Stem Of Retribution

And how is it I know you?

From the Internet.

What's your name?

My internet name? Like how you'd know me?

You use a "handle", do ya?

There's some crazies out there. Find out about you, where you live, picture of your house your car...your cat..where you shop…eat lunch…You understand.

I do. But, how do YOU know me?

Oh, YOU are quite active...and if I may say, quite obvious.

Perhaps to those in my circle, but you are not in my circles that I know of. What's your name?

They call me Blue & Yellow Dragon.

I suspect you gave yourself that moniker.

Well, yes. B - L - U - & - Y - E - L - O DRAGN

Sorry do not recognize it.

B&Y DRGN

Maybe...that has a ring to it...

Do you know The King of Retribution?

No, and the more you say, the more convinced I am you got the wrong guy. What is it you want from me?

Ask you a few questions? Get to see each other...talk.

You can do that on the net...

Where's the human empathy in that?

Who said anything about human empathy? Why would I be required to show a stranger any empathy? How do I know your intent?

My point exactly. How are we to know? Anyone can punch a keyboard. The fonts are basic...emotions displayed by crude emoticons...you can't be taken seriously as a reality, until you ARE a reality. Not some shitty cartoon face. Sit across a table, eat and talk...see what the other thinks...laughs about...has a passion for...what he thinks of women...sports...literature. The squint…the smile.

Man, you are really getting personal here.

That IS my point. but don't expect you won't get the same from me. I am prepared to speak freely.

That's mighty generous, but I have no interest.

I accept that.. Why should you? I believe you may have visited the King's link. His homepage, maybe his blog? You must have signed off on the privacy policy.

I doubt that.

Oh, no, you MUST have. It's the only way I could be here.

I don't understand.

Do you READ the policies?

Does anyone?

Yes many do....and should!

Meaning?

Meaning... 
   'I agreed to allow you to share my personal information with your friends." - Right there in black and white.

Must not have seen it. I know I would not sign it if I had. I don't know this KING fellow to begin with.

Oh you probably do. He goes by a thousand names, and sites. He's big.

That makes him big? having sites and identities? What's he do? What's he selling?

A myriad of things, including Mystery.

I don't get it. 

Just a being in the ether, but not just one...the many.

Just being? How's that give him any power to be 'Big"?

Are you kidding? Are you plugged in? He shapes opinions, he stirs the pot, he unsettles the grand estate.

What grand estate?

The Establishment.

So he's a radical.

I would think we all are radicalized by one another...don't you?...I mean  in terms of differing fears, different mindsets...?

Oh come on. Commonality builds communities. Even on the net.

There are communities. Easy and safe. Chat about drinks & restaurants, kids, & dogs pics. If I see another self-involved selfie I think I'll hurl. But between the walls of those communities - the spaces between the blocks? There are packs, or people, that patrol, like wolves, they roam....they prowl...pick off the strays and miscreants.

Tell you what. You claim to know me? Let's TAKE a selfie...the two of us together . That will give you an identity in my world, and you can show this "King" that we met, even though we are not friends, we could be, and I’m alright.

You realize that once that is posted, we are Friends, if only in the digital world, and you cannot deny you know me?

Not sure I want that. Why do I get the sense that you don't want to be photographed. That you desire to be anonymous. to have no footprint in the digital world. Is that what this is? You one of those wolves? You culling me from the herd? I'm one of those strays? Why me?

You do not have a family. Is that correct?

I suspect you know it is. Why does that matter?

The King is a compassionate man. He respects family. He protects children when he can.      

I see.

You are starting to see. Aren't you?

I don't understand...

You do.

I do not. 

Your sites. The King is viewing them...opening up the windows...your life is flashing before his eyes while we speak, and he does not like what he is seeing.

How do you know this?

He is speaking to me...

You’re mad.

The ear-pierce?

I didn't notice.

Few do. It's impressive. An implant. This little wart behind the ear. See?  A bug...like a tic under the skin.

What do you mean? He's hacking me? Now?!

Oh, by now, he says he owns you.

But why?! Tell me why!

The sites. The children. we know what you are.

But what I do is....

We don't care to think of what you do, sir. The King is furious with you. He says you are repugnant. I'm afraid I've never heard him this angry. If I were you, I'd be very concerned for your being. Oh! That was loud!

What?

His rage. He says you should be afraid.

Shit.

Deep shit.

How do I get out? How do I make him happy? ...just to go away?

Too late.

What do you mean?

You've been erased. There will be no trace.

There must be a way. Just let me go away. Trace my activity if you must...what you know....but it will never happen again. Just let me go.

You have nowhere to go. They all know. Your mother begs to say it's not so. The King just sent her a picture of the Stafford boy...he seems to be your favorite defilement.

NO! OH GOD, NO!

Your Mother is weeping...apparently "Your stepfather did this to you."

How...? No. My god.

What are your plans?

Let me run.

You won't run far.

How's that?

In your pocket...how much cash?

I just ATM'ed two bills.

Then that is your sum. And, your last ATM run.

My money!

Gone.

My car?

Just left the garage. Check your phone.

Dead! What the fuck is going on?!

You've been found out and cast out. Find your way. You are finally free of the dreaded grid.

Wait. Wait. Couldn't I be in the pack? You know, like you?

No, sorry, much too late. we know what you do.

What I DID…once! Not anymore. I swear.

Oh, we know...we all know better than that, don't we?...and we'll certainly know if you do it again.

If you've taken me off the grid, then How would you know?

Because as we shake hands, and I say goodbye...come on, try...

OW.

You are implanted too.

Ohhhhhhh....plleeeaasseee!!

Yes. Now you may Hear Him roar inside your head. The Dread. He will haunt you when he wants to. You are his. That is his power. And do not try to dislodge it, less you accept the consequence. You really should have read ' the policy'.

Consequence?

You really should have read The Policy.

Please god, I'm so sorry.... Auurgh...stop, please stop. What is the consequence?

The crystal stem. Dislodge that and it will paralyze you within seconds. You will be aware but unable...

No! God, no! I beg you man...yes, yes...anything!

He mocks you. He knows 'They' begged for your mercy, too. Did they not? Don't make him more irate. He will haunt you with their cries, their whimpers. They will speak whenever he chooses. You will sweat through many a night…find yourself screaming in a car, a conference or in an intimate moment…but never again with a child. Never a child…he is merciless, he goes wild, and you will suffer.

I can't take this. Is there no end?

Just the one.

No.

Yes. And he will know. He will have the last word...or their screams may drown out yours. That decision will be his. At the end.

Nooo...

Yes. Paragraph 3: 
"In all cases, we are free to  administer as we see fit..."

Now do as he tells you and,'Go'. I have other chores. You are His, and He is yours. My 'Friend', nevermore.

    

RIDE DOWN WITH MUNSON

What do you suppose this is about?

What?

Why are we sitting here?

We were beckoned.

Exactly. So why must we come ?

Because you work for the man.

So I should just jump when he snaps?

You bet.

Why?

I dunno. Maybe…You expect a check…?

I earn every damn cent.

And so does the next man, and the next…and the next man, and so on…others standing in line just waiting to earn yours.

Your point being?

You work for the Bloody Bastard!

Mr. Munson?

Sir?

This Bastard is firing your ass on the spot.

It was Higbey…!

I heard what I heard, Munson. Insubordinate filth. It came from your mouth, not Higbey’s. In fact, he will be replacing you, as of now. Pack up, Get out. HR will be in touch. Higbey, contact Security and tell them Munson is checking out of the building. Munson? You know procedure, you’ve canned plenty before…and, oh, so well…so get it done, won’t you?

This is blatantly unfair! SIR! …Higbey, tell him!

Get your Ass OUT of my building…now, Munson !

(Slam)

Okay. I just got off the phone. Security will meet you in your office…on their way now.

You bastard, Higbey.

You’ve fired 243 people in the last four months. Do you know what they call you around here?

No. And I don’t care to know. Pricks…

The Boss’s Bung.  

Fuck you.

So, what-say?…let’s pull the plug and get ‘er done. Oh, Look. They came to fetch you. Isn’t that considerate? Show him some respect people. He’s made major contributions. We’re all professional, here. Good luck out there, Munson.

_ _ _ _

Well that was uncomfortable.

No, It was efficient, Higbey.You called him out and he snapped. It’s exactly what we expect from you from now on.

If that’s what you expect, I’m sure I can deliver.

It’s your Skill, Higbey. Use it.

I will, Sir.

Good. See you at lunch.

Sir?

‘The Pinnacle’... Twelve-thirty sharp. My table today, and you commandeer Munson’s from here on. Consider it your own. Now back to it.

Sir?

Ferret out the weasels.

I will, Sir,

And the Rats…

Yes, Sir.

All the vermin!

Indeed, Sir.

The snakes. The parasites, The sheep in wolf’s clothing….

Sir. ..ah…Wolf in sheep’s clothing…?

Are you questioning me?

Never.

Have you met my daughter?

Nooo…I…no, sir.

Well you shall!

What is your sexual preference? If you’re gay I have a nephew…

No. Sir. Straight as they come.

Not that I care. …only about my daughter…

Of course. I look forward to meeting her.

Have you seen her?

No, Sir, but I imagine…

Don’t. Don’t do that. No imagining…look her straight in the face.

I’m not following…

Have no illusions or delusions. She does not come with the job. Your performance comes first. That’s my bottom line. But if you happen to take notice…happen to entice…treat her with respect….treat her nice…there’s no telling what your future holds.

I look forward to meeting her sir.

In due time.

Yes, sir.

Like ‘Saturday’.

This Saturday, sir?

Yes

I’d be delighted. But…uh…I’ll just have to tell my wife.

I hear you two haven’t been getting on too well as of late.

Really? Who told you that?

Munson, of course… doing his job.

But Munson was a bachelor…surely he was a more likely candidate for your…

Oh, he gave it a go. Let’s just say he was not convincingly enthralled, and she sensed it.

Oh. Never met the young lady.

You shall.

I look forward to it.

You do that. For the good of the company…

Yes, Sir.

Is your wife going to be a problem?

Actually, we had Saturday set aside for a talk. She moved out last Tuesday…sir.

Excellent! Seems, Munson was not on top of ‘the Information’ after all.

No one knew.

Wonderful news. You two can talk anytime…We’ll see you Saturday!

Well…yes…certainly sir.

Ohhh…Higbey?

Sir?

Was your wife an attractive woman?…would you say?

I married her, sir. She’s a sweet soul. I must have found her attractive. Yes. I do…in her way, there are moments when she’s quite pretty.

Wonder if others would find her so…do you think?

She’s a classically simple girl, sir. But there are moments, in some light, the way she’ll tilt her head or cast her eyes. Bewitching….

So she is ‘plain’. Fair to say?

She is. But in her way…

I’ve heard there was some girth there.

Fucking Munson…sorry, sir.

Just accessing your boundaries, Bob. You know she inquired about you? …my daughter?

No. How is that possible? We’ve never met, I swear.

Oh, I know. Munson shared the Annual Report with her. Trying to impress her with his portrait alongside mine. Apparently she was more impressed, it seems, by you as she leafed through.

How so?

Must be your magnetism. She came to me afterward and said,

‘Daddy who’s Robert Higbey? He’s ‘cute’.

Cute?!?  Look at me, sir. I’m no prize pony.

Oh, she’ll require something much more substantial than a pony. I suspect that’s why she picked you…

Out of the Annual Report? She picked me out of a line-up?…like some catalogue?      (….fuck me.)

Hig - beeeeeee…???

If you don’t mind, Sir, I’d like to take my vacation time. I need some space…time to step back… to consider these rather major changes in my life. Happening today…right here….much too fast.

People in your position, Higbey, are paid very well to make these tough decisions under pressure, not to take Vacations from them! Do we move forward or do we not?

Like a chess pawn…a fucking chess pawn…that’s all we are.

Of course, you Idiot, it’s my board. You’re all my pawns.

This pawn passes.

There’ll be another.

Of course…an entire gallery full...

That’s right, Higbey. Did I tell you how much she loves to shop? It’s her favorite thing. 

If you hurry, you might catch the car down with Munson. Won’t that be a fun ride?

The Blank Corner

It became clear to her that this madness was hers to deal with alone. Adele stopped right there. Jim had gone, the girls avoid her, and Peter couldn’t get out of the house fast enough after high school. 

It wasn’t her fault Jim took the bullet, it was his gun, his hand, his mouth…sitting in the old desk chair, the two, worn down…facing the cellar corner…cold, gray, concrete, the last thing he’d see, and maybe that’s what he needed. Blankness. Now his blood splash like a Pollock swash, not something to wash. Sponge, but Leave it where it soaked. The trace…the stain, of it. Visit it. Not a shrine, but a sentence. The chair collapsed as the big man lurched sharply to the left with parts of his brain... The rickety legs stood not a chance, collapsed with his mass. The bullet's glance, once past his skull, took a chunk of block, as well. But, the block just ricocheted.

She’d heard it in the night, half awake…unaware…but thought the furnace flues might be buckling, 2 floors under. So dull the sound. She chose slumber.

She swore to herself she wasn’t the reason. The business went down, his fragile affair admitted and over...he pleaded…forgive me...and, she, now left as his sole support...the only one he really needed. ...but...She was not capable. She couldn’t carry him…she’d counted on him…and, now?...she couldn’t take him, wouldn’t cradle him, hear his pain, or his broken vows. Heal him, or hear him explain...it really didn't matter.  She'd shriek his name in anger, echoed in an empty space, with no trace of an excuse.  It was too much and not what she signed for. 
It had only been good when things were fine, and that was just fine with her. She required the stability…the routine…the simple chores, nothing laborious!...you hire out for that….or, you once did. But, this?!…how does one handle this? The shrinks, the meds, the blank canvas, her head - incapable of picking up a brush...never a plan...could not begin to choose a color…or even with a hint of a sketch..or, where to go from now on. She stared…and stared…and stared some more...(fuck you, Jim, for choosing this dank cold place, you selfish bastard) ...but months went..when, finally inspired, she meticulously painted those walls, blood stained, minor details...'chunk' and all. 
Her canvas. His brain. Her path. His splatter. Their Madness...hers alone...still hangs overhead.

THE EXTRA DEGREE

Adrian folded the sleeper sofa after Lenore left that morning. He sprayed it with a  disinfectant spray that smelled overtly clinical and proved to be quite effective in defuncting the funk from his bunk. Today, he’d leave the window open a crack, air the place out. By nightfall it would be ‘springtime fresh’ like it said, but for now, his eyes stung, sinuses swelled, as did his throat, and thickening his tongue. He held his breath the best he could, grabbed his coat, his satchel, and escaped quick out the door, finally gasping aloud in the hall, while locking up. Miss Newsome in ‘18’, popped out, head cocked.

“You okay, Adrian? Whew! What’s that odor? …never smelled it before. Is that you, Adrian? Is everything alright in there?”

“Sorry, yes, Miss Newsome. A touch of mold from an old wet rag…gave the place a stank from the sink, so I had to spray…threw the old rag away.”

“A bit overwhelming! Whew! ”

“I’ll say. I think I’m allergic, but we do what we need to do, in order to be sanitary. Better than mold spores, don’t you agree?”

“Indeed.”

“Okay, then, I must scurry or I’ll miss the bus again, and this time it could be big trouble!”

“Then scoot! Don’t be yacking with the likes of me!”

“Thank you Miss Newsome. See you soon. B’bye!”

“Goodbye, Adrian! Be careful!” she called down the hall as he descended the stairs.

He wondered what he should be careful of, but she was right, once on the street you had to be ready for anything in this neighborhood. It wasn’t the roughest, but it could, on occasion, be quite rude, and tussles were not uncommon. Most were only vocal, but some turned physical, and that’s a department where Adrian came up short. Oh, he was quite crafty with the verbal jab, but that particular skill often pissed others off, frustrated them, resulting in their outright rage, so Adrian learned the finer points of the quick escape. Today was smooth sailing, thank goodness, because he simply didn’t have the time to waste in getting to work on time. He wondered if Lenore would acknowledge him…embarrass him…tip off the crew to their dalliance. He wondered if they already knew. He knew that others had been there before, and two were excused…both good family men that Lenore had seduced, and caught red handed with no good excuse, on the streets they landed. He wondered how Lenore endured, but then he knew, too, that she had to have dirt on Mr. Durst and that could cripple the division and all their livelihoods, so the lid was firmly put on that simmering pot, so it won’t boil over, that way no one gets hurt. Let the old goat get off, who cared, as long as the checks cashed? But, if Durst caught wind of Adrian, he too, was a goner…a younger man, a junior, really, could not compete with The Big Cheese upstairs. Lenore, would almost contemptuously file her nails, looking bored, while Durst solemnly issued orders to staff, or addressed the Board.  He persistently denied any hint of the defiling, but he did it, we all knew. And it would seem from that point on, from our collective point of view, he was the one that was being screwed. She had ‘the goods’, and she used them to get the goods on the old geezer, alright. Oh, He enjoyed it, and at his age who wouldn’t? (Hell, at my age I did!) So he kept her close…odds are, (…and the office joke). there’s a quickie in the closet, if she’s not at her post. But, as good as she was at giving him ‘trim’ she was left wanting, this shark had to swim, so she worked the pool of office boys and yanked their junior staff members, just for fun and to make up for Him. She preferred them younger, she had come to learn, and would say so in memos, how much she yearned, but warned, “…once you read this, be sure it gets burned. … if not, you do.”

I got that message late one afternoon, then She got Me, “...after hours…mailroom”. Now, when she’s overcome with the Urge…that Need…I am obliged, if she buzzes me. And, so very thankful I received my degree, she assures me I'm so well equipped, that I'm bound to succeed.

The WASH

SPREADING REBECCA

Hello I am Raymond. I was sent by FETEMEET.

Hello. I am Rebecca, I was sent by FETEMEET.

Happy to meet you, Rebecca.

Happy to meet you, Raymond.

May I say, You have lovely FEET?
Thank you...likewise… I …

Yes?

I wonder....

Yes?...Is something wrong?

Oh, no. Nothing wrong with you Raymond but I'd like to stray from the script. Do you mind?

Oh. You saw ‘the Tutorial’, too…

I did. I got the app and I played the script but I just get so tense. I have a stomach ache…One shouldn't have to work this hard. You know?

I think. Yes, I understand. If I make you uncomfortable perhaps...

No! Please. I thought I stated that quite clearly. There is nothing wrong with you Raymond, it's just the script ! I can't get with the stupid script. I'm no actress. This is me, not ‘Level Four’.

I’m a newbie. I never got to ‘Level Four’. I didn't know there WAS a Level Four. Wow. There's a script for that?

Not for ‘the Act’, itself, Raymond…but, yes...for the foreplay?...there is. After that you’re…we’re…on our own.

But the FETE script…they say it’s binding…

Look, I'm sorry, these are my feet and if I am going to let a stranger...in this case, I sense a very gentlemanly stranger...however, if I should allow them to caress my feet, then I should allow myself to determine the conduct and the pleasure. Besides, who knows what kind of creep writes this stuff? Whoever it is, he's not getting between the cracks of my toes, I'll tell you that!

Wow.

Ah, gees…sorry Raymond. I didn't mean go off like

that…

Are you kidding? That was great! I came quite close to ‘going off’ myself...heh...heh..um...

OH! You’re blushing! Well there you go! We just buried the script in that little moment right there.

Now?

Now is fine.

They kissed passionately. A tad clumsy, as most first times tend to be. There are bodies, awkward angles, and protrusions… noses…chins, teeth, tongues... There are soft lips, thins lips, loose and tight lips...eyes open? Eyes shut?…all that to deal with...but, if you Get Lost in that kiss, you got a chance....if you both Get Lost, you just got lucky. Raymond dropped to his knees as Rebecca took a seat, perched on the lip of the thick cushion in anticipation of the private view. She extended her right foot...the good one, the pretty one, the ‘better ankle’ … her best angle, and Raymond gasped in adoration as she expected he might…not the first to do so.

What do you do Raymond? - she cooed.

I make my own peanut butter....

Is that a euphemism?

I don't think so, I use a blender and nuts, mostly....roast them myself…

Raymond?

Yes?

Enough about your nuts for now. Say hello to my toes....please.

Raymond, not needing to be asked twice, dove headlong into his task, pouncing upon each peachy pinky and devoured them from pearlescent blue pedi to the musty cusp of the crease.....

Then Raymond reached for his attaché.

Raymond? What are you doing?

It’s my secret treasure box. (click) I'm going to take my homemade peanut butter – mmmmm - and apply it, with this ebony handled spatula…beautiful isn’t it? …between each delicious toe, as if mortar between golden bricks, then dust them lightly with fine chocolate powder and flakes of gold leaf…

OH!

Then I shall suck them clean...spotlessly clean in every nook, cranny and cuticle.

Raymond you DO know you are driving me mad, don't you? ….just talking like that...oh!

Shhhh, no more talking....

Ohhhh....and when you are through....what will you do?

I will bathe your feet, massage them, dry with this fine chamois, then rub them in these fine lotions....

Yes?! And then...?

Then I will go home.

You will go home?!

Yes. As is my custom. Tidy up and go home…

What about Me?

Yes…?

What are you going to do about me?

But I tried to explain. This is not about you.

Well then what the hell is this about?....YOU ?!

Noooo. Not exactly.

Well then that leaves....!?

That's right. This is all about the peanut butter.

I don’t know if I can play by those….OH! RAYMOND!

When it was over Rebecca craved a cigarette for the first time in 12 years.

May I offer you a cookie instead? – Raymond asked, holding a small silver platter.

Oh, yes! Are they…?

Yes, they are…

You know, Raymond…I, too, have a blender and utensils, perhaps you could make your butter here….?

Oh, no. I have prime nuts shipped in weekly from Virginia and utilize my own custom roaster. It’s quite a methodology I’ve perfected over the years…I-I-I couldn’t…I’m sorry.

Well, I suppose I am rushing this a bit…

Oh, but it was enjoyable! The best I ever had!

You’re not just saying that?

Oh, no. I take it much too seriously to jest. They were Simply Delectable!

Oh…(tee-hee)…are you busy Fridays?

Fridays? Perfect! I roast my nuts on Fridays! Friday evening my butter is silky smooth and still warm.

In that case, Raymond, Fridays shall be Our guilty secret.

UNFOLDING IRVING

I first met Irving at a dress rehearsal. My first impression was that he did not fit ‘the part’… and secondly, he definitely did not fit the suit. You see, Irving was to play the part of “The Troll Residing Under The Bridge”. Not only did the suit not suit him but the bridge was three feet tall at the peak of it’s arch, so there had best be some nifty fitting all the way around. In reality, Irving was just shy of 6 ft. and just out of grade school.

No one. Not Irving, the actors, the students, the parents the teachers, the janitors, the passers by….no one, believed this horrible miscasting, including I, but the final decision rests with Miss Christie and she put her foot down and insisted, and when she put down it was a heavy sound. She had a vision. We can only assume, in her mind, she saw Irving folded just right, like some origami crane, tucked tight under flimsy little bridge, taut in that short little tunnel only to Emerge!!!! Unfolding gracefully to become a most magnificent bird! A heron. A crane. But this crane collapsed, and of course it was all a disaster.

But within the calamity caused by the crashing crane, there was a transformation of sorts, even though the dust had not settled, Irving took to stage front and addressed the attendees and apologized with grace. “I’m oh so sorry, I just can’t fit in that space!”

The audience roared in appreciation and gave Irving a standing ovation. Is was as festive as it could be, for all in attendance, except Miss Christie.

Find your own stature in life. Stand tall. Don’t let someone try to squeeze you, where you know you don’t belong.