087.

“What kind of question is that?” Dave almost shouted.

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Tracy interjected, putting her hand on Dave’s knee.  “He’s a little worn out and frustrated.  We’ve been to every other fertility specialist…”

“Thanks for making me your last stop,” said the doctor.

“You’re our last hope,” she said.  “When we read your claims about what you can do for people like us, it’s natural to be a little skeptical.  It seemed pragmatic to start with a more… conventional route.”

“But why does he even need to ask that, honey?”  Dave turned to the doctor.  “We want a human baby!”

“A little pedestrian but it’s your money.”  The doctor handed a small, lumpy object to Dave.  “As a human your child won’t receive any extra skill points so let’s hope for a few good rolls.  First is strength, then dexterity, constitution…”

“What the hell is this?”

“Science, Mr. Johnson.”

086.

Her vision slowly sharpened as the pepper spray wore off.  Her cheekbone pulsated with pain and her shoulders ached from the contorted angle they were forced into by the plastic zip tie binding her hands behind her back.

Bill soon came into focus beside her, grinning familiar and idiotic, hands also cuffed and his face covered in a waterfall of tears, chemicals and snot.  Months earlier she would have loved to see him in that state but now she was more worried how much her face mirrored his.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“The cops started clearing out the plaza.”

“You never gave a crap about this stuff before.”

“That was before I lost someone I loved because I didn’t give a crap.”  He looked sincere, plaintive.

“We’re not getting back together.”

“Of course not.  I have a new girlfriend now and your face is covered in snot.”

085.

“Look,” he said, sliding the manila envelope across the table.  “From my experience, you don’t want to open that.”

Joe looked at the detective indignantly. 

“You want your answer?  Here it is: my professional advice to not open that.  Looking at what’s in there is just torturing yourself.”

“I have to know if she’s stepping out.”

“You already know, Joe!  Do you really want photographs?  Ditch her and be done with it.”

“I want to see what he looks like.”

“So you can always compare yourself to him?”

Joe’s head fell.  Indignation took its time melting into resignation.  The detective was right.  Joe slid the envelope back across the table.

“What do I owe you?”

“We’re good.”

The detective watched Joe out the door.  In about two hours that hot wife of his, falsely accused, would be single.  He tapped the empty envelope.  She’d be harder to play than Joe. 

084.

The sunrise chased the two of them on every plane ride home.  They left New York at sunrise and flew into the expanse of darkness covering the rest of the country.  When they approached California, dawn would catch up with them.  Where was his stewardess?  She was always there when the sun came up.

He was the point guard and used to calling the shots.  He created the ebb and flow of the game when he controlled the basketball and commanded the court.  Now he felt uncomfortably powerless in his seat on the redeye flight.  

The plays fell apart tonight.  No one fell into their well-rehearsed rhythm.  The shots didn’t fall.  Every loss ended the world for him.  Where was she?

“Every dawn is new start,” she whispered into his ear.  Her breath on his neck told him she was right.  He saw the sun appear again in the distance.

083.

He’d largely been isolated from other children up to this point.  There’d been play dates where his parents shoved him into a room to make awkward conversation with some other kid roughly his age.  He’d seen others at the mall or grocery store but those were always brief acquaintances before his parents dragged him away in a hurry for God knows what.

There were twenty or thirty other kids in this place.  He’d never seen anything like it.  Kindergarten.  It was a party even if half the crayons were either broken or missing.

He scanned the room for anyone he might know.  He caught the eye of a girl with blonde curls who smiled at him sweetly.  He smiled back.  Then a boy twice his size appeared from nowhere and punched him in the stomach.  Hard.

The same thing would happen twenty years later at the bar.

Seventeen times.

082.

Young Bobby sits on a park bench sobbing into a rejected Valentine’s Day card.  Cupid flies over and offers his advice:

“Love like your heart’s been broken.”

“I thought it was ‘Love like your heart’s never been broken?’”

“Nope.  Do you really want to have gone through all this shit without getting anything out of it?  Don’t just love like your heart’s been broken, Bobby; love like it’s been shattered into a million fucking pieces, set on fire and thrown to the wind like a million lovelorn lightening bugs.  Catch them in a jar and put it all back together again.  Love like you’ve been beaten – pulverized and defeated.  Keep your delicate heart beating while you coalesce and convalesce.  You’ll feel more with that scar tissue.  You’ll be more.”

“And then?” 

“And then you’ll meet Mr. Right.”

“Ms. Right.”

“Mr. Right.  You’re totally gay.  You just don’t know it yet.”

081.

A boy and a girl sat down to play but all their toys were broken.

So the boy and the girl gathered up all the pieces and made new ones.

The Transformer Barbie was a lot more fun to play with than either of the toys had been out of the box.

080.

Prometheus contemplated the fire in his hand.  It crackled and danced and in its flames he could see mankind’s dubious fate unfold.  If he handed it over to the humans they would accomplish many great feats with it as well as terrible destruction.

“It’s a gamble,” he said to Zeus, who was sneaking up behind him with a set of chains.  “Don’t look so surprised.  We beat the Titans together for Christ’s sake.”

“They need hardship,” Zeus said, surreptitiously shooing away an eagle.

“Maybe we don’t know what they need.”

“Maybe we know what they don’t need,” he motioned toward the flame.  “You said yourself that it’s a gamble.”

“So is your project with Hephaestus.”

“Pandora?  You should see the box we gave her.”

“If you give them her, I’ll give them this.”

Zeus called the eagle back into the room.  “Fine.  Let’s see what happens.”

079.

Phillips held his shirt and jacket at each of his arms’ length, inspecting them with a meticulous and approving eye.  He examined every detail.  Every detail was good.  “Fantastic work as always, Martin.”

“Thank you, sir.”  With the compliment Martin moved away from the new senator’s desk toward the window.  The antique desks, decanters of aging liquor and everything else in his clients’ offices had their prices but the views were the real stature.

“And the dress?”

“It’s proving a bit more difficult.”

“What’s the issue?”

“The hotel receipt and the lapel.”

“The heart goes where the heart goes.”

“Perhaps the heart should have better aim.”

“The hotel, Martin.”

“Difficult but not insurmountable.  I’ll need more of a commitment from you.”

“I pay you enough.”

“Not for a new senator, especially one who’s missing a certain dress with all that DNA evidence.  The price moves up the ladder with you.”  

078.

Death delicately slid his index finger down the scar tissue spanning Gregory’s chest, tracing the ridge of smooth and slightly puffy skin, studying its peculiar give and texture.

“Is that what killed me?” asked Gregory.

“No.  This one’s as healed as you’d let it get.  You died from an aneurysm.  Mazel tov.”

“I’ve never seen it before.”

“Probably not.  That scar… it’s an intrinsic part of your life.  People get so good at hiding them though.  The scars disappear.  But this is a moment where you appear as you really are.  I want to know how that mark felt.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel, Gregory.  No pain.  No empathy.  Only curiosity.”

It felt like a flaming sword thrown through a window by a vision he wasn’t supposed to see.  It pierced him and cauterized the wound behind, sealing a swirling void inside.

But he wasn’t going to tell Death that.

077.

The jolting nuisance of Ed’s alarm started at 5:30 instead of the usual seven.  Once that thing went off, it didn’t matter when, there was no going back to bed.   He’d been dreaming he was made of elastic and someone was squeezing and pulling him into different shapes.

He stumbled to the bathroom where, in the mirror, an envelope hung in front of a strange reflection.  The note was addressed to Ed but the reflected man was definitely not Ed.  Not-Ed plucked the envelope and read the enclosed note:

“Thought I’d mix things up today.  You’ll be working seven to three at a bank on Monroe.  Better start getting ready.  The security guard’s noticed you’ve been late a lot lately.  Wear a tie.  Love, Bob.”

Ed walked outside where his neighbor Phil, now a stunning, confused brunette woman, was barely covered by his undershirt.  

“Who the fuck’s Bob?” s/he asked.