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In her Haven...
Colored bits of ribbon, bright strips of foil...a sturdy small box...all these lay on her tabletop, along with her gift. How best to wrap it? Perhaps a small red ribbon tied around it like a bowtie? She giggled softly, a gentle tinkling sound echoing through her small haven. Maybe...maybe. She patted her gift gently, hoping it will make Wyatt as happy as it made her.
The man had been so dull all evening....was he an accountant, or a lawyer? No matter now. He'd been so delighted as she dropped to her knees before him, and his delight made for swift work, groans of ecstacy crescendoing into a piercing scream as her claws sliced through the flesh and his warm blood washed over her, slipping down her throat. She shuddered happily at the memory, and pondered her gift some more, wondering had anyone noticed that she'd tied the package with a nice candystriped Christmas bow before disposing of it.
She paced the table, catlike. To use the red paper and the blue ribbon? Or perhaps the green paper and a red ribbon? So many decisions. She tried to picture Wyatt's face as he opened the package...would he be delighted, or just happily surprised? She just knew he would appreciate it...he was obviously an admirer of her work. As she nestled her gift gently in the box, covering it with the tissue paper, a song she'd heard sidled from her subconscious, and she sang merrily as she wrapped the gift...
"Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis,
Isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?
It's swell to have a stiffy,
It's divine to own a dicky,
From the tiniest little tadger,
To the world's biggest prick.
So three cheers for your willy or John Thomas,
Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake,
Your piece of pork,
Your wife's best friend,
Your percy or your cock,
You can wrap it up in ribbons,
You can slip it in your sock,
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock,
And you won't come back."
The blue foil, with the red ribbon...perfect. She neatly lettered the package with Wyatt's name, and the newspaper's address. There...oh, Christmas was such a fun time, so full of promise. She so hoped Wyatt would enjoy his gift. As she prepared to deliver it to the post office, she felt so good, so happy...but she hungered, too. Perhaps tonight, some poor lonely soul would keep her company, and feed her. She dressed with care, and slipped out into the night to have a merry, merry Christmas.
Lyrics courtesy of the incomparable Monty Python's Flying Circus
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Excessive Use of Force
Dec 24, 2006, 2:34am
I bite my tongue and focus. Handpacking rounds ain't 'specially easy.
I wouldn't x-pect you to understand.
3:12am
I decide against a knock-knock joke and answer - I pump four shotgun rounds through the door.
Morons. It's plywood.
3:15am
Cross fire by the kitchen. Pinned down.
Hmmm...
Let's get creative...
3:18am
Done deal. I guess running into small arms fire threw off their tactics.
Where's that briefcase?
4:02am
Why would anyone meet near an underpass? Too easy.
I wait in shadow for a tanker to roll by.
They'll wait.
The greedy ones always do.
4:16am
Tanker rolls down the highway. Never fails.
I give 'em 'bout a hundred feet before I give the driver the charm from the walkway above.
'Course, at 65 or so in a rig, you should really keep your eyes on the road.
'Specially the slick wintery-icey-raining type we got up here.
The x-plosion was spectacular - escpecially from above. The fire n' oil splash over was 'specially enlightening. You'd a luved it.
On the other hand...
I guess you wouldn't.
Fire n' all.
4:17am
It's Miller Time.
O' sumthin' like tha'.
It's kewl to be th' walkin' dead, baby. Every f'in' night.
~~~
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10:45 pm December 24 , 2006
Sitting amongst the files and papers on her desk was a present, neatly wrapped and the bow set perfectly on the top of the box. The card lay open with the pen settled in the crease where she had lain it before sitting back to steeple her fingers and rest here chin softly on the tip of her well manicured nails.
She had walked the downtown streets earlier watching the comings and goings of the last minute shoppers. Workers that had been rushing off to their homes and families to spend this holiest of nights. For decades, since the death of the only ones close to her in France she had spent this time alone with her thoughts and her nighmares.
Turning her gaze to the brightly colored package she thought of how this was going to be different. Someone again at least to share some part of the time with even if he would be away attending to business. She kept expecting the phone to wring calling her to the scene of another of the Man Hater murders, the thought always there in her mind.
A silver cuff adorned the womans wrist. Plain but beautiful as it caught her eye and she remembered this. She watched it in facsination for the first twenty four hours giving herself a focus as she listened to the words said over and over again.
She had been browsing and investigating just a few days ago along the business district looking for clues to the where abouts of the rogue killer when she spotted the small shop. Brightly lit christmas lights adorned the windows and she stood gazing at their flashing brilliance for just a bit. Then the silver gleam caught her eye and she stepped closer brushing the dusting of show from her shoulder.
It spoke to her softly as if telling its story in a language only she understood. An old piece of Russion art that shone softly in the light from the window. She pushed her hair back and tilted her head studying it intently before the shop owner moved into view signaling her to enter.
Stepping through the door the musty aroma assaulted her senses and she nodded to the woman. She had pulled the object from the window and held it to her for her inspection. Catherines eyes lit up as she picked it up from its velvet bed. Turning it this way and that the etched symbles and words reaching out and telling their own tale, their own piece of history.
Nodding she waved the woman to the register and moved to pay for the item having it left so she might wrap it herself. The knowing smile of the shop owner was lost on Catherine as she pocketed the box and made her way back outside.
11:40 pm
Leaning over she picked up the pen again and began writing the message in the card. It was the first Christmas card she had written and she was hoping it to be as special as the gift inside. The words written she tucked the card into the envelope and addressed it to Mol. With a slight smile she picked up the package, turning off the light over the desk and headed to the door humming a soft tune under her breath as the door shut behind her.
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11:47 pm 24 December 2006...The OOC room of Granite
The fiesty little squirrel looked around the room after taping the mouth of the monument closed with her nearest and dearest friend 'Mr. Duct Tape' and proceeded to fluff up all the pillows on all the couches and chairs. She scurried into her treehouse to find the pictures of her in her lavender lace and ribbon teddy sitting in the nekkid Jarins lap to set out for Santa so that he could see for himself in living color how industrious this squirrel had been.
Putting the snapshots on the table next to the Bourbon and shot glass she scurried down the hallway and out onto the grid running like crazy to the 'Lobster Claw" to grab some take out nice and piping hot for Santa to have with his Bourbon. On the way back she stopped but the closest Marie Callenders and conned the dishwasher to let her in so she could grab a fresh made cherry pie for his desert.
Rushing back to the OOC room she set up the food , put on some soft Christmas music and plugged in the lights on the Christmas tree, having gotten rid of all the excess tribbles of course. The room was softly aglow with twinkling lights when the clock did strike midnight.
Christmas was here and Rat heard the prancing of the reindeer on the roof. In a moment she heard strange noises in the chimney, giggles and tittering and low and behind, Santa finall emerged. But instead of the big sack with gifts he had a fiesty knockout Elf that had hitched a ride from the North Pole on her way to Hollywood to star in a tripple XXX rated movie.
Rats little beady eyes bugged out at the tripple e bustline and sat watching Santa and his Elf devour the dinner, polish off the scotch and partake of the cherry pie before heading back up the chimney to the sleigh, without as much as a how do you do.
Rat turned off the lights her little head drooping and her tail dragging the floor as she headed to her treehouse to retire muttering..."This is the OOC room at Granite ..where anything can happen as long as you have an imagination"
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December 25, 2006...The small apartment above the P&P
Sitting there on the floor with Jenni in her lap the bottle almost empty she stared at the sparkling lights on the small tree. Jenni grabbed a fistfull of hair and gave a hard yank gurgling softly around the nipple in her mouth, a steady stream of formula ran down to her chin as she smiled. Pulling the bottle free she settled her against her shoulder and patted her back gently waiting for that burp she knew was lurking in the depths of the baby's full tummy.
Daniel was still sleeping behind her, sprawled out with is arms wrapped around the pillow the soft snore made her smile. Jenni gurgled watching him sleep over her shoulder and her little fist swung out connecting with his nose bringing his eyes open. His sleep filled gaze met hers as she turned and his hand snaked out to curl around her neck under the weight of her hair.
"Morning sleepy head..." she whispered as Jenni grabbed his nose and pulled laughing with delight.
"Morning ..." his finger tapped Jenni's nose softly as he stretched and rubbed her neck. "Merry Christmas love...and you too punkin" he nestled a kiss against the back of her neck.
Her smile grew as she leaned back giving him a quick kiss before standing to put Jenni in her crib. The phone rang and she picked it up smiling to Daniel.." Merry Christmas....mom, mother slow down. Please take a breath and slow down..."
The phone dropped from her hand as she looked at Daniel...." Daddy..had a stroke he's in the hospital..."
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Sometime late at night...
Fresh snow had dusted his windowpane, partially obscuring the view from his apartment window. Bailey peered out at the manycolored lights, occasionally rubbing the sleeve of his terrycloth robe on the window to wipe away the condensation from his breath as he watched the twinkling of the lights. Smells from his oven drifted about his apartment, not altogether appetizing, but probably edible. Half a dozen gifts, still wrapped in postal brown, lay tossed on the kitchen counter, along with advertisements and catalogs and the various whatnot of unofficial mail.
He stepped quietly up to the oven, dropping the door and stepping back so his glasses didn't fog up too badly. Once the steam had vented, he grabbed the kitchen towel and retrieved the contents of the oven...a large tv dinner: turkey with a vague semblance of gravy, a plop of instant mashed potatoes, yellow carrot slices, and a cranberry cobbler bite for dessert. He carried it to his desk and dropped it down, out of the way of his paperwork and his computer.
Stepping back into the kitchen, the yellow terry robe flapping as he walked, he reached up into the cabinet, pulling down a bottle of scotch and a clean glass. "Merry Christmas, Bailey..." He carried the bottle and glass back to his desk, and sat, clicking on the computer and observing its warmup routine as he poured a drink. He opened his internet connection and took a sip, feeling its warmth as his browser began its usual search routine and downloading his mail.
Dawn broke many hours later, finding Bailey's head on his chest, snoring softly in the dim computerlight. The scotch bottle was empty, and the tray of food sat untouched, the gravy congealed over turkey and potatoes alike.
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Dec. 22nd
I know why I hate Christmas so much. In this business you really have to. Not only is there no demand for anything but articles related to angels and visions of Jesus in Pizza Hut billboards, but it's this time of year that you realize how few friends you have. But that's okay. I'm used to it now. All those years of moving around, of never being able to keep a job for more than a few months. You really don't make friends that way, do you?
They say that around this time of year, the switchboards for suicide prevention hotlines light up like, well Christmas lights. I gave up on that ages ago. I'm too much of a coward to want to die. Besides, tomorrow might bring the break I'm looking for. Tomorrow, a vampire might show up to wish me a merry Christmas. Tomorrow, I might get lurid details about the whole process. Of course, that tomorrow was years ago.
It's really too bad that I don't drink that much. This is a great time of the year to get totally piss drunk, just to forget what time of the year it is. *laugh* Got a card from the boss, that *sshole. It took my threat of leaving to get him to even consider publishing that bio-hazard story. F*ck, and he hires a strange woman in the middle of the night. How hard was he spanking his monkey on that day? Now, rumor is that he's gonna hire me a partner, female, of course.
I suppose I shouldn't be so bitter around this time of year, but I am. Regrets, I've had more than quite a few, but then my destiny was never my own. It was stolen from me and replaced with someone else's tragedy, like a changeling child, ugly and out of place. Like a faerie tale nightmare that doesn't end until someone comes to rescue me from this deep sleep, from a life that isn't my own. But who'd want to kiss such an atrocity?
Well, I really should jot down some of the things I did today. This is a journal, after all. Well, Christmas shopping was easy enough. There really isn't anyone to buy for. I got a bunch of cards for a couple of bucks at the local department store. I was thinking of getting a special one for the cute chick in the mailroom, but I doubt she wants to 'date people from work'. Gawds, this industry is so full of lies that it's spread to the people who work within it. Everyone is ready to lie and backstab you, and for what? But I digress again ...
Found my book of quotes today, and spent most of the morning going through it, looking for something appropriate to put in each Christmas card. I really hate Christmas cards with meaningless drivel about having a merry Christmas, and a, well, fill in the blanks here, New Year. No one really means it, at least to me. Cuz if they did, they would do something about making it true. Words are cheap. That's probably why this job doesn't pay much.
Note to self: Get into work early to remove the mistletoe, ALL the mistletoe. If only they knew what the origin of that word was. *laugh* Should I go and pick up my stuff from the cleaners, or should that be my excuse for not going to the staff Christmas party - I've got nothing to wear? *laugh* Ohohoh. Don't forget to get some sort of tree for Christmas. I think Walmart has ceramic ones on sale. You don't need a big tree. Ain't need no room for Christmas presents. Gawds, I really wish I would get a present this year. Even my puppetmasters don't bother to send presents anymore. Last year I got a card from them, slid under my door on Christmas Eve. Yeah, mindless drivel written on the card.
But New Year's Eve. That's different. That gives me a sense of hope. *laugh* It's the end of one miserable year, especially this year, and the promise of something better next year. Maybe I'll get reassigned to a warmer climate. New Year's Eve. This year, I do feel like getting piss drunk, make an exception to that rule about drinking. Now, if only I can find myself a date for it.
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Icarus awoke with a start. His breathing was intense, labored, as though he'd been running. Sweat dribbled down his forehead as he sat up. He wearily rubbed his face with his hands, unable to grasp the memory which had frightened him so much. He glanced down at his watch, groaning, "Ugh...half an hour till work..."
He slowly laid back down on the bed, trying to close his eyes once more. Sleep eventually overtook the tall man, claiming him once more. Twenty-Eight minutes later, the alarm from his watch sounds, awaking him almost instantly again.
He pushed the covers aside, sliding over the side of the bed. He removed his watch setting it down on the coffee table to the side of his bed. After a brief stretch, he makes his way across his mediocre apartment, headed for the washroom.
Approximately 15 minutes later, he reappears in the main room of his apartment, hair still damp. He crosses the carpeted floor, making his way back into the bedroom. The door closes part-way and a strangely familiar melody floats into the room from the bedroom.
"You Really Got Me" by the Kinks can be heard drifting out from the room as he gets ready for work. After several minutes of repeatedly lyrics, he bursts forth from the bedroom after ushering a small cry of despair, "Oh frag, I'm gonna be late!" He pauses while passing in front of a mirror.
"Christmas, Bah, humbug!" He grins to himself after reciting the famous quote and exits his aparment, locking the door behind himself.
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