19AD8 | Quarantine and Chill: Chapter One
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Quarantine and Chill: Chapter One

This is a Science-Fiction Story and a complete work of fiction, meant entirely for entertainment. I write these stories as writing practice.

The evening rain offered a soothing change of scenery. What’s typically appreciated as bleak visual conditions actually created quite the contrary; the sound of the rain articulated an appropriate calmness, necessary to a world in slight turmoil.

The soil… muddied, appeared to illustrate a sense of clear cleanliness… an observation that I found to be worthwhile.

The aversion felt redeeming, for prior, the more I allowed my mind to ponder… the more I found myself increasingly disappointed.

Disappointed, or disappointment rather, is a depleting form of conscious energy. That temporary pause of ponder was as refreshing as rain that brings pure water, one drop at a time… of course.

Which led me to think about the similarities between that analogy and the way sand siphons through an hourglass, measuring time, the measurement of time, abstractly spoken as the counting of incremental moments, may perhaps show that those parallel explanations, nay, comparisons, rather, are not that different.

What is eerie about being a disciplined person? That even the slightest, most subtle, unwarranted vibe is felt rhythmically through the artistically crafted electrical system of every human being, or that might just be me.

Through the isolation of such electricity, scientifically, within my own being, I’ve observed that the breach stems from ambitions of lackluster individuals attempting to project their own faults and insecurities, upon you, or wherein this specific case, upon me.

The other night, I quickly realized that I am definitely one of the best writers deceased or alive; simply after taking the time to convert the way it’s spoken, into rhythmic spoken word. It’s intriguing how humbleness and self-awareness can co-exist.

I started to think about some book ideas, some sort of psychological thriller, something that keeps people entertained throughout, when and only when they want to be entertained. What I mean by that is that there is a difference between real-life and entertainment and I feel the line is dissipating within the current-socialism of the entire world.

When people want to be entertained, they want entertainment, when people are in real-life, they need real-life.

That’s an idea that I could certainly, thoroughly, explain at another time, until then, I decided to continue on with my journey through this stream of consciousness.

As I egotistically gloated over my realization of said inherent, instantaneous artistic abilities, I found myself in a ‘written-as-I-go’ theatrical movie scene.

There was only one camera, strategically placed within the golden rule, filming on real film, for the sole reason that color correcting upon film, is real cinematography and maybe the only type of film worth watching.

The critics chirped in confirmation, written on the critiques found on the table. The only lighting, a lamp, highlighted the printed appreciation.

The camera zoomed ten percent, to coincide with a mind in concentration. The type of detail committed to the narration and subtle naivety of the camera view, surely must have created an addictive intrigue from the hypothetical audience.

Once Upon A Time,

It was a normal night, yet one of those nights where you knew that something was different.

For those that have luck, which is a combination of both good and bad luck, that’s the norm.

What is normal to one is abstract to another, but when you add, rather than subtract the latter, the result is that normality is absolute, obsolete. I found that written on a napkin, stained from a glass of wine, that I had my beer resting on. I took a few sips from my beer while thinking, “Damn, I’m a good writer.”

There was suddenly a sharp ringing sound in my right ear, moments before I heard the front door open. I figured that my woman had just gotten home, although, I must admit, I was surprised that she did not make a sound.

I made as much noise as possible, en route to the front door, with hopes of startling her, however to my surprise, I saw her standing there, peculiarly dumbfounded, staring at the lock of the door. She didn’t immediately realize that I was there, despite the audacious banter from the obvious sounds of my heavy footsteps.

Knowing that she is an intensive care unit (ICU) nurse, I figured she was just having a hiccup of a winding down moment, I personally knew how difficult it is to wind down, so I am often sensitive to that. However, this was different as fifteen, twenty, maybe even forty-five seconds had passed, she continued to stare at the lock on the door.

The camera effectively caught her eyes span from the door lock to focusing on me. I abruptly noticed that her eyes looked different, different than I had seen before. Her eyes had a way of mimicking the collective mood of the realm, illustrated as beautifully as calligraphy captures the meaning of what is written, which is why I had always paid close attention to the state of her retina.

I then earnestly said, “What’s going on with you?

She shakily, with a dull, monotonous tone said, “Why… why would you lock the door?”

I quickly gave her a snarky, condescending look and said, “What do you mean? You have a key?”

Her eyes started to swell with an abundance of tears and she yelled, “You shouldn’t have locked the door like that.” as she stomped up the stairs, in a rare, yet apparent temper tantrum.

 I figured she was just in one of her hyper-typical moods, so I let her be, as I closed the door, locked it and then walked back into the living room.

As I entered the living room, I walked towards the wall where I have a board filled with post-it notes. I always posted every ‘spur-of-the-moment’ idea that I had there. I took one of the post-it notes and wrote, Obsessive rather than Obedient, with a permanent marker and then pressed the note on the board.

I heard a familiar creak from one of the stairwell steps, I knew that creak, and it’s from the 5th step before you get to the top. I figured that she had decided to sit over there and I knew that could only mean one thing.

I walked to the bottom of the stairwell; look up at her sitting there and then reached into my pocket and threw her a box of matches. Which to my surprise, she caught. Ever since I had started dating her, she’s always had a weird infatuation and obsession with lighting matches and then quickly blowing them out. She told me that she likes the smell that they make, which I never believed.

I watched her as she eloquently went through every match in the box, increasingly haphazardly, which I observed to be completely irregular, even for her, when she’s in that type of mood.

I snapped my fingers and softly conversed, “Are you sure that you’re alright?”

She hastily stood up and angrily yelled, “Don’t talk to me like that.”

I laughed and jokingly responded, “Is it that time of month again? Or is it just that time of day again?”

I heard her immediately walk to the bedroom and slam the door shut.

“You’re a real piece of work, do you know that?” I yelled up as I walked towards the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and grabbed another beer. I looked around for a bottle-opener, but for some reason I couldn’t find it, so I used my lighter to muscle the cap from the beer bottle. Most people don’t know that trick, if I may add a narrative line injection.

I chugged the beer in about fifteen seconds and then placed it into the recycling bin when, suddenly, I heard my phone ring. She was calling me. ‘Why was she calling me from inside the house?I thought to myself before I finally answered and said, “What is going on with you?”

There was an intense static sound, but no audible voice.

I grabbed my knapsack from off of the kitchen counter and then walked up the stairs, very slowly.

It took me about five minutes before I finally arrived at the bedroom door. I have always taken my time whenever I walk up steps, stairs, whichever, as I get a lot of thinking done that way, for some reason… probably the same reason that I like to take my time in the shower, I always get a lot of thinking done there.

As I reached to open the door, I heard her say, from inside the room, “You better not open the door!” She spoke with a usually aggressive tone of voice, one of which I found to be not that pleasant sounding. I let the reply of my voice affirm my sentiment and said, “I’m going to open this door in five seconds…” I slowly counted, “Five…Four…Three –“

I opened the door at the third second and saw her sitting on the bed, flipping through Polaroid images. I threw my backpack against the wall in a playfully, angry manner, I heard a gasp of a laugh from her, similar to an annoyed sigh and then she condescendingly said, “You don’t love me like you used to.”

I laser-focused my eyes at her and snarled in response, “How many times have I told you to think before you speak? You never listen.”

An immediate blush, rushed her face as she squinted her eyes and said, “Excuse me?” Behind her, within the camera view, there were several framed pieces of paper; several masters’ degrees in various sociology fields had her name on them and a P.H.D. in psychology had my name on it.

I theatrically animated myself, which I typically do when I decide to start talking stupid, which on a side-note, she either really likes or really despises, but I figured that I would take my chances and said, “You the one that doesn’t even know how to get thottie in a photo for me anymore.”

The risk with my wording didn’t seem to yield a desirable reward, for her eyes dilated as she softly yelled (which I always found to sound like nails on a chalkboard), “You don’t try and win me over anymore!”

I walked over to the wall and picked up my backpack while I said, “All of a sudden you ain’t no thot.”

She rolled her eyes as she watched me reach into my backpack. The camera closely zoomed in on her lips, occupying the entire frame, as she sweetly whispered, “I’m still thottie.

I pulled out a canister from my backpack, threw it to her and said, “Pick one.”

The canister was made from tin, worn down from the years and had a briefcase type of lock. She slowly spun the three numeral dials to 0-0-0 and opened the canister.

Inside of the canister were three items; a pencil, a pen and a blindfold.

She suddenly shrieked, dropped the canister and pointed to outside of the window.

There was a figure, dressed in all black, standing right in front of the automatic-sensor porch-light. The camera dramatically and slowly zooms in on the figure accompanied with a symphony of trill string sounds. 

The camera zooms for 15 seconds before it stops and the mysterious figure turns a flashlight on and aims it up at the window of the room that her and I were in.

The light filled the room with an audacious illumination, hued abrasive enough to where we could see the limited dust particles circulating in the air.

I quickly closed the curtains. That was my first natural, instinctive reaction… what would you do?

I turned my focus to her and heroically said, “Now you know why I lock the door….” She cunningly interrupted and said, “All of a sudden you know how to tell jokes?” I paid her comment no mind and continued to say, “Woman, hand me my revolver.”

She stopped herself from laughing and said, “You don’t even have any guns, dumbass.”

I confidently replied, “You’re damn right. That’s why you’re going to stay in this room and I’m going to see what the hell is going on outside.”

The camera zoomed in on her cleavage and then slowly up to her face as she flirtatiously said, “You’re not even going to bring any weapons?”

I held my two fists in the air, looked at her and said, “And you said that I didn’t have any guns…”

The camera followed me out of the room as I walked down the stairs towards the front door; the sounds of nostalgic heroic music in the background enhanced my courageous expectations to the point of where I felt like a superhero.

High off of the epinephrine and adrenaline, I yelled outside, “If you enjoy living, I wouldn’t bother taking one more step closer to this humble abode.”

The wind chimes on the porch made a spine-tingling sound, but there was no reply from the illusive intruder.

After a few moments I whispered to myself, “God damn it” and then bellowed loudly, “You’re on your second strike buddy, on the third strike I’m walking outside and there will be hell to pay…and the currency is blood.

I heard a text message notification sound and pulled my phone from out of my pocket, it was from my woman and it said, “I think you’re really starting to scare him.” Followed by a laughing emoji.

 I ignored the text message and ran out the door like a front-line soldier while I yelled, “I hope you have health insurance!”

The evening was as soundless as crickets chirping; even my breaths had audible heaviness and despite the humid summer, I could see my breaths, cloud, like winter sign language.

My entrenchment didn’t seem to startle the intruder in the slightest of bit. The haunting figure continued to hold the flashlight up at the bedroom window.   

I took a seat on the porch steps and lit a cigarette as I watched to see if the figure would move, yet the silhouette remained innate.

I thought to myself, “Okay, this is what I’m going to do… I’m going to run as fast as I can and tackle that son-of-a-bitch. Then my lady is going to see how heroic I am and she’s going to start getting thottie again. This is going to be a win-win scenario.

I took a deep breath to ensure that there was ample oxygen in my blood then I started to sprint towards the intruder with the speed of Usain Bolt, if this were a highlight reel, I felt certain that I looked like a stud.

A few feet away from the figure, I leaped off of the ground and lunged forward with all of my strength while I said, “And you thought you was tough!”

As I took down the supposed-intruder with my take down maneuvers, I heard a weird breaking sound as we hit the ground. I realized the figure was nothing more than a cardboard cutout of a silhouette. I stood up and felt slightly stupid yet relieved when I saw that the body on the floor was now dismembered pieces of cardboard. I took a moment to boast over my braveness, collected the pieces off of the ground and decided to bring them inside of the house to show my woman the freshly killed bounty.

I walked into the house and with a primal raised voice said, “Woman, I’m home. And I slayed the beast – just like I told you that I would.”

I heard my woman run out of the bedroom while she jubilantly said, “I always knew you were good for something!” She approached the stairwell banister, looked down at the rubble and I, as she started laughing uncontrollably.

I roared up to her like a Spartan would, “Look woman. Tonight we feast over my battle accolades!” I could tell that she was slightly, promiscuously, turned on over my achievement, despite the fact that the current situation was confusingly spooky.

She changed her demeanor to be more serious and said, “I’m laughing, but this is fucked up…”

I quickly replied, “Yes it is… so bring your ass down here girl.”

*To Be Continued In Chapter Two*

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