CONDEMNED

- ONE: Matt & Kati, 1981 -

The humidity lay on them like a wet blanket as the crickets chirped their support. Kati ran her hands through Matt's hair as the muscles in his arms trembled. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he continued his gentle thrusting.

"I've wanted to do this for so long..." she said.

"This is my first time..." he gasped.

Atop the pirate ship crow's nest in the darkness of a neighborhood park the two friends groaned and writhed in an intimate embrace. Sweat coated Matt's brow and dripped onto Kati's pale breasts. Next to the pile of clothes were two empty baby food jars lined with the memory of gin. Grandma wouldn't miss the liquor.

Across the street in a beat up '74 Nova a small light flashed. A lighter flicked on and a cigarette was lit. Marlboro Red.

#

The bell rang and the students scrambled to their seats. Spanish 101. Ms. Traición was writing the lesson on the board as Kati flopped into the seat in front of Matt, her long black hair flying.

"You just made it," Matt said.

"I know. Greg was giving me a hard time in the hall."

"What now?"

"Oh the usual. Where was I last night, why didn't I call him, what am I doing after the football game Saturday night."

"Ah."

"Peeling myself out of that stinky band uniform, that's what I'm doing. He's so gross, he doesn't even want me to shower. Says he likes my musk. Ewww."

"Thanks Kati, I just ate."

"HOLA," Ms. Traición said, turning around to face us.

"HOLA" the class responded.

"Abra sus libros para paginar 167."

Matt flipped his book to page 167 as he stared at the nape of Kati's neck. The short hairs were moist and her pink Ms. Pac-Man t-shirt clung to her willowy frame. Her bra strap pushed against the thin cotton material and Matt's mind started to go to that place. That familiar place where friends became more than friends.

In Spanish 101 friend became amigo, love became amor, and boundaries became invisible. In either language. Por favor. Please let it happen.

Kati's hand crept behind her back and a folded square of yellow lined paper dropped onto his desk. The note passing had resumed. The faint scent of White Linen haunted the paper - white cedarwood and patchouli. The note would go back and forth all period, if they weren't caught.

KATI: I am so tired.

MATT: This is really dull. She's putting me to sleep. What a snooze.

KATI: I know. I'm so bored. Nice purple sweater, you look so HOT in it.

MATT: Yeah, right. I've got the post gym class itchy sweater thing going on. But I was thinking your ass looked especially delicious today.

KATI: Really? So what are you trying to say, that you want to fuck me in the ass?

MATT: Well, if you don't mind. I've got a couple of minutes before Algebra if you're not busy. They don't call me the 5 minute wonder for nothing. Just a quick in and out.

KATI: Sounds great. More than I'm used to getting. I better stretch out first. Warm up. Get limber. Don't want to pull anything.

MATT: And since Greg has such a small penis that's probably a good idea.

KATI: Well, I know that's why you don't wear shorts to school, big boy.

MATT: That's for sure. I just tripped over it this morning. See the bruise on my forehead?

KATI: That explains it. So, do you want to get together, or what?

MATT: What do you mean?

KATI: Get together. You know.

MATT: Are you serious?

KATI Sure. We could meet tonight after my date with Greg. He won't suspect anything. We don't do it that often anyway. Only after football games and band practice.

MATT: OK, sure, where do you want to meet?

KATI: Let's meet at Blackburn Park at midnight. I'll bring a blanket and a condom.

MATT: You rock. I'll bring some gin.

The bell rang and the class leapt to their feet. Matt paled and a weak smile graced his face. Kati jumped up with an armload of books. Pushing a stray hair behind her right ear she glanced back at him.

"Véale esta noche, amante."

"Esta noche, si."

#

Video killed the radio star...video killed the radio star... In my mind and in my car...we can't rewind we've gone to far...

Music leaked out of the Chevy Nova. Greg sat there hot-boxing the cigarette until his fingertips screamed in pain. He flung the butt out the window, his eyes riveted on them. His face was flushed as he clenched his jaw and squinted his eyes. He reached into the glove compartment. Cold steel.

Matt's baseball jacket lay underneath them. She had forgotten the blankets. And the condom. Now the jacket would be a trophy he could revisit later. His first time, and with Kati of all people.

He could feel it building, the tension surging towards relief. Dead babies, Grandma naked, syphilitic penis. Bill Buckner batted .324, Keith Hernandez batted .321, Garry Templeton batted .319...

"Maybe I'D like to fuck YOU in the ass..." the voice rang out of the darkness.

Matt whirled his head around as the cold metal violated his backside with authority. A slip of yellow paper fell to the ground as their world blew up. Her scream mingled with his and they faded to black.

- TWO: Brian & Jen, 1997 -

"THIS...IS...CNN HEADLINE NEWS. In the aftermath of the Heaven's Gate mass suicide, the FBI and CIA are in joint talks with the Bureau of Tobacco and Firearms to increase national security. In Washington, President Clinton called the deaths heartbreaking, sickening and shocking. The heightened security was too late to stop the Oklahoma City bombings, but Timothy McVeigh sits in custody regardless. In sports, the Chicago Bulls capped their 69-13 season by winning their fifth NBA championship over John Stockton, Karl Malone and the Utah Jazz. The continuing tragedy of Princess Diana looms, as her burial is set for this Saturday. More in 60 seconds."

Jen clicked off the tv, and sat in the dark. Wearing nothing but a smile under her fuzzy pink robe, she wondered when he'd be by. The anticipation had gone from tantalizing to annoying over the course of the evening. The sexual tension that had buzzed through her veins when she got off the phone with Jim three hours ago now lay buried deep inside on the verge of extinction. Her mom only went out of town once in a blue moon and he was blowing it.

She reached into her robe to pull out the poem he'd given her last night.

Existence has but unified reasons
femininity pursued
she balances the greed and lances
flower to the weed
lioness to king
fruit with nectar, sliced does bleed
fawn beauty caught in headlight
Aphrodite created the night.

She loved him now. It used to be just lust and good times. He made her laugh. When she thought of the future, she wanted him in it. So many decisions to make. She didn't even know what college he was going to, let alone if she'd follow him in two years.

She walked to the bookcase and picked up her yearbook. She wanted to read it again.

Jen,

It has been so great getting to know you this year. And to think, if I hadn't joined the choir, none of this would have happened! You are one in a million, and I think about you every day. Your emerald eyes are the last thing I see when I fall asleep. Your ruby lips are the first thing I desire when I wake up. This is going to be the best summer of our lives. Wherever I go to school - be it Mizzou, Columbia, or Northwestern, I know I'll be taking you with me, if only in my heart. Lets have lots of Ted Drewes Frozen Custard and Imo's' Pizza this summer and work on those tans. You rock.

Peace, love and understanding,

Brian

Holding the book to her chest she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

#

"Jen honey, I have to go. Have you seen my briefcase?" Brian darted into the kitchen in his regulation suit. Dark blue pinstripes with a coordinated red tie. He grabbed the lukewarm cup of coffee on the counter in his HAPPY FATHER'S DAY 2004 mug and slurped down half, splashing his lapel.

"Shit."

"SNIT," Brian Jr. babbled from the high chair. Jen looked up, pushing the long blonde hair out of her face, stifling a grin. The spoonful of baby mush stalled halfway to little Brian's mouth.

"Honey, not in front of..."

"I know." He shoved his hand in his pocket, extracted a one dollar bill, and stuffed it into a fish bowl overflowing with singles up on the window ledge.

"Your briefcase is in the mudroom with your keys, your sunglasses, and your cell phone which is probably dead by now."

"Thanks honey. I won't be late."

"That's what you always say."

"No seriously, I've got the closing at three o'clock, and then I'm out of there. I'll be home in plenty of time for sandwich night."

"OK. You'd better."

"If you get bored, look in your nightstand drawer, I left you a little present."

"Brian..."

"Well, somebody has to get this party started."

He dashed over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

"KISSIE," the little man gurgled.

"Of course buddy, I've got one for you too," and as he kissed his two year old son, he got a mouth full of peas in return.

"Peas, for breakfast?"

"That's all I had!" she laughed.

"Ugh. Love you. Later sport."

Out the door to the aging BMW and the long commute downtown.

#

BAMBAMBAM.

The front door rattled in its frame, startling Jen out of her nap. The yearbook fell to the floor with a permanence. Lights flashed from beyond the front door. Blue and white.

BAMBAMBAM.

She pulled the robe tight as she ran to the door. Her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes tried to absorb the cacophony of light and sound. She turned the deadbolt, and pulled the door open.

"Hello? Yes..."

"Ma'am, you live here? Are you Jen? Jennifer Thompson?" the uniformed policeman asked. Behind him there were several units parked in the street. An ambulance was further up. All of their lights were flashing.

"What? Yes! I'm Jen. I live here. What's going on? My mom is out..."

"Come with me. No time," he shouted. Officer Clayton grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the house and into the mayhem.

The sidewalk was lined with her neighbors: Mr. Caleco and his collie out for a walk; the Torinis in bathrobes and pajamas, all four of them; the twins, Bobby and Robby, only eight, holding onto their parents for dear life; ancient Mrs. Cappel, her bifocals about to fall off her nose, Agatha Christie still in her hand.

"What's..."

"Don't talk, listen. There is no time. He's been waiting for you. We've been running up and down the street knocking on doors."

"I don't understand..."

"There's been an accident." They rounded the Ambulance into the street, and she saw it. The orange van that Brian drove. How could you miss it? It was practically day-glo. It was for his dad's second job, the paper route. It was wrapped around a telephone pole. The pole lay broken in the street, wires everywhere, sparks flying.

"Watch your step. If you stay over here to the left you'll be fine."

"Oh my god..." she whispered. "Ohmygod, ohmygod what happened..."

"Ma'am, keep it together. We've got a blanket over him. Keep your eyes on his face. Don't look at anything else. Trust me."

'What?" she began, as her vision blurred, her face becoming a salty mess.

"He's been asking for you. He doesn't have long. Something about a dog running into the street, he swerved. Lost control. The pole..."

"But..."

"Happens more then you'd think."

The base of the pole now sat in the middle of the van. The windshield was gone. The pavement sparkled with nebula. Gasoline and oil hit her in a wave. A pool of dark liquid spread under the van. Oil, she told herself. The front seat was not where it should have been. It disoriented her and she didn't know where to look.

"Here miss. Hurry. I'm right here if you need me. Take this" He handed her a ring box made of black leather with gold trim.

She approached the driver's door. Brian's face was slashed and bleeding. Blood leaked out of his mouth, and he wheezed with every feeble breath.

"Jen..."

"BRIAN?! It's me. Are you..." The blanket had fallen down to his waist. His chest was torn open, the steering column shoved through it. She didn't see the steering wheel.

"Oh dear god..." she gasped.

"Jen..."

She turned her head to the side of the van and threw up her dinner. Mozzarella and tomatoes with olive oil. Wiping her mouth she straightened up.

"Brian, I'm sorry..."

"Don't...don't. Listen. It hurts. I can't..." he coughed up blood, spraying what was left of the windshield and the dash. It was very dark, not red at all.

"I love you."

"I love you too babe. I'm sorry. The ring..."

She finally looked down to her hands where she was squeezing the tiny box so hard her knuckles had turned white.

'Open it. Please."

She pushed it open with sweaty thumbs. A small diamond in a platinum setting winked back at her.

"It won't be what I wanted now," he said, "but take it anyway."

"Brian..."

"What's that? Is it time for the fireworks?" he asked, as his eyes slowly closed.

Behind her a power line snapped in two and at the edge of her vision there was motion. The sounds were muffled as she stared at her boyfriend, the last bits of him fading. Somebody was screaming her name but it was garbled, underwater. Sparks reflected in the side of the van - orange and white, blue and red, a celebration of color. She turned to see Officer Clayton running towards her in silence, but nothing made sense. She looked down at her bare feet, and they were wet and cold. Her feet were in the blood, the oil...the gas. A snap and a crack, a guttural whoosh and the heat was upon her. She was dancing, her arms shaking, as the world faded to black.

- THREE: Suzy, 2014 -

The radio on the coffeehouse counter was preaching the news. "President Obama continues his second term efforts to exceed the Begley Bill expectations, getting electric car production in the U.S. over the 50% mark. In other news, NASA announced that the Terrestrial Planet Finder would finally go into space this fall."

Rick came to the StarbucKinko's counter on his way to class every day. It was cheaper then smoking, though not by much. The sin tax of 2000% on smokes had killed any chance he had of keeping that habit. So he got a new one. It included Suzy.

"Triple-shot Enorme Mocha Whip with Guarana injection," he asked.

"So the usual, is that what you're saying Rick?"

"You know me so well Suzy. You rock!"

For a moment they gazed at each other.

"So...Rick. I have a question for you. What are you doing later?" she smiled.

Richard Thomas was the winner of the ChiZine Publications 2009 “Enter the World of Filaria” contest. His short story "Maker of Flight" was chosen by Filaria author Brent Hayward and Bram Stoker Award-Winning editor Brett Alexander Savory. Some of his publishing credits include Cemetery Dance (Shivers VI anthology, early 2010), 3:AM Magazine, Word Riot, Dogmatika, Colored Chalk, Gold Dust, Vain, Troubadour 21 and Opium. His site is http://www.whatdoesnotkillme.com