long-lines – Page 3

up the hill

“You wanna switch?”, asked Jack, genuinely concerned. It had been a few hours since Jill had started driving, “You seem a bit sleepy.”

“Nah, I’m fine”, replied Jill.

“You know, I saw a sign a few miles back and the word ‘universe’ stood out”, said Jack, the wrinkled map in his hands. “We’re just trying to get from point A to point B, and that word, ‘universe’, makes me want to look up at the sky. I see the stars. They’re like dots to connect, you can find so many patterns and shapes, dippers and the like. It’s fascinating, thousands of people through out time have used these same stars to navigate their way across cities, continents, and oceans around the world. ‘Universe’, you… neeeee… verse. Separate the ‘u’ into ‘you’, reverse the ‘ni’ to ‘in’ attach it to the ‘verse’ and you get ‘you inverse’. ‘Inverse’, black to white and white to black, up to down and down to up. It’s like the universe is telling us something. We’re heading towards point B, but do you feel we should really be heading towards point A?”

“What? What in… what did… what exactly are you trying to say?”

“I think, my dear, that I misread the directions. We weren’t supposed to take that right turn an hour ago, we’re headed in the wrong direction.”

Both, Jack and Jill, burst into laughter followed by a sudden silence.

“Like I had said, we should have gotten the GPS. Oh, and by the way, I am feeling sleepy”, said Jill as she found a spot to pull over the car.

drop in the bucket.

Saad arrived thirty minutes before exam time. The halls were full of nervous, chaotic students chattering about possible solutions and methods. Saad, however, felt a silent calm. It wasn’t that he was confident, he was simply tired. He had been up all night long, in bed with the textbook and problem sets, and with coffee as his companion.

When the TA had given the go, Saad decided to pace himself through the exam. Easy questions first and hardest questions last, he thought. Half an hour into the exam, his stomach started to growl. Saad had skipped breakfast in the morning, or perhaps he had forgotten. He tightened his abdomen muscles hoping no one heard anything.

With an hour left to go, Saad started to doze off a little. He quickly shook it off, and continued with the exam. He started to feel that his nose had started to run, and before he could reach for a tissue paper, a drop from his nose fell splat on the exam paper. Except that this drop was red in colour. Saad realized that his nose had started to bleed. He brought his right hand up to his nose, as a cup to hold and collect the drops of blood. He raised his left hand to catch the TA’s attention, “My nose is bleeding.”

“Are you okay?” asked the TA, a little concerned and a little suspicious.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just blood,” Saad rushed towards the washrooms.

As drops of blood fell onto the sink, Saad rolled up a piece of paper towel, stuck it up his nostril, and washed the blood off his hand. He cleaned up the sink and looked at the ceiling for a few minutes, hoping to let the blood clot and hold. Once satisfied, he took extra pieces of paper towel with him back to the exam room, just in case.

“Are you okay?” asked the TA again.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Saad took his seat in the exam room.

There were a number of problems left to solve and Saad started to work his way into the exam. After a few moments he heard a sound, “Psssttt…”

Saad looked around and everyone seemed to be continuing as normal. The TA was seated at the front of the room, reading a magazine.

“Psssttt…,” Saad heard the sound again, realising that it was coming from the drop of blood, “You had a great chance to cheat there.”

“What?” replied Saad, in a whisper.

“When you went to the washroom, you had a great chance to cheat.”

“No, I mean… what is going on? How is this possible?”

“How is what possible?”

“This conversation, I am talking to a drop of blood.” Saad looked at the drop that had now embedded itself into the exam paper and turned a purple like colour.

“So what? Who told you blood can’t talk? You’re talking to me now, so this must be real.”

“This is insane!”

“Hah, I think you had better concentrate on your exam, Saad.”

“Not with all this talking, can you keep it down? The TA is already suspicious of brown people, I don’t want to get into any trouble.”

Saad continued on with some of the harder problems on the exam.

“I think you better double check that.”

“What? Double check what?”

“That problem you just finished, the third step is messed up.”

“Holy shit, you’re right! How did you know?”

“I’m literally a part of the paper. Oh, and you should know, the answer to question number 11 is the same as question number 3. Question 11 is the hardest.”

“Wait a minute, this is cheating!”

“How is it cheating?”

“You’re giving me the answers and correcting my mistakes.”

“But I was a part of you, I am your blood. How can this be cheating?”

“Because you’re telling me what to do before I think of it. Are you just my mind?”

“No, I am your blood.”

The TA fake coughed, putting an end to Saad’s whispers. The answer to question 11 was indeed the same as the answer to question 3.

“See, I told you so,” said the drop of blood.

“Yes, thank you, but there is something so wrong about this. I need you to go away.”

“You still have a few more questions to do.”

Saad went on to finish the exam with hints from the drop blood from time to time. The exam time ended and the TA started to collect all the papers.

“I hope I never have to see you again,” whispered Saad.

“Excuse me? If you’re taking thermodynamics next semester, you will see me,” said the TA, slightly disturbed.

On the way back home all the students were discussing their answers and planning for the next exam.

“How’d it go, Saad?” asked Helen.

“It was weird, but I think it went fine. I think,” replied Saad, “I’m too tired to think. I haven’t slept.”

Saad immediately fell asleep when he got home.

no strings attached: the way out

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

The weather keeps getting heavier, the snow keeps falling, the roads and sidewalks keep getting slipperier. The street car stops to pick up more commuters. Harry, still seated, puts his palm against the glass and waits for a few seconds. He removes his hand and watches his palm take shape in the dew. He draws an octagon to enclose the shape of his palm.

For a moment Harry considers giving up his seat to someone else, but he doesn’t. He puts his elbows on his knees and his palms on his forehead. One of his palms is still a little wet. The level of the street car seems to sink with each climbing passenger. The doors close and one commuter, running as he tries to get to the doors, slips and falls. The street car moves on.

Harry reaches for his phone, one of his palms still supporting his forehead.

“You’ve reached Sam, and if you’re calling you probably know who I am”, says the recording, “Wait for the beep and leave a message, your odds might be better if you call again.”

“Hey, uh… it’s me. I know I said a few things today and I umm… I just wanted to…”, Harry pauses to take a deep breath and that very moment a giant, out of control construction truck collides with the street car in the spot where Harry was sitting.

Harry did not know what hit him.

THE END.

no strings attached: 3 years ago – the way up

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

It was another late night at the office for Harry, another tight project.

“You know why I’m here, right?” said Samantha, as she walked up to Harry’s desk.

“Yeah.”

“So you know what to do.”

“I don’t want to.”

“That’s nice, and I want a second season of Firefly, but that’s not going to happen. But this, you can make this happen. All you have to do is add the analysis to the proposal and they’ll probably approve it.”

“I shouldn’t have to. That’s time wasted doing analysis that should be obvious.”

“Listen kiddo, I’m on your side here. You give a little, you get a little. Hell, you might even get a lot. You just have to make the extra effort, even if it obvious to you. You don’t make the effort, you get nothing. I assure you that.”

“Okay.”

“So you know what to do. Don’t make me come back here.”

Steve Steeples was the man to convince at the proposal presentation.

“Hmmm… yeah, I think it’s doable. Great analysis Harry,” said Steve, everyone in the room started to loosen their grips on the chairs and slowly emptied the room.

Samantha approached Harry with a smirk on her face.

“You can say it, say ‘I told you so’” said Harry.

“I won’t,” replied Samantha.

“They’re all idiots anyway.”

no strings attached: 5 years ago – the way in

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

There was no street car in the distance; a daily occurrence of absence. Harry was getting impatient as he fiddled with his token. It was his last token from the batch. The winter weather was making him all the more anxious.

A sense of relief could be felt in the air when the street car did approach. All the frowns of the waiting commuters had been normalized to nothingness. Harry lost his grip on the token as he walked towards the street car. The token found its way down the gutter. The perfect start to a perfect day, Harry thought, and momentarily considered going back home. He started to fiddle with his change while climbing the steps of the street car and stood there as he counted for a while. The commuters’ nothingness quickly converted to frowns again as they pushed and slipped past Harry to get the empty seats. Eventually, the change was counted and deposited into the box. There were no seats left for Harry.

“Hi, it’s my first day here,” said Harry to the receptionist.

“Okay, what’s your first name?” said the receptionist, he had already started to peruse the new employee list.

“That’s odd, you have the list sorted by first name instead of last? My name is Bond. Harry Bond,” Harry took a deep breath after looking at the receptionist’s blank stare, “No, that’s not my real name. Uh, the name is Harry.”

“Okay… Harry… Harry… Harry… there you are! You’re to report to Sam and you’ll get your intro session when you two meet. Take the elevators to the third floor, it’ll be the third door to your right. It’s a shared office, so just ask for Sam.”

“Thanks,” Harry smiled, his toes had warmed up.

Harry walked into the shared office and up to one of the desks.

“Hi. I’m looking for Sam,” said Harry.

“Oh, you’re the new guy. Harry, right?” said John, “Sam’s not here right now. Probably taking a smoke break. You know what? You should just go there. You can get your office tour on the way back up. Go back down to the first floor, and look for the fire exit door with the ‘t’ a bit torn off. Don’t worry, it won’t set off an alarm. You should find Sam right there.”

He looked right and then left as soon as he opened the door with the ‘t’ a bit torn off. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted smoke.

“You… are… Sam…” said Harry, pausing slightly after each word.

“Is that a question or a statement?” said Sam.

“No, it’s just… I thought that… you would be…”

“A guy? You were expecting a guy?”

“No, I thought you would be… shorter.”

“Hah, a clever one. You must be Harry,” Sam extended her right hand for a handshake, “That was a statement, not a question. I’m Samantha.”

“Right, of course, Samantha,” Harry was slightly embarrassed.

“Would you like one?” Samantha held up her packet of smokes.

“No, I don’t smoke.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s an awful thing. I’m trying to quit myself,” said Samantha, as she threw the cigarette butt into the bin, “Come on, let me show you around.”

no strings attached: the way home

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

“I’ll need the keys to the car back as well, do you want me to call you a cab?”

“No John, that’s fine. I’ll find my way home,” replies Harry as he puts the box down and starts to rub his hands on his forehead. “Ummm… can you hold on to this shit for me?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, uh, in fact, keep it.”

“Whoa, dude, some of this shit is expensive.”

“Yeah, I know. Ebay it,” says Harry, as he starts to walk away.

“Well, I’ll split it with ya!”

Harry didn’t want to head home immediately. He started to walk on the snow along side of the sidewalk, this is where the grass would have been. You walk on directly on the snow and you slip less, he thinks to himself.

This is not the one of the larger malls. As Harry approaches the entrance a homeless person opens the door for him, holding out a coffee cup. Harry takes a deep breath, reaches into his pocket and empties out the coins into the cup. The homeless man smiles, the shape of his teeth resemble that of a crumbling mountain range. Harry nods, avoids eye contact and walks into the mall.

The tree is fake, the Santa is fake and that beard is fake, thinks Harry. He walks into the major retail store and spots what he’s looking for. Sitting on a shelf, a Nintendo Wii. He approaches it, grabs it and heads towards the counter.

“Hey mister!” says a child in his early teens, “That’s mine!”

“Hey kid, I found it on the shelf. First come, first serve.”

“I put it there and was standing right next to it, I was waiting for my dad,” the teen slowly starts to tear up.

“Hey buddy, give that back,” says the father of the teen.

“Don’t call me buddy, I don’t know you,” says Harry.

“Listen pal, we had the Wii and we were buying it. It’s ours.”

“Hah, listen ‘buddy’, it was on the shelf and I took it. Tough luck.”

The teen starts to cry and more shoppers gather around to see the commotion.

“Will somebody shut the kid up!” says Harry.

The father of the teen, visibly angry, walks towards Harry and gives him a shove.

“Guys, please don’t fight, it’s Christmas time!” says the cashier as he calls both, the manager and security, on the phone.

Harry shoves the father back. The father swings a punch at Harry. Harry dodges the punch and in the same motion pushes the father down to the ground.

“Hah, take the damn thing,” says Harry, his palm on his forehead. “Merry fucking Christmas, kid,” he puts the Wii in front of the father’s face and walks away.

It has been forever since Harry has taken the street car. No longer having exact change, he inserts a five dollar bill into the box. He finds a place to sit and the phone rings.

“Hey Harry, I’m afraid I don’t have good news,” it’s Harry’s financial adviser. “Both your portfolios are down, I really think you should sell.”

“Hey Sameer. I got fired today.”

“Geez man, that’s awful. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Sameer, listen. I… uh… I need you to do me a favour. I need you to find me a Wii.”

triumph over hope: contact

I’ve watched Jacob for the past half hour or so. He sits in a corner across the room from me, a bustling high-ceilinged common space where patients are carefully monitored whilst being encouraged to interact with one another within the norms of accepted social behaviour. The main ruckus of the session, a pool table dispute leading to a farcical cue-duel between a couple of the residents, temporarily disrupted all the patients from the activities they were engaged in. All that is, except Jacob. Throughout it all and since then, he has sat there next to the window and alternated between absently picking at the flecks of white paint peeling off the windowsill and staring into a distance that I suspect neither I or any other being would ever be privy to.

I wonder if everyone’s inner, unseeing gazes eventually reach and converge at just this one horizon.

Jacob’s hope and his loss play on my mind. From previous patient experience, I’m acutely aware that regardless of whatever the facts may be, the power of the psyche to make intangible nothing into concrete reality is a phenomenal one, and one that my patients may forever be locked in battle with. But like every one of us, Jacob has to grasp onto some lifeline within himself in order to gain first footing in this fight. I’ll try and provide him with the tools to hold on – if he’ll let me.

I finally manage to make direct eye contact with him and I smile. He upholds the gaze unflinchingly, just for a few seconds, and then turns back to beyond the window as the crimson sunset turns into dusk.

contributed by: Nadia Khan

no strings attached: bullshit

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

“Harry, I had no idea!”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“That’s uncalled for! I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Yeah? You did a great job of that in the meeting.”

“You’re unbelievable. You can’t keep pointing fingers at everyone else. God dammit Harry, you need to step up and take responsibility for your actions and your inaction. I’ve been doing a lot of damage control for you.”

“Great good that did.”

“What’s your problem, Harry? Do you even realize the trouble you’ve got yourself into? You realize you’re out of a job now?”

“Look, I never asked for your help and sure as hell didn’t ask for your pity.”

“You know what? This is bullshit. Fuck you, Harry!”

“Whatever.”

Samantha storms out of the room. The door receives no mercy from her as it closes with a resounding thud. She pays no attention to John, who is walking toward the meeting room with a box full Harry’s personal belongings, as she walks right past him.

“This is all your stuff. All the stuff I could find,” John muddles around with the contents of the box. “Give me a call if you think I missed anything.”

Harry responds with nothing but a nod.

“Come on Harry, it’s time to go.”

no strings attached: the meeting

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

This is one of the smaller meeting rooms in this building. By the looks of it this meeting will be a short one. It’s always hard to tell.

“Harry, I don’t want to beat around the bush and get straight to the point,” says Simon Steeples, the Senior VP of Operations. He’s joined by two other high ranking VPs. Having found Harry, Samantha is also in the room.

“Does that mean you want to get straight to the point or you don’t want to get straight to the point?” you would expect Harry to ask a question like this, and he does.

“I… what?… no…” stumbles Simon, “I want to get straight to the point.”

“Then why haven’t you already?”

“Okay Harry, we’re letting you go.”

A numb like silence overtakes the room. Harry, perplexed, looks over at Samantha.

“Harry, I didn’t know,” she says, shaking her head from side to side. “Simon, at a time like this? You know we could really use Harry.”

“No, we could use to lose him. I assure you that. The decision is final. It’s done,” Simon turns to Harry, “Harry, someone is cleaning out your office right now. Stay right there, they’ll bring over your stuff and escort you out.”

“I know my way out,” says Harry, his hands made into fists supporting his forehead.

“Even so, goodbye.”

The VPs leave the room. The door closes smoothly. The room feels just a little smaller.

triumph over hope: colour blind

There is this blinding explosion of red.

I watch the spectrum of infinite colour, flung far across the black holes of the universe come together and converge in space and time right before me. Right before my very existence. And in this moment I wonder how I could have ever despaired of the madness, if this is its gift and my reward.

I would forever gladly endure their presence, I would plead and scream and beg that they continue their torment if it meant I would come to know this again. Colour sears through me, and I’ve waited for this anguish for far too long.

I mean it. I mean it. I meant it. I’ll endure anything, everything. They hope to share in the madness of my mind, never quite realising that they are already a part of it.

Agonising blood torment crimson searing white blinding —

And as suddenly as it came, it’s gone. I’m left here blind again.

contributed by: Nadia Khan