus then revved his engine again, and drove towards me.  I felt a bump against my knees, and before I knew it, was flying in the air.  The bastard had hit me so hard, I was flying.  Well, I would land soon enough. 

The next day, after the ambulance and emergency personnel left, a tow truck was unsuccessful at pulling the small car I had bought that day before.  The small car, smaller than most, would not even budge.  The driver cursed for a few minutes, and left.  I laughed, staring at him.  It is sad, watching people come every now and again lay a cross, or a rose, at the bridge that I lie at.  But I always remember, always tell myself,   when I wake up screaming at the bottom of the lake-I should have gone with a bigger car.

Some hospital horror thing

It was deep within the catacombs of a lost race of people that I had found myself lying, shaking, crying to myself in agony.  They say they found me lying in a pile of garbage outside, but I cannot remember any of it.  But, let me tell you my story, and maybe then someone will believe me.

I had begun working in a mental hospital in December of 1976.  I was working my way through law school, and they had just so needed a full timer, with flexible hours.  I was happy to oblige, and my dear friend Julius worked there as well.  I worked third shift, the endless nights that dragged on called my name when I was not there.  But the pay was fine, and fine was what I needed to pay off the enourmous debts I had undertaken to complete school. 

I worked trash, and cleaned floors when I was alone (most of the time).  Although it was hard to stay awake, there was always something unsettling about working alone, in the cold basement of that putrid hospital.  It was built in 1919, with funds from the local millionaire who had made his riches off of tobacco crops.  By now, it was falling apart, and the tobacco industry had long lost its hold on my city.  Most of the walls were a slimy yellow color, with mold growing in almost every corner.  There was a different smell for every 15 or so feet.  My break room had a neutral smell, however, the farther down the main hall, the more obscure the smells became.  When passing the kitchen, the wafts of cooking food came through my nose.  Passing the garbage chutes smelled as good as one could imagine.  But at the end of the main hallway, where the lights were a litter more dim, the paint a little more chipped-there was the most peculiar smell of them all.  When you got to the end of the hallway, and approached the large locked door, a fishy smell was overwhelmingly nauseating.  Why it smelled like this, I have no clue.  No one ever went into the room, or left as I saw- not even once.  I always wondered what it was for, but I always avoided it when I could. 

On one particular night, Julius and I were eating our canned soup lunches alone, inside the break room.  We had discussed the usual sports and women, but today he seemed off.  He never smiled, even with jokes that I made.  I asked him what the matter was, and he seemed to be surprised.

”The matter, you say?  The matter is this- Just this morning, precisely at 2am, I got off the southern elevator, you know, near the room no one goes in?  And that smell, that fish smell, god it was powerful!  I could barely breathe, much less stand around.  But I wondered to myself, what the hell is in there?  What the hell is making that smell?   So I tried to open the door, but it was locked.  Tight, I tell you!  A crowbar may help get in, but I couldn’t find one around here.  Tomorrow, I’m bringing one in, and going in there myself!  I must know!”

Julius seemed completely unaware that he was screaming now, and my spine lit up with electricity at his last shout.  My friend was probably not getting enough sleep, or too much.  I smiled, and walked outside for a moment.  As usual, the hallway was dead silent.  It was usually only me and Julius here tonight, but I swear for a moment I saw a pair of red, beady eyes staring down at me from the very end of the hallway.  My feet turned into useless bricks, but only for a second.  I quickly dashed back into the breakroom, now perspiring profusely and shaking.  Julius laughed maniacally, which did nothing to help my nerves.  I spent the rest of my night inside that very room, ignoring my duties for the sake of my life.

I had the next day off, and was saddened to hear that Julius was admitted into the hospital that very day.  I stopped by on the 4^th floor to see him around 10pm that night, before I began working.  He was laying in bed, laughing again as if some comedian was on his television.  But he was alone, and the caregiver told me he had not stopped laughing since they found him lying in the basement earlier that morning. 

“Hahahah!  Hello, old friend! How are you?  Have you met the new groundskeeper?  Great fellow!  Gave me a pack of smokes for free! He did, honest!  Have you talked to him yet, pal?  He said hes waiting on you downstairs tonight!! Hahahah!  He’s a funny one, that man!”

I slowly backed out of his room, shaking my head in disbelief.  Julius had been just fine yesterday, as far as I knew (besides the excessive sweating).  I told the nurse to take extra care of my old friend, slipping him a crisp 10 dollar bill.

As I walked down the smelly stairwell, wait- the stairwell never smelled.  In fact, it was usually the best smelling area in the basement.  What was that?  I sniffed.  Fish.  I straightened up, looked behind me, and wondered if I should leave and never return.  But, Julius had been known to indulge in the newer, fashionable drugs.  Maybe he was just having some fit, induced by some drugs he had never experienced?  That was it.  No need to worry, it was a simple basement.  I had probably just seen some elevator lights last night anyway.

Most of my night went swell, fast even for a third shift job.  The garbage was barely running, and we had cleaned the floors the night before.  I mostly sat inside the breakroom, reading the newspaper and wondering when it was time to leave.  I sighed.

My watch read precisely 2am, and suddenly the disgusting stench of the sea wandered inside the room once again.  It was overwhelming, and smelled rotten.  I was very reluctant to go outside the room to see where this mess was coming from, but I was on the verge of falling asleep, and as mankind always does-I was curious.

I peeped outside the door, to find the entire hallway in complete darkness.  My spine lit up once again, and things became even more odd.  My breath had become illuminated, and the temperature had dropped at least 50 degrees.  I was to the point of shivering, and I knew the heat was working.  I groped my way down the hall, towards the fusebox.  Maybe the electricity had blown, who knew?  I suddenly came upon it, my face almost smashing against the large box had my hands not felt it.  I fumbled around the sides, and opened the door.  What I saw was most curious, and got me even more startled.  The entire cirtcuitry was ripped out, sparks flying out, and slowly burning to nothingness when they hit the cold floor.

At this point in my story, I would like to apologize for my brute use of language, but I feel it is necessary.  As I saw the 

Aisle 34

It was the tenth of December, and the wind chilled me to the bone.  I was to complete work today, and soon I would be transferring to Seattle, where I would become a certified Doctor.  I had completed my degree at Wake Forest University, spending thousands in the process.  Luckily my father’s father and his father before that had been in the furniture business.  But, throughout school, I worked in the retail business.  My last night was to set new planograms, or new aisle layouts for the layman, throughout the night.  I hardly worked the night shift, it was set for people who needed the hours.  But, Johnson had called out, so Geoffrey and I were to work the shift, complete the store, and in the morning I would board the flight to Seattle.  It seemed easy enough.

That afternoon I drank three cups of coffee, ate a steak dinner, and took a freezing cold shower.  I left at 8:45 PM, the sun had already set, and the fog had settled in.  The drive to my store was a mellow one.  I passed a few solemn headlights on the way, but most people had gone inside for the night.  The air smelled like sadness, and the fog helped none at all. It was going to be a sad night, as it was my last shift at the store.  The weather did not help at all.

I pulled into the parking lot at 8:53, to find Geoff waiting in the parking lot.  His van hummed, and his lights were on.  I pulled beside him to find him listening to music in his headphones.  I decided to scare him, and knocked on his window.  His face was priceless and of utmost horror.  He jerked his headphones off, and after muttering a few words I will not repeat, he stepped outside.  “Ready for your last day?” He asked.  I walked with him inside, and we locked the outer gate.  We stepped inside, with the hottest pop music playing.  We decided it would be better to play something that we liked, as there were no customers and a highly low chance that the District Manager would come in.  We decided to listen to Chopin’s complete nocturnes, performed by the lovely Brigette Engerer. 

We got our box-cutters and each pulled a ladder, and began to work on setting the new aisles.  Geoff started on aisle 35, while I started on 1.  We would hopefully meet before 5 AM, if not, I would have to stay, and delay my flight, and miss many opportunities.  So for the first hour I worked at a breakneck pace.  Having all my supplies ready (thanks to the evening shift) I set new hooks with ease, unpacked and loaded new product easily, and before I knew it, I was on aisle 18.  It was odd, though, Geoff was a highly skilled worker (being there for over 7 years)-yet he had not even finished.  Another curious thing, the music had stopped.  It was only 1AM, and only a small amount of sleep had set in.  I began walking towards the end of the aisles, slowly looking down each for a sign of Geoff.

Aisles 19-23 were empty, and unset.  However, when I reached Aisle 22, a dozen or so empty boxes sat opened, and product halfway on the shelves.  Geoff was nowhere to be seen.  It was unlike him, company policy required us to specify if we left our location.  I moved down the aisle to see if there were any signs of where he went.

As I inspected the scene, I came across a few odd things.  His box-cutter was covered in a substance I had yet to have seen, darker than motor oil, but more viscous than water.  And upon further investigation, I saw a small drip trail leading to our receiving area.  I followed it, while looking down each aisle.  At aisle 34 I lost my breath at the sight that befell my poor eyes, and where I most likely lost my sanity.

Hanging from the top of the left-hand aisle, Geoff was hanging by his eyeballs. They were tied up in the railing, and he was skinned from neck down.  His face was torn to pieces, and I had no idea how his optical nerves were supporting his entire body weight.  The trail of liquid led further away, and into the receiving area. 

I began shaking suddenly, and the air became cold.  The music was gone, so the store was dead silent.  The lights were dim at night, so I could see maybe a few feet in front of me.  I had not the slightest idea what to do, except to not follow that damned trail.  So I began to make my way toward the door.

I peered down each aisle, to make sure this was no joke.  Each aisle I passed was empty, some with a few scattered boxes.  When I hit aisle 17, I saw a few boxes fall.  I jumped automatically, my nervous system a wreck at this point.  There was absolutely no noise, and the complete emptiness off it all was rattling me to the bone.  I passed aisle 5, and did a double take.  About 9 feet away, two dark red eyes stared back at me.  They looked like eye shine from an animal of some sort, when light reflects into darkness.  I stood completely frightened, unable to even close my eyelids.  The animal slid as fast as lightning away from me, and went towards receiving.  I figured this was my chance to leave, so I made a bolt for the door.

My footsteps echoed loudly into the nothingness of the store, and with each step I listened for another behind me.  But resistance was futile, and soon I saw a black tail swipe my ankle, and I hit the ground hard.  I turned over to see my assailant, but it was gone already.  It moved silently, and with the darkness surrounding us, I became frightened for my life.  This was the end.  It was going to hang me up, like that silly Predator movie.  I began crawling backwards, trying not to make a sound.  I sadly bumped into some routers, and the boxes tumbled on top of me.  Almost instantly, I saw those two red eyes gleaming in the distance.  I threw some boxes towards it, and made way toward the exit.  Again, it tried to trip me, but I jumped just in time.  I shoved some product behind me, and heard some shuffling and a noisy fall.  I looked back to see its tail darting towards me, and felt a small pierce in my chest.  I looked down, and saw profuse bleeding.  It then shoved its tail down, cutting me in half from heart down.  My organs plopped onto the waxed floor, creating a large mess.  Someone would have to clean this in the morning.  But not me.  This was my last day on the job.

The dudes

I walked inside from the rain.  Our small house was littered with empty Mcdonald's bags, beer cans, bottles, (of pills and alcohol), and plenty of other garbage.  Thomas sat on our small, musty couch.
I dumped the bag and we pulled out our small eating tables. The kitchen had long since been out of use, it had collapsed a few months ago and we just put plastic bags on the doorway to it.
"Did you see the new Crazy Kevin Powell ad?  He's sick man.  He's getting worse.  He's not even yelling."
Said Thomas, "Man, he's done for.  He's become too crazy, man.  He's let all these idiots come and get a car for almost nothing man, and he's lost all his money.  He was a good man, but he got into his character a little too much.  He really has become insane."
I unwrapped my McChicken, (pickles only) and took a bite.  We had given up cooking long before the roof broke.  We dropped acid, molly, anything that was cheap.  We even took mushrooms once, but that was a bad day.  It had been raining like this one, and it was a downer to think about that.
I took another bite.
"Did you get anything from Rose while you were there?"
"Rose?"  I asked.
"The chick with red hair,  You know, that one night we were there, and we were totally checking her out.  And she knew it.  But she was cool with it.  She walked over and talked to us forever, man.  I think I fell in love.  But then again I was like, she just works at Mcdonald's, man.  Maybe if she was a manager or something.  But nah man, she was hot though.  Big hips, nice legs and all.  Whole nine yards."
At this point Thomas started eating, a cheeseburger.  I had stopped eating red meat after we had dropped one night, a few hours in I saw this cow.  It was standing there, just standing there.  And then I saw a single tear run down his eye, and it was blood.  And it said "eat more chicken."  So I did.  I think I saw god.

Thomas ate round sandwiches in a peculiar fashion.  He always ate the outside edge first.  Then, saved the middle, the nucleus, for last.
"There are two types of people," he would always say.
"Those who work hard, get through the hard work, and save the precious few bites for last.  And those who go through life, running through everything, not watching anything, and then they die."

He always said it. Every time.