Living & Dying, And Everything In-Between



  Living & Dying

  And Everything In-Between

  By E. M. Otten

  Living & Dying; And Everything In-Between

  Copyright © E.M.Otten™ 2016

  All Rights Reserved

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  Email: [email protected]

  Contents

  Locked Out

  A Ride Home

  Reflection

  I Tried

  Communication Miss

  Losing a Monster

  Plan B

  Hapless Hope

  Void

  About the Author

  Locked Out

  My shoes tapped rhythmically on the cement floor as I made my way down the hall, wrinkling my nose at the dusty, bubblegum pink walls. Stopping in front of the last door on the left, its white paint peeling and stained with dirt, I fished through my purse for the key and wiggled it into the lock. When the knob refused to turn, my stomach leapt into my throat. That bastard.

  The door across the hall creaked open and I spun around to see my neighbor, Calvin. His bloodshot eyes swam as he nodded hello, a half-eaten apple in his hand.

  “He changed the locks,” said Calvin. He sloppily waved a hand at my door. “This morning, just after you left.”

  “Dammit,” I replied. “I should have known.” I paced back and forth in front of the door, chewing on my short, jagged thumbnail.

  “I can pick it, if you want,” Calvin said. He leaned against the frame of the doorway, his hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. Behind him, empty beer bottles and take out boxes were strewn across his apartment.

  “Wouldn’t that be considered breaking and entering?”

  Calvin shrugged. “It’s your apartment, isn’t it?”

  I squinted, mulling over what it really meant to live somewhere. Sure, I slept there most nights and it’s where I kept all of my stuff. Legally, however, I had no ties to the place. And now, after last night, I had no ties to the inhabitant of the place either.

  “Sure,” I said. “Give it a shot.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Calvin went into his apartment and returned moments later with a handful of junk; tiny metal pieces of different sizes and shapes, a small pocket knife, and what looked like a bobby pin. I raised my eyebrows, totally doubting that this kid could pick a lock with any of it.

  He crouched in front of my door and started shoving the random objects into the keyhole, holding up his index finger as he pressed an ear against the door.

  Nearly ten minutes passed as he continued to do this, twisting and jiggling the handle as if it would magically spring open.

  “Sorry,” said Calvin, finally. “I guess I lost my touch.”

  “Thanks, anyway,” I replied.

  Calvin walked back toward his own apartment and tried turning the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. He sighed, chuckling, and tried again, but it was no use.

  “I can’t believe this,” he said. His cheeks burned red as he shook his head back and forth.

  “Did you lock yourself out?” I asked.

  “Yep,” he replied, looking at the floor. He rubbed the back of his neck. “This is what I get for trying to do something nice, I guess.”

  “You’re not going to try to break in?”

  Calvin exhaled sharply and said, “Honestly, I couldn’t pick a lock to save my life. I was just trying to be a hero.”

  We sat next to each other at the end of the hall, leaning against the cold, grimy, pink wall, laughing at our mutual misfortune.

  “Why don’t I call a locksmith,” I said. I dug through my bag for a moment before sighing in defeat. “Actually…”

  “Don’t tell me,” Calvin said. “Your phone is dead.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t even have a cell phone.” We both erupted into a fit of laughter. And even though I was locked out of the apartment that my ex threw me out of the night before, it was the first time I’d laughed in months.

  A Ride Home

  Her fingernails tapped against the cold, sweating shot glass. Elle stared, the emptiness of the glass reflecting her own personal void, the condensation matching the beads of sweat that dripped down her temples and the backs of her calves.

  “Rex,” she said.

  The bartender came toward her with a whiskey bottle.

  “Do you ever wonder,” she asked, “about intelligent life on other planets?”

  “No.” Rex shook his head, filling Elle’s glass with spicy, caramel colored liquid.

  “Have I asked you that question before?”

  “Almost every day,” said Rex.

  Elle poured the liquor into her mouth.

  “You must think I’m crazy,” she said.

  “No,” Rex replied, “I just think you’re lonely.”

  “You have no idea.” Elle tapped the glass against the bar, beckoning another drink.

  “I can understand that,” he said. “I haven’t seen my family in over a year.”

  “Ha!” Elle’s hand slapped against the bar, her laugh echoing. She rolled her big green eyes at him. “A year? Pathetic. I haven’t seen any of my own people in decades. Decades!”

  Rex laughed. “Just how old do you think you are?”

  “A lot older than I look.” She took another shot. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to miss home this much. I’d do anything to go back, if I could.”

  “Why can’t you go home?”

  “Too complicated. Can’t even begin.” Elle drew figure eight’s in the tiny puddles of condensation that pooled on the bar.

  The television in the corner, playing a fuzzy news broadcast, served as white noise to drown out the deafening silence of the pub. Elle was one of only three customers inside, though she wasn’t surprised, considering it was ten o’clock in the morning on a Wednesday.

  She used the hem of her shirt to wipe sweat from her chin. Her long, slender fingers ran along the sticky edge of the bar, the old, swollen, worn down wood like a sunken ship.

  A voice from the television said, “we have a UFO, here.” Elle sat upright.

  “Turn this up,” she said.

  Rex increased the volume of the television.

  The voice of an anchorwoman said, “--the size of a jumbo jet.”

  An image of the supposed UFO came onto the screen and Elle’s stomach crawled into her throat. She shook her head, half grinning, half sobbing, hand clutching her chest. She couldn’t recall how long it had been since she’d crashed here.

  “My ship,” she said. Her eyes, open wide, burned with impending tears. Her jaw had fallen open and was quivering, as if she couldn’t form a single word.

  Rex snorted. “What?”

  “Right there,” she said, shaking her finger toward the television. The blurry blue image appeared again, showing the circular mass they’d found at the bottom of the Baltic Sea.

  “You’re really losing it, Elle,” said Rex. He chuckled as he wiped a soggy cloth across the bar.

  “No,” Elle replied. She stood from her barstool. “You’re the ones who are losing it. You throw garbage all over your planet and spit toxins into the atmosphere. And you treat y
our people just as badly as you treat the Earth.”

  Rex stared back at her. He’d stopped wiping down the bar. The other customers gazed across the smoky room at Elle, their brows pulled together, their lips curled.

  “Don’t look at me like I’m the crazy one,” she said. She threw a handful of cash onto the bar near her empty glass, heaved her purse onto her shoulder, and started toward the door. “I’m the only one of you who’s getting out of here before it’s too late.”

  Elle stepped out into the irritating daylight, pulling sunglasses from her bag and sliding them onto her face. She stumbled over the loose gravel as she fidgeted with her so called smart phone, trying to find the best price for a plane ticket to Sweden. Leaning against her car, she closed one eye and peered down at the tiny screen as she made her purchase.

  Finally. She smiled at the sky, letting her head fall back, her eyes closing as tears dripped from their corners. I’m finally going home.

  Reflection

  I lean against the cold porcelain sink and explore the medicine cabinet. A bottle of gummy vitamins and a squished tube of toothpaste with no cap sit next to an orange bottle with a white lid. I eat a handful of the small, white pills that are inside it and slam the cabinet shut, coming face to face with a strange lunatic that looks an awful lot like me.

  Her eyes, which I can’t seem to look directly into, are rimmed in red and sit atop a pillow of blue-grey skin. The pale skin of her face hangs loosely from sharp, jutting bones, and is decorated with fine lines, discolored patches, flaky flecks of dry skin, scars, bruises, and