No Exit

Left - 495

(Chapter 6)

Ben Azevedo

They left the ship in a docking station Jonesy had a membership to. Shielded from the wind, Jonesy and Miles stepped into the dark cavern. They were alone; most people stayed in the safety of their apartments during storms. A long row of exit signs marked the route to the next building.

All of the buildings in New Chicago’s downtown were connected underground by pedestrian walkways. Not many people were downtown in the storm, but the few that were would have been swept away by the winds aboveground. During the clear season, New Chicago had thriving aboveground marketplaces and shops, but currently it was quiet.

Miles pulled a small device from his pack. It beeped once, and flashed several figures across a small screen. He grunted, shouldered the pack, and headed off along the glowing path of exit signs.

“Where’re we going?” Jonesy asked.

“Roughly, 85^th and Dawe street.” Miles’ voice echoed in the dark chamber.

“Did he give us any specifics on the mission?”

“No. But we’ll need these.”

Miles slung the pack around his shoulder, still walking, and pulled another device out. It resembled a pencil in length, but it was about three inches thick. One end tapered to a point, and it was a blackish gray color. He handed it to Jonesy.

Jonesy picked it up carefully. He studied both ends and nodded.

“So we’re going to be hunting the-“

“SHUT UP!” Miles clamped a hand over Jonesy’s mouth. “They can probably already hear us!”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “There should be a track we can pick up south of here.”

He pulled a second short staff out of his pack, transferring the tracking device to his left hand. They continued down the path of exit signs. After a few minutes the tracker blipped softly and Miles turned left. Jonesy followed closely behind him, casting wary glances back every few seconds.

The passage narrowed slightly and reached a staircase. Miles stopped at the top and looked down. They had left the exit signs behind, and were losing light. Miles frowned, flipped a few switches on his tracker, and opened his pack again. He produced a tiny case and turned to Jonesy.

“Ever used one of these?” he asked.

“Is that an eyelight?” Jonesy’s frightened eyes momentarily lit up with excitement.

“Yes. You know how to use it?” Miles was all business.

“Yeah. Gonna be dark down there eh?”

“They like the dark.”

Miles put on his eyelight and started down the stairs. The eyelight consisted of a contact lens with a small wire connected to an electrode that attached to Miles’ temple. It provided multi-spectrum imaging for the wearer, controlled by brainwaves picked up by the electrode.

Miles hadn’t lied to Jonesy earlier. The boss hadn’t given him any details. But he knew what they were hunting, and it wasn’t pretty. Humanity wasn’t the only race on Element. The planet had several other sentient or semi-sentient species.

Fuck Bouncyballs, I want a...

Swimming - 360

Ben Azevedo

Chapter 6

The storm roared, and the tiny ship bounced wildly through the sky. The wind was deafening, yet through the terrible howling a voice could almost be heard.

“…aaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

Miles’ scream was certainly audible from inside the ship, the unfortunate place that Jonesy now found himself.

“Miles! Shut the fuck up, man! I’ve gotta focus on this shit if you want to live!”

“You mean I’m not dead yet?! I thought I was already in Hell!”

Jonesy wasn’t going to argue Miles’ point. This was one of the worst storms he had ever flown. Of course, he usually tried to avoid going out in storms.

The ship rocked and vibrated as the Geo Grounder did its best to remind them that the ground was down. Occasionally it would fail, and Jonesy could watch as Miles’ hair pointed up towards the ceiling. Jonesy still loved the feeling of riding the wind currents, but he also knew they could smash into an obstacle at any moment. With no windows or visuals in the thick rain of the storm, death would come without warning.

A green sensor blinked and chimed suddenly.

“What does that mean!” yelled Miles over the alarm.

“Calm down. We just absorbed a lightning strike.” Jonesy was flipping switches wildly.

“Why are you flipping all those?! Did something go wrong?” Miles’ eyes were wide, and his head was swimming as he tried to resist the sudden gravitational changes.

“Miles, listen to me. Relax. The seat will keep you from any whiplash; the more you resist it, the worse you’ll feel later. The lightning helps us, remember? It’s adding power to the ship, so we can afford to divert more to the Geo Grounder.”

“That means we won’t be upside down right?”

Jonesy nodded as he returned to the switchboard. There were no visual monitors, but Tracy had a digital map display that charted the approximate position of the ship in relation to downtown. They were nearly there.

“Assuming no more major current changes, and no disastrous accidents, we should be there in about ten minutes.” Jonesy announced.

The Backdoor (it's always in the kitchen)

Hostage - 377

Ben Azevedo

With a deft flick of his wrist, Vito tossed the bag of coins in the air. At the same time, he flicked the knife on his wrist into his hand and underhanded it at the guard captain. Brakus ducked in time, but the guard behind him wasn’t so lucky. The coins slammed into the second guard, distracting him. Vito whipped around and dove towards the kitchen.

“DAMMIT!” Brakus roared. He raced towards the kitchen after Vito.

The two guards recovered and followed suit. Unfortunately, the guard who had taken the knife underestimated the poison Vito used. He became slightly less recovered.

Vito vaulted a cart and slid past a row of chefs. He nearly lost his footing in a puddle, rolled, and recovered. Finally he found what he was looking for; a small grate in the corner of the kitchen. He kicked aside an empty crate, pulled the grate up, and dove feet first into the black.

Brakus burst into the kitchen and barreled through the cart. He slid around the corner just in time to see Vito’s cloak slip through the black hole in the floor.

Brakus cursed and punched a cabinet hard enough to leave a sizeable dent.

“You and Tiron follow him and…” Brakus turned to finish his statement. The single guard stared back. He sighed. “I guess it’s just you and I then, Veriticus.”

“Sir…should we tend to Tiron?”

“No…Vito’s no fool. Tiron is long gone.” Brakus sighed again, then pulled a battered transmitter out of his cloak.

“Sir, we lost him again. Got another drain to mark on the map.” Brakus waited.

The crackling voice that returned over the transmitter was deep and commanding.

“Mark it Brakus. Then return to the hunt. Remember, I need Vito as a hostage. I don’t care what it takes. Bring him to me.” The transmitter fell silent.

Brakus shook his head.

“That fool’s going to waste the entire security force on this. And for what? A scrawny street punk who runs cash for the gangs?”

Veriticus looked around the devastated kitchen, and noticed the now empty bar. “Maybe there is more to this than we know, sir. I think we should get out of here and find more men.”

“Let’s take care of Tiron,” Brakus replied.

Dangerous Situations

Becomes - 100

Ben Azevedo

Chapter 5

Vito twirled with the rough hand and slid to the opposite end of his corner bench, his hands raised. He smiled his most winning grin.

“Brakus, so nice to see you,” he drawled, “I really thought we were past all this…” Vito made a pouch of gold materialize and dangled it enticingly at the guards. He stood.

Brakus scowled deeper and advanced towards Vito, moving his hand to his sword. Vito was displeased. This was becoming a dangerous situation.

“You think that little sack can make up for all the times you’ve caused me TROUBLE?!”

Vito shrugged, “I hope so.”

Like a Pufferfish Bouncyball

Horses - 363

Ben Azevedo

The ship itself was a gleaming shard of metal in the hangar. Odd fins and wings stuck out all across the hull, giving the overall impression of a rather unbalanced puffer fish. There were no visible windows, exhaust, or breaks in the metal exterior, but as Miles approached, a door in the side slid open with a hiss.

Jonesy gave one last sigh and darted into the dark portal. Miles shrugged and followed suit. Inside, Jonesy was strapping himself into a heavily padded seat facing a large bank of displays. He gestured to a second seat.

“How does this thing fly anyway?” Miles asked.

“Well, the basic principle is…it doesn’t.” Miles shrugged.

“That’s reassuring. So how does it work?”

“The fins on the outside are completely mobile. The onboard computer uses them to sort of…steer. I modified them to absorb the electrical currents within the storms, and increase efficiency while reducing danger. The ship senses directional currents in the wind and manipulates the fins to increase the likelihood that we reach our destination.”

“Wait, ‘increase the likelihood?!’”

“Yeah well, nothing is certain in these conditions. A simple jet engine would waste too much fuel fighting the wind currents, so we have to use them. They’re obviously uncontrollable, so we basically float around like a seed on the wind until we get there.”

“A seed. On the wind. A seed…” Miles just stared at Jonesy.

“Well, more like a bouncy ball with a rocket strapped to it, but yeah.” Jonesy smiled at the look on Miles’ face. He continued, “That’s why you’re strapped in so tight, and why the inside of this ship is padded. The Geo Grounding system will keep us from crashing into anything, and will do its best to keep the ship oriented properly. I went ahead and overrode priority to destination though, since you’re in a hurry.”

“So…we may be upside down?” Miles’ face was pale.

“Almost certainly.” Jonesy was nearly giggling with glee.

“I’m moving back to the Plains after this,” groaned Miles, “at least they just ride damn horses there. I’d take a smelly old horse over this any day.”

Jonesy flipped a switch and started the ship.

Bucket o' Bolts

Discuss - 271

Ben Azevedo

Jonesy knew this was the end of the discussion. With a reluctant sigh he punched the button for the lift on the wall. It arrived a few moments later, and the pair began their descent.

Most of the buildings in New Chicago had large underground facilities, as very little could be built at ground level without risk to it being blown down. The parking garage was one such facility. It spanned a rough rectangle beneath the arch, and consisted of ten floors of vehicle storage. Jonesy’s ship, Tracy, was considered an airborne transport, so it was housed on the fifth subfloor.

They stepped out of the lift and began to walk. After a few minutes Jonesy came to a stop.

Miles whistled quietly. The sound reverberated through the massive chamber.

“Damn Jonesy, I though you said she was getting old.”

“Well I’ve been making…upgrades…along the way.” He smirked.

Miles raised an eyebrow and glanced at Jonesy, but decided he didn’t need to know about Tracy’s “upgrades”. They walked to the boarding ramp.

Tracy was an EMG craft, which meant that she operated primarily through electromagnetic power. The “G” stood for “Geo-Grounding”. This allowed the ship to maintain a relative position to the ground no matter how much it was thrown around. Miles suddenly realized Jonesy was talking.

“…which basically means she can take a hit from a lightning bolt, and…”

“Wait, what?” Miles interrupted.

“I was saying I modified the Electromagnetic pulse engine to absorb and convert the electricity from a lightning bolt. Tracy will actually attract bolts from the storm as we fly, and absorb them to power our flight.”

Mission pt. 2

Moon - 143

Ben Azevedo

Chapter 4

In the hall of Building A, there was an argument. The argument was not over leaving, simply when. Miles was in favor of leaving immediately, but Jonesy wanted to wait for a break in the storm.

Miles knew he didn’t have that much time; the mission had to be started soon, before the moon had risen too far. Of course there was no moon with the cloud cover of the storm, but if it broke…

Miles shivered.

“Jonesy, look. He said two hours. If we don’t get going…”

“I know man, I know. But Tracy ain’t the newest model anymore!”

Tracy was Jonesy’s EMG ship. The only ship that could get Miles to downtown.

“Jonesy, if we don’t leave now, the storm could break. If the storm breaks, and the moon rises, our mission is going to be impossible. We need to MOVE!”

City in a City

Under - 434

Ben Azevedo

Vito sighed and slouched into a small chair in a corner of the Shelter. As his breathing returned to normal, he took stock of the crowd. A group of soldiers playing dice to his right. Some elderly men smoking at the bar. The usual scattering of traders. A few local youth. He relaxed slightly.

Most people only stayed in Pompeii II for a week or two. Vito had grown up here. He had watched as more government sponsored Shelters appeared, while residential areas were constantly buried under lava and rebuilt. His own home had been rebuilt 23 times in his life. This was a measure of some pride among his family. Most residents of Pompeii II slowly excavated their old homes as well, creating an underground maze of city beneath the current rendition of their dwellings.

Vito knew almost every passage within the limits of Pompeii II. As a young child he had started ranging the vast underground, as well as exploring the current city with his mother. His father had died when he was 10, but left to him a collection of maps, drawn over the years, that detailed each layer of Pompeii II’s development. As far as Vito knew, no one else had such an understanding of the city’s complexity.

It was primarily in this underground world that Vito worked as a courier, delivering messages and packages between the various businesses of Pompeii II. It sounded like a boring occupation, but this was a misconception. The government of the city didn’t exactly appreciate some of the “businesses”. Vito wasn’t affiliated with any of the mobs beneath Pompeii, but their jobs always paid better, and he could slip away from just about anything in the maze of the underground.

One of the soldiers yelled loudly as he won a round of dice, and Vito started. He reached up and scratched his head, casually verifying that his knife was still in place. It was. As he settled back into his corner of the bar, an alert came on the old holoscreen.

“ATTENTION ALL CITIZENS! THE ERUPTION HAS REACHED MANAGEABLE LEVELS. YOU ARE NOW FREE TO RETURN TO YOUR HOMES AND BUSINESSES. THANK YOU.”

Vito smirked. Manageable levels. The pathetic shield-gens that slowed the lava flows were probably barely up and running again. This eruption was from Avchier, a northern peak, so the entire northern district was probably gearing up for a construction project that the government would take almost no part in.

Vito’s smirk vanished as a rough hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Vito!” snarled the guard captain, “Who would’ve thought we’d find you here!”

Fire and Ice

Seconds - 335

Ben Azevedo

Chapter 3

Pompeii II.

Tick.

Sweat ran down Vito’s face, arms, and legs. He was reasonably certain sweat was running down his sweat.

Tick.

Vito knew he had seconds to find a Shelter, before the eruption caught him, or the ashy air choked him. He was bolting at breakneck speed down the streets of Pompeii II.

Tick.

It was getting harder to see. Vito knew the city’s layout better than most, but even that wouldn’t save him if he were blind.

Tick.

Just ahead, light. Through the roaring of the volcano, voices. Vito skidded past an abandoned market stand, vaulted a barrel, and dove into the flickering light.

Inside the Mk IV ForceShield, it was almost as noisy as outside. The roar of too many people packed too close together assaulted Vito’s senses as he made his way to the obligatory bar for a drink. That had been too close. The bartender barely glanced at Vito’s soot covered figure before turning to the next customer. Here, in Pompeii II, it was as common as not to be covered in ash.

Whoever had decided to name this city had a poor sense of humor. Sure, it was the safest location in the Viciano Mountains, but why even put a city here? And of course it would be named after a city that had drowned in a volcano in ancient Earth history. Pompeii II was a border city at best, pushing humanity’s ability to survive Element’s elements to the limits. It served as a trading post between Atlantis and the rest of the continent by giving traders a rest stop before they crossed the Vicianos.

It was a hell (literally) of a rest stop before a hell of a journey. Crossing the Viciano Mountains required a special kind of insanity reserved for traders. Of course, there were planes, but the mountains were so high they forced planes into the upper atmosphere of Element, which was a constantly raging superstorm. Flying to full orbit and back was deemed too expensive.

Mission

Mission - 195

Ben Azevedo

Miles resumed pacing his apartment. The TV resumed its silent display. The storm continued raging outside.

How am I supposed to get out of here? Miles thought, it’s over ten miles to the office, and God only knows how much further after that…

Miles had a vehicle, but driving out into a storm on Element was suicide. Only certain high-end EMG ships and governmental vehicles had the tech to maybe travel in the Windy City’s tempest. And no one had that kind of ship here except…

Miles froze in his tracks, pivoted, and ran to his room. He scooped up his gear, swung it onto a pack on his back and careened out the door. Down the hall, left, past the vending machine, and he arrived at room 1037. He knocked.

The door opened a crack and a young man looked out.

“Hey Miles,” he said.

“Jonesy! Lemme in.”

Jonesy didn’t have much of a choice as Miles barged in.

“What’s the deal Miles?” Jonesy noticed the pack. “Oh no…you’re not…”

“Jonesy,” Miles paused for dramatic effect (and to catch his breath) “I need to get downtown.”

“Fuck that shit, man. Why?”

“He called.”

“Oh.”

Just a Moment

Sudden - 77

Ben Azevedo

A screen came to life on the wall. It was muted; Miles usually kept his TV this way. He was just reclining on his couch to relax when a loud tone sounded. The sudden noise startled Miles, and he tumbled off the couch, upsetting the remote, which un-muted. As the tone sounded again, Miles touched a button on his left ear and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

A deep voice, “Miles.”

“Yes?”

“You have a mission. Two hours.”

Inside the Arch

Miles -144

Ben Azevedo

Chapter 2

Inside the polished confines of the arch, Miles was pacing. Room 1045 was about two-thirds up the A arch, city-side. The city was where Miles wanted to be. Unfortunately the weather drones had failed to pick up the storm front that was now doing its best to destroy everything. The music of Mr. Bullinger’s architecture did nothing to sooth Miles’ irritation. In fact, he had turned the music down to just a whisper. You never wanted to turn it ALL the way off, because it was the most reliable indication of a storm. Without the music, the only other sound in room 1045 was Mile’s shoes across his carpet. The storm outside was completely muted by the building.

Angrily, Miles stopped pacing and flopped onto his couch.

“Damn weather drones…” he muttered, and flicked a button on a remote lodged somewhere in the cushions.

The Windy City

Element - 405

Ben Azevedo

Chapter 1

The wind roared around Building A with as much fury as it could muster. The tornado was close now, and its vicious fingers were searching for a hold, any hold, to tear down the offending building. Building A leaned gracefully on its counterpart (Building B) and appeared unconcerned. Its graceful contour and symbiotic design with Building B was intended to withstand the very winds that tore at its surface almost daily. The two buildings were spaced roughly one hundred yards apart, and arched gracefully towards each other for their entire 347-foot height. Their outward surface appeared to be made of solid steel, polished to a mirror finish, and without a single blemish visible to the human eye.

Building A was, itself, one of hundreds of residential buildings in Suburb 3 of New Chicago. If the Windy City had been considered windy before, its successor put it to shame. Element was barely a habitable planet, and the few places on its surface that could support human life were plagued by almost ridiculously exaggerated renditions of weather on Earth. Like any other obstacle, though, humanity had risen to the challenge. The particular design of Suburb 3 was courtesy of one of New Chicago’s finest architects, Sam Bullinger. He had arranged all of the building pairs at different angles throughout the district, much to the annoyance of road planners and mapmakers. Each arched building was slightly unique as well, which irritated James Gavey, the detail oriented mayor of New Chicago. That is, until the first storm of the season arrived. As the first winds blasted through Suburb 3 of New Chicago, the residents were surprised to hear music playing. It was only after the storm that everyone realized Sam had designed the buildings to funnel the air into a musical masterpiece.

Building A, as one might imagine, was the first building of Suburb 3 in New Chicago. Consequently, it was the closest to the city proper. Though it was too dangerous to have window openings during the stormy season, the view that one might have enjoyed from Building A was spectacular. Downtown New Chicago would have been designed with the same dreams as Old Chicago (tall, taller, tallest) were it not for the nature of Element. Instead, the height of New Chicago was curbed by the need to interrupt spires with counter-spires, towers with grand arching supports, and a uniform use of the same polished steel material.

At the beach

Generate - 110

Ben Azevedo

He tried to generate momentum, but the undertow was too strong. That was his favorite part of the ocean though. Man against Nature. You could never win. No matter how many waves you crashed through, inevitably one would drag you down. The best arrangement you could achieve was a sort of truce, a pact with the sea to allow you to live.

Today was not his day. A storm was blowing in from the south, preceded by a sweeping wind, which whipped white spray from the fingertips of the waves into his face. The storm current matched the wind, pulling him down the beach and further away from the house.

I am... At The Beach - The Avett Brothers

It's a Common sort of Elation, really.

Common - 317

Ben Azevedo

I don’t feel common at all. I feel alive, invigorated, young. The car goes too fast with the spirit of my youth. The cool night air streaming through my car whips away the smoke of my cigarette. Smoking while driving is dangerous, deadly even, but no one cares. I don’t. I’m invincible anyway.

In just one week, I will see my love again. Just the thought gives me energy, lets me continue. I will feel her arms around me, so hot they bring tears to my eyes. I will smell the warm smoothness of her neck as we embrace. I will feel the hairs on my neck move as she whispers her love in my ear, and I shiver in anticipation. I don’t feel common.

In just one week, I will see my family again. The origins of my being. I will hear their excitement and look into their eyes to try to remember their depth. They will radiate all the hopes and dreams and expectations and goals that they desire for me, and I will bask in that glow and shoulder the heavy burden of their words. I will not feel common then either.

In one week, I will fly. Soar effortlessly over the clouds and tear out of the sky to roll to a stop in a new but familiar place. It will take exactly 1.5 hours for me to do this. This seems impossible, but it is quite common. Still, as my body begins to ascend to the heavens, I will not feel common.

In a week, I will stand on the edge of a continent. I will battle Nature herself, and inevitably lose. But I will call it a draw, and feel as though none can best me. I will feel the wind in my hair and be at peace. I will not feel common.

I feel this way rather a lot, actually.

Round Here - Counting Crows

Statue of a Damaged Youth

Peculiar - 474

Ben Azevedo

His mother always said it was his own peculiar genius that led him to such things. It wasn’t slovenliness that led to his tornado disaster of a room. It was his peculiar genius. The lack of organization in his closet wasn’t senseless disorder; it was peculiar (but genius) sorting.

Charlie didn’t really think much of his mother. He didn’t feel particularly OR peculiarly intelligent, and so he figured his dear old ma was just deluding herself. Which made her a liar. She was a peculiar liar, but a liar nonetheless. Charlie didn’t like liars either. He was really a very grumpy young boy.

Charlie’s father loved to read the newspaper. He especially loved crosswords. He worked his crossword every Sunday at the round kitchen table with a mug of coffee and a ridiculously expensive pen. If Charlie walked into his light (coming in from the den you had to cross the light coming in from the window) his father would grunt distractedly.

If Charlie’s mother was deluded, his father was simply oblivious. Or ignorant. Charlie hadn’t decided yet. Charlie felt like the truly peculiar part of his life was how he had even been born to these two in the first place. First, they didn’t seem interested enough in anything outside their own tiny worlds to have met at all. Second, how they had managed to stay interested in each other long enough to marry and produce a child was simply beyond Charlie’s reckoning. He figured their parents must have arranged it. Maybe with the help of a magical love potion or something.

Anyway, on this particular day, his mother was tittering about his room, picking up dishes, cups, laundry, and scraps of paper. Charlie just wanted to be alone, of course, but he allowed her intrusion. Sometimes he even liked to play along and pretend like she shouldn’t move something because he had arranged it that way on purpose.

In this way Charlie had managed to build a veritable statue out of knick-knacks from across the entire house. It started simply enough, he had four exceedingly large textbooks from school, and he had left them in a rough square in the corner of the room. As summer continued and he didn’t need the books, he tossed some laundry into that corner. Each time his mother made a move to remove the offending clothes, Charlie would make a small noise and say he was planning to wear them the next day. Genius.

Next he added an empty shoebox. Then some bouncy balls, an entire set of pool balls, and a beach ball he had found in the garage. He didn’t inflate the beach ball, though. Three weeks ago he found an odd pillow in the attic. Yesterday some forks from the kitchen. Charlie figured he could get another box on there before it toppled.

In The Garage - Weezer

Smiling is Just Another Way of Baring Teeth

Without - 319

Ben Azevedo

“So?” he said flatly, without emotion. He glanced at his wristwatch.

“So you can’t just do things like that, ya know?” said a man in a dark blue suit. His voice rose with emphasis, “you can’t just, ya know, just…anyone coulda seen…we hafta be careful these days.” The man was sweating; it was too hot to be wearing a suit.

He didn’t like Dark Blue Suit much. Wouldn’t let it get to him though, that wasn’t worth it. Dark Blue seemed to be waiting for some sort of response, so he raised an eyebrow. The eyebrow tugged at the corner of his mouth, begging for a smirk, but he resisted the temptation

“And?” Still no emotion.

Dark Blue grimaced slightly at the lack of response from Walter. He adjusted his tie and adopted a new approach. “Look, Boss sent me,” (did he catch a flicker of emotion cross Walter’s face?) “and he just wants to make sure you’re…” he trailed off.

“What?” The voice was low and still without feeling, but Walter needed more information. If the Boss was directly involved, it could change everything. Walter knew more than he cared to about how the Boss was these days.

“You know how Boss is these days,” said Dark Blue, echoing Walter’s thoughts, “if you don’t do what he wants, you could end up like,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “the others.”

There was a long pause. Walter sat perfectly still, eyes tracing the path of a fly. Dark Blue shifted against the plastic bench. He could feel a drop of sweat running down his back under the heavy wool suit.

“Well,” said Walter at last. Dark Blue leaned forward expectantly.

Walter stared into his eyes and grinned.

Dark Blue suddenly stiffened. Blood started to trickle from his left nostril and ears.

Walter leaned forward and whispered, “Tell Boss…"

Dark Blue fell to the table. Walter stood.

“…I’m fine.”

Beautiful Day Without You - Röyksopp

With Eyes Unclouded

Brave - 142 Words

Ben Azevedo

In the darkness before I fall asleep, I can see the future. It’s not like clairvoyance or anything, and I can’t predict anything, at least not anything useful. It’s more like staring down a long street in the summertime. At first all the lines are crisp and clean, the sky is blue and the clouds are white. But as the sky meets the street in the infinite distance, all the colors blur, and you think you can see someone standing there in the waves of heat coming off the pavement. I think we can all see the future. I can tell you, with reasonable accuracy, what I will be doing a week from now. Even a month. Further than that, and it starts to become the hazy heat mirage. But I can deal with the future. The trick is to be brave.

In A Future Age - Wilco

Spine Curved Slightly

Spine - 381 Words
Ben Azevedo

The last time he had seen her, she had left him. Left him standing in a blown out building, among the twisted rebar and chunks of brick and glass. He had stood there for God-only-knows how long and stared at nothing in particular before walking dully back to his apartment. The last image of her he had imprinted into his mind was her back as she walked out the door, spine curved slightly to half glance back at him before disappearing.

~

“We can’t do this anymore,” she said.

“We’ve made it this long,” he protested, “the war’ll be over soon, and things will go back to normal.”

“You know you can’t promise me that!” she cried, her voice rising with emotion. “You could be dead tomorrow, and then what would we have! Every day the bombs are closer, with no end in sight! I can’t do it anymore!”

He had tried to console her, to comfort her with the old words that had always worked. But they didn’t.

~

The second to last time they had met, it had been in that same building. It was their hideout; the only place they could safely meet on his short leaves between battles. Already bombed, abandoned, and probably bombed again, they knew they would be safe under the crumbling roof. They held each other tight, and he told her of his adventures, with only slightly less enthusiasm than he used to.

~

“…and after Poland we were in Norway for a month. Have you ever been to Norway?” he asked.

“No, never,” she said with wonder, “was it quite cold?”

“Oh yes, but the coast was so beautiful”

She sighed, imagining the freezing, beautiful coast of Norway, while he recalled the deadly frozen waves crashing against the night-black rocks. She murmured something.

“What?”

“Maybe when all this is over, we can go see them together”

~

He stared grimly at the remains of the old building. The war had ended, and so had the building. He had already been to his old apartment and gathered his belongings. He had also been to her apartment, a smoldering pile of bombed rubble. She might have escaped to America, but somehow he knew she had left more permanently than that. He was just looking for her ghost, now.

Sound Forged Like Spine - The Winter Sounds

Collar

Collar – 139 Words
Ben Azevedo

He ran a finger along the inside of his collar one more time, trying to cool his neck, flattening the tag. This shirt was no different than the other ones he had to wear in the hot summer sun, except for the color, which seemed to attract only the hottest of the sun’s light. He would much rather have gone shirtless and run rampant and carefree through the summer. Those days were over, though. Instead, he wore this shirt-with-a-collar and let the sun etch its marks onto his skin; dark sleeves for his forearms, a preacher’s collar around his neck, and a facemask the color of rich brown soil. Everything the shirt covered stayed blank and undeveloped. He sighed and surrendered to this with the same cheerful amiability to which he had surrendered to so many of life’s responsibilities.

Growin' Up - Bruce Springsteen