The Killing

They were everywhere! John's yard was being taken over by a large army of his enemies. John had never seen so many show up in such a short time. He looked out his living room window at the gathering on his front lawn. How did they all get there? They were coming to kill his sweet little Rosie, John just knew it! Rose was his baby... He alone had raised her for the last year, and no one was going to take her away from him.

“Should I call the authorities? What if they don't make it here in time?”

John decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. Grabbing the sharpest tools he could find, John ran outside into the fierce evening battle. They grabbed at John, stabbing him with needles, or cutting him with sharp blades. John yanked and dug at his opponents, pulling and chopping them into pieces. It seemed like every time he'd killed one, another would appear in it's place, cutting and stabbing at him. John fought hard until finally, they were all dead. His baby was safe.

“I did it!” John shouted before catching himself.

“I did it.” He said again, this time his voice softer.

John sat down in his lawn, exhausted after such a weary experience. It had taken him hours to complete the task, and now his low back and right shoulder were sore, along with a few areas that were bleeding from his opponents attack. His gaze finally rested on the dismembered pieces that covered his yard.

What will the neighbors think? Will they report me to the authorities? If I get reported, who's gonna take care of Rose?

Nervous, John grabbed a nearby black garbage bag and stuffed the dead parts inside. John had to be careful, his dead adversaries still had their weapons, and he was in bad enough shape as is, he didn't need to add new injuries to the ones they'd already given him. One by one he filled the bags, his body still bleeding and sore, making excuses and trying to justify his actions with each piece he painfully stuffed in.

“They were going to attack.” Shove.

“It was only a matter of time before they reached Rose, and then she'd be a goner.” Grunt.

He was almost done, but his conscience wasn't clear yet. In fact, he felt even more guilty than when he'd started the killing spree.

“It was self-defense, they'd attacked him too.” Huff.

“Didn't he have a right to protect his family and his property?” Groan.

“There.” he exclaimed after the clean up was done. A few small parts lay scattered about, but nothing was obvious enough to suggest something had happened there. John was in the clear, for now. Grabbing the now full garbage bags, he rushed to his trash can on the street. John pulled a bag out off the top, shoved the incriminating bags in, then replaced the normal bag back on top.

“Now, John thought, “if any of my neighbors should get suspicious and search my garbage, they'll have to dig pretty deep to find anything.”

John walked quietly to the side of his house, and grabbed the garden hose he'd kept there. He turned the water on low, hoping that if anyone should hear it, they would think it was only the sprinkler system. He sprayed his entire lawn, willing any small pieces down into the gutter, into the sewer. Satisfied he'd washed it all away, though not able to really see in the dim light coming from the street lights, John put the hose away.

He wiped his hands on his pants, and finally went to check on Rose. She was peaceful, no signs of stress, or of what might have happened, had the intruders reached her. John relaxed a little, and headed to the kitchen for a drink. Flicking on the kitchen light, John realized the mess he was in. His pants and shirt were stained, an clear sign of a struggle, and the blood bath he'd just caused. Stripping off the convicting clothes, John opted for a shower first.

Standing under the hot shower spray, John let it all go. The almost scalding water soothed his sore muscles, and sterilized his wounds. The water did nothing for his soul. After what was most likely the longest shower he'd ever taken, John toweled off, patched up his wounds and got dressed. John checked on Rose once more, fearful one had slipped past him and was choking her while he'd showered. She was still safe.

John grabbed the half-drank bottle of Vodka out of his liquor cabinet, and sat down on the couch. They'd come close... too close. He'd swore that they would never get close enough to harm her, and they almost did. It was his own fault. He should have never trusted his neighbor to watch her while he went to Las Vegas for a week with his buddies.

He took a swig from his bottle and closed his eyes for just a second. Tires squealing from bad breaks forced John to open his eyes again. It was morning. Frantically, John jumped off the couch and peered out the window. An unmarked car was parked in front of his house. Two men in uniform were stepping out of the car, a pen and pad in each hand. They jot down notes, pointing at John's yard, and that's when he saw it... the true blood bath that still remained from the night before. Despite his thorough cleaning, his lawn still showed remains from last nights battle.

The lid on his trash can snapped open, drawing his eyes away from the yard. One of the officers was using the tip of their pen to peer in his trash. John got angry. They didn't have a right to dig through his garbage! Just then John remembered something he'd seen on the crime shows he loved to watch. Once you discarded something, and put your trash on the public street corner, it was no longer your property. It was public property.

John hadn't noticed he was still staring out the window until he saw the two officers start to walk up the drive. He jumped back, hoping they hadn't seen him, but he wasn't quick enough. They had seen him; they knew he was home.

A sharp rap on his door seemed to echo throughout his house. John took a deep breath. He was about to open the door when they knocked again, this time harder.

“We know you are in there!” they shouted, “We just want to talk!”

John knew he was caught. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say except maybe blame someone else, and even that was a lame excuse.

“It wasn't me! It was someone else! No, I don't recall who, but when I remember, I'm suing for damages!”

No. They would see right through that. Cornered, John saw no other option. He slowly opened the door. The two men on the other side stood tall, their badges held high. John sucked in, and somehow he knew that there was no way he could have pulled this off. At the time, he'd been thinking of only Rose, but now, he was thinking of only himself.

Finally, the shorter man spoke, “Hi sir, we are with the Homeowners Association. We have reason to believe you've been doing your own yard work.”

Suicide Bomber

He knew his mission. Get in, recruit, expand their territory, then self-destruct killing and destroying the entire area, and hopefully the whole region. This was his moment to shine. They would write books about him. He would be famous.

Slipping in undetected, he tried to blend in. No one seemed to notice that he didn't belong. He looked the same as they did, even acted and communicated the same. Yes to everyone else, he belonged.

With each passing day, he studied them all, those who were easy enough to convert, and those who he needed to avoid. The whites were strong, some stronger than others. A specific group of whites were all about 'White Power'. He doubted he could get any recruits from them. Most likely, they were the ones who would try and take him down. The others however, were easier targets.

Most in the area were like the Samurai, they would rather commit seppuku and die, then fall into enemy hands. Others, whether too proud, or in denial, could be easily convinced. All it took was a little persuasion.

After a year or so of blending in, he started his attack. He'd made many 'friends' during his station in the area. Now it was time to spread out, divide and conquer.

His recruits were sent to different regions, their first job to get more members. Then, once they had enough on their side, they were going to all take over the areas, killing everyone they could.

Suicide for their namesake was considered honorable. The troops went out, and started enlisting as many as they could find. Everything was going according to plan. They almost had enough on their side to overthrow their enemy.

One recruit however, was careless. She tried to alter the wrong man, and the enemy caught wind of their plans. Soon, they started to attack. Lucky for the soldier and his followers, they had enough newcomers that were willing to sacrifice their simple life, and take a few of their enemies with them.

The outside world soon discovered what was going on, and sent in chemical warfare. Many of their converts were destroyed, but few went into hiding. After laying dormant for a few months, they spread out again, in search of more followers.

This time, they were more successful. They had all the soldiers they needed, plus some to spare. They started to attack their enemies, and this time, they were winning. The area all around them was desolate, dead and uninhabitable.

If they kept winning this battle, they would eventually wipe out all their enemies, and make their enemies homeland barren. The leader estimated that complete annihilation would be completed in approximately 4-6 weeks. Yes, he would go down in history, if he wasn't there already.

*****

“I'm sorry ma'am. The Chemo didn't work. The cancer has returned. You have 6 weeks to live.”

Suicide Bomber by Amanda Jones is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Poor Man Celebration

Part One

'It's easy to say you love the holidays when you can afford it,” Sam argued, “but when you have nothing, and still can enjoy this season, that's something special.”

Angie rolled her eyes. Sam was pulling her leg, and she wasn't that gullible. Sam was an optimistic about everything. When the glass was empty, he saw it as potential to be filled. Sam's optimism was almost sickening.

“Just look at how happy poor people in low income cities are.” Sam continued.

“Easy for you to say when you're living on 75 thousand a year,” Angie challenged, “ I bet if you had to live the way of the poor, you'd break that little charade and complain worse than Mr. Scrooge.”

Just then, Tim walked up. Tim was their boss, and enjoyed a bet like a alcoholic enjoys free drink night at the local bar.

“Did I just here someone say 'bet'?” He questioned.

“Sam was trying to tell me that people who have nothing enjoy the holidays more than people who aren't poor.” Angie accused, knowing who's side the rich boss would take.

“Are you crazy, Sam?” Tim accused.

“Well, that isn't exactly what I said,” Sam defended, “I was merely making a comparison to people who don't have much, and those who have it all. I'm just saying you don't need to have it all to be happy.”

“Well, this is a very intriguing conversation. I'd like to see where this is going.” Tim added. “Are you sure of what you are saying, Sam?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good. Then first thing Monday, You will live on $250 a week. You will need to find a cheap motel to move into, and you will spend 4 weeks there. This means you will live on only $1,000 for the entire month, that includes food, bills, and holiday spending. No outside money allowed. Each day, we will check you bank statements and make sure you aren't dipping into your account. No car either. We will check the mileage on your car this weekend, and at the end of this wager. I will personally hand you your allowance each week on Monday, and the rest of your pay will go into your account. We will also be watching your attitude. I've got friends all over this city, and when I show them your photo, and include a early Christmas gift for their cooperation, they will report your disposition to me. Now to make this interesting. What shall the winner of this wager receive? ”

Sam stood there listening as his boss listed out the rules for his new life. Could he do it? He was sure he could, but for a whole month? It might be a good way to prove a point. Yes, he would do it.

“How about we wager $100?” Angie threw in.

“No, that's no where near as high a bet. It needs to be high enough that our buddy Sam will want to participate. I suggest... your holiday bonus. Whomever wins the bet, gets the others Holiday bonus.” Tim added enthusiastically.

“But-” Angie started to add.

“I'll do it.” Sam jumped in, eager to prove his point.

“Then it's settled.” Tim shouted.

“Hold on now!” Angie exclaimed, “I want one more thing. Sam, if you lose, no more boasting and carrying on about your silly philosophies.”

“Done.”

“Great!” replied Tim, “The bet starts at nine Monday morning. Four weeks after that will be... December 20^th. Just before Christmas, and the day before the office's Secret Santa party. If I were you, Sam, I'd look into some cheap motels in the area, and learn the bus system. Alright now, Everyone back to work!”

Part Two

Sam woke up with a slight pain in his lower back. The cheap motel mattress just couldn't stand up to his Tempur-Pedic back at home. Stretching out most of the pain, he showered in the small shower, and dressed for work. It had been two weeks since he'd started the bet, and he felt a new strength rushing through him.

“I'm halfway there.” He said, while walking to the bus stop.

This little bet had pushed him to his limits, but he would never complain. It wasn't as hard as it could be.

“At least I have a place to sleep,” he said, thinking about the lumpy mattress. “And food to eat.”

Sam looked down at his sagging clothes. In the last two weeks, he'd went down a few sizes. His diet changed from eating fatty, greasy foods four times a day, to eating lean, small meals, two or three times a day. He couldn't afford to eat at Olive Garden, let alone some of the restaurants he usually ate at. Nope, it was toast and cereal for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly for lunch, and one of the many flavors of hamburger helper for dinner and if he was lucky, made with hamburger meat.

The bus arrived shortly, and as Sam stepped on, the bus driver glanced at him in the usual odd way saying, “So how's you doing today, got anything you wants to talk about?”

“Just fine, and no.”

Could the guy be any more obvious! Clearly he thought he was being discreet as he shrugged his shoulders and shut the doors. Just a few more stops, then Sam would be within walking distance from his work. It was the same thing over and over again with the driver; everyday when Sam got on, he asked the same question, and everyday when Sam got off, he'd say, “Well, if ever you wanna let it all out, I'm here for you. My momma always said I gots good listenin' ears.”

Sam stepped off the bus, and into the cold air. The sun was just high enough that he could see where he was walking, and the ½ mile hike to the office was peaceful. Sam listened to the cardinals sing, and wondered why he hadn't noticed their songs before this little adventure. The cold air didn't bother him as much as he looked around at the beautiful world that didn't exist two weeks ago. He would definitely have to take this walk to work once in a while when spring came.

As Sam walked into the big office doors, he was greeted by yet another one of Tim’s obvious spies. Joe, the office security guard, sat up from his usual laid back position to question Sam as the bus driver had. Since Joe had to check Sam's security badge, their conversation tended to be a little longer than the conversation with the bus driver.

“Sure seems cold outside today, doesn't it? You walked to work again today, didn't you? Was it too cold out there?”

Sam sighed and braced himself and answered honestly, “Yes, is was a cold morning, but I hardly noticed it. Have you ever noticed the beautiful songs the cardinals sing? It almost sounds like they are saying 'What cheer'. No, you haven't noticed? Well you should listen one day, it really is a beautiful sound.”

On that note, Sam headed to the elevators, and into another mass attack by his co-workers. The elevator was unusually empty for this time of day, so Sam was able to breathe for a moment, enjoying the calm before the storm. Right as Sam let out a huge sigh signifying what lay ahead, the elevator opened, and Angie stood there, hands on her hips.

“Ah! Getting tired out I see! Looks like I’ve won the bet already!”

“Come on now Ang, you know I’ve always had a fear of elevators. Even before the bet.”

“Yeah, I know. I just thought I’d catch you at a weak moment, and then win this bet early.”

“Nice try, but it's not going to work.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just go. Oh and don't forget about the meeting at ten.”

Sam shut his office door as the last of Angie’s words came out. Rubbing his head, more out of habit than stress, Sam sat at his desk and opened his inbox. Several messages he marked as spam, and several others needed only a quick glance before being deleted.

“Heya Sam, just wanted to see-” Garbage.

“Hello Samuel, I was writing to find out how you-” Delete.

“Sam, How are you-” Trash can.

“Sam, my man! What's new?”

Sam looked up as his best friend walked in the door. Mike sat down in the lounge chair on the other side of Sam's desk. Great, just what he needed, another interruption during work hours. How did anyone get any work done?

“Not much here, you?” Sam responded.

“Nothing man. Dude, how long are you and Angie doing this thing for again? Another two weeks, right? Shoot, I would've caved by now. There's no way I could go twelve hours without playing 'Black Ops', let alone four weeks. You sure you aren't going crazy? Cause you know you can tell me, and I won't say nothing to the boss man.”

“No, Mike. Actually, I’m enjoying myself. Since I can't 'afford' to drive my car, I end up walking part of the way, and it's actually very nice. Did you ever notice how the snow falls down in the early morning? Or how certain plants seem to hibernate too? This morning I was saying to myself, how I’d like to walk part of the way to work in the springtime, when all the flowers and plants come back to life. I've never noticed it before.”

“Yeah man, sure. But whatever you're smoking, save some for me, okay? Now come on, you know Tim gets upset when I'm late to the meetings.”

Sam logged out of his email and followed Mike to the conference room. If he thought bumping into co-workers one at a time was bad, dealing with all of them at the same time would be disastrous. Twenty faces looking at him, all eager to see him slip in his quest, so they could earn their bonus. Walking into the conference room, Sam said to himself, “I should be psychic.”

“Glad you're all here.” Tim announced. “Now we can get started. Here in this bucket, I have the name of everyone in our department. Pull a name out, and keep it to yourself. You must spend at least $50, and same as last year, there is no max on spending. And remember, the gifts are due Tuesday, the 21^st at noon.”

Sam reached into the bucket, feeling around for a slip of paper. How would he afford to get his Secret Santa gift? He could barely afford to buy the hamburger meat for dinner, let alone buy a gift for someone else. Sam was still pondering the thought, when he pulled out the paper. Unfolding it, Sam read the name. He was in luck! If all went to plan, his gift would be the best gift of all!

Part Three

Finally! Today was the last day of the bet. Sam looked up at the clock on the wall. 8:45a.m. In fifteen minutes, he would've won the bet. The last few weeks seemed to breeze by, sort of. Sam was starting to get used to his new life, and the last month had changed his perception on life. He was beginning to love life, and see it for all the wonders it really is. Just this morning, he'd had the pleasure of enjoying a beautiful sight; a mother deer walking with her fawn, heading towards the nearby forest, and the comfort of their den. That sight was one Sam would treasure all his life. And to think, he wouldn't have noticed any of this if he hadn't taken that bet! A bet that he just won! Tim had just opened the door to Sam's office with an envelope in his hand.

“Well, you've won! Got any complaints now that it's all over, and you've won?”

“Actually, no. As strange as it may sound, I-”

“Did he confess yet?”

It was Angie. She was hiding behind Tim, like a serpent waiting to strike.

“Sorry, Angie. It's no good. Sam appears to be sincere. Looks like he really did win.”

Angie stormed out, clearly disappointed. Not only had she lost Sam's bonus, which she had planned on using to get a new plasma TV, but she'd lost her own!

Tim reached for a pen off Sam's desk, so he could make out both checks in Sam's name.

“Now, hold on, Tim. I've got something I need your help with...”

*****

Crawling into his own bed last night seemed strange to Sam. He had gotten used to the lumpy mattress at the motel, and when he laid down on the Tempur-Pedic, he felt almost out of place. Sure, it was nice having his bed back, and his car, and digital cable on his 60” HDTV. But it all seemed different now. Something had changed. When he'd pulled up outside his home, he noticed that there were plants growing outside his home. Not wild plants, since his gardener was paid a month in advance, but little bushes that looked like someone had planted them there. Had they always been there? They didn't look new. Yes! They had been there before, because he remembered once last summer when he dropped his house keys in the bush next to the door. Strange that he never noticed them before.

Sam walked into the office, and instead of greeting him as he had the last four weeks, Joe the guard waved his hand at Sam nonchalantly, never taking his eyes off the security monitor.

“Good morning Joe! How are you doing today?”

“Good morning. So I heard you won. Angie sure looked upset this morning. You'd think she forgot Christmas was just around the corner.”

“Well, I have a feeling she'll perk up later.”

“Good ol' Sam, always optimistic.” Joe added.

“Well, I'd better get going, Joe. Have a good day, and Merry Christmas!”

Sam decided since he didn't walk to work, maybe he could take the stairs. Surprisingly, he made it all the way up, without getting too tired.

“I guess walking ½ a mile to and from work each day will do that to you.” Sam told himself. After making a quick pit stop at the Secret Santa table, Sam headed to his office. On his way, he ran into Angie.

“Good morning Angie!”

“Good morning to you too.” Angie muttered under her breath.

Sam smiled all the way to his office. After reading and deleting dozens of congratulation emails, Sam started to work. No time had passed, or so it seemed, when Tim opened his door, dressed in a Santa suit, and placed a small box on his desk.

“Ho ho ho!” Tim said in his 'Santa' voice.

“Hey Tim. Have you-”

“It's not Tim! It's Santa!”

“Oh. Hey Santa. Have you given Angie her gift yet?”

“No, She's next on my list.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Sam jumped out of his chair, and followed 'Santa' to Angie's office. When 'Santa' handed Angie the thin envelope, she stared at it puzzled. Who would give her a card? It didn't feel like it had a gift card inside, but surely no one went under the $50 spending limit. As she opened the card, a slip of paper fell to the floor. She read the card, then in a daze, reached for what she dropped. It was her Christmas bonus, made out to her! Angie looked again at the card and read the words carefully:

If there's anything I learned the last four weeks, it's that money can't buy happiness. It can't buy true beauty either. Beauty like a sunrise, or the birds singing. Thank you Angie, for helping me see. Thank you for showing me all the beauty that surrounds us everyday. Please enjoy this small token of my appreciation, for without your bet, I wouldn't know what Christmas is all about. What every season is all about. Appreciating the beauty that God has given us.

Your friend,

Sam

Poor Man Celebration by Amanda Jones is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

The Stalker

Joan wasn't convinced. When she'd woken earlier that morning, she'd had the strong sense that someone was peering through her window; watching her. That feeling didn't go away when she'd showered and dressed either. She'd had this feeling the last few days, but thought nothing of it... until today. Today she was going to end this.

Sitting in the coffee shop, Joan had that eerie feeling she was being watched again. Her eyes quickly scanned the room as she sipped down her decaf coffee. No one was looking at her, but that didn't mean anything. There was a man in the far corner, wearing a long black trench coat, who appeared to be studying a physics book. Joan then noticed a group of construction workers settling into their chairs near the door, one of whom kept glancing at his watch, as if he was appointed by the group to announce when their break would be over. There was a couple near the window, who was clearly in love, sipping on iced coffees, and kissing like they were at home, and not a public place. A few people sat at the WiFi center, all absorbed in the website in front of them. One man, who looked like he belonged on Wall Street, was getting angry at the stock market; while another man, with his hand under the jacket draped across his lap, was clearly happy with what he was watching on his screen. The only woman at the WiFi station, was busy looking up recipes for some holiday dish, and when she thought no one was looking, at the Wall Street man beside her.

Joan got up, and walked out of the shop, watching carefully for anyone who paid a special interest in her exit. The guy who was making out with his girlfriend looked up at Joan, then down, and back up again. No one else noticed her, or at least she thought.

“I think I'll enjoy the afternoon in the park.” Joan said to herself.

She loved feeding the ducks that lived at the park near her home. It brought her a peaceful memory of her childhood, which wasn't quite as peaceful. As Joan walked the two blocks to the park, she had the feeling she was being followed. Jerking around, she saw a mother and her toddler walking a few yards behind her. The child was jumping around excitedly, and the mother was trying to calm her down. Joan glanced across the street, but no one was there, at least no one was walking close enough to be following her. She continued walking, and turned the first corner, the far edge of the park coming into view ahead of her. The hairs on her neck started to stand up. She twisted her head around, and saw the mother and child still following her. Joan shivered as she picked up the pace. Walking faster, she decided to sit at the bus stop bench at the edge of the park.

“Only ten feet to go.” she thought to herself.

Sitting down at the bus stop, Joan held her breath, waiting for the woman and her daughter to walk past her. Just then, the little girl burst out into a run, heading straight for the jungle gym, her mother following with a relieved expression. Joan exhaled, and realized that the family wasn't following her, just heading in the same direction. Yet the feeling that she was being watched didn't pass. Glancing around, she saw an elderly man walking towards her, his old cane smacking the ground where the rubber tip had worn off.

Joan got up from the bus stop, and walked away, just as the old man sat down, his old bones creaking like a door that needed oiling. She headed over to the secluded pond near the opposite end of the park, peering over her shoulder at the old man, as he crawled up the tall steps of the public bus that had just arrived. Relief and fear hit her again, as she realized the old man wasn't her prowler. She was getting closer and closer to the pond, but not her stalker.

“Who could it be? Is it just my imagination?”

“No.” Joan said aloud to her thoughts, “It's not my imagination.”

She reached the pond in record time, and sat at the beat up, forgotten bench near the pond's bank. Reaching into her purse, she pulled the stale loaf of bread onto view. Suddenly, she felt a breeze to her left, and screamed. Her scream was joined by a scared honk. The goose beside her flew to the other end of the pond. Joan laughed. She'd been scared by a hungry goose. Then her laugh was cut short, as she realized that her troubles were not over. She was still being followed.

Eager to forget it all, she tossed a handful of crumbs into the pond, and watched the ducks and geese enjoy their feast; all except one goose who stayed at the far side of the pond. Her bread was soon gone, and her troubles came back like a boomerang. Cautiously, Joan looked around her. There was no one in sight. Joan panicked. If no one was around, yet she knew someone was watching her every move, that meant only one thing...

“Okay God. You win. I'll do what you've called me to do.”

Suddenly, Joan felt peace once again.

The Stalker by Amanda Jones is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.