kitten
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Ashes In A Box
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Oct 2 04:40 UTC 1995 |
Ok...here's a really spiffy short story EVERYONE read it
it's not *that* long (3 pages printed out)
Ashes in a Box
Mr. Grey was not at home to visitors. He lived in an older quarter of the
city, where apartment buildings and high rises hadn't risen out of the
bulldozed dust of houses built in the 1920's. There was a set of seven rough
grey steps leading up to his porch.
He didn't keep flowers, and there wasn't a welcome mat.
I walked up the steps, hardly aware of the sound the heels on my dress
shoes made on the old pavement. I walked on his empty, damp porch and went
to the door. I knocked. The door was very cold, even for December and it
didn't feel like real wood.
Just as it opened, I realized the wooden door had been replaced with a
metalic model, and it worried me. Mr. Grey didn't like things to change, at
least not superficial things like houses and doors.
For some one who wasn't at home to visitors, he answered the door rather
quickly. I smiled at the man standing there, as he grimaced. He looked me
over, muttered something incomprehensible (if it meant anything at all, and
with Mr. Grey it didn't always) and slammed the door.
As soon as it registered that he'd just slammed the door in my face I
lifted my fist and pounded harder. It was a cold, hard door and I didn't
like it. It made my knuckels ache through my white gloves. I kept pounding
for a while, maybe five minutes, but he didn't come back.
I turned and looked at the abandoned street. It was true, Mr. Grey
lived in the middle of town, but no one came down this little residential
street in the middle of the winter. Maybe in the summer, when the huge old
trees made it seem a little more appealing, but winter was the time for
apartment complexes and 20 story tall office buildings.
I dug into the shiny black purse at my side, and the strap fell off my
shoulder. I'd learned to keep the thing up, even when walking and talking,
but I'd never tried to get anything out of it unless it was sitting down. I
didn't keep my money and cards in there: pockets were much safer.
Almost subconsciously, I slung the strap over my head, giving it ten
times the support. Then I renewed my search for a very very small box. It
was deep within the mess of useless garbage in the purse. I hadn't thought
I'd ever be using it again. I'd even tried to convince myself to throw it
away, but emotions prevailed on me not to do something as stupid as all
that.
I found it, and ripped off my gloved to open it. I dug out the small,
perfect set of lock picks and set to quick work on Mr. Grey's new door. I
was out of practice, and any modern security system would have screamed its
little head off by the time I got the deadbolt and door locks undone. Mr.
Grey didn't trust security systems.
I put my picks away, buried them in my purse again without really
thinking about it, except for how long it had taken me to open it. My
fingers felt more comfortable than they had in years, and I didn't remember
to switch my purse back to the traditional one shoulder style.
My fingers twisted the freezing doorknob and it opened easily. Mr. Grey
stood on the other side, leaning against his indoor staircase to the upper
level. He tapped gently on a digital quartz wristwatch. ''Time time time,''
he said, looking up at me with his big blue green eyes.
I took a step in, but didn't shut the door. His house was brown in that
wooden way, and outside it was bleak and cemented. He walked past me and
gently shut the door.
''You've forgotten everything, haven't you?''
I hadn't expected this kind of treatment. In fact, I hadn't expected
anything like this. I started to speak, but he shhhed at me, and went on
with his rant.
''Five years you ignore me, don't come to see me, don't call or even send
letters. And then you come back and you can't even pick a simple lock. What
have you been doing for five years, having babies and oohing and aahing at
them? And why do you suddenly come to see me?''
I sighed. ''I was in town,'' I said. ''I thought I'd drop by.''
''And where have you been for the past five years?''
I smiled at him. ''I told you I was leaving.''
He turned away from me, and sighed heavily. ''Ahhhh,'' he said. He
sounded pained. ''That.'' Then it passed and he turned back around. ''Well
come sit down, I'll pour you something to drink, you can tell me where
you've been and what you've done. Must've been something interesting.''
It must have been too long for me to remember how things had been. I
followed him, letting him sit me down in his sitting room, beside the
enteryway, and get me a drink. I sat on the white couch. He came back with
a glass of something clear.
''Try this,'' he said, thrusting the crystal glass at me. It was the best
crystal in the house. I reached out to take it. ''Let me take your things,
too,'' he said. I didn't think much that day. I took my long cashmere coat
off and handed it with my purse over to him.
He went to a hidden closet and hung them. I drank what he'd given me and
recognized it as vodka. Straight. He strutted back into the room and sat
down beside me, at an angle to face me on the couch.
''Thank you for the drink,'' I said.
''You like it?'' he asked, raising a nonchalant eyebrow.
''Well it's just vodka, but it's one of my favorites,'' I said.
''Interesting choice,'' he said. ''I prefer wine and other softer things,
but of course, you know that.''
I smiled at him. This room hadn't changed at all. The white couch and
the dark red fluffy chair that let me sink into it all the time when I was
younger remained. They hadn't been moved an inch across the wooden floor.
A collection of ever changing books sat on the low coffeetable.
I set my drink down.
''How've you been?'' I asked.
Mr. Grey shrugged. ''Lonely and bored, as usual,'' he said.
''How has your work been coming?''
He paused, taking a breath and flicking his tongue out at his lips.
''I've been working on the same project, but nothing signifigant has
happened recently.''
''It's too bad, Jonathon. It was a wonderful idea.''
His eyes flickered, I thought his lips twitched and his muscles
definitely tensed as though he was going to open his mouth and his arms and
attack me, unleasing a torrential flow of screamed words and strangling me.
But he didn't move and the image passed through my head quickly enough that
I didn't even shiver.
''I am working,'' he said, simply. Then his eyes grew round and
interested. ''What are you doing with your time?''
This was hard to answer, especially to Mr. Grey. To some new stranger I
could have answered and been confident the only emotion that would show on
their face was jealousy. ''Nothing much,'' I said, hoping he'd let up about
it.
''Nothing much? Then what brought you back to town?''
I sighed. ''I'm here with friends. There's been a wedding and we're
celebrating.''
''A wedding?'' he asked, but again he said nothing.
Mr. Grey didn't like the idea. So much was obvious. I'd never discussed
marriage or love or anything like that with him. I'd never even thought to
do something like that, but I'd been a very sheltered person, and though he
was willing to corrupt me in some ways, there were others that he prefered
to leave untouched.
I knew he hated marriages. Once I'd heard him lecturing and screaming at
the boarder. At that time it was a young woman in college who'd decided to
get married. First he warned her in a fatherly tone, advising and guiding.
Then, when she laughed in his face, he began screaming. I didn't remember
his exact words eight years later.
''It was a beautiful wedding,'' I whispered.
He shrugged.
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