The Critic

                The camera lights flashed as Marcus stepped out of the limo. He gave a sly smile and continued on his way into the theater. Just before he entered the door a reporter stopped him. "Sir just one quick question, what do you think your reaction to this movie is going to be?" There was no need for him to answer; he simply sneered and yawned before disappearing behind the darkened doors. The laughter of people outside trailed off behind him as it was dampened and deadened by the thick doors.

                  Marcus was a film critic, and a very famous one at that. He made regular appearances on TV shows and had a limitless choice of papers to run his review column. Whenever he made a visit to a theater to review a movie, it was a regular media circus and for two reasons. The first reason was because of his undeserved fame which came with being a high profile critic as well as the son of a very wealthy but honest business tycoon. The second was because whenever he reviewed a movie, he relentlessly assaulted it into obscurity. He was the critic that everyone hated, but the media loved because of his constant controversy.

                  Marcus plopped himself down in the very center of the movie theater, not because it was the best seat, but because he needed to be the center of attention. As far as he was concerned, everyone should spend more time watching him in the theater than the actual movie. He was more entertaining to himself than the drivel projected on the eggshell white screen. He nestled into his seat and relaxed as the projector warmed up and the first flicker of light hit the screen. The light sounds of chatter dulled, as did the already dim lights that hung over the crowd.

                  Marcus chuckled to himself as the title plate for the production company illuminated the screen. "They never make a good film." He said under his breath half expecting the packed theater to somehow hear and agree with him in an outburst of demeaning laughter. The movie began to play, but he was not the least bit interested in it. He glanced at the screen from time to time wishing that it would get better, but it never did. He sighed, sneered, and slept his way through the two-hour movie and breathed a sigh of relief when it was finally over. As soon as the credits rolled he quickly left his seat and walked out of the theater.

                  The thunderous roar of applause trailed off as he gained distance from the screen. As he walked to his car he said to himself, "Just because the director is here? No need to be so generous with applause for such a terrible movie. Those people in there are just too kind. They’ll undoubtedly inspire more of this trash to be produced."

                  One lone reporter saw him exit and chased him down. "What did you think of the movie? It sounds like it was received favorably. Could a good review be on the horizon?"

                  "A good review? Please! I don't give garbage good reviews even if it is wrapped up in pretty paper, polished, and sprayed with perfume."

                  He continued to his car and left the reporter standing there with her mouth agape. To her, not only was that unnecessary, but completely unwarranted. "Thunderous applause met by a bad review, the critic does not understand his job", she thought as she returned to her news van. 

                  Marcus sped off into the night as he made the journey home. He drove through the darkened streets and slowly out into the quiet suburbs, which included his monstrosity of a house. His house was bigger than any one person would need. Too lavish and over furnished for someone with his occupation, but it was his inherited money and he enjoyed buying nice things. He pulled into his driveway and turned the key ending the quiet roar of his Bentley’s engine. The headlights quickly dimmed to off as he stepped out and walked towards the door. He slipped the key from his pocket and unlocked the heavy wooden door that turned away everyone but him.

                  He stepped into the warm, dark house and flipped the light switch. With a gentle hum the incandescent bulbs flickered on and he walked towards the sofa. He sat down with his laptop already waiting for him in front of the television that seldom ever went on. The LCD screen lit up as the computer was awakened from its slumber. The word processor opened and Marcus began to write his brief yet harsh and inflammatory review. The keys clicked as his article was written and then sent to be published in the morning. He pushed the screen down, sending the computer back to sleep, put his feet up on the coffee table, and said to himself, "So simple to trash a perfectly ghastly movie. I'm afraid of the movie that is easier to pan than this one."

                  Marcus shut his eyes and fell asleep on the couch. The Moon wandered through the clear night sky as the hours ticked by on the clock. He had slowly adjusted his position so that he was lying down on the sofa curled up against the warm leather. Nightmares from a conscience that was all but destroyed attempted to pierce his cold, sadistic mind. Perhaps if he had nightmares, he would have seen the cruelty and agony he afflicted upon others, but they never had a chance to penetrate the thick wall of apathy that shrouded his mind and his heart. He slept soundly on his chair all through the night, never once questioning his malevolent words.

            Around seven in the morning he woke as rays of sunlight broke through the blinds on his windows and touched his face. He stretched and groggily rolled off of the sofa. He stood and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. He set the glass down and returned to the living room where he anxiously opened his computer. The fans hummed as the computer came out of sleep mode and he opened the Internet browser. He went straight to the site where his review would be published, front and center, for all to see. The comments were already piling up about how good the movie was and the hatchet job that he did against it. He laughed it off saying to himself, “Uncultured cretins. For them to think that movie was enjoyable is absolutely absurd. It was nothing more than inane drivel.” 

            However, those that commented on his article were not the only ones who thought it was enjoyable and well made. Within hours of its midnight opening it had already set box office records as theaters sold out and stayed open for extra hours because of the high demand. When Marcus learned of what had transpired while he slept he gasped. He checked when his review had been posted, and the listing time was two hours before the peak sales of the movie, plenty of time for it to have been read.

            He slammed his fist into the sofa and said, “What kind of people am I dealing with? They flock to this… this garbage! We will see who has the last say in this matter.”

            Marcus picked up the phone and dialed the number for the morning television show that he would frequent to give verbal reports of his thoughts on a movie. As he waited on hold he saw a quick moving, dark object fly past him out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see what it was, but nothing was in sight. “Must have been my imagination,” he thought to himself.  

He scheduled himself for the eight-thirty time slot on the show, after some coercion to make it available for him to come on and rant. He ran upstairs, fixed himself up, changed his clothes, and hopped in the car. He sped down the street and made his way to the television studio. The Sun was beginning its climb to the highest part of the sky as he raced to make the time slot he had scheduled. He pulled up to the studio, jumped out of his car, and ran into the building with thirty minutes to spare.

            He got himself into makeup and they hurried him through, leaving him very little time to prepare whatever he was going to say. So far, he was on a rage-fueled rant about the ignorance of the little people that disagreed with him. He knew he needed to calm down and collect his thoughts before he went live, but there was so little time. The show cut to a commercial and they called him on. He sat in his usual chair and leaned backward as he tried to steady his nerves.

            Before he knew it, the floor director gave the countdown and the show was back on the air. The host picked up almost seamlessly and began the segment.

            “And welcome back! Now we were going to have a viewer call in segment today, but we had a scheduling change. I know, I know, some of you were looking forward to it, but don’t get upset and change that channel yet. With us now we have the film critic Marcus Puret. He’s going to give us one of his usual reviews, comment on the general acceptance of the film, and then we’ll still have the call in to comment on the movie or whatever else you want to say, but just a heads up, if its not about the movie you’ll be held until we've had some callers give their opinion of it, if there are any. Okay Marcus, you’re up. So you went to see Sunset Shot last night, an action thriller about a race against the clock to stop a serial killer, what did you think of it?”

            “Well to be honest, it was a terrible movie. There was no artistic value, no deeper meaning, and no real depth to the plot. To be utterly simple about it, it was garbage.”

            “Don’t you think that might be a little harsh? After all, it set a box office record last night.”

            “Yes, that’s all very good, but that just goes to show you the low class that these people have these days. The little people need to learn what a true good movie is. It’s not about the action and the adventure, it’s about the passion, the reality of life, the deep meaning to be discovered, the soul searching required to understand the heart of the film.”

            “I see. Well, we have our first caller. We have Brian from Philadelphia, hello Brian you’re on with us!”

            “Hey how are ya. Listen I had to call in just to give Marcus there a piece of my mind. You film critics need to wise up. All you do is get paid to watch a movie and then tell us why you didn't like it because it didn't have enough of your ‘artistic’ bull crap in it. You try to wreck movies that people like to watch. We spend all day in the real world, you don’t. We want to see a movie that we can escape in to and enjoy before we actually go back to reality. You want your artsy movies because you’re so detached from what actually goes on in this world, it ain't even real.”

            Marcus was visibly angered but also flustered, something he rarely was. Never before had anyone slammed his profession right to him. He shook his head and narrowed his widened eyes. “Now listen here Brian, I understand what you are saying, but you have to understand, you are uncultured. You simply don’t know what is good for you and that’s what my job is, to tell you what is good for you.”

            “You know what Marcus. We don’t need you to tell us what’s good for us. We know what’s good for us and we don’t need people like you putting us down. You’re the one that needs us cause without people willing to read the trash you feed them you’d be out of a job and you’d be so lost it wouldn’t even be funny.”

            Marcus’ face lit up bright red. He was ready to yell back, but instead he steamed off of the set. The host’s eyes and mouth were wide open and they quickly cut to commercial. Marcus stamped out of the studio and angrily slammed the door on his car. He drove home in a wild fury and replayed over and over in his mind what he would have said to that caller had he not been on television. However, what he did not know, was that Brian’s words immediately acted as a rallying cry to everyone like him. The hardworking average Joes who don’t need or want to be told what to think or what to enjoy. By the time Marcus got home, the Internet was already swirling with articles, blogs, and all kinds of comments to disregard anything a critic has to say. When Marcus opened his computer and saw the mass amount of people up in arms against him, he panicked and entered another blind rage. His brain pounded against his skull and he saw red as he went on a tirade of curses and rants in the privacy of his own home.

            A week passed and a new movie came out. Marcus anxiously went to review it. Another action/thriller that he was ready to give a fiery F to. He hurried home after and threw together a vicious review ripping the movie for all it was worth. The next day however, his review was not posted, nor were any subjective reviews. The rallying cry of Brian’s on-air rant was being heard round the country. A call for the end of the subjective film critics. After some alterations and re-submissions  his review was posted, but it received very little views. The only people who read it, were his diehard fans who hung on every word of his twisted opinion of the average man and the movies he enjoys.

            Another week went by and Marcus soon realized that he would be out of a job if this kept up. He needed to do something to regain his status as a film critic, but he had no idea what to do. He was not willing to change his opinions on movies, not for a second would he even give a thought to the possibility that maybe the movies he attempted to chop to bits had some entertainment value. There was only one way Marcus was sure he could get back his fan base, and that was by enlisting the aid of some heavy hitting names in the movie business.

            He made dozens of calls to actors he had praised and even to other he had scorned. None of them, however, had any desire to help him. Marcus was like a helpless animal rundown on the highway, and those he reached out to for help could see it. He floundered about as he looked for some hand that would pull him from the brink of obscurity, but none offered to help. Regardless of praise or prominence, he had no one who was willing to help, not a single person who he could call a friend. He slammed his phone down onto his coffee table, sending a hairline crack through the glass. He looked at the crack and examined the fine line that had been formed. As he stared into the broken section, a black shade dashed through the reflection. Marcus looked around startled, but neither saw nor heard anything.

            After a few minutes he calmed down and decided to take a nap. He quickly fell asleep, clutching his first movie review like a teddy bear. As he slept he began to dream of his dying fan base and the grip he was losing on what movies were deemed good and what was trash. His dream turned to dark thoughts of vengeance and anger, but then moved to something far different, they turned to betrayal. He dreamt of all those he thought were friends, those who worshiped him or befriended him. He realized at that moment that no one truly cared, they either idolized him for his power, or sucked up to him for a lenient review.

His subconscious mind began to deteriorate and traveled to a place of grand delusions. He dreamt of his triumphant return to power with the next blistering movie review that he wrote. His mind’s eye gazed upon his next review, a scathing indictment of anything other than realism set to return him to his seat at the pinnacle of critics, as the titan of his trade. He awoke from his sleep believing that what he dreamt was a vision of the future. His mind had been so wrought with the agony of losing his stardom and authority that it had succumbed to the one thing Marcus never had, hope; albeit deluded and absurd hope.

            The next night there was a new movie opening, one set to be a huge blockbuster. A fantasy, action/thriller about a boy, his newly given power, and a dark demonic figure he had to defeat for his freedom and the freedom of the world. Marcus was excited to give it the worst review of his life. He eagerly drove down to the theater and took his seat. He yawned and guffawed through the entire movie, coming up with witty one-liners in his mind to make fun of the film and its unknown leading actor. He giddily drove home after the movie feeling like he had the power and that after that night, all would listen to him and never again would these silly, unsophisticated movies be made.

            He pulled up to his house and excitedly got out of his car. As he walked to the door he heard something rustle in the bushes, he looked but he could see nothing. He thought that he had seen something move, but the object in question was as black as the shadows it was in so he disregarded it.  He opened up his computer and began to click away on the keyboard. Little did he know what lurked in the in the darkness, in a place where he could not see, something, he would never expect. He had no idea what was stalking him, what was constantly skulking behind his back.  He finished writing the review, by far, the worst hatchet job he had ever done to a movie. If his magic spell worked, it might even cause a run on the unknown actor, who was also the writer and co-director. But Marcus did not care; he figured it would only be one less uncultured imbecile to worry about.

            He stood and turned slowly. His heart was beating rapidly as it climbed out of his chest and into his throat. When he saw what was behind him his heart sunk back beneath his rib-cage and stopped in his chest. From the darkness crawled the demonic creature that had existed in the movie. He quickly thought to himself, “What have I created? My review, my hatred towards inane drivel has manifested itself to bring an end to my righteous crusade.”

            He gazed at the horrifying beast as it stood menacing. Time seemed to slow as he questioned what he was seeing. He looked at the clock on his wall; the second hand had stopped moving. He looked back at the creature which reached out its hand and extended a boney finger towards Marcus. He backed up but bumped into the coffee table. He looked down and in the fractured glass he saw his reflection, half of which was his face and the other half which belonged to the creature. He looked back up and the monster that remained standing silent and still. In its hissing, gargling, throaty voice it beckoned to him, “Marcus, it is time you paid for all that you have done. Your malice shall finally be dealt back to you.”

            Marcus tried to run, but he could not. Before he could even lift a leg the creature was on top of him. It thrashed wildly at his skull raining blow after blow down upon him. Claws slashed at his skin and the sharp fangs ripped his flesh. He was in utter agony as the monster brutally killed him.

            Days later, the police discovered his body, after people reported that he had not been seen for some time. They entered his home to find him dead on the floor next to his sofa with his computer still on and open to the new, scathing review he had written. Friends and loyal fans wondered as to the cause of death, but the autopsy results said it was completely natural, caused by too much stress and maybe too much vitriol in his heart. Marcus died of a brain hemorrhage. There was no manifestation of his hatred, no monster that crawled from the darkness. The only monster was the one that lived inside him, the dark hatred for the people he saw to be beneath him, his own personal demon that had cause him too much stress and ultimately, ruptured his brain.

The End.

True Love's Sacrifice

True Love’s Sacrifice

By: John Fischer

Luke had never succeeded at what he wanted most out of life. What he wanted was love, but he never found it. He went through so many years searching for the right girl, but she never appeared. He had girlfriends of course, but none that he could say he ever loved. He was very handsome, and had a great personality and that was the only reason he had any girlfriends. All of them were nice, sweet, and cute, but none of them could touch the deepest part of Luke’s heart. He walked down the dark alley and wondered if Love would ever come his way.

It began to pour, but he was too depressed to pay attention to it. He continued to walk as the rain ran off of his jet-black hair in streams. He was soaked to the bone and finally returned home. He walked into the dark apartment and flicked the light on trailing water behind him. It pooled at his feet on the hard wood floors as it continued to drip off of him. He stared at the empty, cold room and only wished that he had found the girl that he had always wanted.

He was freezing so he took a boiling hot shower. The warm water felt good as it chased away the chill from his muscles. He hung his head as the water raced down his face and wondered what the point was. Luke had always believed that he would be the knight in shinning armor that found his princess he would live happily ever after with. He had long since given up on that idea and saw the world in a more cynical way. Dreams do not actually come true, he thought as he smacked his fist against the wall. He had heard so many stories of people finding true happiness and living their dreams, but that could never happen to him, why would it, he was just Luke.

He got out of the shower, dried himself off, and climbed into bed. He thought of the perfect girl that he had always desired. Radiant brown hair, big blue eyes, pouty lips, a little shorter than him, sweet, nice, and all for him. He fell asleep and dreamt of her. It was the perfect moment between the two of them. He never wanted to wake up from the series of dreams he had that night. He woke up hours before he was supposed to and wondered why, when he was having such a good dream, he could not stay asleep. He shut his eyes and drifted back off to sleep, but could not return to the dream world he was so happy in.

Beams of sunlight streamed through the slats in the blinds and covered his face. He woke up and groggily got out of bed. He walked over to the window and peered through to see glowing fog drifting in across the bay being illuminated by the strong sun that threatened to dissolve it. He sighed and got dressed for the day. He went out to go about his normal routine not knowing what lay in his future. It was a beautiful blue-sky day with a brilliant bright sunlight. The leaves and grass were the brightest shade of green they could ever have been and for the moment they took Luke’s mind off of the depression lurking in the dark recesses of his mind.

He sat on a park bench and took in the breathtaking scenery. He looked at the empty space next to him and sighed. Thoughts of failed loved raced through his mind and he wanted to be alone at home in the dark shadows of his room. He got up to leave and then he saw her walking towards him. She was exactly what he wanted, every last detail that he had imagined. He wondered if he was dreaming and tried to prove that he was awake. He rubbed his eyes pinched his side and as he suspected, was wide-awake, with the girl of his dreams walking towards him. It was love at first sight; he had instantly fallen for her and could not let her go by without saying something.

He stopped her and introduced himself. He found out that her name was Darla and not one thing that she said deterred him from falling in love. He could not have asked for a more perfect girl, and likewise she instantly fell for Luke. They were destined to be together, but fate had a different plan in mind. Darla’s old and obsessed boyfriend came running after her, with gun in hand. He was crazed and when he saw her with Luke shouted that no one could have her but him. He raised the barrel of the gun and Darla’s eyes widened as she saw the dark gray, fully loaded tube aimed at her.

Time seemed to slow down as a nearby police officer rushed over to the crazed man, Luke tried to act as the deranged, obsessed lunatic slowly squeezed the trigger. In an instant all manner of thoughts raced through Luke’s head and he made his decision. He grabbed Darla and spun around wrapping his arms around her and putting his back to the gun. The police officer tried his hardest to get to and subdue the man, but it was not enough. The trigger reached its tipping point and the loud roar of fire and exploding gunpowder filled the serene park. Luke looked into Darla’s eyes as the bullet flew through the air. He was content with his decision knowing that he had finally found what he had always wanted.

The bullet plunged into his back only seconds before the police officer knocked the crazed former boyfriend to the ground and hand cuffed him. Luke’s eyes widened as the projectile dug into him and the pain rushed through his body. He let go of Darla and stumbled over to the grass. The crimson red blood poured from the wound and tainted the bright green grass. Luke fell on his back as Darla stood in shock and the officer called in for an ambulance. What had just occurred finally impacted Darla and she ran over to Luke. She picked up his head and held it looking lovingly into his eyes. Tears fell from hers and she wiped the sweat and hair from Luke’s face. His eyes were closed and he was silent, but still breathing.

The officer ran over and asked Darla who he was. She told him his name, and everything else she had learned before he threw himself in the path of the bullet to protect her. He asked her if Luke was her boyfriend or husband to which she simply and quietly answered that she might never know. Luke opened his eyes and said, “It was worth it, I know that you’re my dream, and I’m fine with dying knowing that I found my dream, the girl I could love.

The ambulance sirens grew louder and louder as it neared and Darla begged Luke to hold on. Time seemed to slow down once again as Luke’s blood flowed into the grass. The officer ripped Luke’s shirt, held it to the wound, and carried him to the ambulance. He handed him over to the EMTs and went back to the assailant to take him back to the precinct for charging and processing. Darla got in the ambulance as they tried to patch and stabilize Luke to get him to the hospital. He was pale and cold, but still clung to life. Darla looked at the EMT in the back as the ambulance raced and bounced down the street to the hospital and said, “Will he make it?”

He simply looked back at her and said, “I don’t know.”

The ambulance pulled up at the hospital and they rushed Luke inside. Darla waited in the emergency room as they took Luke immediately into surgery. Hours passed as she paced anxiously back and forth waiting for news. The doctor came out and walked towards Darla. She stopped dead in her tracks and drifted away in her mind. She thought of Luke, of the future they could have and the possibility that it may never happen. She waited for the words as the doctor approached and could not bear to hear the words she feared. The doctor stopped in front of her and opened his mouth. The words began to drift from his tongue and Darla’s heart began to beat fast and she clutched her fist as she awaited the prognosis. Seconds before she found out the outcome she thought to herself about her dream guy and how his life and her own dream hung on the string of the next few words of the doctor.

Patriotic Poem

Crisis of Control

- John Fischer

A call to arms I dare do say

As liberty fades like the light of day.

Tyranny claims it grants you rights

As it reigns from such brazen heights.

Fight for the things that are given by nature,

By Nature and Nature’s God not human nomenclature

For if rights a government gives to its people

So can they take away as if it were they on the steeple.

For if he giveth surely he can reclaim

It is they, guided by greed, the Constitution they wish to maim.

Let not our forefathers’ fight be in vain;

For all of their hardships, suffering, and pain

Rise now and bare liberty’s teeth,

The peoples’ fist no matter how brief.

With hearts and minds logic does prevail

Let not their oppression cause America to fail.

With knowledge and understanding the nation we must save;

Else to the government we become the slave.

Let not the rivers run red and the earth be stained

Use the voice buried deep inside and Liberty is gained.

Truth, boldness, and courage are virtues we must keep,

Else the price we pay for freedom is much too steep.

A call to arms I say again

Vote with truth and logic for the truest freedom

The sword can never touch the strength of a pen

For life, for a dream, for the truest freedom

In a time of civility let honor and common sense rise

That we, later generations, do not despise

Hold to the truth and speak without fear

It is true that indeed the end is near.

But decide the outcome, we who stand for true freedom must

Else we become and be counted as particles of dust.

Freedom for all or life for none

This our rights guarantee as we stare down a gun

A gun pointed at sweet lovable liberty’s head

Let us stop the trigger from being pulled else we along with our freedom wind up dead

Coat of Vengeance

Coat of Vengeance - John Fischer

Clay was a well to do businessman. He had everything he wanted and more. However, the ‘more’ came from disreputable and despicable means. Clay while being a seemingly decent man by day was nothing more than a lying, conniving, underhanded crook. However, no one could ever see that he was made of evil; because he held an influence over those he associated with. He had a way of saying or doing just the right thing to keep his friends smitten and his enemies off-balance.

His family however, knew what he was like and could not stand him. They stayed away from him as much as they possibly could, but they could not avoid the events of one fateful, gray, rainy, November day.

Clay’s uncle was also very wealthy, the difference between the two was that Clay’s uncle was a good, hardworking, decent man. Although the rest of the family hated him, Clay’s uncle did not. He made every attempt to change his nephew’s deplorable ways. He went so far as to bring him to a very special party that he was having. His guests ranged from personal friends, to acquaintances he had made through out his business life.

The party was very elite and upscale, something Clay was accustomed to. It was also something Clay loved, because he could not pass up the opportunity to connive or swindle someone out of their money. Brenda, Clays’ first cousin and his uncles daughter, attempted to dissuade her father from allowing Clay to attend the party, however, he was determined to prove that a man could change.

To herself, Brenda thought that maybe a man could change, but Clay was a vicious, heartless, dirty, animal. Against all of his daughters pleading and reasoning, her father granted Clay access to the party. It was a grandiose affair filled with the rich and powerful whom were not only friends of Clay’s uncle, but who were also his neighbors. Clay was in his glory schmoozing with the elite guests making his subtle attempts at making a connection with the right person. He then came across an old widower who was all by his lonesome.

Clay weighed his options and decided to make his play with the old man. The old man was the founder of a local train and truck transportation and freight company called Espenali R and R. He was the first to establish a company of the sort in his city and state. Because of his keen sense and ideas, and lack of competition, he made it big and became one of the largest commercial shipping and traveling companies. However, he had lost his wife some years ago and had been alone ever since. He attended parties to try to stay active and out of a depressed state, but it did not work.

Clay approached the old man and began conversing with him. He learned about the man’s history and his family. The man’s family was caring, but did not live with him. They had moved out long before his wife ever took ill and because of their jobs and positions in life were never able to move back. Clay knew he had found his target and began to inspect the old man a bit closer.

He noticed that he was wearing a one of a kind Victarelli overcoat. It was one of seven unique coats handmade by Victarelli himself thirty years before. They were designed and tailored for a large men’s fashion exposition in Milan. However, there would never be another one made exactly like them since Giuseppe Victarelli passed away soon after in a tragic accident. It was a “salt and pepper” patterned coat with bright mother of pearl buttons. The collar was charcoal black and made out of the finest velvet. The coat was worth a fortune and Clay knew he had to make it his. After the party he kept in touch with the man paying him visits and brining him treats. He was better to the old man than he was to his own father, all for the sole purpose of acquiring the coat.

The years passed and the old man began to think of Clay like a son. He gave him money and other possessions of his, but would never part with the coat. As he said, the coat would be given to his own son once he had passed away. It was not written in any will, but the man had said it and stuck with his promise since he had first purchased it. Clay was angry, but he bid his time, he would make sure that the coat was his.

As time progressed, the old man’s family learned of Clay and the friendship between him and their father. Eventually though, they began to see Clay for the con artist he was and not as the nice, generous man he pretended to be. They warned their father about him, but he could not get passed Clay’s kind and sympathetic demeanor. To him Clay was almost an angel sent by God to care for and watch over him. Clay knew he was in, but the coat was the one thing that ‘in’ could still not get him. He plotted and planned but no matter what he tried, the coat remained out of reach.

More years passed and the old man took ill. In his final moments as his family raced to see him, he told Clay to make sure that his son got the coat. They were his last words and his upset, despondent, and distressed family reached him moments too late. Clay had his opportunity right in front of him. Now no one knew of the final wish of the old man except him and with that he would be able to take exactly what he had obsessed over for so many years.

While the family mourned, Clay quickly and quietly slipped away up to the man’s bedroom. He located the coat and snatched it from the closet before anyone checked for it. He carefully opened the window and let the coat down onto a low hanging tree branch. He walked downstairs and outside acting as if he was too emotionally distraught to be in the house at that moment. He ran to the tree and took the coat down. He placed it in the trunk of his car and smiled with a twisted glee of excitement, that he had finally gotten exactly what he had wanted.

The man was buried a few days later and a month after that the will was read and every one of the old man’s possessions were distributed to the right people. The only thing that remained unaccounted for was the coat. The man’s only son knew that it was promised to him and desperately wanted it purely as a memory of his father. He had fond memories of walking down the streets with his dad wearing the coat smelling like his old cologne and cigars. Clay claimed to have no knowledge of the location of the coat or even what the coat was. The son could tell Clay was lying, but there was no way to prove it.

Clay had made it away clean with the coat that he had obsessed over for so long. The very next day after he was clear of the past, he decided to go out for a walk. It was a bright, clear blue day, but chilly. He put on the coat and wore it proudly, as if there was a reason to. As he strolled down the street he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see what it was, but nothing was there. He thought to himself that it was just a bird or a leaf blowing in the wind. He kept walking as if he was the king of the world.

He heard a noise behind him and turned to see what it was, but he saw nothing and heard nothing more. He began to become a little bit perturbed, but he tried to put it behind him. He continued to strut down the street, but it would not last for long. Slowly he heard and saw more and more things around him that at a second glance were not actually there. Slowly the images and sounds became more vivid and more clear until he saw the horrific images and heard the screams of tormented souls up close and personal.

He was terrified and tried to run, but he could not escape the hell on earth that he was in. He ran and collapsed to his knees on some railroad tracks completely giving up. He clutched his head and waivered back and forth wishing that the visions would go away. In the distance a train approached, but he could not see it. It got closer and blew its horn, but he could not hear it. He did not know the train was there until it was right on top of him. Just before the train hit the images and sounds stopped to allow him to see his imminent doom and ultimate fate. He screamed with horror as it crushed him into the tracks and destroyed the coat.

The train stopped moments after and bystanders called the police and ambulances. They arrived shortly after, but there was nothing that could be done. Clay was pronounced dead at the scene and only the label of the coat was distinguishable. The train happened to be carrying the old man’s family back their homes. They stepped off of the train and recognized the mutilated remains of Clay. The son noticed the label and knew that Clay had in fact stolen the coat and in a quirk of fate was killed while wearing it. It was almost as if he was punished for his dishonesty and underhanded deeds. The son wondered what it was that drove Clay in front of the train and what his last thoughts were just before he was killed. But just like the last words of the old man, the last thoughts of Clay were dead with him. The son would never know that the last thing Clay saw was the name emblazoned across the front of the train, “Espenali R and R.”

Broken

Broken - By: John Fischer

Wes woke up at five in the morning and peered out of the window. Gray clouds blanketed the sky as usual, and he thought to himself that it was just another crappy day. He flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He wondered why life had to be the way it was. Wes was a hopeless romantic, starved of the love he so desperately needed. He felt broken inside like a machine that was missing a part or something not functioning the way it ought to. Nothing he ever did worked out right. He slid out of the bed and made his way into the bathroom. He gazed into the mirror and wondered who he was.

Wes sighed and smacked his hand on the sink. He was so tired of waking up to a new day completely hopeless. He looked at the row of lights above the mirror and watched as the filaments burned brightly. He saw the little coils glowing and lighting the entire room as they surged with electricity. He shook his head and wished that he could be like the filament shinning radiant light instead of the black-light that he was. He flicked the lights off and walked back into his bedroom. He put on a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and slid into his black canvas shoes. He walked downstairs and sat at the kitchen table as he waited for the clock to say it was time to leave.

The sun rose behind the layer of clouds and tried to force its light through. The gray clouds took on a violet hue as they glowed from the intense luminescence that wished to disperse them. The clouds held strong as time ticked by mocking the Sun’s strength. Hidden behind them it could never do its full job of illuminating and warming the earth. Wes walked out of the door and hung his head. He cursed the overcast sky and got in his car.

He drove to school and made his way to his first class. He slid through the throngs of people with ease as he walked to the building in which his classroom was. It was the first day of the second semester, which meant new classes, new teachers, and new people to meet. Wes hated the first day of any semester since he always had a good teacher the semester before. He wished he could have kept the same teachers the whole time, but that was not possible. He dreaded the idea of a teacher he liked being replaced by a crabby, obnoxious, elitist who acted like the king of the universe when they lectured.

He slowly climbed the empty stairwell to the fourth floor where his class was located. He stopped on the third floor and looked up the spiraling stairs. He put his head down and sighed as he continued up the steps. He reached the fourth floor and smacked his head against the door. He shut his eyes and wondered why he even bothered, there was no point to anything. He pushed the door open and walked down the hallway. It was desolate and silent, just the way Wes liked it. He found his classroom and sat down. As usual he was the first one there, he had nothing better to do than to sit in an empty room.

He sat in silence staring at the clock on the wall. He waited for other people to start showing up so he could find out who was in this new class of his. The clock ticked by and Wes finally dropped his head onto the desk. He put his head in his folded arms and shut his eyes. He daydreamed of a reason to go on, the thoughts only sent chills down his spine. He imagined a bright day filled with love and joy, but his pessimistic attitude fought the idea off throwing him back to his harsh reality. The sky remained cloud coated and the Sun’s function remained broken just like Wes’ spirit.

The minutes passed and the classroom began to fill. He sighed as it was mostly filled with people he could not stand. The time drew close to the start of class and there was only one seat left. It just happened to be right next to him too. He was in the middle of the room on the left side, which meant only one person would be next to him. He wondered who the last person would be, the lucky soul that got to sit next to the black hole of the room.

There was one minute left on the clock when the girl walked in. Wes’ jaw almost dropped. He had seen her around campus before, but had never met her. He had thought about trying to talk to her once, but his broken attitude prevented him from doing so. She was gorgeous with full lips, big brown eyes, a curvy figure, and to top it all off long wavy brown hair. He crossed his fingers in the palm of his hand praying that she didn’t have the wrong room. She checked her schedule with the teacher and sat down next to Wes. He almost melted away into dreamland.

He glanced over at her and she noticed. She turned to him with a big smile on her face and said, “Hi”. His heart began to race and he barely eked out a ‘hey’. Class began shortly after, but Wes could not care less. There was no way he could possibly pay attention that day. Wes was always good in class, he paid attention and never missed a word or a note, unless he was thrown into a fairy-tale, imaginary land by someone or something. He drifted away dreaming of what the possibilities were of the small quirk that fate had thrown him. The clock ticked by and class moved on, but he was completely out of it, just waiting for the right moment to say something to the girl.

Wes snapped back to reality when he heard the teacher say that class was dismissed. He threw his books off of the desk into his bag and immediately turned to the girl. He quickly spit out, “Hey I’m Wesley, but you can call me Wes. How you doin?”

He could not believe that he had just said, “How you doin?” with the little accent he put on as a joke with his friends. He almost smacked himself in the face, but maintained his composure. She giggled and said, “You’re cute. I’m Jackie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Wes was in heaven, she didn’t flat line him, and she actually said he was cute. He tried his best to be clear and cool. He said, “Hey so you wanna grab lunch later or something?”

She looked at the clock and pondered it for a bit. Then with a cute little grin she nodded her head and said, “Twelve thirty outside the cafeteria.”

Wes was immediately thrown into shock. He responded, “Alright, see you then” with the biggest smile he had ever worn. Jackie walked out of the classroom and Wes was left alone to revel in his glory. A small glimmer of hope shone in his eyes. He felt it surge through him and it was such a good feeling. He had not felt hope in the longest time and was on the verge of giving up, when destiny chimed in and kept him from throwing in the towel. He was thrilled; he was beyond thrilled he was ecstatic.

He stood up and walked to the door with his bag. He took a deep breath before he left the room and smiled. Behind him the window began to glow. Beams of light shattered the seemingly impenetrable wall of clouds. They shone down brilliantly onto the dull earth. The clouds broke and revealed the hot shinning ball of fire in the sky. Wes walked outside and gazed up at it. He snickered to himself and said, “No longer out of order.”