Pulpless

Ascent

2009-01-23T06:04:00.020-05:00

Anytown, USA - January 20, 2009

The cell smelled like urine and stale vomit. The boy becoming a man stood at the bars awaiting his release from the County Jail that had been his home for the past two days. Samuel was wrongly jailed for loitering in a white neighborhood. When he entered the facility, the Cracker from Texas was President, today his nation had a young new Commander partially of African ancestry who promised change. Samuel had only heard, read, and saw on video Dr. Martin Luther King, but his parents, both educators, were in DC on the historic day when the "I have a Dream" speech was delivered live. They only hoped back then that they would see this day, but never expected it so soon.

He left the jail alone, parents both at work, probably watching the historic inauguration with their students. George and Esther Brown, both decedents from slaves knew that Sammy would be released today, but Samuel didn't want them to pick him up, so instead of calling them on their cell to retrieve him he walked out the front door alone, like so many other wrongly and rightly incarcerated young black men.

Samuel lived the experience written about so often. Black boy in white neighborhood must be up to no good, so the police profiled and arrested him without incident. Samuel was an honors student, a senior in high school. George and Esther wondered why it took two days for his release, they tried relentlessly to get him out, but the process takes time, even with bail. Sammie was simply at a corner on his bike waiting for a friend of his who lived there. The weather was cold so he was wearing a hoodie. A black teenager in a white neighborhood stood out and a frightened citizen called it in. It was so bizarre that a black nerd could drive someone to call the police simply based on skin color. So it was, so it is, so it must change.

The boy walked out of the inner city precinct and disappeared into the mass of people navigating the urban streets like schools of fish in the ocean. Samuel was not aware of the three men following him; one in front, one behind, and one beside. They new he was heading to the bus that would take him to his suburban home. The streets were especially crowded as it was lunch hour and the boy walked with the city attitude needed to survive. Samuel was as well versed in the nature of the street as he was in the nature of biology. A street smart nerd he was, who would become a doctor someday.

He boarded the bus, and the trio joined, disbursing within. Samuel was unaware of his entourage as he took a seat somewhere in the middle. The bus began to move, rocking from side to side as it entered the traffic, plume of black smoke exhaled from the exhaust burping a cloud of diesel discharge. Samuel cherished his freedom from incarceration, another story he would someday tell his grandchildren of how things used to be. But today was the turning point, the day that black Americans had hope, freedom, and no more excuses.

The bus finally stopped at his neighborhood. Samuel departed and was quickly flanked by his followers. A chill ran down his spine as he simultaneously realized he was being followed and recognized one of the faces. It was that of the arresting officer, but now he was in street clothes. Samuel walked faster in an attempt to displace the unwanted company. His heart pounded in his throat as he broke into a sprint. Like the Jews, he would not walk without a fight into the gas chambers as he did a few days earlier into the squad car. Those bastards were not going to take him twice.

Now he was on his turf, and he twisted and turned through the streets toppling carts as he passed the grocery store in a vane attempt to stop his chasers. No such luck. Mrs. Porter watched in disbelief as she saw Samuel run towards her. "Call my parents!" he helled as he passed by, the police turned thugs in pursuit, one of them knocking the elderly to the ground. She lay there disregarding the soon to be emerging bruises, took out her cell, and dialed the number for Mr. Brown. The school he taught at about a half a mile away, seemed across the universe from his boy in need. "George, there are some white men chasing Sammie!" she hollered.

"Where?" he replied.

"Forest and Abernathy, heading south," Ms. Potter informed.

"I'll be right there." George disconnected the call, shoved the flip phone in his trouser pocket and ran from his class, not taking the time to inform his class. They, along with the entire school and millions of students across the country were watching the historic inaugural ceremony. They barely noticed the missing educator. In an effort to conserve energy, money, and get exercise, George rode his bike faithfully each day. He quickly unlocked the chain and jumped on the commuter style bike. George pedaled as fast as he could towards Forest Street.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Potter was being helped to her feet by a stranger and Samuel disappeared into the distance with his attackers in tow. Mrs. Potter thought one more call was in order. She had no idea that Sammie's assailants were police. Mrs. Potter used her cell again, this time to call 911 and report the incident. "Hurry, they are almost to Sunset Avenue."

Then Samuel made a would be fatal error. His father was twelve block away on Forest heading in his direction, a squad car was twenty blocks away on Sunset, heading towards Forest. Samuel appeared to escape safety by turning right into an unmarked non-descript alley. Samuel knew this alley well. It was where his bully adversaries would loiter when skipping school. He only hoped that they would be his protectors on this day.

Just as hoped there they were smoking cigarettes and passing a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, the crack consumed before noon. "Yo Sammie!" one boy shouted, "slow up boy," he said while holding his jewels in a vane attempt to keep his over sized North Poles up, the plaid boxers the only material covering his butt. James was getting ready to harass the nerd that he was best friends with in pre-school, the two taking different forks in the road in middle school. Then the three white men entered the den. They looked around at the dozen or so young black boys to men. The police officers had planned to scare Samuel into not testifying at the internal hearing for profiling the boy when they falsely arrested him.

Two of the three had been immediately suspended when Samuel's father made a fuss at the precinct. The third officer was not involved in the original arrest, but he slandered the boy by telling Samuel "get in that cell Nigger!". Mr. George Brown was an eloquent orator and he used his words well to intimidate the lieutenant at the precinct. Although it took two days to free the boy, the arresting officers were immediately relieved of duty the evening of the incident.

James changed his focus from Samuel to the three intruders. They were in plain clothes, no badges, but guns in shoulder holsters under their jackets. They turned to depart the way they came in, when the cave closed in with three you black men folded in behind them. Samuel recoiled to a corner of the alley and watched James court try and convict the three officers. Each and every gang member was holding and quickly brandished their hardware. James walked to the first first of three to enter the alley. "What you want with my man Sammie you cracker?"

"We are police officers," he stated as if that was a card to be freed.

"Show me your badge," responded James.

"We're off duty, we don't have them on us." He began to sweat. He had never been in a position like this without a badge to hide behind. "This is not your matter, your pal Samuel escaped and we just happened across him. Just let us have him and we will be on our way."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah."

By this time Mr. Brown had reached the intersection of the alley and saw the three gang bangers at the entrance. Usually he would have ridden over to the other side of the street, but Sammie was not in sight, he had a feeling his boy may be in the alley. He swung his right leg up and over the rear wheel and dismounted the bike, leaning it against the wall. He peeked in and saw Sammie against a corner and the three out of place white men as the trial began.

"Dis' is my court, and witness my jury around you." He approached the three officers and one by one reached in and removed their weapons from beneath their coats. "The accused are not allowed to have weapons," he explained. James tossed them to a corner, still holding his jeans up, this time by the over sized belt buckle. This was more formal than casually holding his crotch. They had company after all.

"Do you know what day this is?"

The three accused looked at each other, then to James and shook their heads.

"Today is the day a Nigga' takes the White House. One of our boys has made it there. Not as a gangsta', not as football hero, not as rapper, but as an educated man. He got himself educated like my boy Sammie here," pointing to Samuel who was starting to appear from the corner feeling a bit less threatened. "I have been blind all my life. Blinded by da' colors of my gang. Blinded by da' bling of my heroes. Blinded, because I just could not see it. But now I sees. It ain't da' pieces, or da' crack, or da' rhymes. It's about da' brains. "

James kept pontificating as the patrol cruiser arrived. His guards at street ran in both directions and the car entered the alley while Mr. Brown stood back by his bicycle. Half of the group disbursed quickly as they had done many times before, while the others stood their ground supporting James. The trial had come to an end before it ever got started.

"Drop your weapons and put your hands over your heads,"commanded uniformed officers. All the members obliged save James, who was not carrying , but refused to raise his hands. "you too nigger with the corn rows, raise your hands!" he demanded of James who acquiesced, but first reached back behind his over sized jeans to adjust the waist over his butt to keep them from sliding to the street.

The second patrolman thought he was reaching for a weapon and discharged his standard police issue .38 three times directly into the the chest of James. The bullets ripped through his flesh as easily as his shirt and blood splatter sprayed the three off duty cops as the medium build gang leader fell backwards, toppling down on Samuel, who broke his fall as they both hit the pavement.

"Oh my God," screamed George Brown. He had been on the streets long enough to know not to make any sudden moves, so he waited with his heart in his throat pounding like the beats of drums. Both patrolmen ran to James, the rest of the gang evaporated, as did the three off duty cops, but not before George got a good look at them. The images of the men who chased Sammie were forever embedded in his mind.

Samuel squirmed out from under James to allow the officers to evaluate him. One touching his neck, while the other radioed for an ambulance. It seemed safe for George to sprint to his son since there were only five people left in this recently crowded alley.George hugged Sammie tight then kissed him on the lips as he had done many times before, this time it did not bother the boy.

Just then Samuel felt his leg being kicked, it was James. He was not dead, and Samuel left his fathers embrace and knelt down at James' head, crimson life oozing from the corner of the gang leaders mouth. Then the dying gang banger whispered his last words to the scholarly boy,"Ascend from 'dis place Sam, don't be like me. Don't let any other brother be like me. I see my whole life now, and it was stupid shit. If I can change my whole life with one word, let it be Ascend." And then a guttural gurgling sound was audible to Samuel, and he knew his childhood friend was gone.

"Ascend my friend," he said to the corpse, hoping his soul could hear. "I swear to you this day, I will work hard to help others ascend in life, as you could only do in death." James' soul heard those words, and then was gone.

e-Girl

2009-01-21T07:22:00.004-05:00

The computer glows on her pale, almost opaque face as she types in the dark of her studio apartment. Night becomes day and day night while she is tuned in to her various open windows on the Internet. Each window a different life, as real as the unreal virtual existence she lives. It all started as role playing of stuffed animals she emulated as a preteen on an Internet site that stalked children to buy their products, and now she continues into her early twenties; role playing people of her own creation.

She has not seen the light of day in four years. Jen is petrified of the sun and she painted all the windows of her inner city apartment black when her mother died after a fifteen year battle with skin cancer. It all seemed so harmless. Her mother Beth was a sun lover, who worshipped the the source of her demise until the age of fifty, then spent the last fifteen years of her life being cut, lasered and chemically treated in a topical way to make the damaged cells surface as soars on a leper. The procedures came to a rest three days before her sixty-fifth birthday when she simply went to sleep and did not wake. It wasn’t the cancer so much as her disdain for her life as she knew it now. No sun, just treatments for the it’s damage. Beth went to sleep and simply willed herself to die.

Fortunately there was five million dollars of life insurance her father had taken out long before the cancer was detected. He placed most of it in a trust for Jen so she would never have to work. Eric knew Jen could not cope. Ever since she disappeared into her computer at age fourteen, she was not able to leave the house. She shunned all real friends in favor of her virtual life, but to Jen, virtuality was reality and reality fiction. Jen eventually shunned her father and brother Jason in favor of her online family. She took on the twelve lives online as her own, leaving the real world behind. Gary was her first human persona. A male.

Jen thought it an interesting twist to use the virtual world to live as a boy. A nubile fourteen year old girl became Gary online. Gary would flirt with Jen’s girlfriends and dazzle them by saying things that Jen new they wanted to hear. The evolution from stuffed animal to teenage boy was intoxicating. Jen got to know her friends better as a virtual boy than she ever did in real life. They let their guard down, and Jen began to live at night more than day. The blinds to her room were closed at all times so she could sleep during the day while her father and brother were at school and work. Beth stayed home, but never entered Jen’s room.

The Johnston’s were fortunate and Eric earned a sensational living on Wall Street, until the collapse. Jason was three years older and getting ready to leave for college the same year that Jen escaped into her virtual world. Her parents gave up on her. She stopped speaking when she was fifteen. She did not need vocal cords in her life, just a keyboard to create her world. Jen scoured the Internet for weeks before she found the picture that would be Gary, a handsome young teen with black hair.

She stole the photo from an AOL profile. She lived solely as Gary for six months before she decided she wanted to be a female online. Joanne was the first girl, followed by a string of male and female skins: Roger, Harrison, Brenda, Sienna, Tamara, Gretchen, Melinda, Gregory, Jackson, and Eleanor. The twelve people were created over five years. They never met each other or acted like each other. Although they were born of the same creator, they were never in the creators mind at the same time.

Jen only existed as the conductor of a symphony. Without Jen, the twelve did not exist. She needed to survive for them to survive. They had to take care of Jen. Although not aware of each other they made sure to feed her and cloth her using her PayPal account. Jen’s persona's made all her purchases with PayPal - food deliveries, clothes, music, everything she need to sustain herself. They ordered pizza and it was delivered, she needed new socks and they were delivered. Jen had no reason to leave her Manhattan walk up because she was taken care of by her creations.

Erik had set her up in the apartment when she turned eighteen – the family could not deal with a sick mother and a non-existent daughter/sister at the same time. The sicker her mother got, the deeper Jen slipped into e-world. Her twelve lives enough to reduce boredom, especially when she had most of them alive simultaneously. She was a great multi-tasker; unfortunately she had never applied the skill to anything but to sustain her e-life.

Jen started to smell something very strange. It was like rubber burning, but she had never smelled anything like that, so she would really not know. But if she had to imagine what it smelled like it would be burning rubber. Then she heard the sirens in the distance, then the piercing sound became louder. They became deafening. She heard sirens all the time in the city, but never like this before. So loud, so piercing, she grabbed at her ears, but it didn't help. Then she heard a blast on the other side of her door, it finally dawned on her, it was fire she smelled. She moved closer to the door, leaving her offspring behind in the monitor.

Jen touched the door knob and her thumb and index finger seemed to blister on contact. She went to scream, but had no voice. It was so many years back that she spoke; she didn't know how to use her vocal chords. She returned to the computer unable to leave her family of e-lives alone. It was not about her, but about them. She stayed in front of the monitor, refusing to leave them. If it was death by fire for them, she would go with them. Her ability to reason and know that she could pick up their lives anywhere from any computer did not enter her mind. It was here and now, and she could not leave.

Jen typed like crazy, she logged onto the FDNY website to let them know she was there, even though it was apparent that the fire trucks were outside on Houston Street. There was no way out through the door and she reported this online. The only way would be through the window, and it was Gary, her first born that would provide this information to dispatch. Jen kept trying to keep her family, her clan, her lifeline typing in twelve separate windows to summon for help in various chat rooms and IM’s. Jen had never typed so fast.

Finally the smoke won and Jen collapsed on the desk. Her family suspended in time. The computer windows were no longer alive with moving text, the blood of her creations. The lives she created would no longer be viable. They were dead. She was breathing shallowly about to join their fate. The flames engulfed the door to the hall. When the firefighter broke the black painted window on the second floor, a vacuum was created and the flames speed over Jen’s head and toward the window opening pierced by her would be savior.

He ducked as he was trained to do as the blaze blasted through the window and over his head, then it relaxed. After the initial rush he could see Jen hunched over her desk and keyboard as if protecting her family who lived inside the machine. “WHOLLY CRAP,” yelled the fireman.

“What do you see?” he heard from below. “There’s someone inside, just like dispatch said.”

“You can’t go in.”

“I have no choice.” Before the fireman on the ground could respond to his brother up the ladder, he was gone. Flames poured around the opening as the fireman crawled to the floor, just barely under the smoke and flames. His oxygen tank, the only lifeline he had. Rick had never felt the heat of the beast this ferociously before, and he was certain he would die. Ben, his elder brother below had always feared this day. Rick was the daredevil, always the first one in, but Ben was more reserved, he was married and had two daughters.

Rick occasionally looked up through the flames to see the woman still hunched over the desk. The legacy CRT monitor exploded as glass shattered above Jen’s head and his helmet caught the flying debris. That didn't deter Rick, in fact it engaged his adrenaline more than it had already been, and with a burst he was at the back of her chair. He reached up and pulled the chair backwards catching her head as it was about to crash on the wood floor. He tried to see her face if she was okay, but the smoke was too thick. Rick heard himself breath through the oxygen mask and thought about offering her a few breaths, but time would not permit.

He touched her neck and detected a pulse. It was time to rescue. Rick felt the water from the hose below, pouring in through the window he broke less than a minute ago. It drizzled on Rick and Jen as the core of the spout attacked the flames that had them trapped to the floor. He was able to rotate Jen around and slip his right arm under her knees and his left under her shoulder blades. With one swift move as a surfer to his feet, he stood hunched over with Jen in his arms and navigated just under the wrath of the water spout.

Rick quickly ran to the window and stuck his hand through, just under the water. The hose stream was terminated then Rick stood fully erect. When he looked down, his team was holding a rescue net. The truck controlled ladder was pulling away from the opening. Without hesitation Rick hurled Jen down to the net. He watched as his team whisked her off the net and onto a gurney. Rick removed the oxygen tank, leaving it in the apartment. The flames had already begun to attack towards the window. Then he jumped to the reset net, and rolled off as he had done many times before. He looked back up to see that the flames had once again taken the entire window.

Rick looked upon Jen’s face, her nose and mouth already covered by a mask. The rest of her face was sooty, but did not appear burned. She was still unconscious. Although he could not see her eyes, he knew immediately that this girl was probably the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her curvaceous body was covered only by a plain black tee shirt. And although he did not look intentionally realized she was commando. He pulled the tee down to protect her privacy. Rick became immediately intrigued by this woman who did not leave her computer even as she had become surrounded by flames.

As Rick examined Jen's face her eyes opened. She stared directly into his. Rick removed the oxygen mask. "Who are you?" he asked.

Jen had to think about this, the unconscious condition seemed to re-boot her. All the opened windows were now closed. Her soul wanted to survive, and it was Jen. The last seven years of her life, not saved to her hard drive - brain. He name came but her vocal chords failed as she mouthed "Jen," silently.

"I can't hear you," responded Rick. He leaned in closer to increase audibility, the surrounding noise could have distracted him from hearing. He was unaware that she had not used her voice in years.

She mustered the ever so slight whisper. The whisper of her her soul. The whisper prompted by an angel to bring her back to reality. "Jen."

Rick smiled. Her soft whisper sent a chill through his body, and he nearly quivered. "Hi Jen, pleasure to meet you. Everything will be okay now."

Jen smiled, her eyes never leaving his. Rick restored the mask. "You will need some more oxygen, I will stay with you as long as you need."

Jen reached over and took his hand. She held tight to her hero, her savior, her lifeline back to reality.

Freezing

2009-01-20T06:53:00.000-05:00

The ground was covered in white. Manhattan looked deceivingly clean with the blanket of two foot of snow delivered by the blizzard. The city that never sleeps rested and seemed heavenly covered in pure white. She was locked in a cramped dank apartment with a friend who became a foe under the incarceration caused by the storm. After spending four days together, she could hardly wait for the sun to melt the prison walls of snow and make her break for freedom.

The opportunity came on Tuesday. Although the streets were blocked, the subway system was running. Before he woke, she gathered her meager belongings and shoved them in her back pack. Her overnight stay did not prepare her for the four day entrapment and her clothes were starting to stale. She sprayed some A&F cologne on a pair of jeans and sweatshirt to conceal the smell. She raised them to her nose and smelled gingerly; it will have to do, no time for laundry.

He was snoring when she left the efficiency apartment, and closed the door, never to return. As she made her way to the iced over pavement in the village, she breathed deeply to absorb the uncommon fresh scent from the recent snow in the city. Soon the cool air turned frigid in her lungs and she decided to hurry to the subway. The snow was starting to melt under the sand and the blackish, tan-grey color of slush replaced the clean white snow. She walked down the frozen stairs to the subway carefully. Elle was watching her feet and realized that the snow had damaged her recently purchased suede boots, they were ruined.

Elle Patterson was a beautiful if short woman of the ripe age of twenty two. She was five foot two and had short red spiked hair and pale complexion. She walked past the homeless huddled in the subway station seeking warmth over the grates exuding steam from the warmed tracks below. She couldn't wait to get home to her mother's house in Hoboken. Elle just finished college the prior spring, but had not yet found a legitimate job. She fished a token from her pack in inserted in the turnstile. The metal coin jingled as it freed the tumblers to allow her access to the awaiting trains. She took the first train to Grand Central Station, her transfer stop to the Amtrak trains to Jersey.

Elle climbed the stairs out of the subway system and re-descended into the bowels of the city to await the trains to New Jersey. She already had a round trip ticket so she avoided the long lines at the counter. There was a large hand written sign above the ticket booth, which was on several pieces of connected copier paper. The sign was more like a banner. In large shaky magic marker, capital letters announced “ALL TRAINS TO NEW JERSEY ARE CANCELLED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.”

“Shit,” she said to herself aloud. She couldn't go back to the asshole’s apartment. At least it was warm in the terminal, she would crash there if she had to. No room for the homeless to nap today, the awaiting passengers woke them to share the hard uncomfortable fiberglass benches. The commuters endured the stench that emitted from the homeless, in order to rest their weary legs from floundering on the icy snow covered street above. Never before had they been thankful for the heat and benches that the train station provided.

Elle shook a tattered looking black man who wreaked of cheap wine, vomit, and urine. His clothes were filthy and worthy of flames to disinfect them. His nappy hair looked like a bird’s nest and contained lint and strands of thread. He didn't respond. She shook him again more aggressive this time, it was the only available bench. He was the last sleeping bum, probably because everyone else was afraid to come too close to his offensive smell. She saw his eyes open to reveal blood shot spheres of misery and despair. He stared aimlessly into space.

Elle retrieved the wallet from her back pack and took out a twenty. She then knelt in front of the unfortunate soul and using both hands spread the bill in front of his eyes, “May I rent some of your bench for a few hours please?” She addressed him respectfully.

“Leave me alone,” He grumbled, but not before he snatched the bill from her hand.

“Great, just great,” she shouted for all to hear, “I can’t even buy a seat in this fuckin’ hell hole.” Elle walked over to the grungy yellow tiled wall and leaned against it, one foot propped up behind her. Perched like a seagull on a vacant piling jutting from the sea. She began to daydream in order to escape the seedy environment that she was trapped in by the deceiving beauty of snow.

Finally the trains to Jersey were running again. Elle spent the better part of the day leaning against the cold tiled walls of the station. Although a seat on a bench had eventually become available, she meditated on one leg perched against the wall. She took the first train out. It wasn't till the second stop that she realized that it was the wrong train. Fortunately it did go to New Jersey, and she got off the train to find the correct one.

Standing on the platform at the stationless stop sent a chill through her spine as she stood by herself. White snow blinded the view of anything but the platform and tracks leading to nowhere in either direction. The wind chill below zero, Elle stood there, shivering, waiting, cursing. Snot dripped from her nose but dried into crust before it reached her top lip. She wanted to wipe away the unsightly discharge but she refused to remove her hands from her pockets. She shivered, her nose cold, eyes tearing from the cold wind. Alone. Waiting.

Then her feet felt the vibrations of the approaching train. She prayed it was her train home, her salvation. As the train neared, the platform became more lively as her feet felt the power of the electrically powered transport. The train roared into the station and she knew this one was not going to stop. Her spirits plummeted at the realization of her stranded situation. The sun was going down. It was dusk. The air got more frigid as if that was possible. Elle wondered if she would have to sleep on this platform. Maybe it was her disbelief of her predicament or just that she was too cold to notice before, but there was an enclosed glass shelter. No seats, but potential coat of armour to protect her from the more violent arctic winds that surely would cut her like a sword as the twilight approached.

She carried her backpack to the Plexiglas enclosure and opened it to find her few belongings that she could layer on. She removed her black leather biker’s jacket and quickly added two tee shirts and an extra bra. She never wore two bras together but she wanted all the fabric she could find to distance her petite body from the elements. Her nipples were rock hard from the cold and the second bra seemed to bring little relief a little too late. She returned her jacket and the inside nylon liner was cold and felt like ice as the heavy leather embraced her. She shivered in a vane attempt to force her body to re-heat the jacket and return to a livable temperature. She stood. Alone. Freezing. Wondering why they say hell is so hot. This must certainly be hell and it was fucking cold.....

Elle felt the platform vibrate once again. She began to prey to God. Church was far from her daily life but she knew if the was a god, a merciful god, he would certainly make the next train hers to Hoboken. She stood in the shelter and crossed her fingers that were inside her coat pocket and prayed. He eyes were closed. she felt the tremor stop and opened her eyes. Before her stood a silver train, the doors opened and steam burst out from the openings. She picked up her backpack and boarded the train very carefully. He first step tested to make sure that it was real and not a mirage that was about to lead her directly to the tracks below. It was real. As she entered the warm train, her body tingled as it began to thaw. She was leaving the frigid hell and entering the warmth of heaven. Thank you God.

The train was almost empty, which Elle thought was odd considering all the people at Grand Central. Shit. She forgot to look at which train she was on again. Oh well who cared, it was warm and she thought she was certainly going to freeze to death waiting outside. Maybe the train was an express to Florida, that wouldn't be so bad. No such luck. The conductor came over clicking his ticket punch. No ticket in hand he just liked the sound that the punch made. It was annoying to Elle as it sounded like a munching little insect coming to consume her ticket.

“Excuse me, am I on the right train to Hoboken?”

“Yes little lady,” responded the very overweight conductor as he inspected her ticket and punched the appropriate text to cancel further use.

Elle was petite, but she hated being called little. She just looked at the railroad employee with a raised brow, and remained silent. Elle wanted to respond, “thank you -- you big fat pig,” but she held her tongue in desperation to remain on the train.

He passed by while she sat looking out over the white covered factories and hills. It was difficult to determine any details as the snow blanketed almost everything. The factories and hills were only ascertainable by their towering presence over the rest of the landscape. It was warm and Elle began to loosen her scarf and top button of her jacket. She was beginning to sweat under the layers and knew she would get instant chills from the perspiration as soon as the cold air refrigerated her body once again. The only consolation if she died in the snow was that her body would not stink. Her poor body would be frozen solid as the chickens in her mothers freezer. Her family should get a discount from the mortuary. Elle giggled aloud at her dark humor.

Then she noticed the stop before Hoboken. It was much closer to her house. She never got off there before but this time she would try it. She had nothing to lose Elle thought. The doors opened. What no platform? What the hell she figured. Pack in hand she stepped off the train and fell into the three foot of snow. She turned to re-enter the train but it was too late, the doors had closed and she noticed the movement as it left her there to die. “Fuckit, fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuck. Goddamn shit.” With that out of her system she tried to forge ahead to the street. She raised the backpack above her head and began to walk. Elle was barely over five foot and the snow was three foot in this section. Only her upper body from penetrated through the top of the snow. She navigated very slowly through the powder. Thank god it wasn’t packed snow, she would surely die.

Finally she approached the street, it was cleaned. The road was icy, but manageable. Sidewalks still under snow she walked on the street. It was now dark and the cars honked and swerved to miss her barely distinguishable body in black attire. Elle did not care. She walked down the middle of the road as if to dare the oncoming traffic to hit her. Half an hour later she arrived at the townhouse. She walked up the stairs and with lack of energy to find her key, she banged on the door with her fist. Her mother opened the door. “Elle, you poor baby. We didn’t expect you home today, how did you get here?”

“Oh Mommy,” cried Elle as she began to weep, resting her head in the warmth of her mothers breast.

Descent

2009-01-20T05:47:00.000-05:00

Atlanta, Georgia - January 20, 2009

The five - forty inch monitors on the wall across from the thirty foot mahogany conference table were playing the inauguration in unison from the three major networks, plus Fox and CNN. The lanky president elect of partial African decent stood, about to become the first mixed breed man to be anointed president of the most powerful nation in history. The sound was off, but the image was there five times, as if quintuplets, billions of color HD pixels making him appear more real than life itself. The only breathing human in the room with twenty foot ceilings was Michael Sanderson. A bottle of Jack on the table with its amber liquid already dispensed in the Tiffany crystal rocks glass neat. Sanderson tossed the two once shot back his throat. The fifty something CEO winced and gulped it down as he had done thousands of times before. He looked at his Rolex. Ten minutes he thought to himself.

Sanderson poured another dose and let it breath as he finished his preparation. The Eagle Scout training would come in handy and his skills from forty years back returned like it was yesterday. Mike tapped the remote to the Bose system that held his iPod increasing the volume of the Lynard Skynard song “Sweet Home Alabama,” the Southern anthem more pertinent to his generation than Dixie itself. He took another swig and returned to his handy work. Seven minutes.

He was done. Mike poured another, this time to the brim; he did not need his faculties any longer and walked to the window overlooking Piedmont and 10th - crystal in hand. The fags had taken over his beautiful Midtown and the only thing worse than a nigger Mayor was a half breed Commander in Chief. He chugged the Jack in five gulps, much as he drank the elixir back in the seventies at Georgia Tech. He tapped the remote to restart the anthem on the iPod and timed it perfectly at just over four minutes. The fit middle aged man hurled the empty glass at the right most monitor featuring CNN, the commie news, which seemed to explode and sizzle. Ted Turner and his left wing bleeding hearts can go to hell. “Damn niggers, I had to give everyone off yesterday for freakin’ MLK day, and today half the employees called in sick to watch the half breed take control,” he said to nobody since he was alone in the thousand square foot room where he had ruled the real estate market of Atlanta until the recent collapse.

Of all the ways to go, he thought a lynching was appropriate. The white man had descended into second class, especially in his beloved city. The damn Democrats ruined his world. It was their fault that the real estate, then stock market, then financial markets came tumbling down. His company was insolvent, and Mike could not face Chapter 7. It was time to go. He vowed that he would die before he would see a nigger live in the White House. Mike lunged up onto the conference table with the agility of an Olympic gymnast. His Bostonians scuffing the mahogany as he straightened himself up, Armani suit jacket was on. He stood and fixed the Windsor knot on his purple silk tie for the last time. He stepped over to the head of the table. His high back leather chair had been removed. The noose awaited him.

He looked out the window for a moment then took his Blackberry from his inside jacket pocket and hit send for the email that was saved as a draft. His manicured hands lowered the rope around his neck, just above the well pressed collar, his televangelist style blown dry full head of salt and pepper hair remained unaffected. He looked left at the three remaining monitors, the incumbent about to become president, left hand on the scripture, right hand raised. There was no time to lose. Mr. Michael Sanderson, CEO stepped off the table. His body flailed as it struggled to come to rest, but the snap of the neck rendered the man unconscious as to avoid the agony of his earthly body. Finally the spastic dance ended. The country had a new president.

Twenty Four Hours Earlier

“How come ya’ll are working today?” Sanderson asked Eli, the medium height and build black bartender at the Downtown Four Seasons lounge.

“We never close Mr. Sanderson,” replied Elijah to the familiar customer who tipped mediocre, but came regularly. Usually it was after seven, but today it was just after the lunch rush. “They don’t even give us Christmas off, why would they let us off for Dr. King?”

“Good point Eli. Ya’ll gonna’ celebrate the holiday with your family?”

“No sir, just like any other day. We may watch the inauguration hoopla, I do have off tomorrow, usually am off Tuesday, so we may watch the swearing in on CNN.”

Elijah turned away from Sanderson, He did his obligatory small chat, but it was time to dismiss and return to work albeit a slow afternoon. The lunch rush was lighter than usual. In Atlanta, the white man was the minority. Even though the black community governed the city, old school white crackers still held the wealth - what was left of it as the economy collapsed. Elijah worked hard and long hours and spent idle time polishing the fine crystal that was used in the old landmark hotel lounge.

He finished his shift at seven, clocked out on the register, and took the MARTA bus to the outer edge of the city where he lived with his wife of thirty years, two daughters, and three grandchildren - one boy and two girls. His only son was capped in a drive by. The boy wasn't totally innocent, he was a gang member, and this was retaliation for something that Martin did. It didn't matter what it was, Elijah only new that his boy was taken in the ATL. A common tale in this emerging black city that was burnt to the ground during the Civil War.

The ATL was a symbol of the new order of racial mix, and the white man's power descent a logical progression in the development of the greatest melting pot on earth.