Discoveries

Tina peered through the microscope, her brow furrowing at the sight before her. After several seconds of thinking and pursing her lips, she flipped open her cell phone, and dialed Gregory's number.

He answered on the fourth ring, his voice groggy with sleep. "Hello?"

"Greg, I know that we just broke up a few nights ago, but you're still my lab partner, and you're the only person I can trust with this discovery I just made. I need you to come to the lab right now."

"Right now?" After a brief pause, Greg protested: "Shit, Tina, it's only two o'clock in the morning! I just went to bed half an hour ago, and it's freezing outside..."

"Greg. Please. I wouldn't have called you if it wasn't important."

"This better be fucking important," Greg said, his voice becoming slightly muffled and labored, so that Tina knew he was pulling on a pair of blue jeans.

"It is," she responded. "Thank you, Greg. I know - well, just - thank you."

***Twenty Minutes Later***

"So what is this oh-so-significant discovery you've made?" Greg asked, a gust of cold wind following him into the laboratory and ruffling his hair, the way Tina used to ruffle it as they lay in bed together. "Hello? Earth to Tina..." Greg snapped his fingers, impatient, bringing Tina back to the cold reality in which she now existed, a single girl in her twenties, no longer loved.

"Right. Um..." Tina fumbled for words, retreating towards their lab station.

"Have you been getting any sleep recently?" Greg asked, his brow furrowing. "Tina, you know how you get when you don't get enough sleep."

"I may take longer to put my sentences together, but at least they're not vague and almost incoherent like yours," Tina snapped.

"Listen, I've kind of got to get back to my apartment a.s.a.p., so just tell me what's going on."

"What's the matter? Already have a new girl in your bed?"

"Tina - "

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's none of my business." Tina waved towards the lab station behind her. "Look through the microscope."

Greg complied, resurfacing a minute later and giving her a questioning look.

"I know," Tina said. "I've never seen the molecular structure before. It's literally a new leaf. That color, and - "

"Tina," Greg said, his eyebrows coming together and making him a Cyclops.

"I mean, A NEW LEAF! I think we both know what that means, Greg..."

"Yeah, I think we both know what this means," Greg agreed.

"It's a sign. The apocalypse is impending. The years match up with Nostradamus predictions, and... That color...it's so disturbing." Tina put her hands to her head, retreating until she bumped into the coat hooks behind her. Her purse fell to the floor, the glint of metal catching her eye.

"Tina, I'm so sorry..." Greg said, walking after her, holding out his arms to embrace her.

Tina didn't want to be embraced. She didn't want to have to worry about the end of the world as they knew it. "I feel fine," she said, quickly retrieving the handgun from her purse, putting it in her mouth, and pulling the trigger.

Greg stood in place, shocked. Brains and blood spattered the wall before which, until a few seconds ago, Tina had stood, alive. Looking back at the microscope, Greg whispered, "It's fall, Tina. It's just an orange-red leaf." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dialed the campus police, and hoped that Amy would still be in his bed when he got home.

A Bump in the Night

Sarah gasped and sat straight up in bed. Like many of her dreams, she could not retain this one. She only knew that it had been a nightmare, that goosebumps littered her arms, that she didn't want to move, and that she really had to pee.

She remained motionless for several moments, debating the necessity of going to the restroom as opposed to causing bladder damage, and then thought to herself, This is ridiculous. You're not five - get out of bed and go to the bathroom. A light breeze fluttered through the window she didn't remember having opened, and Sarah shivered. And grab a robe so you don't freeze on the way.

Lowering her hand to the floor beside the bed, Sarah's fingers grasped the warm fleece of her blue bathrobe. Before she had time to pull the robe up, however, a charred hand abruptly reached out from beneath her bed and gripped her arm, searing her flesh...

Sarah gasped and sat straight up in bed. Like many of her dreams, she could not retain this one. The image of a blue bathrobe she didn't own was prominent in her mind, goosebumps littered her arms, she didn't want to move, and she had to pee. Badly.

She remained motionless for several moments, debating the necessity of going to the restroom as opposed to causing bladder damage, and then said, "What, do you think the Bogeyman's going to grab you or something if you step off of the bed?" Her voice was loud and harsh in the dark silence of the house.

Swinging her legs off of the bed, Sarah was walking towards the door when the trunk she had forgotten about moving to the foot of her bed attacked her shin. "Ow!" she cried, and then bit her lip. She didn't want to wake her family. So she suffered in silence as she hobbled through her bedroom door, down the hallway, and into the bathroom.

The next morning, as she sat at the table eating toast, her mother came into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. "What," she asked, pointing at Sarah's right leg, "is that?"

On Sarah's shin, a large, raised purple and blue bruise was prominent and painful to touch. "That," Sarah replied, "is my bump in the night."

Her mother didn't seem to think her pun funny.

A Story in Dialogue

"What's with the cheese?"

"Well, you know that guy I like?"

"Brandon?"

"Yeah. I want to lure him to me, so I'm setting my trap."

"Elaine, he's not a mouse."

"I know - though he does that thing with his nose."

"He still doesn't look like a mouse - his face is the wrong shape. He looks more like a chipmunk, with those chubby cheeks. So, what's with the cheese?"

"What? Chipmunks don't like cheese?"

"Elaine, he's not a chipmunk! And I think they eat acorns or something."

"Those are squirrels. And I know he's not a chipmunk. But everyone likes cheese."

"I'm still not seeing how this trap is supposed to work."

"Oh, I invited him over for a 'study break.'"

"Did you use those air quotes when you asked him over?"

"No. He's going to be here in about fifteen minutes, though, so you should probably go."

"Elaine, do you really think presenting a plate of cheese and crackers is going to make some guy fall head over heels for you?"

"I didn't say anything about crackers."

"Semantics."

"And I didn't say what he was going to eat the cheese off of."

"Okay, I admit it, that trap might work."

The Mermaid

Blue-green, aquamarine water

sifts and coils

in its’ own intricate dance

that I have no choice but to follow,

my tail entranced and constantly moving.

I tire

of the incessant journey,

and my voice often warbles

as it drifts in the air,

luring sailors to lean over the sides

of those small wooden vessels

in which they expect to safely traverse the ocean,

all too often falling over,

into the water they realize

too late

they don’t want to be a part of.

I don’t pity them.

They had a choice,

and they chose to make the ocean

a large part of their life,

rather than using spindly legs

to run from the life-sucking water

as quickly as they can,

breathing in gulps

and gulps

of thin, largely salt-less oxygen.

My weariness remains –

I have no options –

yet I am strengthened –

through anger –

with humans

who have the chance to do almost anything,

and far too often,

do nothing at all.

A la mode

For a guy, it is as American as apple pie to lose your virginity at sixteen. This is when all of my friends did - relating the fulfillment of a long-term relationship or drunken luck at a large party to me the following day.

So here I am, seventeen, the only one of my friends to retain the purity valued in women and scorned in men.

I guess my problem is that I don't have females figured out yet. I'm a nice guy. Or, at least, I'm not an asshole. Yet when I work up the courage to ask a girl out, she tends to be busy. A smile and a half-hearted apology should lessen the blow of rejection though, right?

I'm too old to be a virgin. So, since I'm not charming/asshole/nice/Robert Pattinson clone enough to seduce my peers, it is time for more drastic measures.

* * * *

"Room 13? Are you serious?" I ask. Not that I'm superstitious, but it doesn't indicate a long, fulfilling sex life, to lose one's virginity in a motel room of an unlucky number. "I thought motels skipped 13."

"Relax, kid,"Trixie says, fidgeting with her shiny gold top. With a name like Trixie, which she assures me is her real name, no matter how many times I ask, a person has to wonder if her parents foresaw what her career would be. "It's just a room. It doesn't mean anything."

I have to wonder, for a second, if Trixie maliciously picked room 13 to screw with me because I'm just a kid. Then I realize I'm paying her to screw with me, so if she does it in the figurative sense as well, I'm probably getting double my money's worth. We walk to room 13.

It's not really that different from the more expensive hotel rooms I've shared in the past with my parents and younger sister. The carpet's a little more worn, the television's a little older, the bedspread's a weird brownish-purple color.

Trixie leans forward to kiss me, and I feel nervous, suddenly - even though this is what I want. "So, how did you lose your virginity?" I ask her.

She raises her eyebrows. "You do realize you're paying me by the hour, right?"

"Well, yeah. But it's just - too weird, to lose 'it' to some chick I don't even know."

"Okay. If you must know - I was raped. Under a stairwell during a school assembly. Other students were cheering while a guy I knew took advantage of the fact that they wouldn't notice my screams."

"Really?" I ask.

"Nah. I lifted that story from a movie," she says, smiling. "Do you mind if I smoke?" I shake my head. She lifts a slender white cigarette to her mouth, lights, and inhales deeply. "What does it matter where I lost my virginity, or who I am? You know where I end up, so it's not a happy story."

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not. If I didn't have an unhappy story, you wouldn't be about to get laid."

I nod my head. She's right.

"So - are we done with this 'getting to know you' shit?" she asks, placing her purse on a square table to the left of the door.

I take a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm ready."

She kisses me, with firm pressure, with her soft mouth, and I taste the smoke that lingers in her mouth.

* * * *

"So, kid, do you feel different?" Trixie asks.

"I'm not a kid," I answer.

"Sex doesn't make you a man," Trixie says, lighting another cigarette.

"I know." I find my pants on the floor, and retrieve my wallet. As I count out the proper number of bills, I say, "I do feel different. Not grown up, but...okay with myself."

"That's good, kid. Let's hope it's not just afterglow." She takes the money from my outstretched hand and walks out of the motel room.

The room's still paid for a half-hour. I turn on the television, and sit against the headrest of the bed.

*This story is a piece written in response to the kt literary blog. I hope you enjoyed it.