Cbeppa's Freelance Writing Blog

20150802

Ultramaryne: Chapter 7.5

Watching Cinema Sins is not good if you are working on a creative project. It makes one feel anxious... what have I missed...?

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20150726

One of those cheap, made-in-Taiwan fans whirred tiredly, moving a feeble current of air around my dusty office. My small window was shut to keep the flies out, but despite the precaution, four of them bumped torpidly against it and one was trying to sneak into my can of Diet Pepsi. I think they crawl through the cracks in the plank walls of the building.

Even though it's been years now, I can remember so many minute details of that day.

Jesse knocked at my half open door, causing me to look up, relived, from my endless stack of paperwork. My job, both then and now, is to review loan requests for the small company I work for, Kraals Nosh Incorporated. Normally, it's really boring job, but in the past, I would go with Jesse for inquiries, where we would go to people's houses and talk about their unpaid loans. I tagged along because it was a welcome break from my office chair.

This was the last day I'd ever go on an inquiry.

“We have some people holding out in the Cacti District,” Jesse told me. “Care to come along, Eponine?” Jesse had been a loan collector for years. He's an expert.

“Man, I'm glad you asked!” I said, surging out of my chair with some difficulty. I had been reading convoluted formal papers and receipts for hours and was ready for a break.

Then I remembered Enkai and Anemoni. They were four and eight at the time. “Will we get back before three?” I asked Jesse. “I'd like to get home before my kids.”

“I doubt this'll take an hour,” Jesse reassured me, putting on a pair of sunglasses before stepping outside into the blistering California sunlight. We headed over to Jesse's old red Toyota pickup. I swept a few empty cans of Arizona tea off of the passenger seat and wedged myself into the cab.

The Cacti District was about fifteen minutes away. It was a housing development that never really took off, out by the old deserted Walmart, and the closest part of town to the biotechnology lab. I don't think anyone lives there anymore. It wasn't thriving, even back then.

Jesse and I hopped out of the pickup, both of our company t-shirts soaked with sweat. It was an abnormally hot day. I headed straight for the outdated tan trailerhouse we had come to visit, but I only got a few feet before Jesse yelled, “Eponine, hey! You forgot your vest.”

I sighed the same sigh that Anemoni gives me when I tell her to pick up her My Little Ponies – loud, dramatic, and highly immature. The vest was the one thing I disliked – okay, despised – about the inquiries. Slowly, I plodded back.

“Now I know you don't like it,” Jesse chided me like a caring parent, “but safety is very important, Eponine.” Sweat was dripping from his curly brown hair into his eyes, yet he was wearing his heavy, bulletproof vest and holding another one patiently out to me. That guy was dedicated to his job.

I squished my arms into the too-small holes of the vest, then tried to buckle the black, sweltering, nasty thing in front of me, but it refused to fasten over my belly. I worked at it for at least five minutes, feeling extremely self-conscious.

Finally, Jesse said, “I don't think it's going to fit today. Why don't you sit this one out? I'll turn the air conditioning way up in the truck.”

“No, I'll just leave it unstrapped,” I answered stubbornly. “If someone pulls out a gun, I'll be running anyway. I just need to have my back covered,” I laughed. Jesse frowned, but allowed me to walk to the screen door with him.

“Kraals Nosh Incorporated,” Jesse announced clearly, and knocked politely but firmly. “We would like to speak with you about a loan.”

The door opened promptly, which was a first in my limited experience. People were usually not eager to talk about unpaid loans, and most of the time, our clients would pretend not to be home. The man framed in the doorway was thin and slightly balding, with thick glasses. I could hear a barely-operating air conditioner going full-blast inside.

The man smiled apologetically. “Hello, I'm glad you got in touch with me. I tried calling your offices earlier today, but nobody was answering the phone. Would you like to come in? I have lemonade. Did you hear? They say it's supposed to be one hundred-thirteen today...” The man's voice faded as he vanished into the decrepit trailer.

Jesse and I exchanged surprised glances. This guy wasn't like our normal clientele. He wasn't acting furtive or defensive at all, which seemed to make Jesse nervous. He hesitated for a moment outside the door.

“It's hot,” I whined, and walked inside.

“Sorry about the mess,” the guy called as Jesse shut the door behind us. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust, but when they did, I took a startled step back. The houses we visited were never in pristine condition, but this was positively vile. You'd have to burn it down and rebuild it to get it clean. Sticky food wrappers were strewn around, along with large pieces of randomly placed, decaying furniture. The place reeked of mold, cigarettes, and cat urine.

“Please, sit wherever you'd like,” the guy said as he returned, carrying two Dixie cups of lemonade.

“We'll only be a moment,” I said quickly, giving the couch a distrustful glance.

“We're here to talk about an overdue loan,” Jesse said, holding out a sheet of paper. “It's been four months since you last made a payment on your loan, which comes to $8,974.64, not including interest, Mr. Jones.”

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about,” Mr. Jones smiled sincerely. “I have been working a part-time job – I've applied for a second – and my wife, Heidi, is looking for work, but with her poor health, and all of our credit card debt, and our little girl, and the economy...” Little did Mr. Jones know that Jesse and I had heard this story – with variations – hundreds of times. Usually, it was the truth. He finished in the expected way : “...we just need a little more time to sort things out. Just one more month... or so.”

“Our company wants you to get out of debt as much as you do,” Jesse answered, “but it has been a really long time since you sent any money. Maybe try to set a little aside each week -”

“Honey?” A strained, nervous voice creaked from the dark, sordid depths of the trailer. "Who is it, hon?"

"Just the loan people, sweetie. You can go back to bed." Mr. Jones smiled tightly. "My wife has a medical condition," he told Jesse and I, "it's the main reason she hasn't found a job yet."

"Loan... people...?" The female voice sounded stronger now, more malevolent.

"Sweetie, really, you should get back to bed." Mr. Jones edged toward the narrow, windowless hallway. Though it was one hundred-thirteen out, I felt cold seep through my body when I heard stumbling steps nearing the living room.

When Mrs. Jones entered the room, the gun was not the first thing I noticed. She had wavy, gray-brown hair tied into a messy bun, and her gaunt face was tense and irrationally angry. It was only when she raised her arm that I noticed she was holding a 9mm, and it was pointined straight at me.

"Heidi, just-" Mr. Jones spoke calmly and firmly, but as she tightened her grip on the trigger, he shouted, "No!" and lunged at her.

It was a terrible mistake on his part, but fortunate for me. The gun went off – BAM! - spackling the close room with bits of Mr. Jones' shoulder.

After the shot there was a moment of silence as we all stood there, eardrums burning from the report. I dropped my cup. It rolled around on the floor, spewing lemonade, the cool, refreshing beverage mixing with the hot blood from Mr. Jones' injury.

After a moment, Mrs. Jones threw the gun across the living room and retired to her bedroom. Mr. Jones whimpered for a moment on the floor, staring at his wound in shock, then fainted.

I turned to Jesse, numb with the shock of what I'd just seen. "We need to call the hospital," I finally gasped.

"I'm on it," Jesse agreed, and headed to the kitchen for the phone. I was trying to stop the bleeding with a dirty bath towel when the front door opened.

"Mom...? Dad!" A little girl stood in the doorway, holding a Hello Kitty backpack. She stared into the room, but didn't move toward Mr. Jones.

Jesse returned from the kitchen and took a turn watching the injured man while I called Child Services, then I led the little girl out to the porch. We sat there and waited. It was way past three o'clock. I hoped Enkai and Anemoni would be okay all by themselves. This wasn't one of the scenarios I had considered when I decided to become a single mother. I had never thought, what will I do if I can't cook supper because I'm trying to save a man from bleeding to death, attempting to comfort his daughter, and simultaneously praying his wife doesn't come out of that bedroom with another weapon?

The ambulance arrived, followed by several cop cars and a fire engine. They always bring the fire engine along, even when there isn't a fire, which strikes me as odd every time.

The sun was setting when Jesse and I finally got out of that place. It was five when I finally dragged myself up our front steps, exhausted from the spent adrenaline rush. I opened our screen door.

Anemoni was sitting at the table, crying. There were potatoes splattered all over the table and part of the wall, and Enkai looked close to tears himself. I noticed that although I remembered him leaving for school with bangs, the front of his hair was now cropped close to his head.

“Well,” I said, smiling wanly, “what have you two been up to?”

“I tried to cook mashed potatoes but they aren't like yours, they're all sloppy, and Amenomi won't eat them, and she won't stop crying and we didn't know where you were, and I caught my hair in the mixer and had to cut a lot of it off, and-”

I hugged both of them. “It's okay. I guess we all had a rough day.”

“What happened at work?” Enkai asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I answered quickly. “Just kind of hectic. I love you guys.”

20150719

Ultamaryne: Chapter 7

Too bad my scans look so grainy compared to the original drawings.
How have you all been doing?
Thanks for reading!
~*

20150713

Ultramaryne: Short Story 2

Hey, I'm going to a thing and haven't had the time to put text on the new pages, so here is another short story! Enjoy!

Just Being Herself

amnia: OMG

Romania lay sprawled on her fluffy purple comforter, her silky, princess-pink pajamas hanging loosely around her meticulously diet-sculpted body. Before she replied to her best friend's text, she wrapped her dripping naturally-blond hair in a towel. This was her favorite towel, part of a set she had received on her birthday. It featured all five members of her favorite band, One Dimension.

After securing her hair, she typed back to Amnia,

romania: what is it?

amnia: that goth guy was staring at u in the cafe. I think he might like u!

romania: lol no he doesn't

mari: OMGGG!

Oh, no, Romania thought. Her thin fingers tightened anxiously around her phone. Please don't get into this! Mari, Romania's little sister, was also friends with Amnia. This caused quite a bit of tension.

mari: I totally saw you talking to him!!! his name is skintight and she went over and they were talking and he was saying weird emo stuff. it was after you left, amnia.

amnia: lol, really?

Romania sighed. This was unfolding exactly the way she had known it would, with her annoying sister blabbing away and Amnia going along politely. She glanced up at one of the many One Dimension posters spackling her walls. How should I handle this? she implored Big Hair, her favorite band member. He only smiled his adorable laminated smile. If only she could forget about Syntyche and the 'weird emo stuff' he had been saying. I can't think of anything we went over in chemistry today, but I can remember what that loner said word for word. Pathetic. All right, time to clear this up.

romania: ok, for one, his name is Synth he, not Skin Tight.

romania: *Synth he

romania: omg S.Y.N.T.Y.C.H.E. idiot autocorrect.

romania: and two, he doesn't believe in labels like emo or goth. three, I totally don't like him. I was just being nice because he's unpopular, like Sunrise. hey, speaking of her, she is like SO big lately.

Romania attempted to change the subject, then tried to relax as she waited for the results. Normally, she enjoyed drama, but right now her reputation was at stake. Sorry, Sunrise, she apologized mentally.

mari: YA, SKINTIGHT COULD HIDE IN 1 OF HER FAT ROLLS!! haha since when do u like skinny boys, romania?!

amnia: lol lets talk about something else.

Amnia could usually negotiate between the sisters. They had been friends for years.

romania: thx amnia <3

Maybe now we can talk about something less sensitive. Romania glanced at her bedside table where she could see, among countless other objects, her favorite bottle of hot pink nail polish. Should she do her fingernails? Last time she had tried while texting, the polish had spilled on her phone, settling in between the buttons like bubblegum-colored glue. I'll be more careful this time, she decided.

mari: IM NOT LETTING THIS GO!!!

“Ugh!” Romania faceplanted into her blanket. “Come on, Mari.” She shouldn't have let her guard down so soon. Mari was tenacious, and teasing Romania about boys she didn't like was her forte. And Romania had absolutely zero interest in Syntyche. Sure, she might secretly admire his dark sense of fashion, but some of his remarks made her feel vaguely unsettled. Like that thing he said this afternoon... bizarre...

mari: srry sis but theres no way he's into u. Have u seen his hair and colored contacts?!!

romania: pink is everyones color! Knock it off!!!

mari: the only reason he was talking to u was because he wants to know how u do ur makeup so well.

amnia: ok mari I think ur bugging her

mari: hold on im calling u right now

She's calling Amnia? What's Mari thinking? Romania's skin prickled into goosebumps. Is this intuition? Paranoia? Or maybe the air conditioner is set too low...

The door to Romania's room burst open, slamming into the wall, and by association, Big Hair's poster that was taped to it.

“Tell it all! Tell it all!!” Mari cried, holding her phone in front of Romania's face. “Confess!” Mari had a vile grin plastered on her little face. Most of her short red (unnaturally red) hair had escaped her Just Teen Beaver towel. She looked truly evil.

“I. Despise. You.” Romania growled. She contorted her normally elegant features into a feral grimace.

“Mooom!” Mari screamed, “Romania is yelling at me!”

Romania grabbed the nearest object – her ceramic paisley piggy bank – and threw it at Mari with all her strength, but her gracefully slender arm was not especially functional. The bank hit the doorframe and bounced onto the floor, shattering in an explosion of plaster and pennies.

Mari's face glowed like a strobe light. She winked at Romania, then burst into grievous bawling. Romania heard their mom bounding up the stairs. She was surprisingly agile, considering her foot problems from years of wearing high heels.

“What's going on?” she asked, then looked around and took in Romania's scowling face, Mari's sobbing one, and the decimated piggy bank. Everything was immediately clear to her. “Ro-mania! I can't be-lieve you would do this! Mari, honey, look at me. Look! At! Me! Do you feel dizzy?”

Mari nodded and tried to look as spaced-out as possible. “Oh, Lord, Mari! Come downstairs and I'll get you an icepack.” The two left, and a moment later Romania could hear her mother's voice as it tremored through the heating vent. “Gregory, honey, you have to talk to Romania! She's always been selfish about her room, but this...! Oh, Gregory!”

Romania didn't wait to hear her father's familiar bored response. Instead, she kicked a pillow onto the vent and sulked in the ensuing silence. Then her phone dinged.

amnia: hey sorry abt mari. Sometimes she just does stupid stuff without thinking.

amnia: r u in trouble?

romania: no not really.

amnia: now that she's gone tho... what did Synth he say 2 u?

romania: look im really tired lol

amnia: ok ni night

romania: goodnight

Romania lay back on her bed and turned off her lamp. A slightly flickering rectangle of light shone from across the street, illuminating her fifth-favorite poster of Big Hair. Sadly, his dimpled face didn't cheer her up like it normally did. In fact, for a fleeting instant, she realized that her One Dimension shrine was only a collection of ink dots on paper arranged to look like teenage boys. The thought unsettled her and she tried to banish it immediately. Her collection represented her devotion to the band, and someday, they would notice.

She reached for her MP3 player, but her hand gradually slowed down until her fingers were just an inch away from the device. Did she really want to listen to music? Or was she just trying to push her disturbing... maybe even true... thoughts out of her head?

Before she could suppress them, Syntyche's creepy words were sounding in her ears. “So, Romania, at the end of your day, when your consciousness isn't being bombarded with the babbling of your shallow friends or your brainless boyband or your constant daily drama, what is in your head? What do you think about when you're lying in bed waiting to go to sleep? Who are you... when you're just yourself?”

Romania grabbed her earphones and ground them deep into her ears, then turned the volume all the way up.

romania: lol actually lets talk

amnia: what abt?

romania: anything.

Oh, and a poster: