No Name

When I was little, I used to think of death as just dead people. But, now I’ve seen, Him; I’ve noticed it’s not just that. For when people die, they taxidermy the bodies and try to make them pretty – adding make up, putting on perfume, and such things. Then the families come in and look at the body, and just imagining how fun times just rolled by with them. Now, laying there, just sobbing and crying. And where is all the “ingredients”? Maybe a restaurant? Maybe to the trash? Oh, I know. To a person’s front step waiting for the delivery to have lunch & dinner.
Yum!
So, I saw him the other day, and “what are you doing?” I asked. He looked at me with big, narrow eyes and murmured so low all I heard was “mmsm.” I looked at him with confusion. Blank Stare. I’m guessing he noticed I was looking at him, because he jumped into his pickup truck with so many heavy trashbags that had red straps, and skidded away. I still just stood there, still in confusion. Maybe in Maryland things happen like this, I thought. Did he really eat the people? Well, when I got home, my mom was channel flipping, and I heard from the television “There was a police chase from a suspected drunk driver, and the pursuit started when the police noticed the bags in the back of the truck…” - the same bags that I saw, and that same truck! Maybe he stole something, yeah. That’s what happened, he stole something and its most defiantly not bodies. Why do I think of everything related to dead people? Maybe I should tell you what happened when I saw him.
Him.
I don’t know his name. But, he looks like he would suit the name Zach or maybe Jake. He has pitch black hair, for it blended into the darkness. He was pale white, almost so white he contrasted with the hair and darkness. He drove a blue Chevy, looks like a pretty decent truck.
Coffee Shop.
I was going to get a little small cup of cappuccino from the coffee shop, right down the road from the house. I was looking in the parking lot, just looking at the cars (I’ve seen a Lambo because I scan the lots), and I see a blue Chevy. No. It couldn’t be him. Nope. It’s not. I walk into the shop and he is digging through his pocket for some change to buy a candy bar of some sort. I think he notices me. I run back to my car, like I’m in a civilized rush, close my door, and start to back up. He is standing there, behind my car. So, I lock the doors and roll up the windows. I try to go forward, but the shop is in front of me. So, no where to go, I take my keeps and make a go-for-it.

CRAP!!
I jumped into his car and hoping the keys are in his truck. Yes, they are. So, I lock my car, with the button on my keychain, and he is trying to get in the back of his truck. I don’t see him any more. So, I drive off like a maniac. (looking at my car, my coffee mug is still just sitting atop of the car.) So, I’m going to go to my house and get changed and get ready for work. So, I pull up in the drive way. The man jumps out of the back of the truck and tackles me into the yard of the apartment building. Why is this happening? I try to attack him, but he just hits harder. I hear Buddy barking. Maybe the German Shepard bark might intimidate him. Guess not. I guess I’m bleeding, because my mouth is swollen, or it might be a lot of spit. I don’t know. He gets off of me, and gives me one last (so far the hardest) kick to where I start to whimper. He jumps into his truck, slams the door, and skids off the drive way and is gone before I notice he is. So, I have no car now, and he knows where I live, and where my car is. Great!
Why Me?
I know everything that happens is always bad, or too good to be true. So, I should’ve known something like this would have happened. From where my lip busted from Him, it got infected and I can’t even talk now because it’s so swollen. Also, I haven’t been able to go to work for three days because of my lip. It’s hard to be an accountant when you can’t talk. But, my handwriting is horrible and people can barely read it, so my boss said that I can come back on Monday. Today is Tuesday.
Church.
Today is Sunday. I’ve decided to go to church. But, I believe if you need to talk to the almighty, or he needs to talk to you, you shouldn’t have to go to a special building to do so. The preacher had a lisp and was reading Bible scriptures. I thought maybe if I try to talk to God, or pray, then he might take the bad things away, and flush them down a Holy Toilet. But, could it be, that the Holy Toilet is clogged and he can’t use a plunger. OK. Well, on my way home from morning service at church, I see my car in the parking lot of the coffee shop. It wasn’t there yesterday. I’m renting a car, so I pull into the parking lot, and park this new, pretty, stylish car – right next to the old rust bucket beside of the new car. I decide to take everything out of the rust bucket and put a giant FOR SALE sign on the window. With paint, I write “$100” in big numbers on the back, and put my phone number under the price. Maybe someone might steal something off it. I drive away. Leaving the past.


Lottery.
Well, while shopping and getting gas for the pretty little yellow convertible, (it’s horrible on gas, being only 18 miles to the gallon) and I bought a lottery ticket because the gas was $39, so I spent a dollar. I scratched it off in the store, and I won $2!! YAY! For once I win something in my life. I looked outside, on the road; there is no blue truck to be seen. Not even a car, except for the rust bucket and the yellow beauty. This day is the beginning of great times.
Great Times.
Well. It’s the middle of summer. Boring, and hot. It’s so hot, that if you were to put a pot of water on the road, it would begin to boil faster then your stove can. I decided to quit my job and become a writer. I make less money, but I enjoy the job more. Being an accountant is repetitious. Just adding. Maybe a little bit of subtracting. But, pretty much, just adding.
Eating.
My favorite type of food is Chinese. So, I rewarded myself when I got my first promotion. I now make 25 more cents an hour. I’m surprised that they already promoted me, being that I’ve only been at work for just under two weeks. I don’t actually consider it as a promotion, more as a level-up.
Elliot.
Ok, so I guess there are a lot of sexy girls in writing, because I found this girl named Elliot. Elliot sounds like a normal name that is just given to a child who wasn’t planned and was shocked and had to search in the baby book for a name, and Elliott sounded fine. But, not this Elliott. She was elegant, she had pure beauty, and she just glimmered and glistened with every step she took. It’s as if God has put a miraculous being of a well put together work of art, and placed it before my eyes. That is how astonishing and wonderful looking this woman is. And this holy being is in the cubical next to mine, just about 3 feet away. And being 3 feet away, I can still feel and see her shinning, as if the sun were blinding me as I drive.
Was That A Yes?
I decided to ask Elliott out to go to the park with me. She said “sure, I need the exercise any ways.” I’m surprised a girl as of high status like her, said yes to the being of me; out of all fish in the sea, she picked me. So, I throw my line out and I baited it just right, maybe I can reel something big in. I decide to ask her questions like “what are your favorite colors?”, “why did you join the paper?”, and “how are you doing?” Oh, I just asked a question as if I were her friend. What would she be thinking? Would she think that I’m just trying to get with her? What is going through her mind? I, then, quickly change the subject back to work. “How much do you get paid an hour?,” I asked rapidly. She replied with, “just about 15 dollars an hour.” I look at her and think in my mind, ‘you lucky dog’. I say back to her, “I only get paid 9.50,” then I paused, “I wander why you get paid more then I do.” Why did I just say that?? She looks at me as if I just slapped her mother one good time across the face. I tell her I’m sorry for getting into her business. The conversation ends there.
Insomnia.
I can’t sleep and I keep thinking about the conversation I had with Elliott. I begin to trouble my self and start to believe that she hates me, and that I actually did slap her mother. I finally stay up and watch late night television and fall asleep on the couch-of-ouch, as I call it because all the spring seem to attack you when you sit down, much less lay in it.
How Could I Be Late on My 26th Day??
Apparently, my couch-of-ouch was of much comfort to me last night, and I slept past my alarms. I woke up at about 9 o’clock. I am supposed to be at work at no later then 7:30. I don’t seem to think I will get promoted today.
Work.
All I do at work is work! I got there at about 10:30 today, because of 3 accidents (which one of the accidents were on purpose. If an accident was meant to happen, would we call it a purpose?), and my boss was highly ill. So, as a punishment I have to teach a new recruit. Everyone dreads to do it, because you must do your regular work at home, instead of at work.
Right This Way, Sir.
As I am walking up to the front desk to confront my new recruit, I see a blue Chevy truck pull in. Nice grill work. It seems that if he were the burden of evil, because by time the doors closed behind him as he walked in, the room felt as if it was being stretched and elongated. As soon as I see his face, I notice it is Him. I cannot run. I cannot hide. I thought I was over with this man, beings that it has been quite a while from me not having to deal with him. Remembering my lip busting, I cover my mouth; so that I do not utter the wrong words, and maybe he cannot see me behind my hand. He signs his ‘John Hancock’ on the sign-in sheet at the front desk. It reads:
Xavier O. I have nothing left to say other then, “right this way, sir”
Scared Out Of My Socks.
I must give him a tour and show him what to do. He must remember me because I feel as if he is hanging above my shoulder by an odd arranged sequence of strings attached to him and he is dangling from above, but yet he is so devilish. He taps my arm and says my name, I drop to the floor and stare at him as if he has just done harm. He says very politely, “I am so sorry!,” loudly, “here, let me help you up.” He jerks my arm as if I were a 300 pound anvil and couldn’t lift it. I felt as my arm had been ripped off of my body and there I look at it. Now, I must play it off. I tell all the surrounding co-workers, that I had just tripped. Xavier smiles at me.