Unrelated: A Selection of Short Stories Read online

Unrelated 1.0

  Copyright 2012

  Discover other titles by Brick ONeil

  EXPANSE

  Look across the wide, yawning ocean. Does it beckon you? Are there others across the waves looking out and wondering what or who is out there? Maybe someone will come visit my shore. There aren't many who come, stay for very long.

  Maybe there are rumors surrounding my island? Maybe? Who gets lost at sea and finds themselves at my shore? Survivors? Not for long.

  I long for someone. Anyone. The questions, the feeling, watching. Maybe my long peppered beard turns them off. Maybe it's my jagged and missing teeth. My hands are stained, to be sure, but that is to be expected.

  Alas.

  A few days or a month, I don't know. But look, there is a small shipwreck. A lonely man walking up the beach. Do I go greet? No! I shall lay in wait. I smile and feel my jagged teeth tearing my blistered and white lips. Thrill!

  I want. My trusty big knife wants to cut, but not me this time. Maybe I shall follow and tease. They never like that much, but this is my island and they live by my rules. As long as they are here. This one looks like he knows how to survive. Me and knife love a challenge. But I shall be quiet as the mice and snakes.

  Hunger, hunter and prey. Who is who?

  Some have said war is over, many many years ago. They lie! The enemy is quick and thinking. Quick thinking. Me and knife. He has knife, too. They shall meet. What fun!

  Island isn't big, just a day walk anywhere, edge meets expanse. Expanse meets edge. Strangers meet shore, peak and valleys. Island takes some, I take others. Hunger, hunter and prey, who is who?

  He turns. I stepped on something. He hunches over, grabs his knife. Does his hunger as mine? I side step into a tree. I am invisible. He smells the earth, picks at the dirt. He is alert. So much fun!

  Ah, he is one. The enemy or friend. E or F? What happened to A, B, C, D? Me. I want to laugh--he hears me breathe.

  QUICK KNIFE! I lunge. Quick.

  His knife is hungrier. I hurt. There can be only one survivor here on island. I congratulate him. Make it quick, as I have done.

  He looks me over, no hunger. Knife is dead. All I see is Edge and Expanse..

  GARGOYLE

  There have been so many changes in my one hundred years. This is the best view of the city, in my opinion. Buildings have been built and torn down, people have come and gone.

  Years ago, there was an old lady in the building across the way. It used to be a grand old hotel, with men in uniforms, smiling and opening doors for people. Not anymore. The little old lady was a young and beautiful thing when she moved in. Really, her young and handsome man moved her in. They were something called 'newlyweds'. One day she watched from their top floor window as he joined his friends, all wearing snappy green colored uniforms. For weeks she sat at the window, staring at me, crying. Then, as the years went by, she grew old and frail; stoop shouldered and twisted. She would stare out the window at me, smile and wave, sigh and go away. One day she never came back.

  Now, there is an equally young man, with a lot of metal in his face, called 'posts' and 'rings' and has multicolored hair. He is my rainbow. He makes me laugh. He comes to visit me on my rooftop veranda late in the day, sharing what he sees in the outside world, his job of working with children in some sort of prison. He describes the new transportation devices, called 'cars', the other buildings and their gargoyles. Of course, we gargoyles do talk to each other, but there feels like a lot of them are missing these days. The newer ones don't talk. My rainbow will have a bottle of liquor, most of the young ones do, it seems. He'll share with me.

  There is a little girl that will look up at me when she is walking home with her Aunt, a disagreeable woman if there ever was one. The little girl doesn't have any hair, wears some sort of bonnet like the ladies would wear years and years ago. One day they were walking and the little girl in the bonnet fell down. The Aunt yanked her arm and was yelling at her. The little girl stood up and just kept staring at me. She was a cute thing, so stuck my tongue out at her and she laughed, which made her stronger, so she could walk with her Aunt, back into the old grand hotel. She didn't look out the window at me, either.

  One day my rainbow man came to me, crying. He said a little girl had passed away at the cancer clinic, where he works as a nurse intern. He brought some vodka, shared with me and we cried together. The next day, the disagreeable Aunt was walking by herself, carrying a child's backpack, with her head hung low. The little girl wasn't anywhere to be found. She suddenly stopped and turned around where the little girl would stop and stare at me. She saw me and laughed and stuck out her tongue.

  MEETING POPE GREGORY

  The hillsides surrounding the huge, stone, older-than-time venerated Church were like out of a storybook: gently rolling, green meadowed and dotted with sheep, cows and shepherds. There were trees I didn't recognize, bent and gnarly but equally as beautiful. How could anyone not feel joy upon seeing these trees?

 

  People were milling about, talking, sharing stories and family news. Did they also see the beauty of the bland but beautiful Stone Church? I didn't see a name outside, nor sign nor post. A deep base bell tolled and people entered the doors, each as huge as a redwood tree. The pews had a beautiful dark patina, the walls a pale yellow. Was that from a coat of paint or from the candle pillars on holders, each as tall as a child?

 

  There were two levels of seating. I was grabbed by the shoulders and steered towards the front, on the side. Seated next to me was an elderly woman, in a pale gray dress and cloak. She had a pork pie hat on that made her look quaint and sweet. As I looked around, the people were dressed in woolen hand-made pants, cloaks and home-spun cotton shirts, dressed and such. I felt out of place in my store bought suit and shiny shoes.

 

  Someone of some importance stood in front of the assembly and announced the Church had a special visitor and it was none other than Pope Gregory.

 

  Suddenly, the old woman in the pork pie hat and I were ushered towards the front and stood in front of a simple but grand altar. She didn't look as if she were taking in anything around her. I began to worry about her mental stability. Wasn't she concerned she was standing in front of her congregation and in front of the Pope?

 

  The Pope was positively ancient. I could not even hazard a guess as to his age. He was stoop shouldered, as if the weight of the world was upon him but his face was content and serene as if he didn't have a care in the world. He had a kindly face and countenance that I immediately felt at ease in front of this Man.

 

  He announced in a large voice that he was here to celebrate Elmer and Mildred, then looked at us. I leaned forward and said I wasn't Elmer and somehow the entire congregation heard and sighed in disappointment. He laughed gently, asked my name then said he would etch something down for me, whatever I wished.

  I always wondered what and where he etched.

  RUSTY CHAIN

  He was walking his grandfather's old farm, around the fences inside edge. He'd never realized how huge the old beat up farm was, really. He'd only been here as a child, many years ago. There were good times, even though there wasn't electricity, piped in water or even a phone. Carting buckets of water into the house from the well a few hundred feet away--how he had griped about that chore. Laughing at his childhood self, he kicked some leaves on the inside trail and noticed a short length of rusty chain.

  Picking it up, flakes of rust fell off. He was surprised it didn't disintegrate. His grandfather...or was he the great grand
father. So much time had passed. The old chain still held when he swung it over his head and let it go. It sailed in front of him like a snake looking for prey. He kicked the tall weeds as he continued on and picked up the old rusty chain.

  The last time he was here, he remembered the old man using a chain to lift a motor from one of the farm tractors. Or baling machines. Or something. He was a small child and could care less about machines, baling hay or beets or whatever it was. There was one memory that popped up about his brother threatening to chain him to a big tree in the back of the pastures if he didn't stop spying on him and his girlfriend up in the hay lofts. He laughed again at the memory.

  His brother had wanted the farm but had died a few years later in a hunting accident. That destroyed his grandfather, father and the whole family. It was expected that he would take over the farm after that. He held the rusty chain from the top link and let it hang down below his knees. Each link was still strong. Was he the weak link at the bottom?

  The corner of the pasture came up surprisingly fast. Way in the distance he could see the tower roofs near the barns that once held grain. He had always hated the farm. The chain caught on one of the posts on the fence as walked along. Looking closer, he found where he had carved his initials, with the ever popular "was here". When had he done that? Nine, ten? His grandfather never said anything, if he even noticed it. Surely he had walked the perimeter every single day to check the fences.

  A few hours later, he was back at the old farmhouse where his grandmother made huge family meals in the cavernous kitchen. It still looked huge to him. He held up his hands to gage the dimensions when he saw the rusty old chain was still in his hands. Grandfather was gone, father was gone, brother was gone. Most everyone was now. Why had he come back? Travelling so far? Maybe he would keep the rusty old chain, have it mounted on his wall.

  TOP FLOOR

  Many days there wasn't much to do: vacuum the rooms, dust the big and little tables, all the knick-knacks, large and small. Sometimes she asked for a meal to be called in. There was a favorite restaurant and delivery service that she liked. Funny how the agency told her this was a high turnover position. High? Try the top floor of a fifty four floor building. One side of the building curved in on itself and only the first 40 or so floors were visible. Very high in the sky the black building tore upwards, seeming to rent the sky itself. The building pierced the clouds. Not like a mountain would the heavens: no, this looked more like a high evildoer's hideout. She swore she could hear condors or vultures. She shivered.

  There wasn't much to know about her new boss, some high powered executive. The only glimpse she saw was when the high backed leather office chair swiveled around before she caught a look at the face: pure pale moonlight white with coal black hair--so much hair that it flowed behind the sides of the high backed leather office chair. What did that remind her of? Vultures.

  The office itself was eerie to the new maid, with black thick-armed office furniture, the top and seat upholstered in some black leather that was new to her. The walls were a dark mahogany or similar sort of dark wood paneling. The floor itself was dark and shined to a mirror finish. There was a fireplace on one wall that lit up the room, rose off the floor like some eerie vision of hell.

  What had she gotten herself into? Her boss told her she would be paid through the agency, if there were any additional chores, she would leave notes with the agency.

  One dark and story day, the doorman of the private elevator that led to the penthouses, gave her a sealed note from the agency; funny how it didn't come to her home or inside her weekly paycheck. She glanced at the note and there was a request for her to please clean a room that was normally sealed. No big deal, she cleaned private rooms for other clients all the time. All the same, she gave an involuntary shiver. The doorman noticed, looked away with a sorrowful visage. By that time the door opened, the doorman continued with the sorrowful gaze as the elevator doors shut slowly, deliberately.

  Opening the penthouse suite on the very top floor, there was the makings for hot tea on the counter. Placing her raincoat, umbrella and purse on the coat tree, she walked over to the counter, her footsteps echoing in the large empty room. A flash of lightening looked as if it were striking the building, then a horrifying crash of ear-splitting thunder shook her to her very core. There was a note perched on the bag of loose leaf tea, next to the teapot and bone-think china cup and saucer. The cup and saucer were such and odd shape, she would have asked her boss, but knew not to disturber her. "Please make yourself some hot tea. You must be cold and damp from your walk."

  A quick cup of tea would be lovely, she thought. There was nothing visible out the floor length windows, just dirty dishwater gray and black clouds, swirling and pushing to get in. There as another involuntary shiver. Maybe she was coming down with something, she thought. After the bracing hot cup of tea, she rinsed out the dishes and set them on a rack next to the copper or brass sinks. She never could tell them apart. Or why anyone would want something that garish.

  There was a key and another note on a side table next to the secondary locked room. She placed the key in the lock, the door popped open like it was on a spring. She stepped inside, turned to take the key out and the door slipped shut. To her dismay, there was no doorknob on the inside. The light was a bit dull but more pervasive throughout the room. The entire ceiling was glass and slightly domed. She wobbled a bit on her feet and placed her hand on the wall for support. She felt pits and scars. Looking at it, there was scratch and bite marks. The wall was concrete.

  She woke up in an overly large brass or copper sink, the rest of the concrete room, bare, save a small hospital table. She was woozier than ever and next to her was her Raven Haired boss. Her boss just looked at her without emotion, her pale ivory skin almost glowing. Inside the large sink, the woman was laying in her own blood.

  Many days there wasn't much to do: vacuum the rooms, dust the big and little tables, all the knick-knacks, large and small. Sometimes she asked for a meal to be called in. There was a favorite restaurant and delivery service that she liked. Funny how the agency told her this was a high turnover position.