This is a non-fictional story that I recently wrote. Enjoy! (Again, comments and criticism are very welcome!)

I Just Want to Walk

He stumbled and I slowed down.

            It was cruel of me to brake as I did, and then speed off, the man’s quivering, outstretched thumb a memory in my rearview mirror.

            The molten sensation of guilt seeped from my chest, towards my stomach.

            The night was too cold and the sidewalk too empty for any person to be walking alone.

I had almost cleared a curb, near a remarkably similar string of Italian restaurants, when I made a tidy u-turn and raced back. It was difficult to spot his middle-aged figure on the dusky road.

But I found him. His bloodshot eyes followed me until I stopped and called to him.

“Do you need a ride?” I asked, quietly tucking a dented can of pepper spray under my thigh.

He nodded. “Yeah…” he said. His eyes were glazed with alcohol and dull relief. “Yeah, I do.” And he lopped around the hood of my car. His shoulders sagged with the weight of a night alone as he settled in. I asked him softly- cautiously- where he wanted to go.

He nodded towards the road. “Just keep straight.” His voice wavered with the authenticity of a drunken man. But he looked tired and numb to judgment, so I didn’t bother.

My lead foot did not waste any time, and we drove a little too fast into the dark.

His heavy breathing contributed only a steady rhythm to our brief and comfortable silence.

“What’s your name?” he asked me, after a moment.

“Alex.” I gave him my cousin’s name. Alexandra was a name I had always been jealous of, with all of its pretty variations. I was proud to call ‘Alex’ my alias. The polite thing to do would have been to ask what he called himself, but I kept my eyes on the road, wondering what other lies I would have to invent.

“Where are you from, Alex?”

I braked for a red light, using the pause to think of an answer.

“I’m…” I snapped my mouth shut to prevent any stuttering. “I’m visiting home from college.”

“Where do you go to college?”

“Penn State.” I told him the first University, besides my own, that was stored in my thoughts.

“Where do you live, now?” He asked, and I looked at him with waning patience.

I was just returning from a friend’s house, in Paoli, before I had picked him up.

“Paoli,” I said, smiling. Then I looked at him, pointedly. “Where do you live? Where do you want me to take you?” My thoughts began to race. What if he never got out? What if we simply drove forever? Then I wondered:

Would that be such a bad thing?

            He, a caustic adventurer, had surely seen much more of the world than me. And for that I was jealous. I wanted to explore and, without any cares, hop into the next car. Only then would I be truly unafraid.

He ignored my questions and continued to stare at the road, with a blank expression I had come to expect. So I drove on.

When he next opened his mouth, it was to give me very detailed directions about which roads I wanted to take to get from Paoli to Penn State. He told me about highways and secret routes I never would have thought of. Routes that were, perhaps, only figments of his imagination.

We drove a few minutes longer. He talked and I listened. The man never mentioned anything about himself, and for that I was sorry.

We stopped at another light. During the day the street, bordered with boutiques and yogurt shops, would have been crowded with angry drivers.

We were in the only car on the road, so I swiveled my body to look directly at him.

“Where do you want me to take you?” I asked with finality.

He looked through me.

            “Don’t pick up another stranger.” he said. There was no malice in his voice. There was only fatherly concern, and I couldn’t speak. How such a broken man could be concerned for my well-being weighed heavily upon my heart.

            I blinked at his unexpected warning.

            “Okay,” I said, warmth surfacing in my chest.

            “You should never pick up someone you don’t know.” His words began to slur, and blend together.

            I glanced over, and gave him my solemn word.

            He nodded, satisfied, eyes clearing for a moment.

            “I’ll get off here,” he said, as we stopped at another light.

            “Is this where you live?” I frowned. There was no way he could possibly live amidst, or even behind, the little stores surrounding us.

            “No,” he said. “I live behind the bar.” I thought about where I’d picked him up, a few miles away, remembering a bar directly behind him.

            I didn’t know how to respond. “Would you like me to-”

            “I just want to walk.” He said, and opened the door. “I just like to walk.”

            I sat back, watching him stagger across the intersection, and I nearly wept.

Hello again! Remember how I said that my last story was published? Well here's the link, in case you want to check it out!

http://issuu.com/postnowpa/docs/earl_winternnet2/1

I'm going to have a short (non-fictional) story posted soon, so stay tuned!

I think I'll begin my posting excursion with a short, fictional story, of mine. Excitingly enough, it is soon going to be published in a small (albeit darling) literary magazine, called The Earl. I welcome all sorts of comments and criticism, so be my guest!

Ever After, in Sedona

Mary Louette, the widow, entered the plane, anxious and amused. Rumors of a mad woman had already begun to circulate, and she loved to listen to people quake in their polyester. People used to quake in fur, but damnit if the extremists hadn’t gotten to them.

            Sitting down, she rolled her head back and took a deep breath of stale, processed air. Air that she would share with one hundred other men, women, and children for five hours, until she reached Sedona, Arizona. She rolled the name of the city and state on her tongue, under her breath, when she was sure no one could hear her. Words always sounded beautiful on a Thursday evening, and beauty was never relative, in Sedona. Her husband had thought her the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, those days. Those days, in Sedona, and ever after.

            Glancing at her ticket, once more, Mary Louette waited for the person who would inevitably sit next to her. She hoped, to all of the Northern Deities, he or she wasn’t fat.

            Nobody came.

            All at once, the plane quieted. Every passenger was on board, except for Mary Louette’s mystery seating partner. What an unusual circumstance, this was. What were the chances? She mused.

            “What did you say?” The woman in front of her turned in her seat. “Did you say something?”

            “No. Nothing.” Said Mary Louette. But she was very perturbed, indeed.

            Lights began to blink, and a few men in suits began to bustle. They bustled around their women. They bustled around Mary Louette, shoving dark bags into hidden compartments.

            The widow blinked and glanced around, discretely. Some people were staring at her. She knew. How could they not be? She did not have a partner. She did not have a shield.

            “Will no one protect me from these Unusuals?” She murmured.

            “Hm?” The woman in front of her turned around, again. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

            “No, dear.” Mary Louette said, patiently. “I don’t even know you.”

            A woman walked around, wearing an oxygen mask, and Mary Louette clutched her seat. Perhaps some fresh air would do her good. She reached for the button that would eject her saving grace. This could save her life.

            Something rough and cold and ugly gripped her wrist. Copper nails bit into her skin, which was just beginning to thin and wrinkle. It reminded her of age. Of oxygen. She fought the hand, which restrained her.

            “Ma’am, this is only an example.” A loud voice made her eyes flutter with discomfort. “We don’t actually want to you to release the oxygen mask.”

            Mary Louette relaxed her arm. People were staring. Some had begun to whisper of a woman and a nervous breakdown.

            A madwoman and a nervous breakdown? This was quite the unusual plane. She stared at all of the passengers with milky eyes, penetrating each traveler, individually. Some of them looked away. Some men’s eyes had no life to give, so they went on staring, until the plane took off. These were all quite unusual people. She had to be careful, on a plane like this.

            She fidgeted, uncertainty filling her chest.

            The men in their suits were seated. They sat, unblinking. Unmoving. They were the machine men. Mary Louette grimaced. Men of copper, with no hearts.

            “Oh my.” She whispered. “Oh my. Oh my. What soulless beings wander this aircraft?”

            “I beg your pardon, but it really sounds like you’re talking to me.” The woman in front of her, Mary Louette realized, had not even bothered to turn back around, since they had last spoke.

            “Oh, I understand.” Mary Louette smiled and lowered her voice. “You’re sitting next to an Unusual, aren’t you?” She asked. “You may sit here,” She pat the empty seat, next to her. “If you’d like.”

            The woman stared at Mary Louette’s wrinkled hand. Every time it moved, veins seemed to wander its bones.

            “No, thank you.” The woman said.

            “Suit yourself.” Mary Louette said. “But be careful, dear.” She gazed at the man, next to the woman. “He looks like a big one.”

            “Are you calling me fat?” The man asked.

            Mary Louette shrugged. “We all have our insecurities.” She said, sympathetically.

            The Unusual began to howl.

            “Is there a problem?” A loud, panicky voice, coated with syrup and arsenic, approached. The same stewardess who had blocked Mary Louette from her precious oxygen was now staring at her with concern.

            “She called me fat!” The fat man said.

            Mary Louette shook her head and muttered. “They can be so sensitive.”

            “Ma’am-”

            Mary Louette stood, abruptly. She had never put on her seatbelt.

            “I think that I have been put on the wrong plane.” She stated.

            “Where are you traveling to?” The attendant asked.

            “I want to fly to Sedona, Arizona!” Mary Louette cried, determined. She would not be defeated. “The only place I can be young, and unashamed!”

            “And so we’ll take you there, as soon as you sit down.” The attendant said, her voice at a pitch most dogs would not be able to tolerate.

            “That cannot be.” Mary Louette’s voice shook with uncertainty and shame. “I…” She felt the swells of panic, in her breast. “I’m not on the right plane. This can’t be right.”

            Pushing past the woman in the tight khaki shorts, she stumbled to the bathroom, and threw up salami and rye, and an assortment of Swiss chocolates that she should have just thrown away.  

            “I must get out of here.” She sputtered greens. “I must.”

            “Are you alright in there, Ma’am?” Someone pounded on the door. They kept on pounding and pounding until Mary Louette thought she might die.

            She would have answered, but vomit can be such an inconvenience.

            “Ma’am?”

            Mary Louette searched the cramped space. There must be a place to hide. Her eyes rolled and rolled until they rested on some toilet paper. There wasn’t enough to cover her, completely. She would never be an airplane mummy. She wondered where they kept all the extra toilet paper. A lot of people relieved themselves on a lot of planes. They must hide the paper, somewhere.

            “Ma’am. There are people waiting, out here.”

            The Unusuals were all in such a hurry. Mary Louette pressed a fragile hand to her temple. Why couldn’t they just wait, like normal people? She had always been patient. Even as a child.

            An infant began to wail, and she snapped her fingers.

            What an unusual child. She thought. Just like the rest of them.

            “I’m coming out.” She said, wiping her mouth, on her sleeve. “Please, don’t shoot.”

            A lot of hands reached out to her, at once. Tugging and prodding, gripping and shaking, they touched every inch of her. They were under her arms, beneath her breasts, and in her mouth, curious and unrelenting. Mary Louette stiffened, then collapsed, unresponsive.

            She had always known that it would come to this. The Unusuals would want more than she could give, and so they took.

            “Goodnight, fiends, born of men.” She whispered.

            They were shouting with vicious regret, but it was too late. Mary Louette, widow and cautious adventurer, faded without excessive elegance.

The End

           

So this is where it all begins. The road to becoming the most famous author in all the world begins with a blog and an idea (or two). Thank you for visiting, kind reader! I think we will enjoy our time together.