I turn the key back to myself, and the engine labors for a moment before shutting off. Stuffing my backpack rather lazily before grabbing it, I pour myself out of the driver’s door like ketchup – the kind in the glass bottles – and ooze my way through the desolate campus parking lot. Along the way, I pass a streamlined green Galant--
--I am a gallant wanderer, hugging a ragged green cloak tightly about myself, as the wind whips swiftly over the elevated hills. My skin is the color of rotten fruit, and my teeth are jagged and coarse – suitable for tearing meat. My stiff black mane runs in a zig-zag up each jaw before converging into a long, bushy tail dangling slenderly down my husky backside. I am lonely. I bear no company, for no company dare bear me. I am shunned, from both sides – the wicked, and the righteous. I am not brave, yet there are many who fear me. They think me unstable, and lost; but I know where I am going. I am not a beast, not a killer – never a rapist of sweet nature. I am not what they are; I am luminous, a fluke, a miracle. Only two more days of trudging, and then I will find myself--
--stepping through that neat swivel door like they’ve got downtown, I take a moment to wipe my feet. Always. Some early bird students are already milling about, and I can hear the distant “click-clack” of the custodian’s wet mop. This wing is always silent in the AM. Was that a pin drop?
I think it was. I pull my dusty gray fedora down low, so some creep won’t see my eyes; and in pulling “Faith” - my trusty six-shooter from the holster, strung against my chest just under my pinstripe suit lapel - I’m ready for action. The warehouse is nothing but dim light and shadow, and an occasional crate or spare parts rack – the kind of place you never want to be caught up in. I move silently under the safety of deep shadow, and my felt-bottom spats refuse to give me away. A little ways up, I spot a stairwell snaking up along the far wall, but I can’t see where it leads. Stepping just a margin into the light for a better vantage, I pay for it. CLOCK! Slapjack, I tell myself – nice going. My neck throbs and I buckle, and “Faith” drops to the floor with a CRACK, but I’m not out yet. I couldn’t be. If I was, they’d interrogate me – and I hate interrogation. I’m up in two licks, and the fisticuffs commence. This turd I’m fighting, he’s a real piece of work. Smells like raw fish, and throws a mean right hook. A real class act. I’ve got his pattern down in seconds, though, and I sock him a left jab that sends him packing. Good night. Satisfied, I turn around and – POP! There’s pressure in my gut, just under my right lung, so I grab the spot instinctively. My gun? Where’s my gun?
Oh.
I slink down on a crate, and peer at my hands. They are wet with--
--soap and water, so I crank that lever and tear off a paper towel. When my hands are thoroughly wiped, I drift out the door and down the hall, floating up the stairs like a wretched wraith that nobody sees. At the top, I pass that girl from art class--
--who is standing in the moonlight of her open window, as the gentle breeze makes the drapes and her long, slender dress dance in unison. The fire is churning in the wall when I step in, and I push the large steel door shut behind me with cautious reserve. She turns to me and smiles, as I shuffle inside and relinquish my dusty gloves on her silken bed. Immediately, she reaches around my body and unclasps my cowhide cuirass, and it falls to the floor. Her warm hand caresses my naked back, which is bruised and beaten with weary travel. She kisses my cracked lips softly, her touch soothing me like summer rainfall. Our gaze never breaking. I unhook her waistbelt and discard it, and my hands drift slowly over her body, guiding over her hips to her chest, along her slender neck – and then sliding down to lighten the quilted dress from her shoulders, it collapsing to her feet in a heap. She stands there, shivering a little but smiling; and her natural beauty glows as brightly as her eyes are burning. I smile, wrapping my arms snugly around her, and my warmth takes over. Soon, we have bypassed her bed, and are embraced near the swirling fireplace, and I’m drifting into--
--the computer lab. There’s hardly anybody in there, so I claim a station near the printer. I doubt I’ll be printing anything, but what the hell. I go through the routine: CTRL + ALT + DELETE, login KEL, password (ha, betcha thought I was going to let that one slip). After a brief moment, the station registers my access, and I’m a fast click onto the little blue “e”. The Internet is so fast: one minute I’m checking my email, and the next minute I’m--
--darting my fingertips like lightning across the suspended keyboard. I’ve gotta find that file. What was it again? PRLIST.EXE – yeah, that’s the one. Where is it?! I could really be doing this much faster if that damn alarm would turn off. Somebody should go do that for me. Shit, I can hear them coming. SWAT guys are so loud, clattering down the hall with all that killing paraphernalia. There it is! Okay, floppy in. Copy! Download faster, dammit! Floppy out, floppy copy in. Copy! Come on…come on! Yes!! Okay, time to bolt. Cover tracks and scram! I scramble through the rows of cubicles, darting through conference rooms and meeting halls and meeting rooms and conference halls. I dodge some employees, who were probably just hiding out in some closet “playing poker”, if you know what I mean. Down the long stairwell I go, hitting maybe four steps total on the way down. I turn sharply to the left, and I’m in--
--English class. I take my usual seat in the far back and dig out my cluttered black spiral notebook, and already I’m doodling in the margins...
END
