As the final blog approaches...

The day dawns and is, ironically, a bright sunny one. Fil has died, and apparently Grandma Pearl has found him...

Please make sure that you include Fil's death and a least one other character from this current list of characters. You should have your blog completed by this weekend. Do not maim, or kill off any other character or yourself. Have a nice day.

Robert Yuras

The Frozen World

Silence.

The silence of the piano jolts the man from his zen-like daydream. Sighing, he realizes that his fears and troubles will soon come crashing over him like a throng of angry hornets. Clenching his eyes shut, the man tries to shut out all of his senses. But the voices begin:

-What the hell happened?
-That wasn’t fair!
-I don’t deserve this…
-Why was it them…
-damn, damn, Damn, DAMN!!!

As the voices grew louder and louder, the man screws his eyes as if to shut out all light, all sound, all life from his own sight. The thoughts continue to wash over him, to break over him as waves at the beach disintegrate cliffs into canyons, then…

“STOP!” a single voice yells. Whether it’s his voice or not, the man doesn’t know, but something has happened; all of the voices have indeed stopped. As he sighs with relief, he suddenly notices his computer. It’s frozen again, the mouse pointer on the screen won’t move, no matter how much he shakes the mouse and the file he was downloading has stopped completely. Groaning, the man reaches down to restart his computer and freezes.

Outside of his window, the world has stopped as if someone had pressed pause on the VCR. The smoke coming from the chimney across the street is frozen in mid air like some vertically challenged cloud. The kids from down the street are stuck in the middle of their game of King of the Mountain. The birds hang in the air as if suspended from some ceiling. All of this, the boy takes in and yet cannot believe the very sight before him.

A hobo is hovers in midair as he jumps down from his evening dumpster diving, a newspaper clutched in his hand, a joyous grin exposing his remaining jutting teeth.

Charlie, from the Chinese food shop, is stuck in the air on his bicycle. The handle bars which were previously spinning are now frozen. If he was to come down, he is going to crash horribly. But the man knew that his crash wasn’t from this landing…

“I must be dreaming,” the man says. As he pinches himself, he feels no pain. A tell-tale sign that this is a dream, and yet-

Suddenly movement in his peripheral vision snaps the man to attention. A single woman is walking down the street. Something about the woman makes his spine tremble. He wants the woman to go away. As he watches the woman moving through the timeless world towards him, he catches a glimpse of her face.

At the sight of her face, he yells and falls backwards. As he falls, the entire world around him fades to black.

Slowly opening his eyes, the man wipes the sweat and tears away absentmindedly. Why was he on the floor? What happened? Suddenly the memory of what happened to him begins to return slowly. Looking out of the window, he sees that time has returned to normal; that there is no woman in black walking towards him. He sighs heavily and returns his gaze to his computer screen flashing his completed download. What in the hell happened to him? Who or what was that voice? Who was that man? Why did time…? Realizing that questions were what started this whole mess, the man quickly pushes them from his mind.

“I need to walk,” he murmurs to himself, “Some time to clear my head. Something crazy has happened and I need to fix it. This was just a crazy dream.”

Speaking to no one in particular, the man realized that speaking it out gave him all the encouragement he needed to get his jacket, grab his keys, and head out the door into a world that only 30 minutes ago, he unknowingly stopped completely.

Henry Dupont

A smiling opportunity.

The teapot had been singing for nearly a minute before Henry took it off the heat. He poured the steaming water over the honey lemon tea bag sitting at the bottom of his plastic mug and took a sip. The water burned his tongue; he cringed.

He strolled from the cramped kitchen into the living room, where he gazed out his sliding doors onto the streets below. It was raining again. Henry turned and walked around his meager apartment, looking for something to do. He had no TV. He had no computer. He had no friends. His only entertainment was the seven books he kept on his bedside table and a set of crossword puzzles. Henry kept himself busy most days, dreaming up Dorothy's next adventure or observing people from his teeny balcony. But it was days like today when Henry wished he had some purpose in his life.

Henry sipped his tea cautiously, not wanting to scald his tongue any more, contemplating what to do.

Then he decided, quite abruptly, to go to the grocery store. Maybe he'd find something interesting. He made a list of items – Henry never went to the grocery without a list – and put on his bright yellow raincoat and golashes. Then he headed out.

Inside the grocery story, he began to make his rehearsed rounds – from the produce section through the aisles, and then over to the dairy section. There, he saw quite a sight.

First, he saw a man bending over the milk cartons, his butt crack peeping over the edge of his pants. Henry's eyes drifted to the rather large woman standing next to him. She was dressed in a hideous white dress with pink and green hearts and was quite agitated, it seemed, with the man. "How could I ever have thought we were meant to be if you go off with your dime store floozys? I am a real woman..." Henry walked away. He didn't much care about her problems.

After paying for his groceries, Henry headed back towards Washington Heights. The clouds were threatening rain again. All of a sudden, Henry heard a sound. It was a song, getting closer and closer until it seemed to be right behind his shoulder. He looked onto the road just in time to see a little ice cream truck pass by. He was amazed – he hadn't seen one of those since he was a kid. And what in the world was an ice cream truck doing driving around Baltimore in the fall? There was some strange stuff going on in this place, Henry thought. The more he saw of it, the more he wanted to get out.

Then he saw the lady. She looked like a business lady, dressed up in a nice black skirt suit. She wore makeup and pumps and pantyhose and was standing in the middle of a sidewalk in Washington Heights. As Henry approached her, she approached him. She was holding a small stack of pamphlets and wore a peppy grin. "Hello!" She stuck out her hand. "I'm Lauren Flinn, from the Baltimore School of Fashion and Design. Here's a brochure –" she held one out for Henry to take – "that outlines our classes. Right now we're offering scholarships to anyone who agrees to attend full time for two years..." The woman flipped the brochure over in Henry's hands, pointing with her French-manicured nails to the things she was talking about. But Henry had stopped listening. His mind was spinning.

He loved fashion. Dorothy loved fashion. He wanted to leave Washington Heights, and this woman – this gorgeous, sweet, misplaced woman – was offering him a paid education at a fashion school. Henry almost pinched himself to make sure that this was really happening.

"...and classes for the spring semester begin in January." The woman stopped talking and looked up at Henry, smiling. "Can I have your name and phone number to contact you?"

And so Henry gave the woman his name – Henry, of course, not Dorothy – and told her he would really like to be considered for the scholarship. The woman smiled at him, shook his hand, and told him he'd be hearing from her soon. She turned on her heel and walked down the sidewalk.

Just as he reached the apartment building, it began to rain again, but even the bleak weather couldn't bring Henry down from his high. He could go to fashion school! He could become successful and have friends and go to parties! He could find a boyfriend! And the best part about it all was that going to fashion school meant leaving Washington Heights. What a novel thought.

Marcus Manuel

The Feds is Watching

Marcus Manuel was holding the pack of ice to his head and laying on his bed. Worse than any hangover he could remember, his head was pounding and felt like it was never going to stop. He was still wondering how they got away from the Feds. From off-roading to going over medians to nearly flipping over twice, the whole night was still pretty much a blur to him. He really questioned whether or not Oscar's unconscious ass would remember any of it, including Manuel and Machelli having to drag his fat ass back to the store and lay him in his bed. What a night. His head hurt too bad to realize that it was a bit suspicious that three felons could simply outrun the Feds and be able to just go back to their homes. It had all subsided quickly. Too quickly. It had gone too smoothly, and something was definitely up. But Manuel was just glad they had survived.

Manuel finally stepped out of his apartment and saw Sloan Waters getting into a taxi. "Where are you going?" Manuel asked, just wanting to hear some semblance of getting away. "Manhattan. I have a lunch date at 12:30." Manuel checked his watch. It was 12 noon. He looked back over to the lady getting into the taxi and she had some strange maniacal grin on her face as she ducked her head into the taxi. "Fucking psycho," he muttered to himself. "Getting to Manhattan in 30 minutes. In a taxi. Stupid bitch thinks she can actually escape this place."

Apparently she had forgotten that this was Baltimore. Washington Heights. Nobody ever escaped. Manuel turned back into the building amidst the sound of thunder.

Manuel woke up from his slumber just in time to hear the rain start back up, round four o'clock in the afternoon. Ice cream truck was pulling up and selling to the kids on the block. Kids standing out there, in that cold rain. Looked like they were having fun though. Better they enjoy their childhood while it lasts, Manuel thought. He knew more than anybody how hard it was to be a grown-up.

Rizzo Sprayberry

Who Says Emotional Breakdowns Are Childish?

"That better not get on my shoes." Rizzo thought to herself as she squeezed past Lulu Lamar on the sidewalk. Lulu was taking her dog to do its business outside the grocery store (which was better than inside the store) but Rizzo had just slipped on her "I look very professional today, don't I?" pumps that matched her power suit, ripe for her impending job interviews. Just as the two women locked eyes, the dog did a 180 degree spin and somehow managed to spray Rizzo with a stream of pee.
"Are you freaking kidding me?!" Rizzo screamed as she jumped back away from the dog.
Lulu managed to look unbothered by the fact that her dog had pissed on Rizzo. "Oh yea, sorry about that," Lulu said nonchalantly.
"This is not ok at all!" Rizzo exclaimed. "This is the only pair of dress shoes I own and I have a job interview for bank teller position in 15 minutes!"
"Ya know, pee washes off," Lulu said with an air of sarcasm.
"Yea, but my shoes are gonna smell like piss for the next six months! You better buy me new pair Lulu, or else I'm gonna take you to The Court of Appeals."
Rizzo had once slept on pieces of a ratty law textbook. Sometimes, to up the intellectual factor, she used the terms in her everyday conversation. Although she didn't know it, she used the terms wrong most of the time-like now.
"Hell no," screeched Lulu, "I'm not paying you back, It was your own fault that you walked into his stream of piss!"
"NOOOOOOOOO IT WAS NOT!!!!!" Your dog has shitty aim!" Rizzo yelled.
"Nuh uh......screw you Rizzo. You think just because you live in a subway car and you are jobless the whole world should take it easy on you. Well fuck that! Guess what, I'm not gonna do that this time because the real world sucks. Get used to it.
By this point in the conversation, the veins were popping out of Rizzo's temples and her face was an abnormal shade of burgundy. "AHHHHHHH!!!! I HATE YOU, YOU BITCH!!!!" Rizzo screamed.
She threw her bagel and coffee into the metal trashcan on the sidewalk, took off her heels, and got ready. Expecting her to charge, Lulu was bent down in a ball on the ground covering her head. Rizzo ran the other way. Away from Lulu. She sped down the street and basically Tasmanian Deviled her way into the bakery. She demanded a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese. NOW.

Lucy Evans

Take the Good with the Bad

Patients keep their stays in the clinic as short as possible. The people of Washington Heights have many secrets. They don't like all of the questions the medical staff asks. It's a shame that they think that even us could be out to harm them. Many just don't understand that those specific questions are necessary for thorough diagnosis and understanding of why he or she ended up at the clinic. Those prying questions are important, because we treat the physical injuries as well as the mental.

Unfortunately early this morning one of my patients, Mr. Jefferson, came by for treatment for some major bruises and cuts that needed stitches. I asked him a few questions such as if he had a home, any insurance, and a way to contact him. He answered those questions without difficulty, but when I asked him how he got them he didn't answer. I tried explaining to him how important that information was. I left the room to give him his space, but when I returned to clean and stitch up his cuts Mr. Jefferson was nowhere to be found. "Hmmmm...what a shame. Another one gone."

People in this town have to deal with so much. They have to be cautious about their every move, whether it's what route to take to get home safely or even what clothes to wear to avoid getting shot or robbed. In Washington Heights too much crime happens and too little is done about it. The people have no other choice but to look out for themselves, nobody else will.

My own personal experience in Washington Heights has definitely helped me in more ways than one, but even though I'm a beneficiary of it, I still cannot and will not stay much longer. Mark and I have really done some thinking about where we want to be in the future, and we concluded that staying in this dump will not help us get there. We're moving away to the same town, maybe even living together, so we can get on the right track.

RING!!... RING!! The phone on my desk echoed throughout my office.
I answered, "Hello?"

"Dr. Evans?"

"This is she. How can I help you?"

" Hi, this is your real estate agent, Mrs. Johnston. I wanted to call you to
notify you and Mark that I have found two affordable apartments that match your
descriptions."

"Well this is wonderful news." I tried to hide my excitment. I almost
screamed. "Thankyou so very much Mrs. Johnston, Mark and I will look into it."

"Thankyou, Ms. Evans I'll email the pics to you tonight"

"That would be great, I'll talk to you later."

I hung up the phone probably with the biggest smile on my face. I called Mark and let him know the news. He was more animated than me if you can believe it. It was six o'clock. Almost time for me to go home. I reviewed all my paper work and checked up on every patient before I prepared to pack up and go. Today was a quieter day than usual and it was nice being able to get out on time for the first time in a while. I couldn't get my the news Mrs. Johnston divulged to me off my mind...Well that and of course Mark himself. He makes me so happy just thinking about him. He's my angel, the answer to my prayers.

"Well, I'm about to leave now. Is there anything else anybody needs before I do
so?"

The only response I recieved was a shaking of heads. I smiled, grabbed my breifcase, put on my goat, and started my journey out the door and made my way down the streets of the town. As I was on my trek home, Mark called...

"Hey sweetie, what's up?" He said.

"Oh nothing much besides the news I told you earlier. I'm just walking home at
the moment. I'm going down Baker Street, did you know that Washington Heights
has an ice cream truck now?"

Of course he was aware of that fact. He's always aware of changes and figuring stuff out, Mark is the guy to go to if anyone wants to know anything. Me and him talked about what a nice addition to the town it would be if it wasn't for drug deals. Haha! Why is it that evil takes every opportunity to tarnish this place? The possible good is supposed to prevail over the bad! We continued our conversation as I walked up the stairs. I noticed the heavy steel door of the second floor open then shut. A young guy still in his teens stumbled down the stairs. I stopped and waited for him to pass me. We made eye contact. He had red glossy eyes. His hair was everywhere. As I stood on the side, I could see that he carried a glass that appeared to contain orange juice. The odor from the cup and his breath reeked of alcohol. I would have done something for Barnheart, but from past experience, my interferrance doesn't do any good. The only thing left to do is let him be. Allow him to do what he wants. Brone is a kind, funny guy. He keeps his wits about him even while intoxicated. "I JUST WISH HE KNEW HOW MUCH POTENTIAL HE HAS."

I made it to the rickety apartment I call home, put my keys in the bowl sitting on my coffee table, and went straight to my computer. I accessed my email and quickly searched for the message from the real estated agent. I looked at them and smiled.

Holger Vollsunger

Leere Flasche

Holger war im Bäckereizimmer, aber Maria hat nichts arbeiten. The red-stained studs of dough were still on the floor. Hearing the soft song of an ice cream truck through the pitter patter of the rain, Holger added to the city noise symphony the soft brushing of a broom. After sweeping every single bite of dough and bit of paper on the floor out of the door onto the street, Holger went over to the gas station, not bothering to close the door.

With hundreds of empty bottles Holger bought from the homeless war vets, Holger started filling them with lard to make a lamps. Distrusting the Butcher to put quality meat on the table, Holger got his own meat when he went to West Virginia to visit his childhood friend. In his 1951 Red Willy's M-38 Jeep, Holger piled, strapped, and tied any dead road-kill he could salvage every possible place in the red jeep. Using Odin's Sword, Holger would butcher the road-kill slicing through the slabs of meat and lard, making two mounds on the bakery counter.Holger melted the lard in a large cast iron vat he found on the side of the road on one of his trips. He poured the hot oil into the bottles with candles.

Holger knew that the mess he made in the bakery was never going to be cleaned by Maria. Holger often considered firing her because she was just too fucking weird. And she grew progressively weird, too. When he first hired her, he thought she was just neurotic, but now on top of that less-than-desirable trait, her mind also began to be wander when she was working. She burned the bread more and more. Somehow the strength of her wandering mind overpowered her inherent woman's instinct on how to cook - she never had to one to clean.

Perhaps this was to be his life. Maybe he was destined to live a life of solitude, although through no fault of his own. Perhaps he should stay out of any fighting for control of the neighborhood...


...unless the fighting came to his own territory.

Naublus Croseman

VI

Naublus eventually tumbled into the train tracks, still rhythmically blurting out, "Wassup! Wassup! Wassup! Wassup!" His head jerked back and forth, and green, foamy pus started to ooze from his ears. He jangled uncontrollably on the tracks, like a Parkinson's-ridden hand, until his companion Snazy took charge of the situation.

"Alright, everyone, make a chain of four.
We'll pull him out of that dungeon horror!"

A 40-something year-old man in a red bandana, a 19-year-old girl, and a seven-foot giant who seemed to span all ages, joined hands with Snazy. She dove into the tracks, still hanging on to the chain, and she jostled her way to Naublus' scarred arm. She grabbed hold, and up and out they went, back to safety. It was such a close call that Lady Liberty almost shit her pants. Which would've made the situation worse because she would not have been able to rescue Naublus.

But Snazy was there, and she was all Naublus ever needed.

She skipped away to find her love. She never came back.

Naublus forgot all about her, and he went back to his spinning -- his mental spinning, that is. Down he went, riding the grey, rusted-iron spiral that moved up and down, like a cow-milking machine. Oh Naublus, why again? Why this needless anguish that only shreds your heart? Naublus began to sob. He went on for the next three hours, until about 8:00 p.m.. His head shrunk a couple of inches because of the sadness draining out of him. A smaller head, but feeling oh so much better.

Tap, tap, tip, tap, tap, tip, tip. His ears deceived him, Naublus thought. No, it was not rain. Diamonds. Diamonds! Naublus had not bathed in a diamond shower since he was a little girl in his homeland. He ran out, giddy and slobbering with excitement, into the United States of America. The diamonds tapped on his skin, stuck to it, didn't fall. On his shoulders, diamonds. On the tops of his feet, diamonds. On his tongue, diamonds. He needed more. He slid into a puddle, filling his whole being with the glimmering beauty. Oh, the satisfaction, the satiation, the fulfillment! The grey sun's light made the diamonds look like demon-fairies. They had come to rescue him from his depression. They lasted a lifetime.

Five minutes. One second. Three half-seconds. A century. The diamonds flattened out into cardboard circles. Covered in them was Naublus. Drowning in cardboard was Naublus. He thought about the murdered trees. Slashed trunks, branches made into dust. Sap spilling everywhere, baptizing the forest with the sins of industry. He flailed his arms outward, grunting a scream, ripping the cardboard off his body (it was everywhere).

"What the hell? You did not just bump into me! You did not--just bump--into ME!" A woman with a sun dress and an expression to match it was clouded by Naublus, a cloudy man himself. It was time to rain on her little parade.

Feverishly, gone mad, Naublus asked the simple question:

"Where the diamonds went?"