We are not ready when the

End of the World

comes.

You are there.

And I am here,

on these concretely

unstable steps

outside this quirky bookstore.

The anxiety of our

humanity

has reached its

apex.

The tension,

the unpurposed venom,

the constant imbalance

of our footsteps,

as we desperately circle

around and around

in an inescapable panic.

We write it down everywhere,

on our mirrors,

our notebooks,

our ribboned fingers, canvassed with kitchen knives,

tearing flesh from raw wrists,

yet still we exist,

trying to find the importance

in our life blood

that pumps

until it forgets how...

Backed against crimson colored brick.

These city lights are blinding, not aiding while I falter—

Ironically, so inebriated;

I’m probably just as lit.

Staggering through these vile streets.

Focused on the fact I’m a modern day nomad—

failing to fit in with the fakes, freaks, addicts, morally guided or the elites.

Too many nights I find myself here.

Damning the has-beens, what ifs, stockings torn, heels in hands—

alone, wishing to trade the urge for risk, in for fears.

Congratulations thisisit! What a great write and a thoughtful nod to Sylvia Plath. I really loved that you touched on the little-recognized side effect from simply having too much (good) to choose from: decision paralysis. There is also that unique type of dread that can arise in the midst of it all. You summed it up perfectly with this line:

“There's no way to enjoy all the figs.

And if you don't choose a fig, it drops to the ground and rots. It's too late.”

*chef’s kiss*

Honorable mention entries are from the suspenseful amandabjaworski, the aquatically delightful pretty_archaic, the heartfelt ErJo1122, and the ever-scandalous Ferryman.

Thanks again for everyone’s thoughtful entries; you all continually amaze me with your talent! I hope to see you again for my next challenge <3

Fishing around my purse for my keys, I did my best to keep both eyes on my surrounding. The three seconds that it takes to find my keys, can make a huge difference in this neighborhood. It’s dangerous here & like an idiot I keep coming back.

I quickly got into my car, locked the doors & took off.

“I hate this part…I have to get out of here”, I said to myself.

Once I crossed the bridge leading me out of Slocum Hollow, the anxiety melted right away. Coaltown is nothing like the Hollow. People know me here, police know me here. I don’t have to worry about being pulled over like I would across the bridge. I doubt anyone would try to rob me here or any of the craziness that happens in the Hollow.

Everyone knows the car I drive & for as visible as I am, I’m also looked over & invisible when it comes to legal discrepancies. All thanks to being the granddaughter to whom, once was the most favored mayor in the history of Coaltown. My family is well-known & respected. Although my mother didn’t follow in her father’s political footsteps, she built a successful career as an actress. My mother holds a main role in a soap Opera called, “Little Town Lies”, she is Bailey & is the center of the plots. Ironically, we have our main residence in our own little town of lies. My mother never wanted to call any place home, except Coaltown.

As I open the door to my house, my phone starts to ring. Of course, it’s Tate.

“What’s up Tate?”

“Nothing. I thought you were going to call me & let me know everything went good“, he questioned.

“It did go good. I literally just got home.”

I put the phone on speaker & tossed it onto the countertop, as he continued to talk. I really like Tate, but there’s something about him that seems weird to me. We haven’t known each other that long, so we are still learning things about one another. There’s just something that keeps creating that gut feeling. You know, the feeling that is trying to tell you to abort mission. Talking to a guy like this, who I never had a prior friendship with or anything, it’s all new to me. I feel like that could be the reason behind this gut feeling & the nerves. I can’t lie, it’s been nothing but good vibes with Tate. Plus he’s extremely attractive & a lot of fun! I don’t want to jinx a good thing.

“So you going to come over”, Tate asked?

“I guess. I mean it would be even better if you come over here”, I tried to sway him.

“I’ll come over there Wednesday & stay the night… or two. I promise you Allister.”

Reluctantly I agreed, “You’re lucky I like you & think you’re kind of cute. I’ll head out in 20 minutes.”

“Perfect! Oh don’t forget all the stuff, either. It’s going to be another good night”, he said excitedly.

“Wait, I don’t want to bring everything. I don’t know why you even need me to bring that much”, I questioned.

He let out what sounded like a sign of aggravation, “Allister… you’re good. You’re the only one who doesn’t have to worry“, he finished the call & hung up.

“This is too much to bring, especially to Bentley”, I said to myself.

Fishing around for my keys again, I had a moment of doubt. Standing there with the car door open, I watched the cold turn my breath into a frigid cloud.

“Agh! Why do I feel like this”?

I started my car & followed the directions of the GPS. The closer I got, the worst I feel. You would think there’s impending doom cast upon this world, if you could measure this feeling.

I grabbed my phone, I have to call my best friend.

Praying she answers, I finally hear her voice after the fifth ring.

“Hey, Hey”, she greeted me.

”Dev, I don’t know what to do. Tate’s basically begging me to come over… & I am. I just have the worst feeling. I don’t know what to do. My nerves are on a hundred“, I cried.

“Girl you better take note of that feeling. I like Tate & everything, but he seems sneaky, don’t you think”, she asked?

“Yes! That leads me to this next part. He told me he’s an accountant in West Bentley, but not to sound like a stalker, I cannot find any accounting firms on Google. I wish I met him from a friend so I could feel better that someone knows him & can verify things like this. Who meets people at a damn gas station? Me.”

Devin went silent for a few seconds, “Alli, you’re making me nervous now. Maybe take a breather tonight. You guys have been hanging out a lot the last few weeks. I don’t think Tate is a murderer or anything crazy, but maybe we need to do an investigation on him”, she suggested.

“Hold on… he just texted me & again he made it a point mention that I need to bring all the stuff I just bought. Something isn’t right, Dev.”

“Stop over here & drop it off. Reply to him & tell him you’re good. Alli, you have to stop with this shit… let alone Tate. Tonight, I’ll hold it down. I really don’t want to do it again though. I feel like he’s constantly talking about it.”

“Good idea. Meet me at your door in like 10 minutes. Thank you. I owe you”, I hung up the phone.

I grabbed the half-ounce of cocaine out of my makeup bag, as soon as I pulled into Devin’s driveway. I quickly flew out of my car & met her at the front door.

“Allister… what are you doing with this? You never did this shit like this. Tate really seemed like a good thing, but this is a lot. Half an ounce, come on”, she said after I handed it to her.

“Listen, I promise no more after that’s gone. It’s not all mine anyways”, I said as I hurried into my car.

Within 15 minute, I was pulling in front of Tate’s apartment complex. Normally, it’s rare to see people parked on the curb, beside me. However, someone is definitely having a party because there are a ton of cars. Maybe that’s why he wanted it so bad.

I texted Tate to let him know I’m here. As I grab my purse, I turned around to see Tate walk over & he had some guy with him.

“He‘s so fine…” I said as I walked over to them.

“You have that half ounce Allister”?, Tate asked as soon as he saw me.

“Yes for the tenth time, Tate”, I lied for some reason.

His friend reached into his back pocket, looked at Tate & grabbed a pair of handcuffs.

“Allister Redd Jawor, you’re under arrest for possession of a controlled substance & a series of other drug charges for possessing cocaine“, he informed me.

“Tate you’re kidding me, right? What the hell? Are you kidding me”?, I yelled as my legs began to feel weak.

I cannot believe my gut feeling was right. I cannot believe I gave that shit to Dev, I cannot believe I been falling for a detective who was investigating me the whole time.

“Allister, I’m detective Kevin Barnes & clearly you know my partner Tate Ferg. I’m going to sit you on the curb. We have a warrant to search your vehicle, so please make this easy for all of us & let me know where the cocaine is & any other substances or paraphernalia”, he instructed.

I will lie to Tate like he lied to me. Let’s see how long & how far this goes before they realize I have nothing in my possession. I have nothing.

“I would like to call my lawyer. Don’t expect answers from me until then”, I yelled.

Tate looked at me, almost like he felt regret for doing this as he & his partner opened the doors to my BMW. I knew it deep down, something wasn’t right. I am done with all of it. The partying is over & I am done dabbling. Too much of a good thing, is a bad thing… & this was too good to be true, too fun & too much too fast.

to whom it may concern,

i was never who you thought i was

and the bodies piled before i could blink

a little girl could not do this

but the detectives were smarter than i thought

I'm not sorry for your son's loss

but I'm sorry for your grief

I'm sorry you can't see my vision

or admire my artistry

I'm sorry you don't understand that I didn't butcher him

but I turned him into something more

beautiful

consciousness is a privilege

but I turned him into a gift

gave him to you in the mail

and you unwrapped him and screamed

like a child on Christmas

because cries of pain, and cries of joy

are no different in the eyes of the enlightened

how you would you know pain without that joy

when you think the red is paint

but the copper taste and smell overpower your hopes

and all you find is the face of your loved one

lifeless, but full of worth

so I'm sorry you're hurting

and that you don't understand

but I gave you a gift

and the price was the electric chair

I look around

What do I see?

A life that wasn’t meant to be

I look at myself

Don’t like what I see

A broken body served to me

What did I do?

What did I say?

Dysfunction every single day

I find it hard to cope

With my reality

A life I never thought I’d see

This is not my plan

I need you to understand

I’m not where I thought I’d be

Please… kill me

No true love

No true success

Living under full duress

Bones that ache

A brain diseased

No day is left for me to seize

My fantasies

Are all I have

Dreams too far away to grab

Too hard to live

Too hard to die

Never ceasing to ask why

Pity spreads

Throughout my mind

A future that was left behind

This is not my plan

I need you to understand

I’m not where I thought I’d be

Please… kill me

I don’t really want to die

To force them all to say goodbye

Potential is what I must mourn

Just wishing I was never born

I've always been a modest man. Hardworking, enterprising I think would best be said. Not very bright, in the flashy sort of haberdashery brass button way, but I have as you might conclude, commonsense.

Not excelling in school beyond third-class honours (meaning 50% competency), I decided it a safe bet to become a clerk at the town bank. Yes, my uncle was himself a Financial Accountant, and his father (my grandfather) before him, Senior Analyst, and so practicality of nephewism would save family grace, if you will.

Now, as further precaution, I took the position very early, straightaway out of academia. Having no prospects of marriage or children, I was confident that my upkeep would be minimal. Greed is a great evil, and like I said, I do believe in temperance.

The plan hatched itself.

You see, we might blame my superstitious great gram. She held that if you pass up small change, then big luck will pass you by as well. Therefore, she would stoop down, despite arthritic knees and hips, and pinch lost coins from the street, no matter the denomination. She would huff on the front, and on the back, to ward off resident evil, and place whatnot shiny exorcised piece into her apron pocket.

Well, as it happened, I also had an apron as part of my clerical outfit. It had as a bonus attribute, a zippered pocket low in the front just below counter level, where I could easily slip a bloodless hand in to warm it, on those chill November days when the Chief Executive Officer was squeezing us for extra savings.

I soon put two and two together, and thought to me self, why not join the pecuniary trend? You've no doubt seen that little cast iron bin, where patrons toss in the ubiquitous penny. Or take one, if a difference need to be made up for inadvertent shortchange. Well, having earned legitimately my 50% competency, I knew that a penny is not a penny equivalent.

Some cents have greater copper content, and it's the copper that holds inherent value. To be precise 1.5 cents to the cent if traded in and smelt.

My keen myopic eye quickly learned to discern the purer variants from earlier mint. And these would go as savings, set aside, into my apron pocket. Nobody missed a penny here, a penny there, and most were in fact eager to drop in those worthless new mints into the little cast iron receptacle. For my part, I was diligent. I bided my years. Watched. Saved. Collected. Then traded in, at the point of my retirement.

I didn't make a killing. Nor wield a noisy gun. I didn't make a demand by letter, or crack the safe code, nor build an explosive tunnel, and loot a bundle. I'm a god-fearing mortal. I hid my talents, one by one, but only for a little while. My two cents:

"There are many ways to rob a bank."

11.03.2023

FFF#4 challenge: Bank Robbery @ChrisSadhill

It is an easy call. In my family, I am the one who would be banned from Thanksgiving dinner. With a wife, daughter and two college aged grand-daughters what chance do I have, being a politically incorrect, patriotic, conservative leaning, straight, white, southern male who refuses to help cook the derned bird? (Although I will clean up after, single-handed if necessary.)

But to their dismay I am right there every year, beer in hand in front of the ballgame, as far away as is possible from the kitchen and it’s matriarchal man-bashing.

Because hell, someone has to pay for it all.

The wooded trail led me down near the water's edge. A man sat on a granite bench overlooking the pond and began to play his guitar. I paused to listen.

He strummed a type of music that was enchanting and unfamiliar to my ear. Incredulously, from every part of the pond, geese (and a few ducks) began to hurriedly swim toward the sound of his playing. Soon, dozens of birds lined the shallows along the beach. They gathered for no apparent reason other than to hear this man play. The sight filled me with inordinate joy and wonder.

I continued on my hike with a smile and a renewed belief that there was still magic in this world.

Acrid smoke

Race to window

“Jump!”

A stranger yells

“I’ve got you!”

Last image she sees

As her body races

To meet asphalt below:

The stranger’s smirk

As he turns away