Ratchet

"This is not currently rocket science we're discussing here kiddo."

No, he supposed, it was not. By all accounts, if any such objective type opinion about states of things in the world could even exist anymore, it was strange to be sure. Strange, but not inexplicable. Not complicated.

"That Five Oh we left laying back there. Unfortunate. Circumstance, circumstance, circumstance. That's what I've always been told! Hell I believe it now too! The whole god damn world is ending! The whole fucking thing!"

The wheels of of the shopping cart violently clacked up and down as they traversed the crated sidewalk. Edward wasn't much into feeling things at the moment. He's brain still swelled, the ringing still infected every aspect of his thought. Things hurt in various ways in a variety of places. In the east the sun was in fact rising.

"You'd be too but ol' Ratchet got you. I ever tell you why everybody call me Ratchet? My dad worked at the corner garage. It aint there now, they put up some apartments to cover it up, but back then none of them was there so that's where my Dad worked! I'd always be trying to hang about and play with his tools. So they called me Ratchet. Not too bad for a nickname I guess."

This man. This filthy man. They'd been traveling for awhile. Ratchet pushing the cart with Edward slumped inside, his legs dangling out the side. They'd been traveling for two hours since Edward had regained conciousness, he could tell by the bank clock. This man was pushing him around in a big circle. He'd been talking nearly the entire time.

"I don't have the answers for this other than its the end!"

Edward attempted at several points the proper communication that would enable his arms and legs to position themselves so that he might get up and leave. While the previous twelve hours had been harrowing, this was excruciating.

A few word's about said incident....

It is true that I have killed another human being. I'm not going to deny this obvious fact as it is probably the most important thing I've done lately. My motives are not important. I know that is always frustrating for people to hear, but believe me, they are incidental. What is important is that I did it and I had a quivering feeling in my stomach that I was going to get away with it. I usually don't get nervous so this surprised me. It was almost a relief when my door crashed in and the police rushed forward. I didn't enjoy where this feeling was heading. Jail I can handle. Jail is a zoo filled with "abnormalities." These gentleman seem to believe that I have one. I probably do. I once stole a raw chicken from a grocery store just so somebody would chase me and I could ask them "why do you want it back? It is already dead."

Some decide that they should keep trophies or mementos from their crimes. I had kept this gentleman's hand not out concern for future nostalgia but because of the absurdity of it. The damn thing had taken me more than ten minutes to hack off, which I did for no other reason than to place in the minds of the investigators who would discover the poor bastard the idea that there was more to this.

Good god the man's hand has been cleaved off?! But why?! Was he handcuffed to something? A nuclear football perhaps? Who was this man?! Should we call the FBI?! Jesus Christ we've got a real fucking Tom Clancy novel problem here!

I thought it would really make their day.

The truth of it is the hand was attached to nothing more than an imbecile with bad taste in cologne and cheap suits. I left him lying naked because well, if they found him lying with wardrobe provided by Sears then they most certainly would not have mistook him for a top level government official now would they? The intrigue would have been lost.

It seems like I am making all of this up. This is a rediculous, stupid little story I am telling you. Nobody knows that more than I. The thing of it is I don't care. I was feeling bored and cooped up in my little box of an apartment. I needed some fresh air but I wasn't going to leave for the sake of it. I hate walks. To travel without destination was pointless, so I provided one. And there he sat at his bar stool all cozied up to Sally the ubiquitous cocktail waitress who is just good enough looking to be a cocktail waitress but nothing more. I had tried talking to her once. I got the sense she wasn't interested in the restrictions of free will.

I had tailed him, mostly for sport at first as the site of him had reminded me of some character I had seen in a movie. Some slimy underling played by a character actor who always plays the slimy underling. Anyway the underling had met his demise near the end of act two and viewing his childhood and teenage years as act one and the events which led him to the bar on the night as act two I thought it would be hilariously ironic if...well I hope you see where this is going because to detail the rest would be just sad.

I hoped that when I died I would have a chance to face it and acknowledge my end. To really have a chance to put a period on the sentence of my existence would have provided me the great opportunity to embrace and enjoy death. I never had any plans that meant too much to me. So I took great pride in the fact that I was always ready to go. I wanted it to be like going to bed at night though. Slipping into the covers with a smile on my face.

This man had other ideas and by the time he finished gurgling up blood through his tears and mucus covered face I decided that this had become like every other, an exercise in human weakness. So I cut off his hand because it made me feel better about spending so much time in persuit of such a vile creature. I kept the hand because I didn't want anyone to find it until they found me.

I feel awfully self indulgent explaining myself but you see it was the last great thing I did all week. It felt better and better as I walked back home, patting myself on the back with the hand. I can't help but smile now at the thought.

The Car Ride

SUNDAY 11:35 PM

Sitting in the living room alone Edward thought things over. His skin was somewhat clammy. Only the sound of a passing train filtered through the open window behind him. His stomach rumbled and it occurred to him that he had not eaten all day. Gazing toward the kitchen he made a mental note to change the light bulbs in the overhead light. As it was one one of the three still worked and it kind of gave the room a dull yellowish color. Cereal? Edward got up knowing full well that he had no milk but was determined to check anyway. There was in fact nothing in the refrigerator except for an old can of generic cream soda and of course the hand. He jokingly thought about eating the hand and then slammed the door shut when he realized he was seriously considering it.

The door crashed in and the men rained down on top of him, his face smacked off the beige linoleum. He had never looked at the pattern on it this closely before. It seemed his life had lost track of all the small details.

In handcuffs outside a slight breeze cooled the back of his neck. Where where you before? Probably off bothering someone who didn't appreciate your timing. The cops chattered their cop talk. They told him he had rights. They told him all sorts of things. They had every intention of taking him to jail. They would then try him in court and presumably, given the strength of the evidence against him (the hand was a smoking gun of sorts), convict him for murder. A cog in the system of justice Edward was now a statistic to these machines of social order. He could imagine the look on the elderly couple's face when they found the rest of the body lying naked in their driveway. Suspicious to say the least.

The wheels of Edward's lifetime of incarceration where in motion and on any other day of the week they might have stayed that way. Today was special however. One it was his birthday. Happy birthday buddy he quietly told himself. It was also the last day of modern civilization, but Edward didn't know that yet.

The cop told Edward to watch his head when they put him in the back of the car which he found to be amusing. Humming a little tune of self satisfaction at his conceptualization of this event as like every other in the systematic detainment and removal of human life in the social sphere Edward got comfortable in the backseat and closed his eyes. Edward could be accused of being a little too transcendental at times. He could also be accused of being a psychopath, and a sloppy one at that. Both were true but of little consequence now. Edward doubted that his quirky personality traits and quiet little idiosyncrasies were going to be the determining factor in making friends in prison. The thought was useless and therefore pointless. Edward was also efficient, or at least he liked to think so when he had the time.

Name? Edward Murrow. Like the newsman yes. But my middle name is Franklin. I had a cat named McCarthy once when I was a kid. My parents named it. They also put him to sleep when I stayed the night at a friends house. I never stood a chance.

Nobody was buying this line of reasoning. So you chopped the hand off Richardson and kept it in your kitchen. No it was kept in the refrigerator which are usually located in the kitchen. I don't like it but when I tried to keep it in my living room it ruined the carpet. The landlord wasn't happy. A disturbed smart ass. If you had told funny stories and made silly faces and dressed up as a character or did some kind of act you might have been called a genius as if through work this label can be achieved. Edward always thought that genius's just were and that the "proof" to this genius that their toil provided was merely a way to make everybody feel better about themselves. If they followed this step by step they too would be loved. We will all be geniuses and adored. Are you a genius sir?

Edward didn't think the cops were even listening anymore.

About halfway during the car ride to the station it occurred to Edward that maybe it was just him, but something seemed strangely odd about this moment. The one just now. The blast or the shockwave or whatever sent the car into the air and off of the road. It rolled a few times, Edward tried to count but found his head smacking off the window too distracting, finally landing upside down in the drainage ditch. The cops looked like hell. Probably felt like hell. It was obvious that one was dead or was going to die, his face mangled as it hadn't found the dashboard very accomidating. No air bags in this cruiser? The driver had one, stranger. It deployed smacking the unconcious cop in the face. Edward, who was still awake handing upside down, could feel the blood rushing to his skull but still was aware of just how funny this scene was. He just wished he had somebody to tell it to.

"I feel like I've been sitting here a long time. Probably a little too long."

Edward stopped what he was doing and looked around. He scratched the back of his head just to prove to himself that he was in control of something. It wasn't nearly as reassuring as he hoped it would be.

"I don't know the best way to start this other than just to start, the whole is far too big for me to already have it. It has to create itself. You get what I'm saying right?"

The woman, nicely dressed with attire that was just nice enough to make Edward feel out of place, scribbled something down and without looking up nodded.

"You feel feel small compared to the complexities of your..." she paused thinking. If she was trying to be delicate Edward really wished that she wouldn't, it'd already been a long day. "Circumstance," she continued.

"Yeah I guess so. End of the world and all."

"How did this all begin?

"You don't know?"

"Why don't you tell me."

"Ah great not this shit again."

Edward the Sleepr

Edward was a sleeper and he had no moods or plans. He simply stared up at the blank sky and waited for the noise to die down. If what The Almighty had in mind for the rest of the dead was to be believed, than he simply wanted know part in it. Better to lie still and let the cold wash of dawn slip over him like a cool breeze.

Somewhere off to the east people voices could be heard. They were chattering about, making plans about what to do with all this mess. Edward had no plans. They seemed to always get in the way of what was going on.

About this time his heart gave out and his mind shut down. Then there was nothing but a calm black. He could scarcely tell the difference.