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Short, sweet, and hard to beat. Here it is.
Deeper Than Coffee Stains
Voices...a sharp, stabbing pain...fuzzy outlines...blackness.
But I wasn’t sure. Starbucks coffee was just too good.
I swallowed the last dregs of my savory selection and closed my book, marking my place. Starbucks was never crowded when I was there. The working population had already grabbed their coffee and those who would be getting it on their lunch break still had an hour or so.
Unfortunately, today was one of Starbucks’ busy days. I had to fight with an old man, indignation stamped all over his wrinkled face, and finally I stood there and waited for him to leave. When he did, he gave me a look so filled with abhorrence that I shivered, but, nevertheless, my table was mine again. And, as soon as I got up, it was immediately pounced upon by another austere old geezer.
I thought I’d take it easy today. I didn’t have a job, my parents worked for a law firm and paid what my ample scholarship did not, so I didn’t have anywhere in particular to be. I debated whether or not to get another coffee to go (ah, the powers of addiction) but the rational side of me firmly stated that it was a bad idea. However, as we rarely listen to our rational sides, I walked out a few minutes later with my second cup of coffee.
Something seemed a bit funny when I emerged into the bright sunlight, though I couldn’t quite place it. The sidewalks were more crowded than usual, all the reputable people of Boston seemingly rushing to get to the same place. What was going on? Hmpf, businessmen. All enigmas on their own. Each had his own agenda and was downright vicious if you did anything to stop them.
Well, I’d had enough of shoving through irate men in suits. I quickly sidestepped into the nearest door. What was with everyone today? Was something happening that I was unaware of? I gingerly pushed my way back out and was immediately caught up in a harried throng of corporate executives.
“Hey, sir! What’s going on here? Why’s everyone so busy? Is there some sort of conference?” I said loudly, poking the nearest man in the head. He turned agitated eyes on me, brandishing the cell phone that had been attached to his ear a minute before.
“Look, kid, I don’t have time for silly questions, I have a convention to get to.”
I gaped at him as he walked by, stopping amid the mass of black-clad denizens. Was he unaware that the sidewalks, streets, cars, buses, and all other forms of transportation were teeming with the men who usually shut themselves in their offices all day? Did it not irk him slightly? The perplexity of it all made me a bit uneasy and I was stoked up on coffee. Not to mention almost out of coffee...Maybe I’ll just nip into Starbucks for another quick cup of their special roast...
I was just about to take my first sip when I was brutally slammed into by a man with a briefcase, the force of the impact knocking the cup out of my hand and onto my pants. Fantastic.
“Hey, watch where you’re going!” I snarled. He gave me a Look that clearly suggested that I was an ant and he was a giant.
“I am going to be late, boy. Don’t hinder me any longer than necessary.” And he strode off. Weird. Usually these executive types were polite and formal. Something was definitely rubbing them the wrong way.
Finally, after about half an hour, the crowd subsided. Apparently, every businessman had finally reached their destination. It was such a relief. People started coming out of the shops and their homes, realizing it was safe to continue as normal.
I browsed a bookshop and bought another coffee to replace the one that my shorts had enjoyed. It was just as I was tossing the empty Styrofoam into a trash can that the first few threads of suit wearers started walking back. I widened my legs into the Power Stance in preparation for the coming onslaught. This time, though, the men and women politely stepped by me, giving me their usual curt nods. I relaxed my stance a bit and continued on my own walk, satisfied that the tension was gone.
Until I heard a scream.
A scream very close to me.
Spinning around fast enough to constitute whiplash, I gazed in terror at the sight I beheld. It was like a scene from a horror movie, one where everything’s perfect and sunny because in a horror movie it wouldn’t rain (not that I would know, I don’t like horror movies) to even hint that something bad was going to happen. The sky was as blue as could be, lazy wisps of cloud floating through, sunshine streaming down in great golden ribbons, and blood spattered on the sidewalk.
Yes, something was incredibly wrong with that picture, especially the twitching corpse accompanying the blood and the knife that was casually being wiped on a rag and stuffed back into the briefcase of Mr. Cell Phone Waver.
DEAR G-D IN HEAVEN, I POKED A MURDERER!
He didn’t seem the least bit fazed about the body lying inches from his feet, covered in blood, still twitching and oozing. In fact, he didn’t seem fazed at the crowd rushing out to call the police.
As I stared in horror at the carrion in front of me, I didn’t notice Mr. Cell leave. Neither did anyone else apparently, for people kept wondering what happened. I told them over and over again how this man with brown hair and a phone that was permanently attached to his ear had stabbed him repeatedly, then somehow escaped. The police finally let me go, deciding that this was unimportant. Unimportant? Since when was a murder unimportant? Maybe in my befuddled state I had misheard them and so, with that thought, I gratefully left the scene.
I couldn’t stop shaking as I trod the familiar path to Starbucks for something soothing like a hot mocha latte. It made me feel a bit better as I sipped it and soon, I was trying to shove the clear image out of my mind.
That was when the second scream came.
Well, actually, it was more of a strained gurgle and it was right in front of me. A man in a black suit and tie was holding another man up by the neck. With a piece of wire. Never mind. His neck isn’t attached anymore.
It took several moments for me to register that this man had just been beheaded with a cheese slicer and was now spilling blood everywhere, quickly reaching my brand new boots and staining the tips a muddy crimson. And the worst part was that the murderer, another crazed financier, had just dropped the wire onto my foot, bits of flesh, vein, bones and all, and was walking off.
I swallowed my bile with a lot of effort, kicking the weapon off of me and running after him, careful to skirt the puddle of blood.
“Hey! You! Don’t go anywhere!” I hurled one of my ruined shoes at him, catching him in the back of the head and knocking him over. “POLICE!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. The man snarled at me, but he no longer had his cheese mutilator with him, so he was somewhat helpless. “HELP, SOMEONE, PLEASE!” Finally, a shop owner looked out the window at me, gesturing frantically, and phoned someone, I could only hope it was the police. Or people from the insane asylum.
And, as I was getting help, The Cheese Slicer walked off. I stamped my socked foot in frustration, feeling it soak through with liquid that wasn’t there a moment before. Oh no.
The new victim, a bit to the right of me, appeared to have been sliced in half in a more traditional way. Her murderer was standing over her holding a bloodied machete. I screamed like a terrified child and ran, not caring about anything anymore, not my shoe, not my latte, not the corpses, not naming this latest murderer, nothing. I just ran and ran until I slipped in a puddle and fell, slamming my head into the concrete. I closed my eyes and tried to mentally assess myself. I turned my head and rubbed it, feeling my hair matted together with blood that didn’t feel like my own. I opened my eyes, prepared for the worst, and found something even more terrible.
Empty brown eyes stared at me from inches away, from a face that ended above the nose, leaking blood into the pond I was lying in. I screamed as the liquid seeped through my clothes, chilling me and urging me to keep running.
What was wrong with everyone? Did something go wrong? What happened at that convention?
I sprinted, trying to get as far away from this crazy town as possible, kicking off my other shoe and peeling off my shirt as I did. There was no escaping the crazed people, all with the same, glazed look on their faces. I passed a man being lit on fire, not altogether a pleasant sight but a lot less bloody as the others.
And then I passed my mother.
My heart stopped as she looked at me, her eyes glazed over with the same expression that had been on The Cheese Slicer’s and Mr. Cell’s face. Oh no. Please, G-d, no. Not her, not my mom, too. Not the woman whose been the most important woman in my life, not the woman who sang lullabies to me, tucked me in, cooked, cared for me. Please, Lord, not her.
She walked over to me, seemingly weaponless.
“Mom,” I whispered, my feet plastered to the floor. There was no recognition on her face, no hint that she had heard me. Except the smile when she finally reached me. I let out a sigh of relief, silently thanking G-d for sparing her.
“Mom, I thought you were–”
“Seth, darling.” She opened her arms to me and I stepped back. My name was not Seth.
“Whose Seth? Mom? Mom!” She was looking blank again. This was not my mother. I cursed Buddha, G-d, Zeus, anyone who had the power to help, and started to cry. I could have put a five year old to shame with my tears as I felt the cold caress of my mother’s hand, and the then even colder whisper of a blade against skin.
But then, I stopped crying. Whatever will be, will be.
“He’s waking up!”
“Really? Oh, thank g-d!”
A slight beeping came into my consciousness as it returned, slowly but surely. There was an IV in my wrist but other than that, I was unwounded. My mother was standing at the foot of my bed, looking flustered, while dad paced the opposite end of the hospital room. Why was I in a hospital?
“What...happened?”
“Jonathan!” Mom let out a racking sob and threw her arms around my neck. I gently patted her back. “Y-You passed out. On the street corner. A man saw you on his way to Starbucks yesterday morning and called 911, you’ve been out for a day.” And she started wailing.
“What about all the murderers?” She stopped sniffling and looked at me funny.
“Murderers? What murderers?”
I gaped. Hadn’t there been reports of the murders? Had everyone been brainwashed? That’s when a man walked in. I started screaming until I saw his arm around a woman. That woman was dead a day ago...what was going on?
A nurse came in, announcing the visitor and introducing him as the man who found me. She chuckled as she left and I heard her whisper, “No more coffee for you for a long time.”
