Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
an excerpt from the short story, "Bloodbath" by Jim Battery
He'd never seen a driver pull over and stop the Chinatown bus to urinate before.
With all the junk he was holding, Dwight figured it must of been a trick. And, in fact, it was a dirty fucking trick; those feds had been waiting for the bus at the rest area. Dwight saw one of them duck behind a garbage bin.
"This is going to be a bloodbath," he murmured beneath his breath. His heart was pounding against the barrel of the .45 in his jacket.
He pulled the pistol out and jumped up, announcing, "I reckon the Lord don't always agree with what a man does," and he shot a hole through the back of the head of a man sitting towards the front of the coach, meaning to scare the piss out of the other passengers.
The young woman beside the sudden corpse thought she was still dreaming when she woke up and touched the blood splattered on her lap but she didn't begin screaming until she tasted it on her fingertips.
Dwight had seen her somewhere before, somewhere back in the city. A waitress? A stripper, maybe. It wasn't important. He yanked her out of the seat. She was younger than she looked, maybe 19 or 20, blonde, short skirt, cute legs in bloodstained white tights. The agents outside moved towards the bus with their guns drawn. Everyone on the bus screaming. So much goddamn screaming, Dwight thought, pushing the girl in front of him. He shoved the pistol under her chin. She began sobbing.
"Thank you, mister, thank you!" Blubbering.
The feds were shouting at Dwight to drop the gun and let go of the girl. He wondered if she wasn't the wrong kind of hostage anyhow.
"Thank you, mister! Oh my god, oh my god, oh god!"
Well, this is just the last thing I need, Dwight thought. He felt like vomiting. A trickle of blood dribbled out of his left nostril and settled at the top of his upper lip. He'd been doing all that blow.
Meanwhile, the driver was shouting in Chinese at the top of his lungs from inside the toilet. A baby was bawling somewhere. Somebody was cowering behind a seat, praying in Spanish. For a second Dwight thought he might could kill himself and everyone would be better off.
"You crazy! Now you get off bus!" the driver was howling.
Dwight pushed the girl slowly toward the door and suddenly realized why she looked familiar: her photograph was on the news the night before because she'd been kidnaped last week by the dead serial rapist whose brains were splattered all over her cute legs.
Dwight snorted a snicker abruptly in spite of himself as the squad outside closed in like a pack of tittering hyenas. You filthy pigs, he thought.
I'm a motherfucking hero. Doesn't that figure?
With all the junk he was holding, Dwight figured it must of been a trick. And, in fact, it was a dirty fucking trick; those feds had been waiting for the bus at the rest area. Dwight saw one of them duck behind a garbage bin.
"This is going to be a bloodbath," he murmured beneath his breath. His heart was pounding against the barrel of the .45 in his jacket.
He pulled the pistol out and jumped up, announcing, "I reckon the Lord don't always agree with what a man does," and he shot a hole through the back of the head of a man sitting towards the front of the coach, meaning to scare the piss out of the other passengers.
The young woman beside the sudden corpse thought she was still dreaming when she woke up and touched the blood splattered on her lap but she didn't begin screaming until she tasted it on her fingertips.
Dwight had seen her somewhere before, somewhere back in the city. A waitress? A stripper, maybe. It wasn't important. He yanked her out of the seat. She was younger than she looked, maybe 19 or 20, blonde, short skirt, cute legs in bloodstained white tights. The agents outside moved towards the bus with their guns drawn. Everyone on the bus screaming. So much goddamn screaming, Dwight thought, pushing the girl in front of him. He shoved the pistol under her chin. She began sobbing.
"Thank you, mister, thank you!" Blubbering.
The feds were shouting at Dwight to drop the gun and let go of the girl. He wondered if she wasn't the wrong kind of hostage anyhow.
"Thank you, mister! Oh my god, oh my god, oh god!"
Well, this is just the last thing I need, Dwight thought. He felt like vomiting. A trickle of blood dribbled out of his left nostril and settled at the top of his upper lip. He'd been doing all that blow.
Meanwhile, the driver was shouting in Chinese at the top of his lungs from inside the toilet. A baby was bawling somewhere. Somebody was cowering behind a seat, praying in Spanish. For a second Dwight thought he might could kill himself and everyone would be better off.
"You crazy! Now you get off bus!" the driver was howling.
Dwight pushed the girl slowly toward the door and suddenly realized why she looked familiar: her photograph was on the news the night before because she'd been kidnaped last week by the dead serial rapist whose brains were splattered all over her cute legs.
Dwight snorted a snicker abruptly in spite of himself as the squad outside closed in like a pack of tittering hyenas. You filthy pigs, he thought.
I'm a motherfucking hero. Doesn't that figure?
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Dr. Leo Watts
An inventor, astronomer, entomologist, amateur music ethnologist and part-time high school science teacher who returned to the city of his birth to care for his invalid mother, Dr. Watts is best known for his discovery of the dark matter planet, Nyx, between Neptune and Pluto. He also invented the lightning bulb, an electricity-free, organic compound lightbulb activated by a bioluminescent chemical reaction (its patent was purchased by the US State Department whereupon all research was confiscated.) A widower, Dr. Watts is close to his three children (two daughters and a son, scientists all) and they regularly collaborate on papers, articles and experiments together. In his spare time, he can be found cataloging the city library's collection of indigenous Central and South American tribal ceremonial music recordings.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Nataliya
During an era of 'ethnic cleansing', Nataliya's parents escaped from their village in a small eastern European country which no longer officially exists and managed to safely cross the Atlantic with their children. While her parents toiled in the wage-slave industries to make ends meet, Nataliya grew up on the streets of the city, regularly singing with siblings and others in their immigrant community street festivals. When her youngest brother landed in prison for murder, Nataliya served a brief sentence for harboring a fugitive. She married and divorced within a year of graduating from high school, then decided to pursue a career as a hair stylist and began working her way through beauty college as a part-time housekeeper in the Ticonderoga. Late one night last year, she discovered Lester Davison on the subway and they fell for each other like the deuce in a house of cards. She convinced Angel to give Lester a steady gig and in no time flat, our young lovers were writing and occasionally performing together; if you're a regular, you've already witnessed Nataliya's haunting voice slinking its way around Lester's puckish piano stylings in the Troubador lounge.
Maria
Before running away to the city with a local truck driver, Maria was brought up in an isolated farming community out west with several siblings and cousins, occasionally attending bilingual classes in a tiny schoolhouse. When the truck driver left her to return to his wife, Maria found herself homeless, unemployed and alone, living 2,000 miles away from her estranged family. It was late autumn and she was five months pregnant with nothing more than a five dollar bill in her pocket when Francis hired her. He put her in a room with another housekeeper and she went to cleaning rooms and laundry the next day. Soon afterwards, Maria was introduced to a childless couple, Mark and Penny, who later agreed to adopt her baby. In Room 505 early the following year, during the city's worst snowstorm, Bonita Ray was born, and every other morning at 9 AM sharp, Penny brings the little one to visit Mama Maria at the hotel.
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