<Insert Story Title Here>

[North American Republics]

Read what I have to say here in this initial post

I have a good feeling about this story, so I figure that I might as well start releasing it out as I finish parts up. I'm only starting up on the second chapter as I type, so expect releases to be rather scattered. This post will serve as a directory for the chapters. Please keep in mind that I don't mind using expletives and can use them rather frequently ;) so if you are at school/work/home and they frown heavily on that sort of thing, then be careful when you read my story, as I will definitely be including that sort of thing as part of the dialogue, possibly rather heavily. You have been warned, now please sit back and enjoy whatever my half-creative mind can think of ;D

P.S. Ah, yes, er... I wouldn't really recommend looking to deeply into the story. if you do wish to look deeply into the story, you are free to do so, and I would like to hear your analysis, but it is not meant to be some ideological piece. :P

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Chapter One (If you can't find this one, then you are blind... just saying)
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

[North American Republics]

*cough* Again, be warned about the expletives. If you get into trouble it's not my fault *cough*

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SPOILER: Click to show

In a future time, one where there is violence in the streets, secret police knocking on your doors in the middle of the night, “mysterious” disappearances, only one man can save us all. Jonathan Bradley. In this spectacular thriller, we see the journey of one man, all alone, toughing it out in the concrete jungle with nothing but his rusty old knife. Will he survive the onslaught of zombies and vampires? Will he be able to single-handedly overthrow the oppressive regime that governs his society? Find out March 17, when Jonathan versus B.I.G. comes to a theater near you!

“You still listening to that crap, Michael?” asked Michael’s older sister Rebecca. “And what if I am? Do you have a problem?” “Yes, yes I do! Everyday, all I see is your lazy bum ass on that couch watching the television. Don’t you have better things to do?” Michael, at this point in the argument, merely sighed. He knew that what she was saying had some truth to it. It has been three years and 72 days since Michael was fired from his previous job as a salesclerk at a nearby retail chain. He set up a little calendar next to his bed, known as the couch, which had little ‘x’s marking the days that he was not working. He even saved old calendars with the little marks as a reminder.

“If you don’t find a job in the next week, I’m kicking your sorry ass off of my couch and out of my house. I can’t keep supporting you while you just lie there –“ Michael cut her off, “Me? Just lying here? Come off it! I’ve been looking through the newspaper everyday while you’re out at work, searching for a job. I’ve even gone in for interviews! I’ve never told you about them because every single time I’ve been turned down for some lucky schmuck in a suit and tie.” It was then Rebecca’s turn to sigh. “I know that I’m being hard on you, but I really can’t keep supporting you while you’re like this. It’s a miracle that I’ve been able to support you for all of this time. Why do you keep refusing to go down to the Assistance Office? I’ve told you to go there and receive some unemployment benefits at the very least.” At the mention of the phrase “Assistance Office”, Michael got up, his face a burning red, and shouted at his sister, “Because I’m my own man! I don’t need any government helping me live my life. I’m just having a bit of a hard time nowadays. It’s hard to get a job! I’m going to pull through soon; I don’t want to become dependent on the government for my living!” Exhausted from his vocal excursion, Michael slumped down upon the couch again. “I…I just can’t do it.” “I can’t deal with this right now. I’ve got to head on over to work. I’ll see if there are any job openings, but I’m not hopeful. There’s some bread and ham in the kitchen; make yourself a sandwich or something for lunch. Bye.” Rebecca started walking towards the door when Michael shouted, “Wait! I’m sorry for yelling at you. It’s just so difficult with everything. Are you really going to kick me out in a week if I can’t find a job?” “Yes.” was her single response. “I’m going to have to. Good bye.”

Rebecca started opening the door slowly, a stream of light protruding from the gap, getting wider and wider each millisecond that she was shifting the door from its usual position. A cool wind forced its way through, sending a chill down Rebecca’s back. She didn’t like the feeling that she was getting about things to come.

Rebecca: aged 37, single, brunette. She was the manager of a nearby fast-food restaurant: Big Juicy. At the age of eight, Rebecca went to her first fast-food restaurant and fell in love with it. The entire industrial process being applied to food making was just exhilarating. The speed with which the food was processed and the efficiency of distribution astonished her. She knew that she wanted to work in fast-food since then. Her passion for fast-food was only intensified when she took a job in Big Juicy at the age of 16. She worked hard, year after year, and she played by the rules while keeping the customers satisfied. She was a great employee and was eventually awarded the position of manager at the age of 26, exactly ten years after she started working there. A quick change of clothing in the store’s bathroom later and she finally became the manager. Through her years in the position, she eliminated wasted time and material in the store and quickly wrought enemies from those under her. The franchise owners loved Rebecca, though. They paraded her around to other locations as an example of the model manager. Other managers were expected to become more like Rebecca.

Unfortunately for Rebecca, the Grand Recession occurred and she had to take a massive pay cut, as did the other employees in the franchise. This could only foment revolutionary feelings among the other employees. One day, a union organizer – she didn’t know it at the time – walked into the restaurant and started talking to several employees at once. He was a short man, balding around the front of his head, and he seemed friendly enough. Rebecca didn’t think much of this man until the day that the giant inflatable rat was placed in front of her restaurant. Only then did she find out that this man was there to organize a union. “Down with the bourgeoisie oppressors and their proletariat helpers! They have cut the workers’ wages down to nearly nothing. How do they expect them to survive when the cost of living is skyrocketing,” he shouted through a megaphone, “They must pay the price for the way they’ve treated their workers! I have in my hands a list of demands created by the workers themselves. They demand shorter working hours or the reinstatement of the old wage level. They demand vacation days, at least once a month, and safer working conditions.” This man slid the list of demands, obviously a copy, underneath the restaurant’s door. Rebecca went to pick it up, looking into the faces of her co-workers, all of them filled with contempt. She went to the telephone in the rear of the restaurant and called the owners of the restaurant.

“They want what?! How dare those ungrateful bastards ask for more money during these hard times?” The sound of glass flutes could be heard clinking in the background. “I’ve been very generous with them. If Pablo can support his family on the salary I give him, then everyone else can live well off too.” “I know sir, but they’re all outside chanting rather heinous things about me and you. I don’t know what to do.” Rebecca at this point was extremely irritated, but was pushed over the edge when the owner said in simple terms, “Call the cops in to break the strike. I can’t do it myself, but I will see to it that your request is fulfilled.” “I can’t believe what you’re saying! These people gave a good portion of their lives working for you and you want them to be dispersed through police force?” The owner, also audibly irritated, responded, “Either you call the cops and keep your job, or don’t call and be fired. You know that I don’t care for labor laws and all of the bullshit.” She knew that he was right; he really didn’t care for regulations of any kind. She called the cops and a few minutes later, the riot police showed up, fully equipped. It brought a tear into Rebecca’s eyes to see the people that she worked with for all of those years being beat up by the riot police, but she couldn’t afford to lose her job. She never fully got over the event, but was able to continue on with her life. She didn’t know where they were now, nor does she care to find out. They most likely have a fiery hatred for her and any one of them would pounce at the opportunity to – give her a piece of their mind.

She was headed for her job at Big Juicy that crisp morning, taking her usual path through the playground and under the throughway. She preferred to walk to work, even when there was a foot and a half of snow on the ground. It added a bit of enjoyment into her otherwise dull life. The playground was a medley of colorful metal bars, black rubber, chutes, and rope. Little children during recess at the elementary school adjacent to the playground would spend their entire time chasing each other around the jungle gym and sliding down the chutes. She used to reminisce about those long-ago days when she was just a child of 7 years old. Everything seemed so easy and the innocence of youth was extremely appealing to her now in her late thirties. “Where did it all go?” she asked herself repeatedly.

The park through which Rebecca walks held a similar sort of place in her mind. She would often frequent the park with her boyfriend, Glen. One warm summer night, after Rebecca completed her shift at Big Juicy, the two of them walked into the park with the sun behind them. Glen had found a wonderful spot for a picnic and wanted to show Rebecca the spot. They walked slowly into the park, holding hands and looking intensely into each other’s eyes. As they continued through the park, Glen drew Rebecca closer to him; each minute became an eternity for them both. They further walked into the park; the trees became closer and closer. “Where are you taking me, Glen?” “You’ll see. I promise you’ll like it.” “Okay.” Rebecca submitted to Glen at that point. She allowed him to draw her deeper and deeper into the park. “Close your eyes, Rebecca, we’re almost there.” Without protest, she closed her eyes and allowed Glen to draw her past the roots of the trees that came out of the ground. “Okay, open your eyes.”

Rebecca snapped out of her daydream to see before her a man staggering towards her. The she could hear the mangled figure of a man mumbling something with random shrieks placed in-between his mutterings. Rebecca was scared at this point; she never saw this man before in her life and she thought that he was drunk. His beard was a mess and his clothes were all torn. Rebecca tried walking past him without drawing too much attention. It seemed to work perfectly, until she stepped on an aluminum can. The crunch sound must have triggered something in this man, for he reared up to his full height and could be seen to be fully aware of his surroundings. He turned towards the source of the noise, Rebecca, and started towards her. Rebecca was frozen to the spot. She just could not move away. Something about the man made her stay in her spot. The man kept walking towards Rebecca until he stopped a few feet away. “Rebecca? Is that you?” he asked. Rebecca could only stammer out a quick affirmative before the man responded, “I’ve been waiting my entire life to meet you again. You are going to pay for what you did!” Rebecca, absolutely terrified at this point, started running. She knew that she couldn’t go home; this man would know where she lived, so she just continued running until she couldn’t see him behind her. She ducked into a nearby gap between two buildings and got down onto the floor. She saw the man storm past her, without looking down, and continue up the street. She quietly got up and started walking to Big Juicy, looking behind her every step of the way. She didn’t know who it was, or why he chased her, but she felt actual fear for the first time in her life.

Rebecca crossed the gray street, pockmarked with small bits of asphalt covering up the potholes, for the umpteenth time in her life. The wide avenue that continued before her started to stretch. The lanes now looked as if they could allow two – even three – cars down them, and the lanes just kept getting larger and larger. “Whoa…” Rebecca trailed off. An indescribable noise could be heard to her left, and another on her right. “Meeaaauuhhh” went the noise to her left. “Meeaaauuhhh” went the one to her right. “Geeeeeet oooooouuuuuuuuuutt oooooooof myyyyyyyyyy waaaaayyyyyy!” came from seemingly nowhere. She could only reply with a “What?” She walked on, disregarding the weird distortions that now faced her. The avenue started shrinking back down to a road, and finally back to the little street that she knew and crossed everyday. She sat down on the curb on the other side of that street. She needed a breather from the event. First, she reasoned, “It must have been something I ate. Only something I ate could have done that to me. I’m completely clean; I don’t do drugs and never have, but that must have been some sort of hallucination. I can’t be going crazy, I can’t be! I’ve got to keep my job, I’m happy; nothing is going so terribly wrong that I would just go crazy!” An older woman, in what appeared to be her late sixties, shuffled past Rebecca, muttering a soft prayer that God would protect her. The older woman did not look back at Rebecca, but Rebecca knew that it must have been her she was talking about. Why else would she have started praying in the middle of the street? That kind of stuff was never seen except in fanatics. “That’s it!” She made the next logical step and assumed that the older woman must have been a religious fanatic. She laughed her concerns off, forgot about the incident in the middle of the street and at the park, and she went back on her way to Big Juicy.

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Just one more thing, I believe that I have given sufficient warning and that *should* protect me from FLAVA. If not, Avaerilon, you can just send me a tg/pm and I'll get around to censoring them myself or you can just censor the offending words with ***.

Please leave - and I'm stressing this - honest critique if you do read it.

SPOILER: Click to show

The usage of all names, locations, etc., are not intended to be factual. Any similarities and whatnot are not intended and blah, blah, blah, generic front-of-book disclaimer stuff.

[Avaerilon]

If flows wonderfully! Really good fun to read; all I would do is describe the surroundings more, but that is my personal style. You gave a lot of background information on Rebecca without over-doing it, and the dialogue is sharp. Again; really good ;D

You're not in-breach of FLAVA at all, with all those warnings and spoilers; no worries :)

[North American Republics]

Thanks :D

Yeah, I tend to overlook the surroundings in my writing. I don't know exactly why, but it happens. That's something that I should look out for as I write Chapter 2.

It's great that I'm not in violation of FLAVA. And expect a new chapter within a few days. ;D

[North American Republics]

Actually, I'm going to submit it today. I don't know why, but I feel like it would be best to end the chapter at the point I did. I don't believe that there are any expletives in this chapter, but I may have passed over it. Just be careful. Either way, here is the next installment...

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SPOILER: Click to show

Opening time, Rebecca’s favorite part of the work day. No customers for the next half an hour and what seemed like all the time in the world for her to go about her business. The employees, most in the early twenties, shuffled into the store. “Stand up straight guys! You need to look presentable to the customers and fix the bad posture that all of you seem to have. I know that you can do it; I’ve seen all of you stand up straight when that pretty girl walks into restaurant – alone – or when that handsome man strides in, looking for food after his intense workout session. Stand up straight already!” “Yes ma’am.” was heard from each of the workers that passed her as they stood up straight. One of the newer workers continued walking past Rebecca without straightening his body. “Oi! Boy, pick yourself up and look presentable already! We’ve got an even longer day ahead of ourselves. The mayor is coming into the neighborhood around lunchtime to look at the ‘progress’ that has been made in this area concerning the roads, the electrical grid, and the water pipes. He’ll probably be looking for a place to eat and God knows that we need to publicity that we’ll get.”

Big Juicy was but one of the many franchise chains that was beginning to falter these days. The Grand Recession had led to a new state of affairs, a new normal if you will. Unemployment figures remained at about twenty percent and were expected to rise with the use of Marburian production techniques. Profits rise as efficiency rises and capitalists took great advantage of the technique that Daniel Marbur perfected for their own personal gain, but who can blame them; that is, after all, what they are there for: profit.

Big Juicy was bustling by the morning breakfast rush. Egg and Spam sandwiches; Egg, Spam, and cheese; a great assortment of bagels and cream cheeses; people loved this sort of food and Big Juicy delivered – locally. “Can I get a Spam and egg white omelet as well as a small coffee?” asked a large burly man at the edge of the counter. “I’ve got to watch my weight and all.” “Sure buddy, whatever you want. Just keep your feisty hands off me,” Rebecca told the man. “Don’t worry, I’ve got my own girl back home waiting. I’ll see her soon… it’s only a few weeks after all, isn’t it?” He proposed the question to the restaurant and received a few “yeas” and a “sure.” Obviously pleased with this small amount of understanding, the man devoured the Spam and egg white omelet that was placed before him and gulped down the piping hot coffee that was given to him. All worry seemed to be gone from his face and when he finished, he got up and left with a stride towards his truck.

He was a truck driver who had to work a long time far from home with little comforts but what he could fit into the cab of his truck. He thought that his wife was faithful enough, he trusted her, but he never really knew for sure. That fear always seemed to preside over him; she had seen it every time he came into the restaurant. In fact, it was the very same sort of worry that she had seen in most of her morning patrons, a worry that seemed to plague the overworked; one problem among many. More orders for bagels; egg, Spam, and cheese; just egg and Spam, and plenty of orders for coffee filled Rebecca’s queue. A few hours later, business slowed down and people were able to consume their own breakfasts in shifts. The young worker that Rebecca reprimanded earlier in the day had just walked past Rebecca again, still slumped over. “Come on, you can’t be walking around like that all day. It’s not good for business and not good for yourself.” He made a half-concerted effort to bring himself up and continued walking past Rebecca. She decided to just give up today; at least she would have one less thing to worry about.

About twenty minutes later, when everyone finished their breakfast, the perpetrating for the lunch shift began in earnest. Workers were rushing to and fro, dragging cartons and carrying tray upon tray into the kitchen for unpacking and cleaning. “John, head over into the kitchen to help with the cleaning. Michelle, get on the register while John is in the kitchen. Pablo! Where are you?” “Right here, boss.” “Can you please go clean the tables; some of the patrons were a bit – dirty.” “Okay, no problem.” Ordering people seemed to give Rebecca some sort of thrill. She liked the feeling of having power over people, a power she never had in life.

“Where’s the Egg and Spam button here?” asked Michelle. “I can’t seem to find it.” Rebecca sighed. This was one part of her job that she disliked. She couldn’t understand why people who have worked there for nearly two years – and worked the register often – still couldn’t find a single button, and this went for everyone there. “Starting from the top left, go down two buttons and right four. You should be able to find the button there,” Rebecca told Michelle. A shrill giggle was heard from the register area and Rebecca shuddered, as did a few customers. Michelle should really control her outbursts. “Thanks Rebecca!” she shouted. A look of disappointment flashed across Rebecca’s face; she insisted on being called Ms. Taser, but no one ever called her that. She loved the sign of respect that it was; she was taught it in elementary school. She always wanted that kind of respect from someone, but alas, she was not suited out to be a teacher nor in any profession that would have warranted being called Ms. Taser. Rebecca chalked it up to the relatively informal nature between the workers and herself.

“Ugh, what is this?” Rebecca turned to look at the woman seated two seats away. “Is this – can it be – oh my God, I think it is! Aaah!” she screamed. Rebecca sprinted on over to the woman who was now screaming hysterically and standing on the chair. “What’s wrong, ma’am?” “Aaah! Aaah!” “Calm down ma’am, what’s wrong?” “There’s – there’s – take a look for yourself!” Rebecca slowly started moving her head down to the plate of food before the woman. She had this feeling of dread, she didn’t really want to look, but she had to, if only for the customer’s sake. She saw the tail first, sticking out between two lightly toasted pieces of bread, egg spilling out around it. Disgusted, her hand slowly crept towards the top slice of toasted bread which had fallen at an angle to the sandwich, covering up the rest of the creature. She lifted the piece of toast ever so slowly up and away from the egg and the creature. Her fears were correct. It was a mouse, a little white one – a laboratory mouse. It was satisfactorily dead, not a single twitch. Parts of the little mouse’s fur were visibly singed and grill marks could be seen creeping up the sides of the mouse. The person who did this did it deliberately and she was going to find out who it was.

She could feel her breakfast moving quickly up her throat. She dropped the toast and looked away in an attempt to stem the flow of half-digested food in her throat. She couldn’t have vomit being expelled on or near her customers, especially during such a busy time at the restaurant. She knew that she needed to take care of the fragile situation in as light of a manner as possible, so she forced herself to look back at the mouse and egg sandwich, placed the toast back on top, and grabbed the sandwich. The crowd that had grown around the center of the incident parted as Rebecca walked towards the kitchen door carrying the sandwich. Everyone was speechless in the bright room right until the moment the dead mouse left the room. Even the hysterical woman was silent as Rebecca dealt with the mouse. Once the mouse left the room, the loud murmurings of unsatisfied customers pierced the walls. Rebecca heard every word that was being said and a solitary tear swelled in her eye, rolled down her cheek, and fell to the floor.

[Avaerilon]

:O The drama is excellent; you might want to try some less formal language in some places, but other than that, it was pretty near perfect :)

[North American Republics]

If you have read the original post, then go do it.

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SPOILER: Click to show

Michael Taser, once Rebecca left the house, got up, went to the kitchen and poured himself a small cup of coffee. He had it black; no sugar and no milk or creamer. The bitter taste in his mouth was oddly indicative of his feelings toward Rebecca. “Kick me out? For what? For not being able to find a job in this economy?” Michael asked to no one in particular, although his cup of coffee seemed to like the dialogue. From somewhere in the kitchen, somebody said, “Well, I can’t seem to find a reason either.” Michael looked around, but could not find anyone. The voice continued, “I sat here, listening to your entire argument and I think that you won, but I don’t think that your sister wanted you to win.” “Where are you?” shouted Michael. The voice ignored his cry, “She always wants to win, even when the person that she’s arguing with has superior reasons. This economy is terrible for finding a job! All of the applications you submitted and all of the denials you face.” “Show your face already, you coward! I know that you are somewhere in here!” Michael by this time had surpassed any reasonable level of paranoia. He flipped over the table and threw all of the food out of the cabinets and refrigerator.

The voice, in its omnipresent manner continued, “You know, Michael, I haven’t been this disappointed in her since you were seven. My, oh my, that was a terrible thing she did to you. You became the laughingstock of the school and now she wants to make you the laughing stock of the community! How dare the woman even think to do that?” Michael by this time finished emptying out every nook and cranny he could find, but there was no person, no voice recorder, nothing to indicate that he had any shred of sanity left. He turned back to his coffee cup. The mouth on the smilie face on the side of the cup was moving, mouthing the words that he heard and was continuing to hear. “You know Michael; we should do something to her. She’s made your life a living hell, and she only wants to shove you deeper into this hell that we call life. We can do it and rid ourselves of that maniacal creature you call your sister!”

Michael was in tears; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This cup, in his moment of insanity, was telling him to “do something” to his sister in such a sinister manner that it could only imply murder, torture, anything that the rest of the world calls evil. But here was the cup, telling him as if it was only natural, that he should do something to his sister for what she had done to him and what she may do to him. He couldn’t stand to hear more from this heartless little piece of ceramic, but he couldn’t move. The shock from hearing these statements cemented his feet to the kitchen floor. The cup, in a sudden change to a cheery voice started, “You know that you can trust me, Michael. You know who I am and I know you. We’ve been best buddies since you were seven years old. You can’t tell me that I can’t be trusted. So will you commit? Will you do something to your sister for all that she has done to you? Come on, I know what you’re feeling and I feel it to. We both know that you want to…” The cup was cut short. Michael simply could not take this incessant mutterings of this homicidal cup, he shouted to the cup, he cursed the cup out, and he finally destroyed the cement that held his feet to the floor. He marched with a single purpose – or, rather, with three things in mind - towards the cup, an evil look in his eyes. The cup had gotten to him, but he had not turned against his sister as the cup wanted, oh no. That evil look in his eye was one of torturing, kicking, and smashing. He was going to slowly rip off parts of the cup, to teach the cup a lesson. He was going to kick the cup as hard as he could to put it back in its place. He was going to smash the cup into tiny bits to finally rid himself of this evil influence in his life.

When Michael finished with his actions, he walked towards the center of the room and took a look across the kitchen floor. Pots and pans and plates and food were littered across the usually pristine tiles of the kitchen. Tomato sauce and mustard were slowly creeping into the cracks between the tiles and apples and oranges were slowly rolling across the floor. The sack of flour burst when Michael threw it to the ground and he only noticed the white powder on the bottom of his jeans after this momentary insanity passed. The sunlight was peeking through the kitchen curtains, highlighting the smashed cup in the corner of the room. He went towards the small closet next to the kitchen and took out a broom and a pail and went back to the scene of the cup’s murder. Slowly, Michael knelt down and swept up as much of the cup as possible. “Good riddance,” he stated. He was happy to get rid of the voice and the cup never really was his favorite anyways. “I’ll always be with you, Michael. Don’t forget that. At the supermarket, at the theater, in the bathroom, and in your dreams, don’t forget that,” the voice said. Michael slumped down to the floor and started weeping. The voice was never going to leave him. It was to be with him for the rest of his life and he knew that he needed to work with it without letting it control his life. “Goddamn it!” Michael shrieked. The tears were falling heavier and heavier as time continued on in this kitchen. The small puddle right under him kept growing until Michael could cry no more; all of his tears spent. Dry sobs were the only thing that he could let out. Michael fell to the kitchen floor, heaving as he went down. The exhaustion of just this morning came to him and he went to sleep; the thought of the cup gone and the voice silent.

* * *
Michael woke up some hours later with jelly and glass stuck to his face; blood dripping to the floor. He did not know how it got there, but he knew that had to take care of it. He went to the upstairs bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. Carefully, he picked off some shards of glass from his face and extracted the shards that embedded themselves into his right cheek with even more care. He took a towel and moistened a corner a bit and cleaned up the jam, dirt, tiny fragments of glass, and dried blood from his face. Once done, he threw the towel into the hamper and walked out of the bathroom.

He felt a sharp pang near his stomach and he heard a growl that would have scared a grizzly bear out of his skin. Michael was not just hungry, but famished. He heard the sound of keys being jingled outside the house. “Oh no, oh no, oh no!” Michael exclaimed. “She’s here and I still have that fucking mess in the kitchen. She’s going to fucking kill me!” The greaseless door hinges’ squeak brought terror into Michael’s mind. “Crap, I’m done for. She’s going to see the mess and –“ Michael was interrupted by the piercing scream of his sister. “What the hell happened here? My beautiful kitchen is ruined! Michael!” she screamed. Michael flinched when he heard his sister’s piercing screams. He looked for a way out of the house without being detected by his sister. The window at the end of the hall looked like it would just barely allow passage for his body. He heard the stomping of his sister’s feet as she stormed around the first floor looking for him. “Where the fuck are you Michael?” she roared. He decided to not waste his precious time and so he rushed towards the window and yanked it open. “Get the fuck out of wherever you’re hiding and get the fuck over here!” she exclaimed. Michael wasn’t going to spend another second anywhere near her while she was raging. He got a chair and climbed up to the window’s ledge and tried to slip his body through. He got stuck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m so screwed!” “Michael, are you upstairs? Get down here, now! I’m beyond pissed right now.” she yelled up the stairs. She waited a few seconds for a response, but did she did not receive one. Michael opted to remain silent while he tried wriggling his body through the window. The slow thumping of her feet against the solid hardwood stairs drove Michael crazy. He knew that she was one step closer, another step closer, more steps closer with every thump.

Rebecca was finally close enough to see the window clearly. She burst out laughing. All of the rage transformed itself into hysterical laughter at Michael’s situation. “What the hell are you doing like that?” she asked Michael. Michael looked into her face and saw only lines of laughter, all signs of anger gone. “I was trying to… get out of the house,” Michael responded somberly. “What for?” his sister asked. “I… didn’t want to be yelled at for the mess in the kitchen.” Michael responded, still with the sad tone in his voice. “Oh come off it. Here, let me help you out of your…” she chuckled, “situation.”

And so Rebecca helped free Michael from the constraint of the narrow window opening. She told him that she did not want to hear the reason why the kitchen was in the mess it was in. She told him that they would both work together to clean up the mess. He would tackle the foodstuffs and some plates while she would tackle the pots, pans, and the rest of the plates. As they were cleaning up the mess, Rebecca told Michael, “You know what, now’s as good a time as ever to tell you about my day at work.”

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This chapter was kinda sorta half rushed and so contradictions and major errors may have been missed.

[Avaerilon]

:O Oh the suspense! Amazing work, again :) It's getting quite scary, too :P