Scene: Two People Who Hate Each Other, Stuck In An Elevator For Eleven Hours

It was just another Friday at the office. Frank stood waiting for the Elevators, the New York Times tucked under his right arm, a steaming cup of coffee in his left hand. He looked down at his watch as the seconds ticked away. Finally he heard the familiar “Bing,” and the elevator doors opened. Just before Frank stepped inside, he noticed standing towards the back of the crowded elevator stood Glen. Frank and Glen made eye contact, glaring at one another. With another “Bing,” the elevator set off for the next floor.

On the eighth floor, the elevators doors opened, and the elevator emptied except for Frank and Glen. “Look at him over there,” thought Frank looking at Glen, “All dapper in his tailored suit, with his fancy Italian leather briefcase, what a jerk.”

“That Frank is a real dick,” Glen thought staring down Frank, “I can’t believe he got the promotion that was promised to me, what a tool.”

The elevator doors slid shut as Frank pressed the button for the ninth floor. He took a sip of his coffee, and opened the paper with a snap, completely ignoring Glen. All of a sudden a metallic screech filled the air. The lights pulsed and went out. Only a faint red glow from the emergency light filled the elevator. “American Pie” played faintly over the loudspeaker.

“There must be something wrong with the elevator,” thought Frank out loud.

“No shit Sherlock,” Glen muttered “Way to state the obvious.”

“I wasn’t talking to YOU,” said Frank crouching down to find the emergency hatch. He really hoped that the elevator started working again; he was claustrophobic, and tended to lose his mind, if trapped in a confined space for long periods.  Frank found what he was looking for. The hatch was locked. “Fuck,” he yelled, slamming his fist into the side of the elevator.

“Can’t take the pressure,” Glen sneered. It was satisfying to see that asshole Frank crumble. It was further proof to Glen, management made a big mistake when they gave that promotion to Frank. The turd couldn’t even handle being trapped in an elevator for a few minutes. Glen took a seat on the ground, waiting for the maintenance team to arrive.

Frank did not hear Glen. He was lost in his own world, sitting on the ground holding his head between his knees rocking back and forth. He just wanted to the voiced to stop, to be safe behind his desk, working on a report. Two hours passed this way, neither gentlemen speaking to the other.

Snapping his head up, Frank looked around as if someone had called his name. His eyes settled on Glen. The red emergency light made Glen’s eyes glow, and he began to laugh evilly. Frank quickly fumbled in his shirt pocket, and pulled out a fork. He cowered in the corner, whimpering, holding the fork defensively.

“What a nut job.” thought Glen, eyeing Frank and his fork warily.

Without warning, Frank jumped to his feet in one agile move. He ran at Glen, fork raised above his head, screaming like a banshee. Glen shielded himself with his briefcase just in time, as Frank stabbed it repeatedly and with great effort. Exhausted, Frank finally slumped on the ground next to Glen, breathing heavily.

“What’s your problem dude?” asked Glen angrily “That’s Italian leather! You had better buy me a new one!”

“I’m sorry,” Frank apologized, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I get claustrophobic,  sometimes I lose touch with reality.”

“Well get ahold of yourself man.” Glen said decisively looking down at his watch. He sent up a silent prayer that maintenance would fix the elevator soon. Another two hours passed without a word. It began to get hot, beads of sweat started to form on Glen’s forehead. He took off his tie and tied it around his head to stop the sweat from dripping.

After five hours had passed, Glen’s stomach began to rumble. He was getting very hungry, he wished he would have eaten breakfast that morning. The crinkling sound of a bag caught his attention. Next to him Frank was stuffing his face with chips. After every handful, he would thoroughly lick his fingers.

“Where did you get those?” asked Glen indignantly. Hell the dude tried to stab him, the least he could do was share this chips.

“They were in my pocket,” said Frank innocently through a mouthful of chips.

“Well?” Glen implied.

“Well what?” asked Frank.

“Are you going to share?” Glen asked pointedly.

“Hell no.” said Frank rudely, moving the bag of chips away from Glen.

Glen had just about as much as his patients could take. First Frank The Douche freaks out and tries to stab him with a fork, and then he pulls a bag of chips out of nowhere and won’t share with him? Fuck this shit. Glen reached out and slapped the bag of chips out of Frank’s hands, spilling them all over the floor. Frank looked at Glen, Glen looked at Frank. Time seemed to pass as if in slow motion.

After what seemed like forever, the pair scrambled for the chips on the floor. A slapping fest ensued. Frank slapped  away any chips that Glen tried to put in his mouth, and Glen slapped away any chips the Frank tried to put in his mouth. This went on for about forty-five minutes. At the end of the War Of The Chips, both Frank and Glen sat on either side of the elevator greedily munching on their stash of chips, glaring at one another.

Two more hours passed. Frank started carving a message into the side of the elevator with his fork. It read: “To my children, if Daddy does not make it back, it is because his co-worker Glen, cannibalized him.” Frank eyed Glen after he wrote the last part of that message. Glen was unstable, Frank was sure of it.

“Ha!” laughed Glen scornfully from the other side of the elevator. “I would not cannibalize you, I would never get the taste of shit out of my mouth!”

“Like you would taste any better?” countered Frank.

“Pretty sure I don’t taste like shit,” said Glen confidently.

“So you’ve tried a Glen steak, have you?” asked Frank mockingly.

“Shut up, and keep drawing your stick figures over there. You are taking up too much of the oxygen in this place.” Glen said irritably.

Two more hours passed. Glen reached into his briefcase and pulled out his Ukulele. He was an award winning Ukulele player. He began to strum out the melody to “I’ve Got A Lovely Bunch Of Coconuts.”  Frank started to sing out “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts, every ball you throw will make me rich. There stands my wife, the idol of me life. Singing roll a bowl a ball a penny a pitch,” in an imagined British accent. For the remainder of the time, Frank and Glen sat playing “I’ve Got A Lovely Bunch Of Coconuts.” Dissecting it and each taking turns singing.

At fifteen minutes to eleven, the elevator doors opened a crack and a maintenance man shouted to the pair below “We should have you out of there in no time. It took longer than expected because someone in the elevator pushed the emergency stop button. Glen glared hard at Frank, and Frank glared right back.

Musculus Rex

   Below in the dungeons of a great and majestic castle, lived a mouse withered and ancient. Round blue eyes gazed, but did not see, blinded by old age. A crown of tinfoil, perched precariously atop his grey head. Threadbare, purple robes encircled careworn shoulders. An age had come and passed, still here he sat, upon a spool throne; his weary head resting upon his paw.

  A mouse with a feathered cap and tufts of hair sticking out of his ears ran into the throne room. Excitedly stumbling and tumbling over his feet, skidding to halt in front of the throne, the feather in his cap bobbing madly. “Musculus Rex! Musculus Rex!” He squeaked exuberantly, the sound echoing off the chamber walls.

 Slowly raising his head, Musculus squinted. He jammed a gnarled finger into his ear, and in a slow wizened voice said “Who’s there?”

 “Pusillus sir,” said the small mouse “The tournament is about to begin,” he said rubbing his paws anxiously.

  “What’s that?” Musculus asked gruffly.

  “Oh, oh, the tournament sir, the tournament!” Pusillus exclaimed.

  Musculus hummed and hawed “Yes, yes, quite right,” and he paused. When nothing occurred, he waved his paw and boomed “Well then get on with it!”

 “Yes sir!” piped Pusillus and he gestured to two mice standing nearby to pick up the throne, which they hurriedly did.

  Then the troupe speedily left the throne room, led by Pusillius, running up and down corridors at a dizzy pace. They did not stop was courtiers bowed to Musculus Rex as he passed by. Huffing and puffing, finally they arrived at their destination. Before them lay an enormous wooden arena. The crowd was cheering and the smell of fried cheese filled the air.

  In one corner of the arena, cats paced angrily in their cages, taking the occasional swipe at any mouse that got too close. Puscillius helped Musculus to his seat. The crowd suddenly stood up and roared. Entering the ring were two large feral cats, eying the crowd venomously. Astride both of the cats, sat a mouse. Each mouse  wore a thimble helmet, shiny tin armor, and carried toothpicks.


 The “Rut tut tut”, of a horn sounded and the crowd quieted. Each of the knights took their places at either end of the pitch. Lowering their visors they waited. Then with a great big yowl from one of the cats, the joust began.

 

 

 

 

(This is a project that I am going to be working on. Also it is my Christmas gift to a very special little boy who goes where even angels fear to tread. Toccoa this one is for you!)

It's A Zombie World After All

    The year was 2050, and the world was returning to a more civilized state. Christmas was approaching fast, there was frost in the air, Christmas lights covered every available surface. December 12, 2012 would mark the anniversary of the Zombie Apocalypse.  For thirty-eight years, carnage reigned supreme.  Humans tried hard to fight of the zombie hoards, in return zombies feasted on human flesh. You could be eating lunch with your friend one day, and the next day he would be trying to eat you, it was tuff business. Governments all around the world, hired scientist to attempt to try and find a cure for the mounting epidemic.

    Finally, there was partial success. Doctors in Sweden were able to cultivate a vaccine that stopped decomposition in its tracks, returning brain function to the afflicted individual. There was one problem; they could not curtail the craving for human flesh. Five years later, scientist in China found a way to mass produce body parts. Soon grocery store shelves were stocked with human limbs. It was not uncommon to pass by someone eating a human leg. Slowly, life began to improve.

    My name is Phoenix Ayers; I am a reporter for the Daily Dread. I relay the stories of the day, what it is like to live as a New Yorker in a  post zombie apocalyptic world. Let me tell you, it’s not all it is cracked up to be, it can be quite tuff. The government has gotten quite good at sweeping zombie outbreaks under the rug. Out of sight, out of mind. Fortunately for me, I have friends in high places.

   A great friend of mine is a bounty hunter for ZEF (Zombie Elimination Force). He has been kind enough to pass on files, that the rest of the public, are not meant to see. Just before my friend, placed the files in my outstretched hand, he grinned, “You will want to see this.” I made a mad grab for the files, my interest was piqued “Just one second,” he said wiping any trace of humor from his face, “You did not get these from me, do you understand? This cannot come back on me. After you are done reading these, he continued shaking the files in my face, “ They must be destroyed.” That is precisely what I was doing a week ago, going over files not meant for my eyes, before shit hit the fan. Because the information I was reading was classified, I didn’t want to get caught.

   In a small nondescript coffee joint, off the main drag, I sat in a red leather booth. A gray sheet of rain separated me from the rest of New York, perfect. As I thumbed through the files, several complaints, had gotten mixed in, it was a lot of information to sort through.

   A zombie named Frank, was so very upset, that he filed a report. Apparently his best friend Steve (also a zombie) made a snack out of Frank’s hand. Frank had repeatedly insisted he told Steve to stop eating his hand. Steve in return, insisted that he was pretty sure that was the same hand, that he bought at the grocery store, that morning. An all-out brawl had ensued. During the fight, both Franks hand and liver went missing. Part of Steve’s lower intestine had been devoured by Frank. ZEF had been called in, to shut it down and hush it up.

I looked up, as my waitress hobbled over. She was an older lady, her ankle was mangled badly, the wounds looked quite recent. “What happened to your foot?” I asked leaning out of my booth for a better look. “You’ll never believe it!” She exclaimed throwing her hands in the air. “I come into work right, to open for the morning shift. It’s dark out, and I am trying to unlock the door, and this bum comes out of nowhere. I think he wants my purse right? No he starts chewing on my foot. So then I says to him, “’Look what you did you bastard, you better scat before I call ZEF! I’ll have to go have it looked at after I get done with my shift, more than likely they will have to vaccinate me again.’”

“What a shame,” I said shaking my head. “So what will it be?” the waitress asked, tapping her pencil against her tablet. “I’ll have an order of french fingers with syrup, a blood jelly donut, and a double whipped eye java,” I reciting my favorite breakfast off the top of my head. “You got it,” she said, and limped away.

I returned my attention back to my work. As I flipped to the next page, there was something interesting, highlighted in red, ‘Chinese may be flooding the market with more than genetically engineered body parts.’

Catacombe dei Cappuccini

     A large yellow moon hung, suspended over a dark murky Mediterranean Sea. The city of Palermo lay drowsy beneath the mountains, its inhabitants having retired many hours ago. A strong gust blew dry leaves down a cobbled alleyway.  Tom cats squalled and brawled, a dog mournfully howled into the night, then all was quiet again, except for a small monastery. The Capuchin Catacombs started to wake up and come alive. Each year, on Halloween, the spell death cast over each still form is lifted, when the veil between life and death does not exist.

    Capuchin monks slowly got out of their warm beds, pulling on coarse cloaks, for midnight prayers, all was as it should be above the catacombs, below was a different story. A mummified cardinal slowly stretched, yawning, shaking off the rigors of death, and then hopped down from his perch on the wall. He snapped his jaw into place, then reached up and grabbed a torch that hung on the wall. The Cardinal made his rounds of the catacombs, as he did so, more corpses began to spring to life. One night in the land of the living, they were going to make the most of it!

   The lawyers began to vigorously argue politics, hands waving and flying in the air. It didn’t matter that they had been dead for hundreds of years, they argued the politics of their day. A skeletal maiden passed below, and each of the lawyers in turn stopped what they were talking about, took of their hats and bowed, murmuring “Bella,” as she passed. When she had gone, they went back to their heated discussion.

   Moonlight shone through the bars covering the monastery windows. Mummies climbed off the wall joining the procession, which had begun behind the Cardinal. Long dead musicians joined the crowd, a trumpet sounded, the deceased swayed and danced to the music. The procession passed a group of corpses sitting around a table, playing cards and smoking cigars.

    In a small alcove an atrophied priest performed a long awaited wedding ceremony. The bride stood before the priest, in a moth eaten lace dress, a groom by her side dressed in a black frayed suit and bow tie, his faded hair slicked and parted down the middle of his skull. Death could not still the love that thrummed through their veins, and beat through their hearts. The groom tried to place a ring on the bride’s finger, since that finger was missing, he placed it on her pinky instead. Then they leaned in for a passionate kiss, which would last for an eternity on their lips.

    Skeletal children ran back and forth, hooting with laughter and joy, it was hard not to play for one whole year. A harassed looking husband cowered against the wall, as his angry wife berated him, an argument that transcended death. All this went on below in the catacombs, as the monks prayed for the everlasting souls of the deceased below, on All Saints’ Day. When the rays of sunshine replaced the moon, the corpses slowly climbed back into their places, as death held them in its cold embrace for another year.

The Three Fates

      Adam of Bremen had traveled many miles, and was faint with thirst and hunger. His mouth was parched; he despaired that he should find any water soon. As he threw his plea up into the heavens, fate smiled down upon him, in the distance was a well. Adam hurried forth; landing on his knees, and drank from the well. As he scooped water desperately into his mouth, he was horrified to see at the bottom of the well, a great eye gazing up towards him. It was lidless never blinking at it watched; Adam could see the whole galaxy suspended in the milky white. This was Mimir’s Well, his father had warned him to never go near it, never to drink from it.

    “What could it hurt?” he thought to himself. Adam hurriedly scooped more water into his mouth to quench his thirst. Then he filled his canteen, to make sure he had enough water to finish his journey.  When Adam had gotten his fill, he continued on his way. Soon he came upon the Temple of Uppsala, and decided to rest. As he entered into the temple, he felt faint, stumbling forward, he passed out cold, lifeless.

     There was a bright flash before Adam’s eyes. He felt disoriented. What had happened? He stood shakily to his feet. Before him was a road like a beam of sunshine, it traveled for miles. On either side of the road was blackness, dotted with stars. Lighting flashed in the darkness; in the distance dark mountains were silhouetted. The air crackled with electricity. Adam followed the road, careful to stay away from the edge; he did not want to fall into the dark abyss below.

     At the end of the road stood three tall women on the cusp of a cliff. These were the Norn that his father had told him about as a child. They were draped in long silver cloaks. To the left stood Edda, she saw into the past, day’s bygone. In the middle stood Sigurd, she had the gift to look into the present and the immediate future. On the right stood Dvalin, she saw into the very distant future.

     “How did I get here?” Adam thought to himself confused. Reading his mind, Edda replied “You are here human, because you drank from the well of Mirmir, now you must hear what fate has in store for you. She proceeded to reach into the dark abyss, and pulled out three bright stars. In each star Adam could see scenes of his life being played out. Edda handed a star to each of her sisters.

     Edda suspended a star in front of her. Inside the stars luminous glow Adam saw a scene from the past. He was on the battlefield, at war. Adam has just killed for the first time in his life. “You have known violence,” Edda said, glancing up at Adam with piercing blue eyes “Taking another man’s life has left a mark on your soul, blood taints your hands, violence begets violence and blood begets blood,” she finished.

     In the star that was suspended before Sigurd, Adam saw his wife in the arms of another man, and then he saw a child. “Your wife has been unfaithful to you; she carries another man’s child,” Sigurd said simply, without feeling.

               
     Adam had the distinct feeling that Dvalin was watching him. She had no eyes in her head, only dark holes where they should be, and yet Adam felt her piercing glance strong as ever. The star suspended before her showed Adam as an old man. Alone, no family and no one to care for him in his old age. Children ran past, and threw stones at him as he lay hunched against a wall, freezing in a threadbare cloak. “You have turned away everyone you have ever loved, or anyone who was ever foolish enough to love you. You will die alone, and bitter,” said Dvalin watching Adam’s face closely.

Taking a deep breath, Adam asked “These are the things that will definitely come to pass in my life? I cannot change them?”

     “You cannot change the past,” Edda replied “Nor can you change the present, you have control of the future. If you do not change, the things Dvalin showed you will come to pass. Learn your lesson well human,” Edda said. Then she reached out and tapped Adam on the forehead, he felt a blinding searing pain. He stumbled backwards into the abyss.

      Adam awoke to someone shaking his shoulder. He was back in the Temple of Uppsala. He quickly got to his feet, shoving his way through the crowd that had gathered around him. Adam had to get home quickly; he knew what he had to do. Traveling at a quick pace, he made it home before nightfall. Adam searched for his wife, finally he found her, in bed with another man. In a rage Adam slaughtered her lover. He then turned and killed his wife.

     As Adam lay on the ground next to his dead wife’s body, mournful he stroked her lifeless face. Blood smeared her pale cheek. Why had the fates not warned him? In a large voice that emanated around the room, Edda said “Violence begets violence, and blood begets blood.”

London Bridge Troll

    Since 1831, the two immovable stone towers of London Bridge, have ascended out of the Thames, and pierced the London skyline. A beautiful place to take a stroll during the day. Cars, trucks and buses, all moving with the ebb and flow of traffic. Tourist hurry about taking pictures. Naïve traveler beware, London Bridge holds more secrets than any could imagine. Once nightfall descends, the darker part of London comes out to play.

    The latest structure is just one in a long succession, which have stood on that very spot, since the Romans first conquered Britain. Many men and women have crossed, bringing with them their hopes, dreams, and vile, unsavory thoughts. Evil thoughts cannot be destroyed. For once they have taken root; they become a life of their own; living breathing creatures. This is what the darkness of the night is made of.

    A most monstrous creature has made the murky underside of London Bridge its home. Feeding off the very essence of human nature, as unwary pedestrians tread above. Only a person pure of heart and a clear conscience can pass at night without encountering The London Bridge Troll.

    Oh, you have never heard of the London Bridge Troll? Well then, count yourself amongst one of the lucky few, who have not encountered this creature from the depths of the Thames. For the many that have had the displeasure of seeing this creature, it is an experience they hope never to repeat. On nights when the moon is full, the creature has been spotted climbing the towers of London Bridge.

    It is a common occurrence, when someone has had too much drink, to fall of the side of the bridge into the dark watery depths below, or is it? Eyewitnesses say they have seen the beast, grab hold of unsuspecting victims ankles, and drag them below, to feed on. Officials will not make a public statement on the matter, however it has been leaked to the public, that the bones of the missing men, and women, have been found, jammed into the cracks of the bridge.  

   Others will tell you, that as they leaned over the side of the bridge, to have a look at the river below, only to see two large yellow eyes maliciously gazing back up at them. A horrible stench accompanies this creature. One could be feeling fine, however as the stench comes down wind, they can feel very sick to their stomachs.

    Travelers, beware,as night falls on London Bridge, you could be the next unsuspecting victim. You may never make it to the other side of the bridge, alive.

Banshee Who Helped Fight Crime

 

Harbingers of death, the Banshee is both feared and dreaded. Feared, because of the unknown, dreaded, because to hear one keening outside your window, means a loved one is doomed to die within the fortnight. However, have Banshees been given a bad rap? One woman, from the village of Carlingford believes so.

Ena O’Brien’s husband, Alphin had been bravely fighting prostate cancer for the last two years. After having just undergone his second round of chemotherapy, Alphin had been severely weakened, his health was deteriorating fast. Doctors warned Ena, that her husband’s time on this earth was short. It was decided then that Ena would stay home, and nurse her husband in his last days. Fifty years ago, when Ena stood before her family and God, she promised to love Alphin through sickness and in health, until death parted them. Those words were just as true today, as the day she had first spoken them.

Many nights, Ena and Alphin would sit beside each other in the living room, next to the fireplace. Sometimes they looked at old photo albums, remembering days past. Those photos always brought a bittersweet lump to Ena’s throat. They had been young and free; the whole world lay before them. Now the curtain was about to be drawn closed on this part of Ena’s life forever, she was deeply saddened. Tonight Alphin sat in his easy chair, while Ena read to him from his favorite book ‘Finnegan’s Wake’ by James Joyce.

It was hard for Ena, to see her once robust husband, reduced now to a shell of his former self. Alphin rested his eyes, taking slow shallow breaths. In some ways, Ena had begun to accept the inevitable. Alphin suffered day by day, as Ena watched on helpless. More than anything she wanted his pain to go away, for him to know peace once again. There came a wailing sound outside the window. It made the hair on the back of Ena’s neck stand up. That cry, went down into the very depths of her soul.

“Love, “said Alphin opening one eye, and peering at her “what’s the matter?”

“You didn’t hear that wailing noise just now?” Ena asked unnerved.

“No dear, ”Alphin replied snuggling down deeper into his easy chair “Can you continue reading, your voice relaxes me,” he said sleepily.

Ena tried to continue reading, it was tough, the wailing had started up again outside. She could take no more, Ena got up from the loveseat and pulled back the curtain to look outside. There was nothing, and still she had the pricking sensation of being watched. Ena went and sat back down, and tried to continue reading.

The sound of glass smashing in the dining room had Ena on her feet again. Her heart was racing as she peered around the corner, into the next room. A man in black was trying to climb through the window he had just smashed. Ena ran into the living room, and picked up the phone, calling the police as fast as she could. There came a yelp from the dining room and then silence.

“What’s going on?” Alphin asked, sitting up in his chair, alert.

Ena held her finger to her lips “I think we are being burgled,” she whispered.

The police showed up on the scene within minutes. They searched the premises, while Ena and Alphin sat in the living room sipping tea, trying to calm their nerves. A little while later, the police returned from their patrol of the area. An interesting turn of events, the police actually caught the men who had tried to break into the O’Brien’s house! One man had been found hiding in the bushes at the edge of the O’Brien’s property.

It was an odd statement he gave the police. He claimed that just as we was about to enter into the O’Brien’s house, something grabbed his shoulder. Thinking it was his partner; he turned to tell him to stop messing around, and keep watch for the police. It was not his partner he saw behind him.

There stood a tall woman; she wore a white flowing gown, her hair was wild and unkempt. Angry black eyes stared out at him; her mouth was open in an eternal wail. In her hand she carried a bag, which dripped a substance, blood. The would be thief backed slowly away from the house. Then the creature let out an unearthly cry, and charged. Running for dear life, the man jumped into the bushes, and waited there until the police found him. Needless to say, he was quite shaken.

Alphin died that Sunday. There were days that Ena hoped would never end and now would never be again. Through the pain of her loss however, she knew there was someone watching out or her. When it was her time to part this earth, Ena hoped to great death as a friend.