Category: July 2018

Ezekiel “Ezey” Yzaguirre awoke in a red leather booth, hunched over a white formica table. His senses kicked in as his eyes fluttered open. The first thing he noticed was a hunger inside him as if he had not eaten in months when he knew it had only been a couple of days. As his eyes adjusted to the bright interior of the diner he noticed what looked like a fresh hamburger on his table in a small plastic orange basket. Next to the hamburger was a pile of steaming hot french fries, with a tall glass of dark soda condensating next to the basket.

“Well, I guess I’m dead,” Ezey reached for the food without hesitation but noticed the dark sleeves of his suit as he pulled the food closer to him. He brought a french fry to his mouth, then looked down at his suit. He realized he did not feel any hair when he ate the fry and brought his hands up to feel his face.

“Not exactly,” a male voice said. Ezey turned to look for the source and noticed a man with a chestnut crewcut, and a suit matching the one Ezey wore, seated on one of the stools at the counter. Upon realizing he was not alone in the diner Ezey quickly grabbed the burger and bit into it. The man chuckled and stood from his stool to slide into the red booth across from Ezey. “Don’t worry, it’s not going to get taken away, and it’s free of charge.” The stranger’s hand dipped beneath the table. He brought it back up holding another burger basket with steaming hot fries. “As much as you like.” Ezey swallowed his bite, then washed it down with soda.

“What does that mean, ‘not exactly’?” he asked then took another bite of the burger. Though this time it was a smaller bite that he took his time chewing.

“It means you are. Unless you don’t want to be.” The stranger’s hand dipped below the table then returned with a white folder. He placed the folder on the table and opened it to reveal a short stack of papers. He lifted the top sheet and handed it to Ezey.

“I’m pretty okay staying here with the food,” Ezey grabbed the offered sheet and looked it over. His eyes widened, then he glanced at the next sheet in the stack. Without waiting for permission he grabbed the whole stack and leafed through them.

“Why do you have these?” he asked the man. A flash of anger coursed down his spine and his grip tightened around the sheets, crumpling the corner in his hand. “You’re the reason I haven’t found work in six months!?” The stranger gently shook his head.

“The originals that you filled out all went to the employers that you submitted them too, these are duplicates. They’re visual aids to help explain why you’re here.” Ezey turned to look at the diner around them, then he focused on the stranger again.

“Can we start with how I got here, before I ask you to explain where ‘here’ is?” Ezey asked. He calmed down enough to start picking at the fries again. The stranger nodded.

“You died. The details aren’t important, that life is over. However, we have a position open,” the stranger gestured at the white folder. “You aren’t the only one considering the position but given your eagerness to work, we came to you first.” Ezey’s mouth hung open enough to show a pale white ball of mush.  He closed his eyes, swallowed the frenchfry he was working on, then took a moment to take a breath.

“Am I working for Heaven or Hell?” he asked. A slight smirk crept up the left side of the stranger’s face.

“Neither, but both. We’re the Middlemen. We just sort people out and get them to where they want to go.” Ezey looked surprised.

“Where they want to go? Don’t you mean where they deserve to go?” Again the stranger gently shook his head.

“If you take the job, you’ll learn as you go. People are funny, but they always get what they think they deserve. Even if they don’t realize it.”

“What if I don’t take the job?” Ezey asked. The stranger shrugged, closed the white folder, then held it up to show Ezey. “You’re already filed into Heaven. If you don’t take the job you move on to there.” Ezey’s put another french fry in his mouth as he debated.

“I should tell you though, there’s no food in Heaven. There’s no need for it, you’ll never feel hungry.” the stranger said.

“Oh.” He finished chewing his fry, then swallowed it. “I’ll take the job, where do I sign?”

***

Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #212. You can find them collected on my blog. If you’re curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what’s what and who’s who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.

“Do all these people need to be here?” Doctor Garcia looked up at the second tier of the operating theater. The seats were filled with medical students grouped together by scrub color. A giant clear bubble kept the lower portion of the operating room sterile.

“No, but it’s a good chance for them to study,” the patient said. “I agreed to it.” He sat in a rigid metal seat that resembled a less comfortable barber’s chair. A horseshoe covered with a thin mint green cloth, “padding”, extended from the back of the chair to wrap around the man’s neck. A large transparent bib connected to the horseshoe protected his front. The doctor walked behind the man’s chair.

“Alright. Whatever you say,” Doctor Garcia said. “Scalpel,” he said.

“Scalpel? You haven’t even opened my skull yet,” the patient chuckled. The doctor’s fingers gripped the patient’s skull, and he attempted to pull it upward.

“Oh, right, I assumed that would have been done already,” Doctor Garcia glared at the rest of the staff, but they only shrugged in return. “Sorry. Uh, rotary saw? We got one of those?” The nurse handed a small electric handsaw with a circular blade. “Ready?” The patient nodded. “Well, but don’t move.” Doctor Garcia said. He heard a chuckle run through the audience of students above him.

“I’m ready, you may begin,” the patient said. He relaxed completely against the horseshoe; the rest of the chair did an excellent job supporting his weight, despite its awkward appearance.

Doctor Garcia activated the saw and flooded the room with a high pitched whirring sound. He touched an edge to the man’s bald head, slightly above his ear, and cut a steady line around the back of his skull. He walked a circle around the man at a slow pace to cut from all sides. Finally he turned off the noise and handed the saw back to the nurse.

He placed his fingers on the man’s skull and tugged upward again. This time the top of his skull came loose and separated from the rest of his head. He placed it on a nearby tray and held his hand out.

“Scalpel,” he said again. The nurse presented him a scalpel and he peered at the patient’s brain.

“Upper left,” the patient said.

“How do you know?” Doctor Garcia asked. The patient lifted his arm to point at a giant jumbotron style screen on the second tier.

“Oh. Thanks.” Doctor Garcia said. He inserted the scalpel into the man’s head, and made a cut.

“Nope, wrong one. I’m dead.” The patient said. Doctor Garcia dropped the scalpel to the floor. He ripped off his face mask, then gestured angrily at the crowd of students.

“I can’t work with an audience!” he yelled.

“Doctors need to learn to adapt. You can re-take the final next week.” The patient grabbed the top of his skull and placed it back on his head. Immediately his skin pulled itself together and the gash around his head disappeared. “Consider yourself lucky that you get to practice with a trained professional regenerator. Back in my day we didn’t get to make a mistake more than once.”

***

Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #211. You can find them collected on my blog. If you’re curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what’s what and who’s who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.

Edward watched the man’s blue eyes become dull and lifeless. He sat on the man’s chest using his weight to pin him down, but now that the man would no longer be fighting back Edward relaxed. He drew the small thin blade out of the man’s neck, then stood to begin the cleanup. His phone rang.

“Yes?” he answered it, then paced towards the balcony to admire the sunset. He expected the call to drag out, but felt no particular hurry. He cased his mark perfectly; he could stay the whole weekend and still manage to get away with it.

“Yes, he’s down. One left,” Edward said. He turned to glance inside the condo at the body he left on the floor. Another man in a dark suit sat in a nearby chair unconscious and tied to the chair. “No it won’t be hard, I’m looking at him right now. Just say the word.” Edward stared out over the balcony, he watched the sun dipping into the ocean while his client deliberated. Finally he received more instructions through the phone. He nodded.

“Okay, I’ll wait for your call.” Edward hung up the phone, then wandered back inside to begin the cleanup.  He carried the corpse out to the plastic lined trunk of his car, and found the other man stirring when he returned.

“Do you know who we are!?” He said loudly while straining against the zip-ties that kept him attached to the chair. Edward nodded.

“I know exactly who you are. That’s why I’m here.” Edward knelt on his hands and knees to clean the floor near the man.

“How could you do this to the Queen? You’re a traitor!” he yelled at Edward and made an attempt to spit on him. Spittle dribbled down his chin, but Edward ignored him to focus on his task of cleaning.

“The Queen is old, it’s time to bring in some younger blood,” Edward said.

“HOW DARE YOU!” the man made an attempt to kick at Edward, but he only succeeded in tipping his chair over, and smashing his face on the ground. “Owwwwww.” he groaned. Edward chuckled to himself, then stood from the floor. He walked over to the man then he sat the man and chair upright again.

“The Queen is human like everyone else, she’s probably dying…,” Edward chuckled to himself, and punched the prisoner on the shoulder for added amusement. “…for a break.” The man began to scoff at the thought, but Edward’s phone rang again.

“Yes?” He answered the familiar number. “Okay, one second,” he set the phone down on a nearby table without hanging up, then pulled up a chair and sat in front of the prisoner.  He leaned forward and pressed the phone against the prisoner’s ear.

“Someone wants to say hello,” Edward said with a smile. Without missing a bit the well-dressed prisoner yelled into the phone.

“LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!  I’m sorry, what?” Edward chuckled to himself.

“No, why are you doing this?” the prisoner’s head shook subconsciously. “I will always stand by my oath. Is there no other way?” Edward remembered asking that same question when he accepted the job. He watched the man go through the same process he did, until the man’s body relaxed completely. He accepted it much faster than Edward had. The man took a deep breath and nodded.

“I understand,” he looked up at Edward. “…asking for you,” he said. Edward cut the man loose, then placed the silver blade in the man’s hand. He took the phone, stood, and walked outside again.

“Yes?” Edward spoke into the phone as the sun dipped below the horizon completely. “It’s been an honor your Highness. Thank you, may you rest in peace at last,” Edward said. After a moment he hung up the phone, then walked back into the house to clean up the second body.

***

Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #208. You can find them collected on my blog.

“I’m going to need a different set of forms, I’ll be right back.” The devil vanished in a puff of red smoke, but a second puff made him appear again before the first dissipated. He reached into the breast pocket of his dark suit for a dark red fountain pen, then handed it to Craig Fillmore along with an obsidian clipboard. He pointed out several X’s on the top form.

“Initial there, there, there, and signature there,” he said. Craig eagerly filled out the sheet and excitedly returned the clipboard to the devil. He took off the top sheet, then handed it back to Craig and pointed out another set of X’s. After Craig filled them out, the devil took the clipboard, smiled, and offered Craig a handshake.

“Congratulations, you’re a devil!”

“What do you mean A devil?” Craig asked as he stretched his hand to complete the deal. The moment he made contact with the devil’s hand he felt a whooshing plume of smoke push down on him. When it cleared he found himself in a small cubicle sized office surrounded by stacks of paper on every surface.

“You asked to replace me,” the devil smiled and gave Craig a friendly punch on the shoulder. Craig felt a warmth spread through his body from the point of contact. He looked down at his hands and watched his skin become dry, and dark red. He felt two spots tingling on the top of his head. The devil in front of him began to change also. Craig watched the man’s skin lighten from dark red to a smooth olive color and the two dark glassy horns on his head receded into his skull. He knew he was growing those same horns.

“I made the same deal a while back. The only way out is for someone to wish your job,” the former devil said. He opened the door to leave the small room.

“Wait!” Craig grabbed the man’s shoulder. “What do I do? I thought I was going to get to rule over hell?!” he asked. The man almost continued through the door, but he paused with a sigh.

“What do you think hell is?” He asked. He closed the door, swept a stack of papers to the floor then sat in the chair under it.

“Uh, you know. I sit around on a throne and make people’s lives shitty.” The former devil smirked.

“There’s your throne,” He pointed to a dark red leather high-back office chair, then he leaned down to pick a random piece of paper off the floor and handed it to Craig. “You can go make Woody Robertson’s life miserable.” He dropped the sheet, then reached down for another. “Or Clara Andrez,” he tossed the sheet up. “Any of them.” He shrugged at the sheet of paper riding the air down to the ground.

“But the devil rules the underworld! What about my legions of demons?” The former devil chuckled with a gleam in his forest green eyes.

“It started out like that, but Hell is a service industry like any other. We strive to give people what they want, and now everyone has their own personal Hell, instead of the communal vision of sulfur lakes and pitchfork wielding demons. These days devils are more like social workers than punishment enforcers.”

“What are you talking about? No one wants this,” Craig pointed out.

“No one thinks they want this, but we give people what they think they deserve,” he shrugged.

“So, what does that mean for Heaven?”

“Different branches of the same company,” Craig said. He stood from the desk and opened the door. “That’s what those people think they deserve.” He took a single step out the door.

“That’s all the advice I can give. As far as the actual job, you’ll figure it out. Just grab a sheet, and listen to what they have to say.”  He shut the door behind him leaving Craig alone in the small office. Exactly what he wanted.