QB
Staff of QB
I got lost in a dictionary,
looking for words so ancient
they can communicate
the emotions that wash over me.
Their flight is almost silent. The irresistible call of blood guides them through the darkness.
He sleeps, unaware of his fate. He is prey.
They are already ready to taste the blood of the victim. Their flight ends so absurdly — the resounding clap of his broad palm and his words. “I hate mosquitoes!”
When I step out of the portal, only darkness greets me.
I check my readouts. No visor malfunction. Oxygen levels good. I look around. Every atom of the planet is devoid of colour, like the oppressive black of the night escaped its bounds and infected the world. No moon. No stars. No life.
So why can I feel the burn of a thousand avaricious eyes?
Something’s wrong. This isn’t where Control was supposed to send me.
Heart pounding, I whirl on the portal behind me.
“Wait!” I cry, but the doorway has already closed.
All around me, the darkness smiles.
The Forming Circle glows a putrid green around the bones and blood-clay.
Lilly watches Friedrich’s fingers emerge like little anthills, then the full lips she loves to kiss. His temple’s ring shaped scar from a year ago and his deformed ribs from his fall two months back remain the same.
It took days to gather the blackened bones out of Friedrich’s immolated room. Sifting through ash, charred wood, and the chains to find them all. She wouldn’t allow him to have candles anymore.
His eyes open when the spell completes.
Lilly smiles. “Husband, you can’t ever leave me.”
He screams.
“Hey, Mitchell.”
“Hey, Jenny.”
“Are you ready to order?”
“Yeah. I’ll have the patty melt with a side of tater tots. And a coffee.”
“Great. Here you go.”
“What’s this?”
“Your bill.”
“I have to pay now?”
“Uh-huh. We’ve had some people skip out on their bill recently, so the owner is making everyone pay before getting their food.”
“This is crazy.”
“I know, but it’s not my call.”
“What if I want dessert?”
“Do you want dessert?”
“I don’t know. I usually make that decision after eating lunch.”
“Well, if you decide you want dessert, I can bill you separately for that.”
“Fine. Here’s a twenty to cover my lunch. You can keep the change.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back with your coffee and receipt.”
✱
“Here you go, Mitchell.”
“What the hell’s this?”
“Your coffee and receipt.”
“But my coffee’s in a Styrofoam cup.”
“I forgot to mention that earlier. We’ve had some clumsy customers lately, and the owner is tired of replacing broken mugs, so we’re serving drinks in disposable cups now.”
“It just doesn’t taste the same in a cup.”
“Sorry.”
“Is there anything else I should know about?”
“I don’t think so, but I’ll give you a heads up if the owner makes any other changes.”
“I have a suggestion.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“How about a change in ownership?”
The Wall falls, tensions rise. East meets West in an underground battle of youths: Neo-Nazis versus anti-fascists.
We’re waiting for the subway train after touring East Berlin, using up the currency while it’s still valid. I’ve just moved here, and I don’t speak German. My boyfriend shows me around and does most of the talking.
Shooting a look over his shoulder, he ushers me towards the end of the platform. I too look and see a gang of teens over by the stairs.
“We passed them earlier,” he says.
It’s my coloured hair and ripped tights that are getting their attention.
He grabs my hand. “Come on.”
We slip into the empty carriage before the doors slide shut. But the train idles.
“Scheisse,” he says. “Hurry up!”
They burst into the carriage, engulfing the space. Striding down the aisle, they surround us. A boy shoves a baseball bat under my chin. My hand, with a mind of its own, swipes it away. The bat is the colour of the German flag. Its wielder is very young.
The bright platform gives way to the dark tunnel. A heated discussion ensues.
My boyfriend shrugs, shakes his head. “Touristin aus Amerika.”
Batboy smirks. “Texas,” he drawls, in a thick German accent. The others laugh.
“Los Angeles,” I state.
Eyes widen. Postures ease. I’ve transformed from enemy to exotic creature. I smile at one, feeling like a traitor. They talk and laugh loudly until the train pulls in and they disembark.
We sigh!
The reegrets stood like statues in the marsh, staring with their beady eyes, pointing with their pointed beaks, one leg folded up beneath like landing gear.
The reegets gave no sense of why they were there, no hoot or cry of ridicule, no dance of protestation designed to blame or shame or split a hair.
No, the reegrets were simple beasts, their silent stance, their unwavering glare, a cold portent of what now can never be.
The gentle pressure
Of his fangs against my neck;
One more little death.