A Man with a Backpack

There was a kid watching me form over on the other side of the shop. It was making me feel uncomfortable. The kind of feeling that you get when there is a guy yelling up and down the street, and when he gets to be near you he stops and stares at you. Usually he goes back to screaming, but that electric moment where eye contact is made, and you're not quite sure if the guy is going to throw a punch at you, and time stops as you wait for him to make a decision. That was the kind of feeling this little kid was giving me.

I guess he worked there, and I guess maybe I made him feel off. I make a lot of people feel off. I'm an off kind of guy. I'm not that big, and I'm not that small. I'm the kind of guy that when you look at me, you don't quite know how well I'm going to hold up in a fight. I'd either do really well, or very poorly.

Most people, in an every day fashion, assume the former. This kid didn't.

I wear a lot of layers, and I carry a backpack. It's important that I carry the backpack at all times because a lot of people are thieves in this world. Which is why I didn't obey the sign to check in my backpack at the door. Too many times I've had to replace my backpack for one reason or another. And I just got this one not too long ago. I wasn't about to lose it.

“Sir, if you don't put your backpack behind the desk. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” Ah, the kid, from behind me no less. Hoping to get a startle out of me. As if I didn't know where he was at every moment since I walked in the store.

“My money no good here?” I turned around and put my rough and scratched hands up for him to see.

“We don't allow people to walk around the shop with back packs. Too many people steal.” He took a step forward. Kid was tall, at least six three, he was trying to stand over me. Very intimidating.

“You're telling me. I was in a shop just last week, and I checked it in. And you wouldn't believe it. But somebody stole my backpack.” I took a step to meet him. “In fact, I think I was in a store almost exactly like this one. With some punk kid just like you in it when it happened. Except, I saw the kid steal it. And so I waited, and I followed him. I followed him to an alley a couple of blocks from here, I watched him meet up with a guy, and I saw this kid give him not just my backpack, but about ten others.”

The kid took a step back, sweat was beading down his brow.

“See I figured it out, the kid must steal one every two or three days, usually the ones that look full, and then he gives em to a guy once every two weeks. They both get paid. A little extra money on the side, nothing fancy. A good deal. Such a good deal I decided to follow the guy who had my backpack. I followed him to a little storage area, and that little storage area was filled with backpacks. Now, being a reasonable guy, and it being such a good scam, I asked him if I could get in on the action. He said no. But as you can see, I did get to leave with this brand new backpack.”

I took off my backpack and showed it to him. It was a little dirty, it had a big red stain on it.

“Well, new to me.”

Half Man

In his heart, there lacked the correct amount of devotion.

It was a problem, not just for himself, but for those around him. Mostly for those that loved him. Especially for those that loved him romantically.

He argued often and repetatively, never budging in his stance that "There is something to be said for going someplace half way, and then turning around and remaining exactly where you were." or that "Sometimes thinking about a taking a step, is just as satisfying as walking, without all the sweat."

He could only do things fully, it seemed, if they were done halfheartedly or absentmindedly. This is how he was able to argue the justification for his glutenous appetite or enjoyment of orgasms.

In his honor, the story stops here.

Worm Music.

There was a lingering hue of confusion in the air. The room was filled with people causally making faces, the kind of faces people make when they smell a really bad fart in a large public space.

Except no one had farted this time. This time it was her doing, and she knew it.

It wasn't that she wasn't talented. She was a great musician. Fantastic in fact. No one could deny that she might be one of the most talented musicians to have ever lived.

She even had that reputation. Her reputation was probably what set off the crowds confusion. It wasn't her talent. It was her lyrics.

Her lyrics were, in a nut shell; disturbing. Very disturbing.

Not in a way that punk or punk-rockers, or punkers, or medal-heads might enjoy. Not that kind of disturbing.

She had a disturbance that made it feel as if the song and the lyrics were going into your skin like tiny little worms. And then they wriggled about your whole body for the duration of the song. But when the song was over. You could still feel the worms in your skin. They didn't go away. They just stopped moving.

In fact, when you went home after her concert. You learned to love the feeling of the little worms inside your body, even though there were no worms. The feeling of them never left you, for as long as you lived. But if you played a recording of her music, they would dance again inside your body. They would dance, but not in the same way that they did that first time. That only happened if you saw her live more than once.

Eventually, people got sick of the tiny wriggles from recordings. And needed the full blown experience. It became so much of a frenzy to see her live. That she stopped playing live shows.

There was mass hysteria, and a hunt to kidnap her and force her to play live became the worlds priority. Eventually one of her own body guards killed her, accidentally while trying to force her to play the piano. The details were vague.

When she died. The worm feeling disappeared in everyone. And everyone in the world all felt really sad.

Fair.

People were beginning to stare.

I couldn't blame them, we were clearly giving them something to stare at. Well, okay, I was giving them something to stare at. You were lying there dead. But whose fault was that? Well, okay...

It was mine.

I would like it if you could take a little bit of responsibility for your actions too, I guess you can't though. I already made you. By killing you, with a knife. In the middle of a street.

Not the best way to go, I'll admit. And maybe you deserved better, maybe a lot of people deserve a lot better, but that doesn't stop them from getting a whole lot worse than what you got.

 So, you know, there's that.

For the record buddy, I didn't want to have to kill you. And I think that we can agree that forgiving and forgetting was not an option. Well, I suppose I could have forgiven and forgotten. I could have, but I didn't. And just because I could have done something, doesn't mean that I have to do it. So I chose not to forgive and forget. I chose to stab you in the throat with a kitchen knife. And you deserved it. Allow me to remind you.

I was sitting in my apartment, and we were watching TV, when you knocked on the door. Oh! Hi neighbor! How are you doing today? What's that? You're taking your dog for a walk? And you want to take my dog for a walk too? What a nice favor! You remembered that I had hurt my leg the other day and you thought it would be nice to take my dog for a walk for me, that's so nice!

So you took it for a walk and you let it off it's leash. And it went running. And it died. Because it got hit by a fucking car.

You killed it.

The worst part is, you wouldn't even replace it. I mean, I wasn't overly attached to the fucking thing. But come on man, a life for a life. I asked you to replace the dog. You didn't. So now you're dead.

I think that's fair.

A House on a Hill.

"Let's sneak into that house over there!" She said.

"No!" He said

"Shhh, you don't want to wake people up." She said.

"We should just go home and hang out." He said.

"If we sneak into the house, I'll let you touch my boobs." She said.

"Okay." He said.

So the two kids ran up in the middle of the night, towards the house that no one lived in.

The house wasn't old, and it wasn't new. It was just a basic house on the top of a hill. And while no one lived in it, that wasn't exactly uncommon in the neighborhood. The only thing that was odd about this house was that it was at the top of a hill, all by itself. It was a strange thing for someone to build a house on the top a hill all alone in their town. And then disappear (as far as the kids knew) within a year.

Naturally, it was assumed the thing was haunted. And that the guy that built it had sacrificed his family to the devil. And the boy running up the hill assumed that the guy, after killing his family, went off to another town, to start another life, and build another house, on top of a hill just like this one.

He really didn't want to go up the hill. But he really wanted to touch and kiss the girl.

So he kept running up the hill with her.

She was running slower than she normally would, because the boy was a little chubby and out of shape. But she liked his heart. There are people like that in this world. People that are daring, bold, kind and courageous. Curious to try everything, never fooled by the flash of society. Constantly in awe of the spirit of the world. That was this girl.

She wanted to see if the house was haunted. Because it would add to the magic of her perception of the world. She was beginning to realize that as time went on, and the closer she came to becoming an adult. The more that the magic of her life was getting sucked out of her.

The boy wanted magic too, but to her, the boy was magic. He was smart, but simple. Always had a smile on his face, as if breathing in air was special enough for him. A simple, pure love of life and the world around him. Innocent, more innocent than her. He didn't understand how she knew the things that she knew.

She knew them, because she didn't have innocent blinders with what she saw. She was mature. And it was because of her maturity, that she needed to see magic in the world.

They finally got to the top of the hill. The boy was panting, and becoming self conscious of his sweating. Luckily his older brother had told him to take tissues in his pocket. He discretely wiped his hands and face off with the tissue. If she noticed, she didn't let him know.

They held hands. And they walked up to the front door. Now that they were level with the house, they could see that the front door of the house, in the moonlight, looked deep purple. And the door handle was gold. It looked like a special door. Which put it especially out of place, since the rest siding of the house was the generic grey paneling. Like every other house in town.

The girl grabbed the handle. And turned it. It wasn't locked.

The door didn't creak. It didn't squeak. It didn't anything. That made it worse for the boy. The door was supposed to make a creepy noise. The fact that it didn't made him feel even worse. He squeezed the girls hand.

She looked at him. He looked at her. They walked into the house, together, hand in hand.

There was nothing in the front living room of the house. Just a bare hardwood flooring. Not very dusty. No furniture. Nothing creepy other than the blue moonlight shining in through the window.

"Upstairs or downstairs?" She said.

"Upstairs" He said.

"Okay."

The reasons for his choice were two: Possibility of a bed upstairs was greater, and when did anything good ever happen in an abandoned basement?

They found the stairs that led to the second floor. There was a hallway with four doors. Two on the right, two on the left. As they got to the top. The door on the far left, creaked open. Slowly.

"You want to go in to that room, don't you?" He said.

"Yes." She said.

"Why?" He said.

"I guess I need to." She said.

"Okay." He said.

His hands were sweating and so were hers, it was uncomfortable, but neither were about to let go. As each step they took. The door seemed to creak a little more loudly, and a little faster.

There was a bed in the room. Must have been white, but it was glowing with a blue aura around it. Must have been from the moonlight.

She took him slowly to the bed.

"We can do it here." She said.

"Okay" He said.

They kissed, and it was awkward. And wonderful. As he got more used to the idea, he loosened up. They started to enjoy themselves. They laid down on the bed together.

She let him slowly take off her top, and she took off his shirt. They were kissing and giggling. Never saying a word. He thought he heard something. But it didn't matter. This was bliss.

There was something wrong about this room though. He couldn't quite place it. That's when she started coughing. As if something were trying to spurt from her mouth.

The door slammed shut, and he couldn't move off the bed. She wouldn't stop coughing. And that's when he noticed.

There was no window in the room.