Writing On The Walls 1

  WRITING ON THE WALLS 1

  By Amanda Linehan

  Copyright 2012 by Amanda Linehan

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.

  Edition: August 2012

  Cover Design by Amanda Linehan

  Cover Background Image: © Paul Maguire | Dreamstime.com

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  THEIR LOVE COULD FOLLOW MOONSTONES

  THE LOST, MULTIPLY

  THE CAT

  BROKEN

  AFTER DINNER DINING

  COULD A ROBOT BE USING YOUR COMPUTER?

  I THOUGHT THAT WAS YOU

  CUT

  OBSERVATION ROOM

  ONE TRAVELER

  THE GAME MAKER

  THE END OF WINTER

  THE HORSE AND THE ROOSTER

  NOTE TO READERS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CONTACT AMANDA

  Also By Amanda Linehan

  THEIR LOVE COULD FOLLOW MOONSTONES

  They met at the train station. This could have been a romantic place to meet, but this was much more mundane. They were both on their daily commutes to offices that were quite far from their homes.

  Donna carried a half-eaten bagel with butter in a foil wrapper. She had taken a few bites in the car on the drive over, one hand on the wheel, one hand on the bagel and half of her mind as far away from that car as possible. Not that safe of a combination.

  Rick appeared well put together, a medium coffee with cream, but no sugar, in his left hand and a folded newspaper in the right. His eyes were alert behind his stylish glasses and the blue dress shirt he wore highlighted his complexion nicely.

  The train was late. Donna sighed as she realized that she wouldn't be leaving the office as early as she thought today. She had decided to take an earlier train, and actually managed to make it up and out the door on time. Rick wasn't worried as he usually got to his office earlier than he needed. He liked taking the early train because he never had to worry about being on time (his boss was rather authoritarian). So today, instead of being early, he would simply be on time. No problem.

  Rick noticed the lady who stood several feet away from him. She was attractive, if not slightly disheveled. Or maybe it was that she was slightly disheveled that made her attractive. Her long hair hung in loose waves around her face and shoulders, but was still just a bit wet from her shower. The sweater she wore complimented her figure, although Rick noticed the gentle wrinkles in it. And the large bag she carried seemed about to vomit with papers, notebooks and personal items that she had thrown into it. She had relaxed just a bit as she realized she could eat her bagel in peace before the train came. Rick was at once fascinated and horrified by her disorganization.

  Rick liked order. And structure. Not wearing a tie to work was the extent of his rebellion. He enjoyed scheduling and planning, and was proud of the methodical way in which he was successful. So when Donna dropped the last quarter of her bagel on the platform, rendering it uneatable, he was strangely saddened.

  Donna looked at her fallen fragment of bagel with amused resignation. She bent down to pick it up and walked to the trash can, which, coincidentally, was right behind Rick. In a moment of unusual candor, Rick said to Donna, "Sorry your bagel fell on the ground." His face was friendly, but pained.

  Donna looked up at Rick and smiled slowly. "It's alright. I managed to eat most of it, at least. Most of the time, it's just coffee then out the door. I actually ate three quarters of a bagel today." She laughed as she said this and it was clear to Rick that she was someone who allowed things to roll off her back.

  "Actually," she began again, "it would have been nice to have eaten that last piece. I was starving this morning. But, I'm just going to be happy with the three quarters I actually got into my mouth." She looked at Rick and smiled again. "So, did you also have trouble with a rogue bagel this morning?” She was enjoying the conversation but was slightly puzzled why he seemed so upset over her loss.

  "No," a small smile crossed his lips, "I had oatmeal, two eggs and a banana before I left. Plus, my coffee. Cream, no sugar."

  "Wow, you actually sound organized and together," Donna said. They both laughed.

  "Yes, that's why it was so painful for me to see your bagel drop to the ground. I can't stand seeing others not have a good breakfast," Rick said in an uncharacteristic display of pleasant self-deprecation.

  Donna threw her head back slightly and laughed, her eyes now bright with amusement. Despite her shortcomings in the organization department, Rick found her charming and fun. He was hoping the train wouldn't come too soon.

  They talked about work and about the town in which they lived, where they went to school and television shows they followed. Rick told her that he was training for a marathon, his third one. He went into detail about his strict and difficult workouts.

  They both heard the train whistle and turned their heads at the same time to see the lights coming down the tracks. Rick kicked at some stones on the platform and sent them to the pile of gravel below that filled in the space between the tracks. Donna turned to him and said, "In the winter, when it's dark in the morning when I get here, I always notice the moon in the sky if it's not behind the clouds. I like to imagine that these stones and pebbles down here are stones that have fallen from the moon, moonstones I guess," she giggled at this. "That way, when I get on the train I feel like I'm traveling through the sky toward my dreams. That this all means something."

  Rick looked at her for a moment and considered. She smiled at him and he couldn't help but smile back. They both boarded the train.

  THE LOST, MULTIPLY

  The lost, they multiply, you know. They find each other. Know exactly where the others hang out, spend time, go about their business. So they go to those places and they find each other. At least, that’s what happened to me.

  I was walking around one day, doing errands, but mostly just being aimless, when I found her. She was in the drugstore. I had popped in to buy a couple necessities and I saw her trying on sunglasses.

  When we first made eye contact, I actually couldn’t see her eyes. She had tried on a pair of aviator-style sunglasses. You know the ones that make you think of cops or airline pilots, worn with a thick mustache that was in style in the 80s? Yeah, those kind.

  The glasses were too large for her face, and added a strange masculinity to her features. The lenses were mirrored, so when I looked at her I only saw myself.

  I walked around a little bit and picked up the items I needed, some shaving cream and a toothbrush, and tried to think of a way to start a conversation, but couldn’t really come up with anything. It didn’t matter anyway. When I turned around she had left and I saw the pair of glasses she had been trying on hanging haphazardly on the rack.

  I walked over to where they were and tried them on, trying to picture myself with a thick mustache. I wondered if she lived in the neighborhood.

  Another day, when I was walking to work, I saw her again. I remember she had on this long skirt, colorful, something that made me think of hippies. And I think she was wearing a scarf too. Not because it was cold, just because. I figured she was an artist. She looked like an artist.

  I was surprised I noticed her because I don’t have an ounce of artistic talent. I just work in an office, and shuffle paper around when I’m not surfing the internet.

  Later on that week, on Friday night, I stopped by the liquor store to get some beer. Nothing fancy. Just something cheap, but decent. As I was sliding back the glass door with the beer in hand, she walked up to the door next to me, and pulled out a six pack. Something from Belgium, it looke
d like. I figured she must be doing pretty well with her art. Suddenly she looked at me.

  “Do you live in my building?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” I said and immediately wished I had something better to say to this girl who was an artist and dressed like a hippie and bought Belgian beer.

  “Where do you live then?”

  “A couple blocks down from here,” I pointed, “on this side of the street.

  “I live three blocks down,” she said.

  We both walked up to the counter together to pay for the beer, and then started walking home together. Not because we decided to, just because we were going in the same direction.

  When we got to my building, I turned to her, but before I could say anything she asked me if I had ever drank the beer she was holding. She said it was really good. That it was made in Belgium by these monks or something.

  I said that I hadn’t, and she said that I should come drink one in her apartment. So, I did.

  It was tiny and cluttered, with odd looking knick knacks and a lot of stuff that she had started to crochet, but then didn’t finish.

  She said that she just finished school a few years ago. Just like me. And turns out, she works in an office too. She said she was glad she met me, because she still didn’t know a lot of people here. I said I didn’t either, even though I had been here longer than she had.

  Anyways, that was 8 or 9 months ago. And now, we both live a couple blocks from that liquor store where we first spoke. Sometimes on the weekends we buy that Belgian stuff we drank that night, but mostly we just buy something decent.

  And you know what? I still haven’t seen her paint anything.

  THE CAT

  The Cat entered the kitchen, his small paws padding along the hardwood floors and his body curving to slide along objects that he passed. The leg of the table, the corner of the kitchen island, The Big One's leg. The Big One reached down and put his large hand on The Cat's skull, rubbing briefly before pulling his attention back to his newspaper.

  But The Cat wasn't really interested in affection at the moment. After appeasing the Big One he walked to the silver bowl that was always placed against the wall on the far side of the kitchen and crouched before it.

  He crunched the kibbles in the bowl, allowing tiny pieces to fall from his mouth every once in a while. But he wasn't that hungry. Frankly, he preferred the wet, meaty mush that he would be fed later that day.

  He looked up from his crouched position in front of the bowl at The Big One, who didn't notice his glance, and then looked around for the Other One, whom he didn't see. His eyes roamed the kitchen and adjoining living room.

  Sauntering his way out of the kitchen, he gave a meow for good measure, and heard The Big One reply, "What is it, pal?" which wasn't really a question and from which an answer wasn't expected. The Cat meandered on.

  The Cat stopped to look out of the big window and put his front paws up on the sill. He looked intently at the outdoors, in which he hadn't been but a few times, and his eyes followed the path of a bird that flew into a nearby tree. His tail wagged abruptly back and forth.

  The Big One was walking over, but The Cat gave no indication that he had detected this. The Big One put both of his large hands on the window and pushed upward, leaving about a foot of screen exposed.

  "There you go, pal," he said as he walked back into the kitchen. The Cat felt the breeze move his medium length gray coat, and allowed the wind to move around his face. He sniffed at the air.

  Wait. The Other One. Where was she?

  The Cat put all his paws on the floor and furiously licked the inside of his right back leg before prancing off again.

  The stairs. He would go up the stairs.

  Whoosh! The Cat bolted up the flight of stairs, but paused for a moment on the top landing, looking to the right down the short hallway. As he walked, The Cat's shoulders rose up and out of his body, so his gait looked long and luxurious. Never rushing. Never hurrying.

  A noise. His ears perked up and he froze as his senses went on high alert.

  There she was.

  Lying on the bed in the room to his left was the Other One. A white coat, longer than his. She looked like a piece of clothing that had been strewn onto the bed, even though it should have been hung up.

  She did not move.

  The Cat flattened himself on the ground and wished that he had something to conceal his body, even if it was rather slender. Rising up just a little, his legs moved with precision. Picking his way closer and closer to her. She didn't know.

  He was close now. Very close. When he sensed it was the right moment, he sprung from the floor landing almost, but not quite, on her outstretched frame. She raised her head and squawked at him, before lowering it again and closing her eyes, her tail thumping methodically on the bed.

  The Cat strutted his small frame around the bed for a moment, walking in circles, sniffing the pillow and stopping once to look out the window. Then he laid his body onto the soft surface, curled his tail around himself and went to sleep.

  BROKEN

  Julie leaned over the whitish-beige office machine, looking down at the little screen that gave the options for how the copies or scans would be created. Her hands were placed wide on the corners of the machine, holding her up while she searched for the option for which she was looking.

  The machine had been broken. She couldn’t tell if it had been fixed yet. She had opened the top and laid her document down on the glass, and pressed the button to scan it. Yet it wouldn’t show up on the computer screen to her left, where she should be able to see the scanned document.

  Honestly, she didn’t have much to do today, so it wasn’t that she was in a rush. She just wanted the scanner to work.

  Just then, Jeff walked around the corner.

  “Hey Jeff, is this thing still broken?”

  He looked at her as if he was surprised she had spoken to him, and then looked at the scanner.

  “No, I scanned something just this morning.” He walked over to the machine and Julie got out of the way as he began staring at the little screen.

  “I can’t get it to work,” she said.

  “Did you push the button?”

  She couldn’t believe he was asking her this.

  “Yeah, I pushed the button.”

  Jeff fiddled around with the controls a little bit, then took her document out from under the lid, blew on the glass, and set it back down. He pushed the button. Nothing.

  “Huh...” Jeff said.

  They both saw Diane coming from the left and figured she would know how to get this to work. She had a certain touch with office equipment.

  “Hey, Diane.” Jeff said. “We can’t get the scanner to work. We need your magic touch.”

  Diane walked over to the scanner, and this time Jeff got out of the way. She looked at the screen, opened up the lid and looked at the document and said,” Did you push the button?”

  In her mind, Julie wondered if her coworkers just didn’t know what was wrong or if they really thought she was this stupid.

  “Yeah, I pushed the button,” she said once more.

  “Gosh, I just scanned something a couple of hours ago,” Diane said.

  “Yeah, me too,” said Jeff.

  Julie was getting bored. And she really didn’t need to scan this document right now. If the three of them couldn’t figure it out, she would just wait for another day.

  “Thanks guys, but I’ll just try again later.”

  “Well, wait a minute.” Diane said. “This thing just got fixed. I can’t believe it’s broken again already.” She was still fiddling around with the controls.

  Just then, Ted walked past them. He was one of their tech people.

  “Ted!” Jeff and Diane called at the same time.

  Ted stopped and looked like he wanted to run down the hallway, but it was too late.

  “I thought we got this thing fixed,” Diane said.

  Ted looked confused.
“We did. Yesterday afternoon.”

  “Well, it won’t work,” Jeff said.

  Julie prayed a small prayer that he wouldn’t ask...

  “Did you press the button?” Ted asked.

  “Yes,” they all answered at once.

  Ted looked at the screen, walked around the machine, looked at the wires, looked at the computer screen that the document should have shown up on, and opened the lid.

  “Hey guys,” it was their boss, Sam, “that thing’s broken.” He was walking toward his office, a couple of files under his arm.

  “But we just got this fixed yesterday,” Ted said.

  “I know. But I went to use it again this morning, and it broke down again,” Sam said.

  “What did you do?” Ted asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sam said, “I just pushed the button.”

  AFTER DINNER DINING

  They opened the door and the noise came pouring out onto the night street. In front of them stood a large, unsmiling man barring their way.

  As they gave him what he requested, he looked at them, still unsmiling, and then scrutinized the small plastic cards they had given him. When he was satisfied, they passed.

  They pushed their way through the crowd, which was particularly thick that night, keeping their eyes on their goal, and finally made it to the bar.

  They spotted a couple of seats open on the far side that had just been vacated, and two of the party rushed over to claim them.

  Five drinks soon found their way over to newly established territory, some with ice and little straws in them and some still in the bottle.

  The three that didn’t have seats stood around those that did, jostled by the crowd every now and again, yelling back and forth to one another in order to converse. It was getting warm.

  Next to them stood a group of men, who glanced at them periodically, which they noticed, but which they did nothing about. Finally, the two territories merged.