An Historic Wall

Standing in the en suite bathroom detangling her hair, Sarah calls out to the man laying on her bed still trying to catch his breath.

– “Honey? That wall between our houses, don’t you think we should tear it down? It’s just so ridiculous you having to go all that way down to where our roads meet to get here.”

– “Tear it down? Oh I don’t know,” he replied. “Maybe just punch a hole and make a gate in it. We won’t live like this forever, after all, and whoever moves in next, to either of these houses, might not get along quite as well as we do.”

– “Oh, I’m sure they wouldn’t,” she replies with a laugh, returning to the bed to get her hair tangled up all over again. “I don’t think anybody could.”

Their houses were almost back to back, with only about six yards distance between the buildings. The back doors could have provided them with easy access to each others’ homes, safe from the prying eyes of their seriously nosy and gossipy neighbors. Right in the middle of that six yards, though, there was a brick wall too high to climb over.

It was a strange wall. None of the neighbors had anything like it. It was built from red brick, while the houses were of wood. It ran a straight line the exact length of their lots. Its sole purpose seemed to be to separate these two houses from each other, yet it had already stood there a century before the neighborhood was built.

Getting permission from the zoning commission to put a gate in the wall was a nightmare. Two months into the process, they regretted not having just punched that hole in the middle of the night,put in a gate, and asked for permission later. Six months into a debate on the historical significance of a wall originally built in the middle of nowhere, they wished they’d dynamited the whole thing.

As for keeping things quiet from the nosy neighbors, well, no hope of that. Every single person in the neighborhood had to be asked their opinion on putting a gate into that “historic wall” between their two houses. Fortunately by this time, their respective divorces had come through, and it was no longer quite so imperative to keep their relationship a secret.

Their romance had nothing to do with why their marriages had fallen apart. In fact, they’d never even looked at each other twice until after the divorces had been applied for. Neither of them wanted to give any food for the gossip mill, though. And neither wanted to be falsely accused of adultery until the divorce settlements were final. And so they had snuck around at night to avoid their neighbors’ prying eyes. And so they had come up with the gate in the first place.

By the time the permission came, they were already looking for a house where they could live together. By now, the gate had more symbolic meaning than actual practical importance. They would not be needing it long. Yet victory over the zoning commission, and over the worst history nuts in neighborhood, was something to celebrate.

They hired a good construction company to take out just enough bricks to make room for a beautiful cast iron gate. When it was finished, they would step through it together.

The day the gate was done, they held a small party at his house, for just their closest friends. Good food, good wine, good friends, and countless jokes about what they’d be doing now they had easy access to each other’s homes.

When all the guests had gone, they walked to the wall, arm in arm, just the two of them.They would spend the night at her house, and clean up after the party in the morning, or quite possibly in the afternoon, when they woke up.

A little drunk from all that good wine, they paused before the gate, giggling. She looked at it and spoke in the most solemn voice that she could muster: “As we step through this gate together, may it portend the beginning of a Grand Adventure! A lifetime shared by the two of us, so full of every happiness, and all sorts of wonderful things, quite beyond our wildest dreams.”

– “Beautifully said, Sarah,” he spoke, looking deep into her eyes.

– “Oh I thought so myself as well,” she replied with a laugh.

They kissed. Then took hands and he opened the gate. They stepped through together.

And disappeared.

One hundred and forty five years earlier, an extremely wealthy, eccentric old man, ordered a brick wall to be built, right in the middle of nowhere.

With Leah

– What are you crazy?! No way. No how. Uh-uh.

But even as she was protesting, she already knew what was going to happen: She would give in. She’d change her mind. She would do exactly as Leah suggested, and end up having a great time.

It had always been like that. From the first day they met, Leah was always coming up with all sorts of outrageous plans.

Kayla would protest. She’d stick to her guns for a while, but end up being persuaded. And every time she went along with one of Leah’s ideas, they had a blast.

Life sure had got a lot more interesting the day they met.

It was on a sunny Tuesday morning six years ago, in a park near the harbor. She’d been walking her dog, and Leah had been to yoga. They sat down on the same bench to look for the bottles of water they each carried in their bags. Kayla to give to her dog. Leah to drink herself.

They started talking, and life had never been the same thereafter.

That very first day Leah suggested she skip work, and go scubadiving with Leah instead. Kayla hated her job with a vehemence. Had for the longest time. But she had felt stuck there. Unable to change a thing.

Imagine her surprise when after a few attempts at saying no, she heard herself actually agree to Leah’s suggestion!

They went diving. They had a wonderful day. Kayla got fired, and she ended up finding a much better job that actually paid her almost twice as much money as she’d been making in the job she hated so much.

Life was good. With Leah, life was very good.

But now she’d come up with the idea of the two of them going basejumping with wingsuits in Rio! Someone died there doing that not so long ago!

-No way. I swear. No. Frigging. Way.

But even as she protested, she knew that they would go.

Life was good with Leah. Life was very good.

Mr Peders

You know how it is. There’s always someone. Seeking to make a swift buck.

I’d be a fool not to take advantage.

The meeting began at one PM. There were four of them. Each as eager as the next guy. And all of them trying their best to hide their interest. Feigning nonchalance, in the hopes of luring me to lower my price.

Poor fellas. They simply had no idea what was about to come.

The negotiations were intense. I spoke so well there were moments there even I believed in the product that I was selling. Moments where I forgot everything but the thrill of doing business.

It was always so amazing when it happened. When I fell so deep inside my character that I began to truly care about the outcome. When I felt protective of my baby. Forgetting the baby does not exist.

I always got the best results when that happened.

This time was no exception. By the end of the day, I had them all in my pockets so deep I could get them to do pretty much anything I suggested.

I was half tempted to suggest they jump right out the window. Just to see if they’d actually do it. But no. Sense prevailed. We would all of us leave by the way we came. Tomorrow would be payday.

In the lift going down I was suddenly so tired. Exhausted, really. I could feel my facade crumbling. My mask slipping off just a little too soon.

We had to get off this lift and fast. I had to see them leave the premises before I could relax. I started feeling nervous. Come on. Get a grip on yourself. Just a little bit more. That’s all. Just a little bit more and you’re done.

The lift seemed to take forever to reach the lobby. Finally we were there. All smiles and handshakes and plans for the coming days. Celebrations next weekend that I would never attend.

At last they were gone. I could breathe now. I could be myself.

I turned to leave. My car was parked in an adjacent building. I’d take the skyway on the seventh floor to get there.

“Mr Peders…”

Oh shit. One of them was back.

I quickly turned on my Mr Peders again. But I was tired. I don’t think I was quite fast enough.

“Mr Peders… Jack… Are you all right?”

“Sure. Of course. Just a little tired, that’s all. Was there something I could help you with?”

“Oh, three of us decided to go for drinks together. I just thought we should invite you too.”

“Why thank you for thinking of it. Unfortunately I already have other plans for this evening. I’m meeting my date in in just over two hours, so considering traffic, I really should be going.”

I think I’ve pulled it off.

We exchange just a few more brief words of a sort people usually say when they’ve spent the day doing business together. When they expect to meet again.

I believe I’m in the clear. Then as he starts to leave, he turns to me again.

“You know, it’s funny there for a moment, when I came back. It’s like you were a completely different person.”

“Really? Imagine that. The things that being tired will do to a man.”

He looks at me, and slowly says “Yeaah. That must be it. It was really weird, though. Almost like you were an actor putting on a role. Oh well. Till tomorrow then. Have a good date.”

When he’s finally gone, it’s over. He won’t be seeing Mr Peders… Jack… tomorrow. None of them will.

A seed of suspicion has been sown. He’ll discuss it with the others over drinks. Maybe they’ll think nothing of it. Maybe the suspicion will grow. Doesn’t matter. Payday has been cancelled. Mr Peders will be gone.

All that splendid talking, all those hours negotiating, it all comes to nothing. I have my set of rules I live by. It’s just not worth the risk.

I head for the skywalk. And I shed Mr Peders for good.

Tomorrow will be another beautiful day. Another opportunity awaits. Mark my word, there’s always someone. Someone seeking to make a swift buck.

I’d be a fool not to take advantage.

 

 

Wounded

Warm. Wet. Running down my side.

“How bad is it?”

Shit.

Wrong question.

I shouldn’t have asked that one. For now the pain hits me. It hits me hard.

“You’ll live.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” I manage. “Whatever you say.”

I don’t know if it’s the pain, or if it is the bloodloss, but everything grows dim. I’m passing out again.

I remember coming to a couple of times during transport. Slipping in and out of awareness into dreams, and into darkness.

One time I thought I saw you there. In the transport. But that must’ve been just another dream.

I’m awake at hospital now. The nearest proper one. Three days’ journey from where I was wounded. I haven’t been this far from the frontline in eighteen months.

They say I developed a fever. For a while there they weren’t sure if I really would pull through or not.

I’m on the mend now. The fever’s gone. The wound no longer infected it’s healing nicely. Another scar for me to carry all my life. I do not mind. I’m just so glad to be breathing. That is all that matters now. I’m just so glad to be breathing.

Two weeks, they say. Two weeks I’ll rest here, and then back to the battle it is.

I think I’ll rather enjoy this two weeks of mine. After eighteen months in the front line, I feel kind of justified in getting a break. Just wish it didn’t have to hurt so much to get here.

Don’t get me wrong. I’d never shy away from doing my duty. But still, eighteen months of war will get to you. A moment of rest, of peace and quiet in the beautiful surroundings of an old hospital like this one, it begins to feel like heaven.

I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated a place and a moment quite as much as I do this one here and now. Each breath I take, it’s like being born again.

There’s flowers in a vase near the door to my room. The room I share with only two others. The colors of the flowers are amazing. That such beauty can still exist in this world of war and pain and suffering. I spend hours looking at those flowers in the vase. Absorbing all their beauty.

Seems awful now, but when the war started, I was happy.

This was my chance to get away. This was my escape.

From the moment I enlisted, he couldn’t touch me. He couldn’t hold me any longer. My life belonged to the military now.

I expected to die very fast. I was okay with that. I’d much rather be dead in the service of the kingdom, than be kept alive for your entertainment even one more day.

Little did I know I’d turn out to be so good at war.

All the hatred I felt towards you, all the anger I could never express, I channeled it all towards the enemy. It made me an efficient killer.

All the need to survive, to stay one step ahead of you and all your games, it had honed my strategic skills to perfection. How ironic I had you to thank for my success at war.

Two weeks of rest and recuperation, before I would return. Two weeks of peace and quiet. I loved it all.

The night before I was to return to active duty I held the hand of a dying man. It wasn’t the first time I had done so. Unlikely that it would be the last.

In the morning I returned to my room. What few belongings I had would have to be packed.

I stopped by the vase of flowers. I breathed in their scent. Inhaled their beauty.

Standing there I overheard a conversation. They were talking about the new captain of my company. A city-dweller. A rich man who had bought himself a commission. Paid for his rank with money instead of brave action.

I didn’t pay much attention. This sort of thing happened all the time. Bigshots wanted to play at war, until they saw its reality, and swiftly bought their way out again. Just too bad this one had to come to my company to get his taste of action. Wish he’d gone someplace else.

But then they said his name.

Your name.

And everything stopped.

The flowers filled my field of vision. An echo in my ears, your name.

A thought.

This is war… where people get killed all the time.

 

Echoes in the Air.

The sound of a single gunshot. Echoes in the air.

Placing his fully laden tray upon that long cafe table where they so often sit, he notices something missing.

– Hey, whatever happened to that guy? You know? The one that was always in the corner?

– You mean the man that never smiles?

Coffee cups are passed around, each to their respective drinkers.

– Oh he was so creepy.

– I haven’t seen him in a while.

– Neither have I, now that you mention it. It’s kind of funny I hadn’t even realized that he’s gone…

Janet arrives at the table a little late with a tray of her own. Capuccino. And a piece of chocolate cake.

– What are you guys talking about?

– We’re talking about the guy that used to sit always in that corner.

– Oh. Ok.

– You know how he was always scowling?

– Yeah, and how he never spoke to anyone? He just watched.

– It’s like his eyes were always on you. Whenever you looked towards him, there he was. Staring into your soul.

– Oh my God, he was awful.

– I’m glad he’s gone. I may not have realized it, but he really hasn’t been here in weeks. Maybe even months.

– I’d noticed. I didn’t think to say anything, but every time I see he isn’t here, I breathe a little easier.

– Oh my God, me too.

– Oh yeah?

– You’re awfully quiet, Janet. Not saying anything. Is everything ok?

– Yes… It’s fine. I just don’t feel like talking about that guy. Have nothing to say, really.

She drinks her capuccino. Eats her chocolate cake.

The conversation drifts to other topics. Janet remains subdued for a while, then makes a clear effort to join in the others’ merrymaking. Everyone pokes fun at Paul, whose wedding is fast approaching.

About another hour later, the friends are leaving. They take their jackets, put on their gloves and scarfs. Their conversation continues, and so does their laughter, as they walk out the door and continue together down the street.

The cafe is empty.

The employees close the doors. The cash is counted. The counter and the tabletops are cleaned. Someone lifts the chairs upon the tables, and then mops the floor.

The employees leave, locking up the place.

The cafe is truly empty.

The sound of a single gunshot. Echoes in the air.

S/he

The gates were closed behind them. The walls were high. This compound all their world now.

It was time to begin to build. It was time to construct. The bricks, the mortar, all were there.

Fifty men, and fifty women. A perfectly even division in the middle. Clear cut.

No luxuries. No ease of living. No comforts bought with money. Only work.

No governor and no cops. No outside rules imposed, but only those they had decided all among themselves.

And all went well. In the beginning, it all went well.

The vision was so clear in all their minds. The task, the mission, the necessity of survival once the winter came. And then the winter came.

It was harsh, and it was cold. And they survived.

In the summer their numbers increased. Three children born. Three more mouths to feed the coming winter.

By the time there were two hundred ten, dissent had taken root. Where once there was the clarity of a vision shared, now there was a discord. A division of the inhabitants into two distinctly different camps.

The number of differing voices seemed to grow each year. The volume of the voices calling for a change.

Three hundred fifty one. As high as they would ever get. Three hundred and fifty one. Perhaps it would all have turned out different, had it not been for that one.

Born inside the compound. Viewing the walls that surround it as the prison that they were, and not the freedom others chose.

S/he climbed on the walls every day. Had done so ever since was born, or so it seemed. No one could remember if there ever was a time when s/he had been content to merely walk the perimeter.

S/he put feathers in their hair. As if s/he dreamt of being one with the birds that fly across a wall. S/he seemed somehow destined to transcend the limits of their world.

The day the walls came down, s/he died. From the ashes of their having been, someone else was born.

The Ultimate Wedding

Theirs was the most magnificent wedding in all of history. None could ever surpass the opulence, the grandeur, the cakes, and the foods, and the gowns, and the gifts, and the venue.

Oh the venue!

Thirteen years it had taken to construct the island where the wedding was held. Thirteen more to have all the buildings and the vegetation just so.

The mining of the diamonds given to the wedding guests as they arrived had cost the lives of more than a hundred and fifty workers. The diamonds they were given immediately following the ceremony itself, and the diamonds they received just as they were leaving, at the end of the three days of festivities, cost another three hundred and seventy five lives. These were by no means the only gifts that were given to the guests.

The diamond on the wedding ring was quite beyond comparison.

During the ceremony, and over the course of the three days of festivities, the bride wore a minimum of eight different, astonishingly beautiful gowns each day. She was, of course, bedecked in fabulous jewelry that matched every outfit to perfection.

Her hair, her nails, her skin… her everything was exactly as perfect as any bride could ever dream of. The cost of her make-up alone rose to millions. She was the Bride with a capital B. The very personification of all happy endings to a fairytale romance.

Only too bad she did not love her husband. At all.

Oh well. The magnificence of the wedding surely more than made up for the unfortunate necessity of having to tolerate the presence of the groom for the three days that it lasted.

The two nights in between may have been a bit more than she bargained for.

Nevertheless, the wedding was held, and it was magnificent! The three days were an experience that none would ever forget for as long as they lived. Their great grandchildren’s grandchildren wished they had been alive to participate in this event!

Footage of the wedding would forever circulate as an example of the kind of perfection that everyone else could only ever dream of. Theirs was the ultimate wedding. The one that was never surpassed. The one that was never forgot.

The Perfect Moment

Location: bar.

Row after row of different beverages on the shelfs. Photograps on a wall of all these famous people who have been here. Actors, musicians, painters, poets, politicians. Everyone comes here. Eventually.

The barkeep is wiping the counter. His is a slow movement in the middle of the slowest moment. Hardly anyone here right now.

Someone is playing saxophone on the stage. No one you have heard of, but he is good.

The notes are drifting in the air, as slow as the moment itself.

You find yourself moving slowly as well. And speaking softly.

You ask the barkeep for your favorite drink. He makes it for you, and places it on the counter. You pick it up. And taste it.

Absolute liquid perfection hits your tongue. Never has your favorite drink been better than this one.

The notes of the music, the ambience, the taste and feel of the drink, and the slow, slow moment all combine.

For just an instant, or eternity all is one.

This perfect drink, it burns away all desire in you. This perfect moment melts inside your mouth.

It’s not the drink. It’s not the bar. It is the dream.

The dream of that perfect moment that has come.

Party On

If the banks weren’t standing between us and our property, we could all of us be so much more wealthy. It’s all this interest that they…

I know. I know exactly what you’re saying. But who cares? Just try and get someone to actually care about all this.

You guys are always going on and on about the same stuff. You talk as if owning things was so important. “Who owns the means of production…” Who gives a fuck!

Really. Who actually gives a fuck.

There’s a party on at Gino’s tonight. You guys thinking of going?

Not me. I’m heading over to see Cathy.

Cathy? That’s what, like the sixth time this month? You two getting serious, or something?

No… We just like spending time together, that’s all.

I’m hearing wedding bells…

Shut up!

That’s the problem with you guys, you don’t care. You just don’t care! We’re all of us heading for a lifetime of servitude, and being slaves in a system that is so deep in debt to bankers our grandchildren’s grandchildren won’t be able to dig themselves out! And you don’t care! As long as there’s parties to go to, that’s all you ever think about!

You’re right. I don’t care.

It doesn’t concern me. I’ve got a great job lined up. Just as soon as I graduate.

You and your wealthy uncle. Sometimes I’m so sick of hearing how fond that old man is of his darling nephew…

You don’t care. You think you’re safe. That it doesn’t touch you.

All wealth in the world is being centered in the hands of just one percent of the population. Less than that, even. And you don’t give a shit, because you think you’re gonna be one of the few winners. Hah!

One of these days, you’re gonna wake up.

Let’s hope it’s not too late.

 

 

Murder on His Mind

What do you want me to say? That you were right? That all this time, Harvey really did have murder on his mind?

Oh very well then, dear. You were right. You were absolutely right.

Harvey really did have murder on his mind. And what is more, he did it! And got away with it scott free.

We all saw him, didn’t we? The way he killed that kebab.

Oh you’re all laughing now. Go ahead. But mark my words. He’ll kill someone yet.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.