Linguistic cartwheels in the stylings of a rant, these are the thoughts that keep me up at night.
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I am a 20 year old female writer residing in Central New Jersey. My influences include the great Dave Barry, Neil Gaiman, George Carlin, and the two greatest editors in the world, Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling. My webpage can be found at www.homestead.com/foxfyresden and I can be reached at Foxfyre33@aol.com. Happy reading!
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Wednesday, June 01, 2005
The following is a story written by Fox Mackenzie, and protected under intellectual copyright. It may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in print or digital medium, except with express written permission from its author.
"Tempus Fugit"
I knew, once I stepped outside, something was off. Maybe I didn't
register it, exactly - I was already late and didn't have time to give
over to some heebie-jeebie sensation - but in retrospect, it was
definately there. The feeling of larger-than-life impending doom - the
swell of air and ozone that meant one hell of a storm was on it's way.
I shrugged it off, almost unconsiously - nerves.
The rain hit like a bucket of water, upending over the city and
sending myself and the others scurrying back under a faded hotel
awning. There was a collective sigh of exhasperation, and people began
fumbling for cell phones and PDAs, re-scheduling and canceling until
this damned hurricane of a storm let up. No cab in it's right mind
(which wasn't saying much, really..) would attempt to ford the
now-streaming waters rushing over the streets, picking up fast-food
trash and cigarette butts en route. I knew my own cell was sitting
placidly back on my dresser, where I had forgotten it this morning. At
least one of us was dry.
I turned to go into the hotel lobby and stumbled backward as the
handle didn't give an inch. The others gave me dark glances and
mutters as they held their cells aloft like a bunch of suited Lady
Liberties, trying in vain for signal the storm wasn't skewing.
Tactfully ignoring them, I glanced inside the locked door.
The place looked deserted. About a million years ago. I startled,
glanced again. I knew the hotel district hadn't been doing well and
all, tourism dropping off after the terrorist scares, but how was it
such an opulent (well, once) place was left to rot like this? Broken
chairs strewn about pieces of tables, cobwebs in every corner, the top
of the baby grand rotten and fallen in on its own jaundiced and
cracking-bone keys. Something in me shuddered unthinkingly.
"Creepy."
I turned away from the hotel door, looking at the street again - the
rushing water had turned black from everything it was picking up -
washing out the whole city, probably. I couldn't see the bottom,
though I knew from the curb it couldn't have been more than maybe a
few inches deep. Rain or no rain, I had to get going - without a cab
in sight and no phone, it looked as though I'd be walking.
I leaned down and rolled up my trouser cuffs as high as I could get them around
my calves, and pondered my shoes. I would have prefered not to ruin
them - inexpensive though they were, I wasn't rich - but I was
unwilling to chance stepping into water tainted with with
god-knows-what barefoot. Sighing and reminding myself that slightly
late and sodden was better than not showing up at all, I stepped off
the curb.
My right foot sank into nothingness, and by reflex I grabbed a street
sign and hauled myself backwards, landing hard on the sidewalk.
"Helluva pothole. Jesus."
The cab pulled up slowly as I was checking my now-soaked right foot,
sans sock and shoe. The back right tire seemed like it was exactly
where my foot had encountered the pothole, yet the water only lapped
restlessly about three or four inches up the tire. Must have been
wrong about where I stepped.
The window rolled down and a gaunt black man leaned across the
passenger's side.
"Ey. You need lift, eh?"
He smiled, the brilliant white open smile only men of very dark skin
and very thick accents seem to master, and opened the passenger door
for me.
"Thanks man - what a day...lookit this, lost my damn shoe and
everything. This weather's friggin ridiculous! I didn't think any of
you guys would even attempt to ford this..." I gestured at the flood
in the street.
He smiled that smile again, laughing - an indefinable accent tinging
the edges of his mirth. I hobbled over to the cab, pulled up almost
flush with the curb, and slid into the passenger's side, holding my
naked foot atop my shod one.
He pulled away carefully, and I felt no thump where the pothole should
have been. Maybe it was behind the cab or something.
"I'm glad you picked me up...I am running really late. I can't believe
I cut it this close for something this important..."
"What is that, this so-important thing?"
I opened my mouth to answer, and couldn't for the life of me come up
with even a vague idea. There was the urgency, like a captive bird in
my ribcage, but no clue what it was there for.
"No worry. I take you around, maybe you will see and remember."
My brow furrowed, trying vainly to come up with where the hell I was
intending to go - I kept half an eye out the window, looking up fully
only when I realized the importance of my right shoe. I cursed.
"Oh..god damn it..listen, I am so sorry..I keep my money in one of
those..those..sock-wallet things..I hate it, but it was a christmas
present from my mom, and I promised her..." I waved my hand in the air
furtively, "What I mean is, I don't have any money to pay you.."
"Tch. What you got in your pocket? Lint, candy? I take that, eh? Call
it even!" He laughed, white teeth flashing again.
I smiled uncertainly and dug in my pocket, fingers closing around a
disk. I pulled it out and glanced at the little golden circle in my
palm...one of those new dollar coins, the one with the indian girl on
them. I had also forgotten my commuter's pass on the dresser this
morning; the ticket machines only gave these damn things for change.
My pockets always weighed a ton on pass-less days.
"Well...I got a buck, anyway. Don't suppose that'll get me very far,
huh?" I chuckled.
His hand closed around the coin, and my hand felt terribly light as he
lifted it off my palm. His voice lost it's levity a moment.
"Further than you think, my friend."
(to be continued)
~Fox
8:38 AM
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