The Falling Tower.

Living, Loving; Remembering, Forgetting.

2009-07-12T15:59:00.000-07:00

Life is pretty beautiful and awesome. It is all okay. It wouldn't even be that bad if we all died. Maybe I will get hit by a car. Maybe you will get shot. Maybe we will meet and fall in love. Maybe then we will live happily...for a few days...and slowly it will fade away...we will start arguing more, we'll get ugly, we won't talk as much, spend more time apart, drifting. We will split up.
We will meet other people. It won't be the same. Sure its nice. Everything is awesome and beautiful, just like life. But still. It is just not the same. We won't even think about each other, but subconsciously we wonder. Then one of us will die. It will be in the news or something. How you snapped. You were too lonely. You started hugging strangers. You hugged the cashier. The waitress. The taxi driver. The firefighter. The cop. The gangster. You got hugged, slapped, punched, beaten, and shot. I will read it. And I will remember. And I will think::Shit, life is beautiful and awesome...

I remember the house those kids used to live in. They weren't really friends. We hardly saw them, but we knew they lived there. I don't know why it matters. I guess I'm just remembering these irrelevant things to remind myself I didn't forget. I sometimes wonder what I've already forgotten and will never remember. I guess its better to remember things that don't matter than to never remember anything...

One Has to Wonder...

2009-06-03T19:09:00.001-07:00

What makes you think I would care.

When you know I'm being irrational.

And Its So Awesome.

2009-05-19T19:26:00.000-07:00

This can't even be legal.

Is What Worth It?

2009-05-01T18:21:00.000-07:00

In the aftermath I wonder.
Was it even worth it?

Probably not.

Fight Club.

2009-03-19T11:35:00.001-07:00

I was out sitting on the porch this morning.
I got so mad.
so mad.

I punched the wall next to me.

it's really rough concrete.
it left red marks on my knuckles.
but I did it again harder.
I punched the wall over and over until my fist was torn and bleeding.

because I couldn't stop.

later I went for a walk.

my fists were clenched the whole time.

whenever I saw a person coming my way I would feel my body tense up.
I wanted to jump them.
I wanted to through them down and beat their beautiful face in.
Destroy them.

I resisted every time.
just barely held back.

I was just waiting for someone to bump into me.
some reason to throw down.

I just wanted to talk to someone.

every time someone passed and I didn't have the nerve to say a word I felt torn up inside.

so mad.

I'm so lonely.
and there's people everywhere.
but how can you meet people when you automatically have a plan to kill everyone you see?

Just in case.

Who's Laughing Now?

2009-02-24T18:26:00.001-08:00

Times are hard. The circus isn’t what it used to be. It started when the top clown, Opus Magikus lost his nerve; he just froze up during a performance. Stage fright is not tolerated. Albert Rigapoli knew what had to be done. Opus was dealt with…fatally. It was too late for the circus though. People just weren’t interested anymore. The new top clown, Freddie the Pie, had to find the clowns a new line of work. And so the Criminal Circus was born. Everyone is afraid of clowns. Sadistic, Psychopathic clowns there fore, make the best criminals. Anyone who crossed the circus was removed; Albert was a brutally efficient hatchet man. As the most powerful clowns, the tension between Albert and Freddie was palpable. There was not room for the two of them under the big top.

The stage was set for a betrayal. The Circus booked a flight to Europe; the target, a Swiss Bank, aka, an impenetrable fortress guarded by a veritable army. Never favoring subtlety, the clowns blew the entire face of the building off. Clowns swarmed onto every floor, cackling madly, engaging the security and soldiers up close and personal. It was a mess of flaming pies, exploding juggling pins, knives, and gun fire. The clowns clearly had terror on their side.

Albert had planned for this moment; he would kill Freddie the Pie himself during the heist. He had confided in several of his fellow clowns. He had trustworthy allies.

He thought.

The plan was, once the security was dealt with and the vault opened, Albert’s fellow conspirators would turn on Freddie and hold him in the vault until Albert arrived to perform the execution.

Albert approached the main vault, a bloody knife in one hand, a meat hook in the other. There were no clowns in sight.

Albert stepped into the vault and immediately spun around to see Freddie coming towards him wielding a revolver and laughing. The meat hook swung in an arc, caught the revolver and flipped it into Albert’s open hand.

“Who’s Laughing Now?!” Cackled Albert, pulling the trigger.

BANG!

A little red flag popped out of the revolver barrel, a circus prop gun. The gun man had just been a random clown in Freddie’s makeup.

Albert felt a shotgun barrel pressed against his cheek.

“Who indeed.” Replied Freddie, as he pulled the trigger.

Albert’s lower jaw was splattered against the vault walls, as he fell and the room went black…

this is crazy.

2009-02-12T08:32:00.000-08:00

The devil is in the details, and the details are a little fuzzy.

I woke up fully clothed but feeling naked. You were dressed in skin. Black, no, brown, dark, dark, brown, like the kitchen table, mahogany, polished smooth by the elbows of manner less children.

I often visited the Ocean. When I drowned, it was like coming home; the most painful experience in my life.

Coming home; walking through the front door; it’s like walking face first into a concrete wall of aggression and hate.

I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

Moving out was the best decision I ever made. They disowned me; of course. As if I cared. I disowned them when I learned how ears worked, and how to turn them off, around the same time I learned to speak; and how to shut up.

My tongue ran across empty gums. I lost all my baby teeth in one go, thanks dad; you’ve got quite a right hook.

By the time my teeth grew back, I had swallowed my troublesome tongue. I never made the mistake of saying ‘I love you’ again. You learn; you live and learn.

When I found the dead swan, I glued its broken wings to my back, like maudlin of the Well. I pretended I could fly. I flew so high. I felt like falling up.

I think we’re always falling. Its gravity; we fall constantly; the earth just keeps us going in the right direction. We fall to hide the fact that we’re not actually going anywhere.

Chaos theory is a fucking mess.

Fuck this coy shit.

2009-01-22T07:07:00.000-08:00

I run down stairs.

"Where's my fucking jacket?"

"Don't swear Maggie, it's unbecoming."

"Whatever mum."

Out again tonight…I go out for long walks every night, trying to hide from sleep. Mum's given up trying to understand or stop me.
Anyway, my coat is in the closest, as usual, I shrug into it and sit down to lace up my army boots, like the ones your mother wears. I got them at the army surplus store downtown. I often end up there, I don't know why. It smells funny, and isn’t anything special, but it's warm and soft. I've gotten sweaters, jackets, hats, bags, and belts there. That store closes in the evening though. I have to make a special trip.

At this time of night...nothing is open. No one is out.

Except for me.

I didn't tell the whole truth. There are places open at this hour. Down at the sex shop, there's always a light on. I've been coming here for years, long before I was legal. Don't tell anyone.

I find it relaxing.

It's a place to be myself, yanno? I've really gotten to know the girls that work here this shift. They're more my family than my mother really. They're more my everything than anyone.

Really.

Alleson is the short one. She likes alleyways and alley cats, and singin' in the rain. She's a film student. She's had insomnia since she was a junior in high school. That's why she got the job at the sex shop, that, and the employee discounts.

Katie runs in late, as always, out of breath; late for the late shift. She's always got a new girlfriend. They always work some daytime job, when Katie is sleeping or slacking off. She runs late because apparently they have wild sex instead of breakfast and dinner, the only times they're both available.

Katie is an art student, sort of. Her work is excellent, but she sleeps through all her classes. She's only been working at the sex shop about a year now. It's the ideal job for her nocturnal habits. Her other bad habit is knocking over half the displays on the way in.

I help Katie pick everything up while Alley goes in the back to replace the crushed items. I place a blow up doll on its shelf and sit down on a stack of dildos as Katie scoops up the last few items. Yeah, we call them items. I find it so much more suggestive to try to call things by names other than what they are.

"I don't like you sitting on my items, Maggie." Alley says, coming back out front.

Katie defends me: "You're just pissed 'cause no one else will sit on your items, just your dirty alley cat."

"I don't appreciate you calling my pussy dirty, Katie, darling."

As the pale, shifty eyed customer walks in...

That was pretty inaccurate. He sort off shuffled in, I don't know how he even got through the door...he hand no hands...

He wasn't shifty eyed either. Swinging eyed, I would say, one was completely missing; the other hung out of the socket and swung like a pendulum every time the 'man' shifted his weight.

"What the fuck?" Katie said.

"Hrrk." Replied the man.

There was a sound like a leaky faucet. Thick, dark blood dripped from his wrists…stumps. His left foot was on sideways, making for an interesting set of footprints. In the reflection in the store door, I could see into his back, through the hole that his kidneys were hanging out of.

The stench was almost unbearable. Alley retched like her cat with a hair ball. Actually, more like a human about to vomit. Speaking of cats, there was the remains of one hanging from the man’s belt, tied on by the tail. Its head was split open and dripping blood down the leg of the man’s khaki pants. There was fur and blood caked around the man’s lips...

"Is that a fucking Zombie!?"

I'd never seen one before, how would you react? Alley gagged again and threw up on a display. The zombie shuffled to the side again, a vaguely confused look on its face. I guess they're not too bright.

"What do we do?"

Katie was frozen in place, the closest one to the zombie; I'm surprised she was still conscious.

"Katie! Back away slow!" Alley shouted. The zombie tilted his head again. Katie hesitated for a second, and then took a step back…and tripped on a stack of strap-ons.

Katie's arms flapped for a minute trying to keep her balance. I blinked, and suddenly the zombie had her by the arm. Remember, he had no hands; he grabbed her with his teeth.

"Holy shit fuck!" Katie screamed. She continued to fall, dragged the zombie down with her. It landed on top of her, teeth still sunk into her arm. I didn't have time to think. I rushed forward and slammed my heavy boot down into his head.

How much force does it take to crush a human skull? Well, I haven't found a really reliable source, but something like 15 pounds per square inch is what I've been told. Whatever, my combat boots did the job. The zombie’s skull exploded.

Blood and bone fragments sprayed everywhere. Katie was painted by a red mist. A piece of bone landed in her eye. She swore and blinked furiously to get it out. She was probably already in shock. It took a few more minutes for her to notice I accidentally broke her arm too.

Katie passed out. The bones of her forearm passed out too…out of her body...

Alley threw up again.

"Quick! Maggie, run in back and grab the box cutter!"

I rushed back, knocking things over on my way, and slammed through the door to the back of the building where all the stock was kept. The back door was propped open by some boxes. The yellow handled box cutter was on top. I grabbed it without thinking of anything else and ran back to the front of the shop.

I held the box cutter, handle first, out to Alley.

"Here, what do you want this for?"

"You keep it; we need to get that arm off."

The look on my face must have been something awful. Alley laughed sardonically. There was a stain on her shirt where some vomit had dribbled down her front.

"She's been bitten. We need to take her arm off; maybe we can stop her from turning."

"Turning?"

"Yeah, isn't that how this zombie shit usually work?"

I shrugged and extended the blade as much as I could.

Alley closed her eyes, but the sound was too much so she went in the back where she couldn't hear. I'm not squeamish; but it's hard, cutting your friends arm off. I sliced through the last bit of muscle and skin, and tied off the wound with some cloth I tore from one of the 'items'.

"Now. What the fuck. Do I do with this?" I asked myself, holding up the severed arm. The sound of an avalanche and a scream answered me from the back of the store.

I ran back, still holding Katie's former arm, to find all the shelves knocked over and broken cardboard boxes everywhere. Another zombie had his hands around Alley's head and was pulling it towards his mouth. I rammed Katie's broken bones through the zombie's back. He let go of Alley's head and flailing his arms tried to turn around to reach me. The bone stuck straight through his body, exiting out his chest. His attempts to turn just made him lose balance and fall over. I fell too, landing on top of him. Alley crawled out of the way and was curled up in the corner. I let go of the bone, and stood up to drive my boot through a skull for the second time tonight, probably not the last.

It was just as thrilling as the first time the sounds and the feelings, even the smells; skull crushing. I could do it all night and I probably would.

Alley sobbed in the corner, while I just stood there, my pants soaked to the knees, my feet surround by bits of flesh and bone, and sopping up a pool of blood. I guess it was kind of like shell shock. We were pulled out of it to repeated cries of, "Ah fuck, what the fuck, fucking...fuck!"

Katie was conscious again.

We ran into the front of the store to find Katie sitting up in a pool of blood, looking bewildered at her arm, or where it should have been.

"Guys, where the fuck is my arm?" She said it like it was a perfectly normal occurrence to wake up with one less arm. I guess lesbians get up to some pretty great shenanigans at their parties.

"Seriously, Maggie, what the fuck?"

It was honestly hard to keep a straight face.

"It's...uh...in the store room...stuck through the chest of one of them zombies..."

Alley giggled, gagged, and threw up again.

Katie got over losing an arm pretty quickly and took charge of the situation. Apparently she's extremely well educated when it comes to zombies.

"Right, I'm off to Canada, keep it real guys!"

And she ran for the door.
And opened it.
And froze.

The street outside was completely dark, except for cones of light from the street lamps every few yards, although many of them were flickering or not working at all. It was pretty clear to see, however, that the street was packed with zombies.

"Looks like you're stuck here Katie." Alley said between coughs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Right well..."

Katie looked around the room and scratched the stump where we cut off her arm.

"We better block all the entrances so nothing else gets in."

I grabbed a display stand and tugged it loose. Alley grabbed the other side and we dragged it over to the door. Katie started throwing boxes of items against it with her one remaining arm.

"You did close the back door didn't you, Alley?" I asked. I forgot to check after I rescued her from the zombie.

"Uh...maybe...I was kind of busy worrying about my brain..."

Katie ran for the store room.

Alley and I followed Katie into the back, into the mess we left from before. The dead zombie was still there, lying, impaled by Katie's ex arm. Boxes and shelves were broken everywhere. Most of the blood from before was dry now, but there was a fresh pool by the door. The door we came to close.
Except it was already closed.

I guess zombies aren't smart enough to move obstacles, the boxes propping the door open were pushed inside, the upper half of a zombie was crawling across the floor towards Katie, using its arms to drag the rest of its torso along. Its legs were still stuck in the closed door, leaking blood onto the already coated floor. Katie was kicking the crawling torso and running out of reach, having very little effect. I came around behind it and put a boot on its trailing intestines. It jerked to a halt and tried to turn around and see what stopped it. I leapt forward, landing on its head with both booted feet.

The zombie’s skull shattered. Brains and blood and bone sprayed Katie full length. She spit some out of her mouth, wiped her hands on her shirt, ineffectually, and rubbed her eyes.

"Jesus Maggie." She spluttered. "You're enjoying this too much."

I kicked the zombie torso. It flopped to the side a bit.

"Just having fun saving my friends, I’ve not done this much at night since...the last zombie invasion...never."

Alley smirked. Then barred the backdoor and turned back to us, placing her hands on her hips.

"I'm fucking thirsty man." She spat. "Let's see what we can't do about this mess."

The mess she was referring to was not the gore strewn about the sex shop liberally. It'd probably be easier just to paint all the spots that weren't covered with blood red. She meant the mess of getting to the bar across the street, without getting eaten. We needed to arm ourselves, some more literally than others.

We pulled apart the twisted metal shelves to fashion rudimentary melee weapons. Katie took one firmly in her hand, and strapped another tightly to her arm stump. We then went to the front of the store and peered out the window. There was still a mass of undead stumbling of the curbs and walking into poles. We figured it wouldn't be too tough to make the run across the street, so Alley and I pulled down our cheap barricade and unlocked the front door.

I kicked the door. Instead of swinging open like I had planned, the glass just shattered from the impact of my boot.

"Stop trying to be such a bad ass Maggie." Alley said.

Then she pushed the door open with the handle. Katie charged out first, spiked arm stump held before her. Alley and I followed, swing our makeshift weapons.

Katie impaled the first zombie on her spike before clubbing its head off with her other weapon. Alley and I each took down the zombies closest to us, as we all ran for the middle of the street. Zombies all up and down the block turned and started running, crawling, and tripping towards us. Katie shook the corpse off her spike, and stepped into the gutter. Alley swung her club hard and knocked two zombies off the sidewalk, onto their backs in the street. I swung my weapon, catching another nearby zombie in the shoulder, and leapt off the curb. My booted feet land on the two prone zombies, one foot on ones head, other foot on the ones neck. The head exploded and the neck snapped. I kicked the severed head down the street and turned. A wall of zombies was between me and the bar. Alley and Katie stopped a step ahead of me, as zombies closed in from the sides and rear.

"Fuck." Katie swore, and raised her one arm over her head.

The three of us, arranged in a triangle, put our backs together, holding our weapons ready, pointing towards the zombies on all sides. The zombies shuffled forward. I gripped my pitiful weapon tighter, and got ready to swing.
And heard a crash.
And turned to see the zombies toward my left burst into flames.

There was a shout behind me, another crash, and more zombies were engulfed in flames. I turned towards Katie and Alley. They were both looking at me. Then we all looked across the street to the bar.
Over the heads of flaming zombies.

Salvation! Naked chicks armed with Molotov cocktails to our rescue.
The strippers from the bar.
Fucking Deus ex machina.

With a shout of joy, the three of us charged the zombies, clubbing through them to reach the strippers, who were lighting up more cocktails, hurling them into groups of zombies. We ran the gauntlet of flaming undead to the sidewalk, and didn't stop until we were through the bar doors. The strippers lit up the gutter with cheap booze and backed inside after us.

Several zombies managed to make it past the flames and rushed the still open door, but the bartender was covering our escape with a shotgun from the second story window. Buckshot ripped the zombies to shreds. I slammed the door shut and barricaded it with the help of a cute red headed stripper with pierced nipples. I dropped club and shook the sweat off my body.
Katie was already chugging her second beer.
Alley had two naked blondes on her lap and a third was bringing drinks to their corner

The red head handed me a bottle and grinned, nodding towards the back.

I bet Tesla really could do this.

2009-01-13T19:04:00.000-08:00

“That’s so goddamn faggot.”

We say it like it’s a good thing. It is, isn’t it? Better than being straight anyway. Think of it like fishing. In pond A, we have X amount of fish. In Pond B, we have Y amount of fish. If we fish in only Pond A, think of all the excellent Pond B fish we’re missing out on! Why limit yourself to just X or Y, when you can have X+Y?
Anyway, what determines the meaning of the words we use? What determines gender? If I put my check mark in the female box does that make me a girl? If I don’t have an ID card or a birth certificate does that mean I don’t exist? So where were we?

“That’s so goddamn faggot.”

That’s Katie. I’ve just announced my ability to control time. It’s really quiet simple. How do we determine the time? We use clocks of course. So if I change my clock, I’ve changed time.
Look how much time has been wasted on time travel theories involving black holes and nuclear power when the answer was just there attached to your wrist.

Never mind. That’s time easily reclaimed, just turn your clock back.
We do it every year anyway. Daylight savings doesn’t actually extend your day; you just change your clocks and wake up an hour earlier.
Turn your clock back fifteen minutes and your train will always be on time.

Anyway, Katie thinks it’s pretty faggot. While we’re on the subject, contrary to popular belief, we are not sleeping together. It was just that one time. Technically it never happened. We turned our watches back after. Too bad, it would have been the best fuck she’s ever had.

“Where the fuck is my plane?”

I spend too much time playing video games. I had to turn my clock back a whole day so I wouldn’t miss my flight. Of course when I got to the airport there’d been some horrible mistake.

“I’m sorry sir. That flight left yesterday.”

“You’re kidding right? It clearly says on my ticket the flight leaves today. Here, look at my watch, check my calendar, I wrote it down.”

“Sir, that flight was scheduled to leave yesterday evening. You have to wrong day.”

I discover time travel and suddenly the airlines decide to fuck with me by running a day early. Seriously. They skipped from constant tardiness straight past punctual and over to way to fucking early.

“How much does a polar bear weigh?”

A flash of light and she’s tossing her head, flipping beautiful strands of golden hair out of her porcelain face. She fixes me with a hard stare. Her oceanic eyes wash away my weak mental defenses and question my sanity. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly crazy.

”What the hell?”
I’m transfixed by the movement of her lips. I imagine falling. Falling out of a tree, there is one moment when you are filled with the most beautiful feeling. Trees and I-a recipe for disaster. But what a beautiful disaster it is. I scrap my arms and legs, the blood oozes, crimson. Then I wake up and realize that image is horribly wrong. Her lips are a completely different shade.

So there I was, skewered. Skewered like a pig on a spit, waiting for someone to shove an apple in my mouth, as I soak up the juices they come at me with knives. I’m in dozens of pieces, inside dozens of bodies. I imagine that every piece of me is digested. I leak into the bloodstream of dozens of feasters. I leak into their lovers. I spread to their children. Their grandchildren. Now I will live for all time.
Back to the here and now, where/whatever that may be.

“Enough to break the ice.” I answer her with a shy smile.

She laughs with me. Or is she laughing at me? I’m not sure but her teeth are beautiful. Her head is thrown back when she laughs, eyes shut, nostrils flared, mouth open. I see brilliant white canines. Perfect pearly teeth.

My teeth are crooked. I close my mouth. And I keep it that way.

I turn my watch back.

“How much does a polar bear weigh?”

She’s not laughing now.

“Never mind I’ll just Google it.”

She looks confused for a minute, then angry.

“Creep.” She says, and gets up to leave.

I don’t like the word creep. I adjust my watch again.

And she leaves without a word.

Molly is not impressed. We’re at the library and I’m trying to tell her about my awesome new skill.

“I can manipulate time!” I whisper, sort of.

“No, no you can’t.” she says.

A librarian comes over and politely reminds I have a twenty dollar fine so could I please shut up or pay up.

I don’t like being told off.

“Watch this Mollzz.”

I pull out my watch and turn it back. The librarian is back at her desk.

“I can manipulate time!” I whisper, but not really.

“No, no you can’t.” She says patiently.

“We’re having this talk again? Fuck this.” I get up and pull out my watch.

“Watch this.” I say defiantly. I turn the dial. The hands spin. They are spinning clockwise. I am moving forward. I step out of the library and I am all alone.

Oh what a mess.

2009-01-09T18:49:00.000-08:00

So I just sat there, in the passenger seat, absorbing the rumble from the cars still running engine. What else could I do? It’s a Friday night, everyone is out partying or some shit. Everyone but me. I leaned over and turned the key. The engine cut its purring and I flicked on the headlights, illuminating the forest. I tossed my shoes in the back seat and hauled myself out of the car. The clicking of the cooling engine kept time for the chirping crickets and the peepers in the pond somewhere nearby, but just out of sight. The cold mud slurped around my bare feet but I could still feel the heat radiating from the engine on my back. I pushed the lock button in with my thumb and after the car honked securely I slipped the keys into my pocket. I started walking into the woods, away from the headlights. My feet crushed dead leaves and fallen pine needles, my curled toes picked up clumps of moss and earth as I walked between the monstrous grey trunks. The further I got from the car, the dimmer the light got, and the faster I walked. The light faded completely and I ran. I raised one arm in front of my face, a weak attempt to protect myself from the lashes of tree branches and throne bushes; thick vines and thin spiders’ silk. My bare arms were slashed open as I narrowly missed colliding with trees in the dark. A thin branch whipped me in the eye and I blinked back tears, but kept on sprinting into the void. I ignored the rocks and twigs attempting to batter my mud caked feet. I could feel my legs burning and my chest begin to close up, but I ran faster. Laughing breathlessly, I tore of my shirt and tossed it to the winds. Snagged by branches, my shorts ripped; my skin ripped. Thorns tore at my hair; tore like she did. It might not be too late to go back. No, even if I could still see the headlights I wouldn’t go back. I will never turn back. I stumbled across a stream and clumsily leapt over dead logs. Exhausted and filthy, I crashed through the trees and emerged from the forest, falling forward against an embankment. My palms hit the grass and my fingers curled and dug deep, anchoring my collapsing body to the ground, ceasing motion. I rolled over onto my back, looking back into the forest I’d just fled through. A shadow crossed my field of view; an owl, gliding silently into the trees, hunting. The night was silent; I could hear the swish of tiny animals rushing through the grass, trying to find safety. The owl swooped down from his perch. The tall grass nearby shook violently. A small animal cried out, a cry for help.

When I recovered some of my strength, I climbed the embankment. There was a bend in the tracks and a crossing just ahead. When the train came it would have to slow and it did. I ran along the tracks as it approached, then grabbed a hold of a car and pulled myself aboard just before the bend. The train would carry me away, but did I really want to go? As the train increased in speed, I watched the owl swoop into the cone of light cast from the last car; swooping down to pickup another unwilling passenger. I watched it swoop, and then I swooped. Spreading my arms, I left my perch on the top of the last train car.

A cry for help.

Noir.

2009-01-07T14:27:00.000-08:00

It's Not That Hard to Get to.

2009-01-06T17:26:00.000-08:00

It’s not that hard to get to. On level seventeen the streets are still mostly intact. Once you find the building, you’ve got to climb through the busted out windshield of a rusty yellow school bus that’s jammed into an alley. The rear door is locked, even if it wasn’t, the rear bumper is crushed against the wall…there would be nowhere to go if you could get the door open. Instead, you’ve got to climb through the emergency hatch in the roof. It’s long been torn open, peeled back as if someone opened the bus like a tin of beans. There is a dark stain in the aisle from the rain, oil, and sewage that pours through the hatch on a bad day. The bus is squeezed so tightly into the alley; the only way off the roof is up. Crumpled tin cans and soggy newspapers litter the path to the barely supported fire escape. You have to risk it if you want to get to the seventh floor apartment. We’re on the ninth floor, but above seven, the fire escape has been torn right off the side of the building.

Nobody squats in seven. Most of the rooms don’t even have floors. The hall ends about a yard from the apartment door. It’s a six story drop from there. A yard doesn’t seem that much, but there’s no point in jumping it as the door is blocked from the other side. In fact, most of the stairwell is blocked or caved in. If you climb through a splintered hole in the kitchen wall, you end up in a maintenance closest. From there you can access the elevator. Of course the elevator is long defunct, the counterweight and car are both smashed in the basement. The only way up is to climb the rubble and then the service ladder to the top. Using the dangling cables, we swing across the shaft into the hall, landing, outside number nine; our place.

The door dropped off its hinges a long time ago. Somebody probably scavenged the screws, or maybe they just rusted away. The door is lashed in place with belts and wires. It won’t stop anyone who really wants to get in, but most people don’t make it this high. I push through into the apartment. Peeling floral wallpaper lines the hall, almost completely faded. The carpet is also faded threadbare and just plain gone in a lot of places. The first room is inaccessible. The ceiling collapsed, bringing down all three floors above us. Clearing the mess is inconceivable. Besides, Sasha was squatting there when it collapsed. It seemed like a fitting end, her lungs were on the verge of collapse anyway. She loved the room to death and we figured she’d love it in death as well. No point trying to take her away. You get used to the smell eventually.

I skip over the rest of the rooms and head for the living room at the end of the hall. This room contains most of our current lives. Depressing, I know. Not so depressing, it suits us. The picture window is not so picturesque. Expecting to see anything in this city is a joke, expecting to see through intact glass - that’s insane. The empty frames are mostly boarded up. The little light we get down here is filtered through damp cardboard in some places, or nothing at all in most. The dusty gold light falls on a beat up, feather leaking, grey striped mattress. It is shoved against the far wall of the room. Tattered brown blankets form a sort of nest on top, piled up in the corner of the room.

Preening her brilliant red plumage, Maggie, is perched in the center of the nest. She runs her fingers through her long crimson locks, humming to herself. Her small naked round breasts quiver with every slight movement of her slight body. Her white trunk is planted in the blankets and she rises out like a tree in autumn. At least, like I would imagine autumn trees look. We don’t get that kind of fall anymore. She looks up when I come in, flashing green eyes at me, then turns away.

She pulls a leather strap from her nest and lifts her curtain of fine hair to tie it back. As the curtain rises, I get a glimpse of her beautiful shoulders. An astounding performance; they are pure white marble, her shoulder blades jut out like wings on a swan as she moves her arms. My eyes slide like water down her back, down to the scars.

Dark red and pink lines trace a road map over her lower back. A spider’s web of pain and destruction. The flesh here is like armor. Rough and hard enough to deflect all but the strongest blows. The skin crackles and separates as she bends and moves. I’ve followed those roads many times and I will many more. I still don’t know where they go…or where they come from, for that matter.

She pulls the strap tight and the curtain drops again, cutting my audience short. Maggie turns to face me. I hear the crackle of her skin, audible, just below the sound of blankets rustling. I can feel the crackle. I shiver at the sudden chill and toss my satchel against the wall and rub rough palms together. Maggie stands up and the blankets drop off her jagged hips.

She just looks at me for a minute before turning and walking to the chest against the wall where we keep our clothes. We have an abundance of clothes since all the shops on this level were abandoned. She bends over to rummage through the chest. The light from the window reflects off her buttocks that quiver like a deer in the head lights. I’m momentarily blinded and forced to look away, rubbing my eyes. When I turn back Maggie is standing up, holding a large black shirt in one small hand.

I shrug and she laughs gaily, no, sardonically. She tosses her hair and then pulls the shirt over her head. It drops like a shroud, covering her breasts, belly, hips, everything, stopping halfway down her thighs. She strikes a humorless pose; hand on hip; bent leg; head lowered; glaring. I look at her through my finger viewfinder. There is a sudden flash and a bang. The building shakes and a few loose tiles drop out of the ceiling, shattering on the floor. Clouds of black dust rain down on us.

It’s over a second later. Maggie bows, unfazed, I applaud slowly. No fuss, this shit happens all the time.

Maggie loosely pulls on a pair of pants. I walk across the room and pick up my discarded satchel. It’s wet and sticky, like something inside has been leaking, I shouldn’t have thrown it. Maggie looks up from her buttons.

“Did you get my stuff?” she asks.

“Aye.” I say, I reach into the satchel and pull out a half empty quart jug of orange juice. One side is caved in and the cap is missing; I’ve found the source of the leak. I toss the jug to Maggie and she catches it in one hand, splashing orange juice from the open top. Droplets shower her cheeks, her lips, her shirt. The juice is quickly absorbed by her shirt. The drops on her cheeks roll down to her chin like oddly colored tears. A single drop pools on her bottom lip.

She just looks at me, unmoving. I slowly cross the room to stand in front of her. She is only a few inches shorter than I am and her head does not have to tilt back enough to disturb the droplet of juice on her lip. Her free hand nudges mine and our fingers cross and lock. I lower my head, bringing my lips towards hers, just a little tongue peeking through, and suck the drop of juice off her lip.

A grunt from behind me interrupts our moment. Lanky Ian hangs in the doorway, grimacing.

“Dikes.” He mutters, and swaggers into the room. He tugs the jug out of Maggie’s hand and takes a swig of juice. He gurgles it before swallowing, then jams the jug into my hands and stalks out of the room.

I toss my head back and pour the rest of the orange juice into my open mouth. Then, discarding the jug, I lean forward and sloppily kiss Maggie on the mouth. Juice dribbles down our chins as we wrestle with our lips, our bodies swaying on the creaking floorboards, creating a weird soundtrack. We finish, laughing a little, and Maggie, on her toes, lovingly licks up the juice on my neck.

I grasp her buttocks, supporting her weight, as she rests her chin on my shoulder.

Her body feels so warm against mine, at odds with the coolness of the round cheeks I grip. With her pressed into my arms, I almost forget the shithell we’re in. Then she sighs and drops her heels to stand flat on the floor again. My hands slide up, under her shirt, to the scars on her back, and I remember. I remember the mess we’re in. I remember I may as well be holding a walking corpse. She won’t last long at all.