1He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
2I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.
this was the best scripture i could have heard leading up to today. instead of getting scarred and panicking i actually placed my faith in God and held firm. praise the lord. he is great!
in any case as a celebration i will buy myself a fruit smoothie.
Chapter 1
The paved road showed no end in sight. Michael gazed down the road his eyelids grew more heavy by the minute. A half empty bag of chips laid on the passenger seat, and a half empty can of soda stood in the cup holder.
“are we there yet daddy?” two girls spoke from the back seat in unison.
“no not yet.” Michael replied as he looked to the rear view mirror and saw only three coffins.
Michael had forgotten the reason that he drove to New York was to bury his family.
Am I going crazy?
Ramona laid atop her bed and starred at her blank computer screen.
AGH! I don't know what to write.
Ramona wore her black ear buds in a vain attempt to block out the sound of the storm, which as it happened had been harassing the city for several days with no end in sight. The weather channel estimated that it could become one of the longest storms this year.
Ramona was an aspiring writer. She longed to write a best seller, until then she would have to settle writing articles for the New York times. She enjoyed her work but was never recognized for it. She hoped a book would change that.
Ramona let out a frustrated sigh before she let her forehead fall upon the keyboard and caused the computer to send a barrage of various letters onto the screen. She lifted her head from the keyboard and noticed on the corner of the screen that it was 10:05 PM. She decided to give up for tonight, turned off the computer, and then yanked out her ear buds in frustration. She could now hear the full force of the storm as it pounded against her small apartment like drums.
Obadiah Stone stood naked in front of the full-length cheval mirror in his private dressing room. He smiled at the image that smiled back. He was tall, a little over six feet, and in his mid to late fifties. He was fit for his age, being an avid runner. His handsome face sported a sharp nose, perfect teeth, and wise blue eyes, all of which squeezed together into a stunning and well-practiced smile. This noble visage was crowned with a thick crop of dark hair just turning white around the temples. He looked like a politician, or maybe a doctor. Certainly a dignitary of some sort. Certainly someone of influence and affluence.
He turned to the side to view his profile and sucked in his stomach. A picture of health. A picture of strength. A picture of vitality. He flashed another winning smile and raised his arms.
“I am beauty.” He whispered. His words bounced through the empty room. “I am beauty.”
He lowered his arms. His hair was perfect. Not a strand was out of place. He gently ran his hand over his hair. It was smooth, soft, warm. The haircut was expensive. It was, in a word, perfect.
He suddenly plunged his hands into that perfect hair. His fingers scraped heavily against his skull. He scratched and scraped violently, tossing his hair about as his fingernails dug into the thick skin. First hunks of hair, then skin, then blood dirtied that perfect head. He dug more deeply, causing tiny rivulets of blood to run down his face and around his ears.
“I am beauty.”
The smile remained as he smeared the blood across his cheeks and nose, eventually tracing it to his lips. He licked his fingers.
... Beauty . . ..”
The dark blood ran down his neck, shoulders, chest and back, tiny rivers of wasted life tracing their suicidal trail over his strong features. Obadiah placed his hands on his hips and grinned maniacally, his gleaming and perfectly aligned teeth stained with blood. Slowly he began to turn around and around before the mirror, his reflection a captured but willing audience.
“God, god, god, god,” he sing-songed. “Beautiful, beautiful . . .. God . . .”
He stopped abruptly and faced himself as if for the first time. He uttered a loud expletive.
“Who did this to you?” his hands flew to his face, his eyes wild with fear. “Who hurt you, my beautiful one?”
With strong slapping, he tried to put his wild hair back into place, matting it wetly against his cranium.
“No, no, no, no, no!” He slapped himself, hard. “No! Not you! Not my dear one! NO!” He crashed his fist into the mirror, shattering it into countless deadly shards. He sank to his knees, tears coursing down his bloodied face. “Not again, beauty. Not again. I love you.” He picked up a dagger of glass and stared into it. The bloodied beast that glared back at him scared him. “I love you, Father Stone.”
The train whistled its signature tune, and startled Michael from his chair. He hadn’t realized that he had fallen asleep. He got off the chair, and felt his back throbbing. He stood up stretched and felt several snaps echo through his back and left him sore.
I’m not as young as I used to be.
Michael looked to his watch and was surprised to see that it was nine am. To his dismay he missed the sunrise.
“Attention passengers!” yelled a voice over the PA. “We will be arriving soon in Amtrak station 445 located in downtown Manhattan. We ask that all passengers gather their belongings before we arrive at the station. All hail Father Obadiah.”
Who the hell is Obadiah?
Michael felt as if he had heard the name before. He pondered the name for a few minutes, as he struggled to slide open the rusted door. He was able to open the door a crack before breaking off the handle.
Crap! I knew I should have left the door open.
Frustrated Michael took the sleeve of his shirt and rubbed off the thick film from the window. He didn’t care to try to figure out what it was. What he did know was that it smelled terrible.
I liked this shirt too.
Michael looked through the window and saw a janitor, in a futile attempt to clean the bathroom. The smell of urine that emanated from the crack in the door made him cringe.
That’s why I didn’t leave the door open!
“Excuse me!” Michael yelled through the door. It seemed however that the janitor didn’t hear him. “HELLO!” he yelled again. This time the janitor seemed to hear him.
“What are you doing out there! Its strictly prohibited.” the janitor replied
“I'm sorry I didn't know! I was just admiring the view, and got locked out!” Michael yelled
The janitor begrudgingly went over to the door. He slid the door open with ease, and then gave Michael an angry look before he walked away.
“Sorry.” Michael said as the janitor stormed off.
The first room Michael entered was once a waiting room. The once elaborately beautiful chairs that stood in that room had now been covered in stains. The chairs even emitted a foul odor that he couldn’t describe. The floor which was once made of marble was now covered in dark black and yellow stains. He found himself annoyed by the fly’s that continued to buzz around his face. He started down past the decrepit bathroom stalls where his footsteps echoed throughout. The only other sound was that of men urinating and masturbating in the stalls. It went without saying that he was disgusted by the sounds he heard. He awkwardly walked past the janitor and into the passenger car. This room didn’t look any better than the restroom.
Michael started down past the cabins. He found that the smell or urine seemed to get worse. It also seemed that the closer he got to his cabin the louder the noises seemed to get. The sound of men throwing up or snoring obnoxiously echoed throughout the hallway. He wondered how these people could afford to travel. Perhaps this was the wrong train, perhaps his had arrived and this train was being used to transfer homeless people. His realized he was wring when he saw a cabin was marked with his name. Across from his cabin the sound of loud moaning and heavy breathing echoed in his head. He didn’t even want to try to figure out what was going on in that cabin. He entered his cabin and locked the door. He remembered the train for what it used to be, it used to be a train for the wealthy. The floors were once finely polished wood. Now the floors were rotting from lack of care. Painted a nasty brown; or rather he hoped it was paint.
Michael remembered that one time very elaborate silk curtains hung from the windows. How the beds used to have silk sheets. He even remembered how soft the beds used to be. For a brief second he saw the room for what it used to be. He even imagined his wife starring out the window. He felt tears roll down his face and as his vision became blurry he slammed his fist against the door.
Michael was startled awake by the sound of a car horn. He was shocked to see he was on the wrong side of the road and quickly swerved to avoid hitting a semi. He heaved in anxiety as the car came to a stop.
That train...i remember it. Its the same one we took on our honeymoon I remember it being a lot nicer though. In my dream though it looked terrible what could have happened to make it look that way?
Ramona rushed past the cubical's looking for the number 25 which was her desk. Today she also happened to be late and hoped her boss wouldn't spot her.
Ramona heaved a sigh of relief as she sat in her chair.
Thank goodness he didn't spot me.
“Your late again Ramona. come see me in my office right now!” Said her boss as he walked bye
“aw man!” replied Ramona in disappointment.
Phil the editor and chief of the new york times waited for Ramona. She walked in, in a cautious manor with her head down.
“take a seat.” said Phil
Roman did as instructed.
“so lets hear it. Why are you late.” Phil asked
“my car broke down.” Ramona replied
“you don't own a car.”
“my bike was stolen.”
“you don't own a bike either.”
“both my legs were broken.”
“...”
“i got better”
“Ramona! Do you realize how badly I want to fire you right now? I should to... do you know why I wont?”
“because you'll feel bad about adding another homeless person to the streets?”
“no. its because your work is great. Top notch. But I can find a dozen more like you by scouring the collages. So do me a favor okay show up on time for work and do your paperwork.”
Phil found himself interrupted when his phone rang.
“if you'll excuse me I need to take this call.” said phil
“yes sir.” Ramona replied
“hello” phill said as he picked up his phone. “really? Hang on a second bob.” “Ramona!”
Ramona was startled just as she was about to leave the office. She quickly turned to face phil and smiled politely.
“i want you to head down to senator Geithners office and interview him about the new bill their voting on this weekend.” Said Phil
“can't Tim go?” she replied
“Ramona!”
“I'm going.”
I hate interviewing senators.
