Dogs of Wrath, The: Part 4

Chris lay on the double bed in the dark room, thinking about the two men whose lives he had taken. His conscience screamed at him, Murder is never right! And no matter how much he tried to say he loved India and had saved her life, he couldn’t beat down this impenetrable argument.
His mental anguish was greatly eased by India slipping into the bed next to him. He made no move towards her, thinking she was in pain caused by the damage those two inhuman creatures had done to her in order to satisfy their visceral desires and was greatly surprised when she stirred in the bed and edged closer to him.

“Thank you for saving me,” she whispered in his ear. He didn’t respond, as he was once more engaged in his mental battle. She placed her arm gently onto his shoulder and moved closer to him, so that they were touching. He could feel her naked skin and he turned to face her. He wrapped his arms around her and she smiled. They kissed in the darkness and he gave himself to her.

________________________________________

Sunlight filtered though the blinds and India reluctantly opened her eyes, squinting at the brightness. She turned in the bed, and saw that the covers had been disturbed and a note was lying on the nightstand. She got out of bed, pulling on a robe and picked up the note. It was in Chris’ handwriting. In a flash she remembered the events of the night before, the dead bodies, Chris’ breakdown, and her decision to have sex with him.

She put the note in her robe pocket and ran down the stairs, nearly killing herself in her frantic flight to check on the bodies. She threw open the basement door and looked down. The bodies were gone. Ok, Chris is gone and the bodies are gone. Perhaps I should read that note now. She walked to the kitchen, opened a cabinet and took out some coffee grounds and a bottle of water. She put the grounds and water in her coffee pot and turned it on. As it began to warm up, she took out the note, sat down at the kitchen table and began to read.

Dear India,
Thank you for letting me stay over last night. I got rid of the bodies and they are now underneath your basement floor, courtesy of that refinishing job that I never got to finish. By the way, you should put a carpet down there. See you around
-Chris.

India dropped the note onto the table. She sat there for a moment, and then went back upstairs to her bathroom. The tub was still full of water. She took out the drain plug and as the water withdrew from the tub, she thought about what to do next. Well, obviously I am going to have to get rid of the bodies another way, she thought. I can’t just leave them there forever. What if I sell this house and the next owner wants to put a pool down there or something? So the question is now, who will move the bodies?

________________________________________

Chris drove down the highway with no particular destination in mind. His thoughts were still a confused jumble, his mind full of senseless noise. Suddenly the noise ceased and he saw the men in his mind, as he had all morning.

He was looking through the window again. The laughing had just stopped and two very content sighs could be heard. Perfect. He hopped over the pile and surprised the skinny man by kicking him in the groin as he flew through the window, causing him to fall to the ground in pain. He landed and heard a crunch. Chris looked down and saw that his foot had crushed the man’s kneecap. That guy wasn’t going anywhere soon. He kicked him in the groin again for good measure, then shot the big man right through the neck, killing him instantly. The third man had started at the sound of gunfire and was struggling to extricate himself from India’s butt when Chris’ final shot hit him right above his Roman nose. Chris dropped the gun.

But then, the flashback took a severe departure from the event. The two men stood up, and circled Chris, jeering and taunting. “You killed us,” the big man whispered. “You took the lives of two men, who were sons and brothers and fathers.”

“You stole our lives from us,” sibilated the second. “We had done you no harm and yet you felt it necessary to kill us in order to save that bitch.”

“She doesn’t even like you. She would have preferred that you stay out of it. She was having loads of fun with us.”

Chris covered his ears to shut their insults out, but he could still hear them. He turned to run, but he was no longer in India’s house. He was in a dark room with no walls that he could see. The two men were giants, laughing and pointing down at him, threatening to crush him.

“You were wrong to kill us! Murder is never right!” they cried in unison, and as if this was a cue, a chorus of voices began to shout, “Murder is never right! Murder is never right!”

“Shut UP!” Chris roared, and he reached for the gun, but it wasn’t there. He scanned the floor in desperation, looking for the weapon that would end this, but he couldn’t find it. The two giants laughed, and Chris glared at them, but they ignored him. He was like a petty insect; how could he harm them? His glaring only made them laugh harder.

Chris ran away from them, but they never seemed to get any further away, they just stayed in the same spot, as if he was on a treadmill. He threw himself to the floor, crying out, unable to rid himself of these two monsters, unable to evict the chorus from his thoughts.

© 2009, Malcolm Clarke

Dogs of Wrath, The: Part 3

Chris drove down India's street, listening to Nas' The Cross. He had just left his house after going home to change his clothes. I am not going to apologize to someone with ice cream on my shirt, he vowed. As he neared her house, he slowed. I wonder if she's home now? He pulled into the driveway and turned off the car.

He got out and walked up to the door, but suddenly had a feeling. He walked to his car and pulled out the gun he kept underneath the seat. He put it in his waistband and approached the door again. He peeked in the mail slot to see if anyone in the hallway, though he doubted it. What he saw shocked him.

India was on the floor, naked and bleeding from her butt and vagina, with two men having sex with her. The larger of them had a towel and he was beating her with it. The other one was laughing and as he watched, India screamed, a hoarse cry that he had never heard a human utter before. He closed the mail slot and sat down in horror, horror that soon turned to rage. How could anyone be so cruel to anyone! How can you treat your fellow human beings like that! He stood, furious and out for blood.

__________________________

India thought she heard something, over the shouts and jeers of Leo and Donny, and she looked towards the front door again. The mail slot was open and two eyes were peering through. She blinked rapidly, wanting to make sure the eyes could see that she needed help, if they required further evidence, but the slot had already closed. She kept looking at the door, partly because the men were holding her so she couldn't look anywhere else, and partly because she hoped that the eyes would look in again and their owner would help her.

Then Leo lost his balance and fell onto the ground, dragging her down with him. He began to straddle her, forcing her gaze up the stairs, as the other one, Donny, fell over in exhaustion and lay on the floor, his penis still wedged into her ass.

__________________________

He peered in the mail slot again and looked at the men. They were large and on the bigger man, he could just see a gun. These guys knew what they were doing. He closed the flap and took out his gun, aiming it at the sky, just to make sure that he was used to the weight. He opened the slot once more and checked the position of the men. Chris knew he wouldn't have many chances and he didn't want to hurt India.

As he looked in through the opening, he caught India's eyes. He closed the slot before she could give away the fact that someone was there. He opened it again, just the slightest bit, to see if India was still looking in his direction. She wasn't. He opened it all the way, and tried to see if he could fit the gun through the opening. He couldn't, and the window in the door was obscured by one of the large, ornamental wreathes that India put up. Dammit, India! I'm trying to save your life here!

He edged to the front of the house, and looked in the dining room window. He could still see the men, but it would be a tricky shot and he wasn't sure he could pull it off without alerting them. Fuck, how the hell am I going to pull this off? He circled to the back of the house and nearly fell to the ground; the living room window was open and he had a perfect view of the men and India. He could also see another man, a pale, skinny man that was looking outside as if he'd rather be somewhere else. There was a collection of furniture in the backyard and Chris crawled towards it, thankful for his dark skin and dark shirt and pants, which helped conceal him in the night.

He hid behind the furniture and stole another look into the house. The skinny man was still there, with his thousand-yard stare and as Chris sized him up, didn't look like the kind of person that could be trusted with a gun. But then, I don't either, Chris thought, as he ducked back behind the chairs, tables and other furnishings, and I'm a damn good shot. He dismissed the man as a threat and turned his attention back to the two men that were busy with India. He hated to let them have their way with her, when every single fiber of his being called out for him to rush in there and just shoot the place up and kill the motherfucking bastards, like something out of a Wakefern movie, but he had to wait. He had to approach it calmly and get them while they were least expecting it. He had to think about it like chess, or war, or some perverse game of tag.

Wait, why don't I call the police? They can handle this much better than I can, and I don't want to get into any kind of legal trouble because of my murder, or manslaughter, or whatever. But as soon as the idea came into his head, he dismissed it. It was a hostage situation and the police were notoriously ineffective in that predicament. They had to worry about getting all parties out in as good condition as possible, so that the wrongdoers could be tried by a jury of their peers. No, in order for India to be saved, he had to go in there. But he had to do it logically. This was no place for a hot head. So he leaned against the pile and waited, trying to ignore the screaming and wicked laughter that came from the house behind him.

__________________________

India wondered if the eyes had come back, or if their owner had left. She had seen them what seemed like an eternity ago, but still, no police or avenger had descended upon the house to smite her attackers. She wished Bruce would come, or anybody. Even Chris would be welcomed if he would rescue her from these animals who were abusing her body like it was their personal plaything.

She could tell from the pressure in her ass that Donny had resumed consciousness and was rhythmically thrusting again. God, she wished fervently, please smite these bastards from the face of the Earth, and send them to the deepest, darkest ring of hell! Please torture and torment them for eternity!

__________________________

The laughing lowered in volume, until two loud and content sighs could be heard from the house. Chris leapt to his feet, and pulled out his gun. Now is the time! He turned off the safety, cocked the gun, made sure it was loaded and glanced over the pile into the house. None of the people inside had moved. Perfect. He hopped over the pile and surprised the skinny man by kicking him in the groin as he flew through the window, causing him to fall to the ground in pain. He landed and heard a crunch. Chris looked down and saw that his foot had crushed the man's kneecap. That guy wasn't going anywhere soon. He kicked him in the groin again for good measure, then shot the big man right through the neck, killing him instantly. The third man had started at the sound of gunfire and was struggling to extricate himself from India's butt when Chris' final shot hit him right above his Roman nose. Chris dropped the gun. They were dead. He had just killed two men.

He walked over to India numbly and pulled the two corpses away from her, then he fell to the ground and began to cry as the full implications of what he had done hit him. He tried to hide his tears, but they were just coming out in waves, a waterfall of grief and guilt caused by the two murders. He tried to rationalize it, he told himself that they were raping India, that he had to stop it, that he'd feel even worse if he didn't stop it, but it was no use. The tears kept coming and the grief and the guilt threatened to overwhelm him. Through the tears he could barely see India picking up the gun and moving over to the skinny man. He turned, unwilling to watch, but he was a second too slow in covering his ears.

__________________________

India picked up the gun and casually strolled over to Mikey, who lay on the ground, his hands between his legs, groaning. "Hello, Mikey," she said. "This is for invading my home." She kicked his hands and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. "This is for ogling." She kicked him in his jaw and heard a sharp crack. She smiled. "And this," she said, slowly lifting the gun, "is for not stopping those two maggots as they raped me." Mikey's eyes opened wide and he tried to open his mouth to utter some sort of protest, but his jaw refused to cooperate and he abandoned the effort and began to try and crawl away. She watched his futile efforts and when she deemed that he had gone far enough, she pulled the trigger.

Mikey's head exploded, showering little bits of brain all over her very nice ecru colored walls, one more grudge to hold against these thugs. She kicked his dead body and went back to Chris. He had stopped crying and was now staring blankly into space, his mouth slightly agape. She went upstairs to put on a robe and when she came back down, he had not moved at all. She gently tapped him on the shoulder.

"Chris," she said softly. She received no response and repeated herself slightly louder. "Chris, we have to do something about these bodies." He stirred and stood up, as if under the weight of some unimaginable burden.

"Just throw them in the backyard," he said, his voice an emotionless monotone. "I'll deal with it tomorrow, as well as the furniture."

"We can't do that; the animals will get to them."

"Then just toss them in the basement," he said and began to lift Leo. He dragged the big man's corpse over to the stairs, where the body received a well-earned kick to the groin that toppled him over and he fell into the basement. The other two received the same treatment and soon, Chris and India were standing at the top of the stairs, looking at the pile of bodies.

"How are you getting home," she began to ask, and then she looked at Chris. He was in no shape to drive and anyone who saw him walking down the street would know that he had done something violent, for blood was splattered all over his shirt, face and pants. She swallowed her unasked question and instead said, "I only have the one bed and the couch is outside. Do you want to sleep on the floor, or-"

"The bed's fine, thanks," he replied, cutting her off and she grinned at the trace of the old Chris, always ready to crack a bad joke.

"I still haven't forgiven you. I mean, I am grateful, but what you said was unbelievably offensive and I may never forgive you."

"Ok. I understand," he said, in that same monotone that was quickly growing irritating. "I'll get ready for bed. Do you still have my stuff?"

"Yes," she replied, slightly glad that her procrastination in getting rid of his things had paid off.

"Ok. Good night," and then he was off, going to her room to undress for bed. She stood there a moment, in the bloodstained carnage of her hallway and smiled. It was nice to have Chris back. She tried not to admit it, even to herself, but she had missed him. Now he was back and had saved her life in the bargain. What's a better entrance than that?

Dogs of Wrath, The: Part 2

Chris walked out of the movie theater with Ian and Robb, all of them meditating on the film they had just seen. Robb broke the silence.

“I have never seen that many explosions in two hours,” he said flatly. “Wakefern has outdone himself.”

The other two just nodded mutely, still trying to discern the plot of the latest Wakefern film, though they knew it would a futile effort.

Charles Wakefern was an American director who also wrote all of his films. His movies usually consisted of a heavily muscled hero with always perfect hair globe-trotting from exotic locale to abandoned warehouse to exotic locale, relentlessly pursued by a bald, heavyset man who was vaguely reminiscent of Ernst Blofeld. In each location the hero found himself, he was accompanied by various scantily clad, buxom women who were overly eager to jump into bed with him. Whenever the hero was not romping in the hay with the women, he was either producing or just barely dodging a ridiculous amount of bullets. What little dialogue the films had was either sexual innuendo or thinly veiled threats, but more often both. However, either of these both raised all sorts of questions about the hero’s sexuality.

In other words, Wakefern was a director of cheap Bond knockoffs. Despite lacking plot, often just consisting of sexual innuendo followed by sex and/or gunfire, and receiving little advertising, if any Wakefern films always opened in the top five and consistently broke box office records

“I can’t believe we used to enjoy those,” said Ian.

“We were younger,” Chris replied.

The three of them sat on the curb and thought about their high school days.

_____________________________

India leaned back in her tub and trailed her fingers over the water. Ah, this is perfect, she thought. Just me and my book in a bath full of perfect temperature water. She opened her novel, Saturday, by Ian McEwan and began to read.

A little while later, just as the water had begun to chill a bit, she heard a slightly muffled thump outside of the bathroom. She looked up, startled. What was that? she wondered. She thought about getting out of the tub and going to investigate, but dismissed the idea as too much trouble and opened her book again. Soon, however, she heard another thump. Ok, now this is getting out of hand. She stepped out of the bathtub and picking up a towel, exited the bathroom. Once she was in her bedroom, she froze, listening for another sound. Hearing none, she walked out of the bathroom and headed for the stairs. She paused, thinking she might have heard something and listened. She strained and just barely heard the faint scrapings coming from her living room.

She slowly and quietly descended the stairs, wincing at every real or imagined creak of the wood and peered into her living room. Inside, three men were quickly and methodically removing every piece of furniture from her living room through the window, and dumping in her backyard. She quickly peered into the other rooms on her ground floor; they had been in there already. Fuck! Why didn’t I take my dad’s advice and keep the gun near me? She could hear her father’s words as clearly as if he were standing right there: “India, a beautiful girl like you should have some protection. The world is more dangerous than it was in your mother’s and my time. Now, with all of these shootings and all of this other nonsense, nobody is safe anymore,” he said, his deep voice making the words a little difficult to hear. “Here,” he said. “This is my service pistol. It works perfectly, and I’ve had all of the registration changed to be in your name.” He took the small gun out of his pocket and handed it to her, his large, cool hand brushing her smaller one; his could have easily swallowed hers. “Keep it near you at all times,” he said, looking into her eyes. She nodded, understanding the seriousness of the situation.

He stepped back, and wrapped his arm around her mother, a small, shapely woman, much like India herself. He seemed much older suddenly. “Goodbye,” they called, as the bus doors closed and drove away with her. “Have fun at college! Learn! Don’t smoke pot! Marry a rich smart guy and give us lots of pretty babies, but not until you graduate!”

That had been four years ago. Now, she remembered the gun that she had soon begun to see as an unnecessary burden, sitting underneath the seat of her car. Dammit! Why didn’t I listen to him? And Cynthia got robbed just last week! She turned and began to walk away.

“Hey, lookit that!”

She spun, instinctively clutching the towel closer to herself at the sound of an unfamiliar male voice. The three men were looking at her and as she watched them, the largest of them whistled. “Fuck, Mikey, you told me this house was empty!”

“Well it was!” said a weasel faced man who was apparently Mikey. “I didn’t see any lights on, anywhere in the house and-”

The big man raised his hand and Mikey fell silent. “Shut up,” the big man said, quite unnecessarily. “Well, she’s here, so what should we do with her?”

The third man, a quite innocuous looking person approached her and circled her. India bristled, despising the fact that this person was so offensively checking her out in her own home. But he could do nothing about it; all three had pistols hidden quite obviously in their waistbands and looked rather tough. She had only a towel and didn’t want to even consider the possibility of exposing herself to these horrible creatures.

“She’s real fine,” said the unobtrusive man. “She got one hell of an ass, Leo. I say we fuck her now, then get her over to Raph and get what cash we can for her and all her shit.”
Leo thought for a moment. “That’s a good idea Donny.” Then he turned to India. “Bitch, you got any company up there with you?” He chuckled and answered his own question before she could answer him. “Course you ain’t. No self-respecting man sends his girl down in just a towel. Less you one of them dykes, but I doubt it. So, how 'bout it, sugar? You want us to show you a good time?”

“You ignorant PIG!” The words were out before India could think about what she was saying, and they kept coming. “How DARE you come into my HOME and try to rob me of my things? Then you have the gall to even THINK about suggesting having sex with me! THEN you go and call yourself a self-respecting man! You and your group of thugs are worth no more than shit!”
India stopped talking and looked at the man, fully expecting to be beat or shot. At first the man had looked shocked that she would be talking to him like that, but he eventually had deflected the storm of vitriol that she had directed at him.

The room was silent for a moment, and then the man spoke once more. “Mikey, take the woman’s towel off.” Mikey approached her and made a move to grab her towel. She glared at him, until she looked in his eyes. He had no desire to take part in this at all, and meant her no ill will. However, that didn’t mean that he could undress her. She directed such a look of malice and hatred at him that he backed off. Leo sighed. “Fuck, do I gotta do everything myself?” He approached her and in one motion ripped the towel off and twined it into a rope.

She stood naked in front of the three men, and as their eyes lustfully scanned her body, she adopted a defiant pose, fully aware of her lower status. She didn’t try to hide her breasts or groin, knowing that would mark her as weak and an easy target, but simply planted her feet shoulder width apart, crossed her arms, lifted her chin and dared the three to meet her eyes.

They didn’t. They were too busy eyeing her curves and ample bust. Leo was the first to shake himself free of the trance and began to walk towards her. “Donny was right, you are fine,” he said, a lascivious grin on his face. “Matter of fact, you’re too fine for them over at Raph’s. They just can’t appreciate a beautiful woman like yourself.” He grinned broader, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was displaying several pieces of rotting barbecue chicken wedged between his teeth. “Now me? I can appreciate a woman. And I appreciate you. I’m gonna treat you like you never been treated before.” He took his shirt off, revealing his grease stained, sleeveless T-shirt, and threw his shirt over the back of a nearby chair. India backed away, having no desire to let this greasy, unpleasant man get anywhere near her. Leo frowned and took out his gun, freezing her in her tracks. “Ah, you know what this is! Now then, don’t fight and this will be over quickly and you can come with us.”

India’s eyes flashed towards the door, hoping someone would burst in and rescue her, but the door remained in place, closed and silent. Leo began to open his pants, and Donny followed his example. They approached and surrounded her. Donny hit her in the stomach, making her double over, where she was held by Leo. She was too afraid to scream, as Leo’s penis came closer and closer. When it finally reached her, she shuddered with revulsion. Leo stuck it into her, grinding away, obviously enjoying it, oblivious to any discomfort he was causing her. She fell to the ground, and Leo kneeled with her, still grinding. Donny’s piece approached as well, and entered her butt. She screamed, because nothing was meant to go in that opening. The two laughed, and India began to cry in pain. Through her tears, she saw Mikey turn away in disgust, which gave her a slight measure of pleasure. At least he’s decent enough to recognize when something is truly wrong. She screamed again, but no one heard her.

© 2009 Malcolm Clarke. All rights reserved

Dogs of Wrath, The: Part 1

Ok, everyone, for the past four months, I have been working on this contest thing called Nanowrimo, which means National Novel Writing Month. The website is nanowrimo.org, and the purpose is to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. Obviously, if I have been working on it for the past four moinths, then I didn't finish it by the deadline, but nevertheless, I am finished, so here is the first three pages. Enjoy. And, just in case you think that I will do the same thing with this that I did with the Sixth Degree, well, I've stopped writing that and it's unfinished, so there's no reason for me to continue posting it. But this is finshed and I really want to show off the ending. So with no further ado, here is Dogs of Wrath, The.

___________________________________

"Hello, you've reached India Woodard. I'm sorry, but I can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message."

Christopher hung up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Okay, dude. Calm down. So she's not at work. Call her home number. He opened his cell phone again and pressed the buttons, his hand trembling as he dialed. He punched Send and listened to her phone rang.

Someone picked up. "Hello?" said a deep voice. Chris swallowed.

Fuck. I didn't think anyone else would be home. "Yeah, this is Chris. Is India there?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Chris. I told you that already."

"Hold on." Chris listened as the man yelled, "India! For you!"He could barely hear the footsteps, but suddenly, a softer, gentler voice spoke.

"Chris, is that you?"

"Yeah. Look, India-"

"Save it. We both know you were wrong. How could you even . . ."

"India, hear me out. I'm sorry. How many times do you want me to say it?"

"I don't want you to say it. In fact, I don't even want to hear your voice. Please. Just leave me alone. Don't ever try to talk to me again. Goodbye Chris."

These last words were spoken in the voice of someone about to cry. "India, wait," he cried, but she had already hung up.

He looked at the phone in his hands. God. I thought she knew me. Doesn't she know I'm kicking myself over this? I feel almost as bad as she must. It was just meant to be a joke. Fuck. He stood up and walked to his room. You know what? I am going over there, and I am going to get her to forgive me. I don't care. He pulled on his shoes and put his keys in his pocket. But how? That was a douchebag move and she must be practically crying or something. Fuck. He turned on his iPod and set it to shuffle. The Heart of the Matter by India.Arie began playing and he smiled. How appropriate. But whatever. I'm just going to wing it. He locked the door behind him.

_______________________

India sat on her bed, wrapped in her sheets and wearing nothing else. She could hear Bruce singing to Bob Marley in the shower. For such a small man, he had a surprisingly deep voice.

She thought about Chris. How he could always make her laugh. How he always seemed unaffected by the suffering of the world, though now she wasn't sure if that was a good thing. How it always seemed brighter when he was nearby and when he smiled, all of her troubles seemed to lessen in importance. How could he say such a thing? He wasn't drunk or anything. He was sober. We were going to a movie. That asshole!

The shower stopped and Bruce walked, no, more strutted into her room with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his skin still glistening from the water. "How you feelin'? You look real down," he said. He sat on the bed next to her.

"Oh, it's just my ex-boyfriend, Chris," she said as she leaned against him.

He wrapped his arm around her. "You want I should mess him up?"

She smiled, but her heart wasn't in it. "No, because then you'd go to jail."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"A'ight. Hey, what do you want to do tonight?"

"Well, you know that new restaurant that just opened? Fish and Chips?"

"Yeah. You want to go there?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll call and get us a table. Is it a dinner place?"

"Mm-hm."

"Okay. You want to go see a movie or something until then?"

"That would be wonderful," she said, smiling up at him."

_______________________

Chris hopped out of the car and ran up the walkway. Hope she hasn't left yet, he thought. He reached the front door and stopping, he rapped upon the door. No answer. He rapped harder. Why didn't she get her doorbell fixed?

He ran around the house to the back and peered into an empty kitchen. Undaunted, he knocked the back door with such force that it could not have gone unheard anywhere inside of the house. There was no sign of movement inside of the house. Damn, she left. Now what? He sat down on the steps and rested his head in his hands. Ok, you ran over here, and now she's not here. You can't just wait here until she comes back. That could be hours, or days!

He took out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Hey, Ian. Are you doing anything?"

"No," Ian replied.

"Good. You wanna go to the mall?"

"Ok. See you there."

He hung up. I guess I'll come back and see if she's here later.

_______________________

"Oh, Mark. I-I never knew that you felt that way about me!"

"Well, I do, Jenny. I love you."

Waves rose in the background as they kissed, the man's collar-length hair waving in the breeze and the woman's long hair blowing out behind her. The sun reached the horizon and shone all sorts of colors, red, purple, green and yellow as the music began to play.

The credits began to roll. The house lights came on, revealing Bruce's supremely disgusted visage, which he immediately concealed for India's sake. The two exited the theater that had just shown An Exercise in Wish Fulfillment.

"So, how'd you like the movie?" he asked.

"It was so romantic! The way Mark crossed the Sahara to find her, and he dove into the ocean to catch her boat! What did you think?"

It was a load of trash. I'd never do anything like that for a woman. "I thought it was ok." He checked his watch. "Hey, it's almost eight. We should get over to that Fish and Chips place before they give our table away. The guy told me they were booked solid on Fridays."

"Ok." India frowned, unnoticed by Bruce as he nearly ran to the car.

"Traffic's probably going to be hell, too."

"Yeah."

A car pulled into the parking lot, nearly running over Bruce. Is that . . . Chris? India thought. No, it couldn't be. He would never hunt me down like that. But still . . . No, forget it.

_______________________

Is that India? Chris thought swerving into the parking lot, nearly flattening a furious short man as he craned to see the woman the man was with. No way. That would be so much of a coincidence, but still. Maybe I should I go around again, just to make sure. But as he circled the parking lot, he saw that the two had vanished. Oh well. I'd better get into the mall before Ian leaves. Why did traffic have to be so bad? He parked and got out of the car.

"Chris? Chris Johnson? Is that you?"

Chris looked over and spotted a man waving at him. "Hey, Robb! I haven't seen you since high school! Where you been?"

Robb walked over and they shook hands. "Oh, here and there. I enlisted right after graduation and they bounced me around for a while, until my tour of duty ended. Then I moved to Washington and got myself a job as campaign manager for a senator, and here I am."

"Cool. Hey, listen, I'm here to see a movie with Ian. Remember him?"

"Of course! Ian Sinaloa! How could I forget? First day of sophomore year, he gave me a swirly and the next day I gave him one back!"

"Yeah, I heard that. Anyway, you want to come?"

"Yeah, why not? I kept in touch with him for a few years, and then we sort of trailed off. It'll be nice to see him after four years."

"Ok then. Hey, you remember Katie Moss?"

"Um . . . oh, yeah. What happened to her?" asked Robb.

And the two friends walked towards the mall, reminiscing about their high school days, days that they still looked back on with longing.

_______________________

A car sped down a dark highway. There was not another car anywhere in sight, a fact that worried India as she sat inside the car. She was well aware of the possibility of date rape and had a friend who had been date-raped three years ago. She had consoled this friend and had never forgotten how her friend had said that the man who had raped her was someone she trusted.

Yeah, she trusted Bruce. And she knew, or thought she knew, that he would never do something so horrible. He would never abuse her trust in such a way; never break someone's faith in the world just so he could get some sex. But still, she worried, and she tried to avoid being in situations where he could just abduct her and no one would be the wiser.

She wished that she didn't have to worry about things like that, but it was part and parcel of the world she lived in. Everything was easier; you could connect to almost anyone in no time, but with that gift came a curse: almost anyone could do the same to you. The world had gotten harder, and in order to survive, you had to get harder too.

"Survival of the fittest," she whispered, the shadow of a smile upon her red lips.

Bruce looked over towards her, having heard the first word uttered by either of them in nearly an hour. "What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing," she replied coyly, looking out the window so he couldn't she her face. A thought struck her. "Hey, who are you voting for tomorrow?"

He faced the road again, though in all probability, he could have just lifted his hands off of the wheel, not look out the windshield and not hit anything. "I don't know. I was thinking about that independent, what's his name? . . . Right, Luther Malong. I like his platform, about adding money to education, the environment and defense. He covers issues that the other candidates are afraid to cover because it will wreck their parties, but because he's paying for his own campaign out of pocket, he can do whatever he wants."

"Yeah, I like him too, but I think he's too irrational. That's why I'm for Stephen Carsten. He has similar views, but he's more restrained and controlled, less emotional. But I guess we'll see who wins tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," affirmed Bruce. "I guess we'll see."

They drove in silence for a while until they reached India's house. She turned to Bruce. "Well, thanks for a lovely evening. I'll see you tomorrow."

"It was a pleasure," he replied. "Good night, India."

She stepped out of the car and walked up the walkway to her house. She swayed her hips more than they usually moved, fully aware that Bruce was watching them.

And he was, but not with the expression of someone who is fascinated. The look on his face would have frightened her had she seen it, but the cardinal rule of hip-swaying is to never look back at the man who is watching you. Even so, as she put her key in the lock, she got a feeling that something was not quite right, but she didn't look back. That was a mistake.

©2009 Malcolm Clarke

Bathroom Strutters

You ever been walking down a hallway and seen a guy strutting for no apparent reason? 10 to 1 that he just came out of the bathroom.

That's one of the weirdest things that I've ever seen: guys strutting their way out of the restroom. They're walking like they just bedded a supermodel or something. And you have to wonder why they do it. I mean, I don't do it. When I walk out of the bathroom and someone sees me, I always think the person who sees me is thinking, I know what you did in there! Hahaha! I mean, I'm just trying to get back to wherever I left to use the bathroom and this person is just STARING at me. Literally, I look over my shoulder and they have that wide eyed look of shock, like I just killed someone in front of them.

I just went to the bathroom, stop looking at me!

It's creepy as hell. But anyway, the guys who strut, I always try and guess what they're thinking. And it always ends up being something like this:

Ooh yeah, best bathroom trip ever! Hit the toilet! Yeah, fifth time this week! At this rate, I might get in the Guinness Book! At the very least, I deserve a medal! Ooh yeah! Then I washed my hands, yeah! Then I dried those suckers and opened the door! Not many people can do tha- hey, what are you showing off for? Grr.

Yeah. I know it's ridiculous, but you just came out of the bathroom. You're supposed to do one of two things in there. It's not an miracle, you didn't just slay some f*cking dragon, millions of people do it every second. What are you so damn proud about?

Idiot.