Beginning to hear The Ticking now. A glance at the wall-clock. 2:05, just jerking up to 2:06…they’d have to get a cab/train/something by, say, 4:00…
Closing his eyes, letting the juices flow, spicy but not too spicy, the sausage skin crisp but the insides bursting with juice, and the fries with a little “burn” on the outside, but white as apples inside, sprinkled with garlic, fried in, it must have been sesame oil. Slowly finishing up the sandwiches. Another round of non-alcoholic beers, a break in the clouds outside, sunlight suddenly flooding the streets, like searchlights on white sequins, like being a mite inside of a giant vanilla-on-vanilla sundae.
“OK…we’ve got just a little more time….”
Paid, a quick visit to the John, the waitress happy with the ample tip, Buzz thinking to himself She’s probably a student at Loyola or Northwestern or Roosevelt or the Art Institute, remember how it wassssssss…like Hamlet’s father’s ghost —remember meeee.
Out into blast furnace brightness. Hardly feeling the cold. The secret was in the light. Hailing another cab.
“Fourteen eleven North State!” he told the driver.
“Where are we going now?” asked Malinche, “We have to get to the airport…”
“Just one short visit….”
And even if they missed their plane, so…? They’d stay overnight somewhere Continue Reading
Breaking from the normal every Wednesday schedule, Eschatology will publish a special edition on Halloween, Hugh Fox‘s “Beginning”.
They watched the souls drift up from the lake; they dreamt that the old men and women of Westeria were alive, alive, so they could sing their old songs again. Alive, so little Amelia could let her mother tuck her in and not complain. Alive, so Mr. Fantastic could serve food on a silver tray once more, down in the old home, down, down where the men once chauffeured the women to parties and balls and high school graduations. He touched the hem of Amelia’s dress, hoping she would look away from the scene, away from the broken memories, away away as far away as his machine heart could guide her.
“Are you with me?” he buzzed.
Amelia watched her mother’s soul drift up. An orb of light in the sun. A speck out of a dusty earth. A drop of sea in the ocean, out of the lake that was once her home. Covered in ocean, she thought. Covered in ocean.
Mr. Fantastic stood to his pegs. “Turn your radio on,” he buzzed.
Amelia looked down at the little red box at her feet. Dirt was matted around the knobs and there were little chip marks where she had dropped it in the ditch miles back in what was left of Notown. Not an accident. She had thrown it there so the static could no longer haunt her. Continue Reading