Connor Zollinger

March 7, 2013


Odyssey Project

The Olliesey

Ollie Winter searched his bare cupboards for the much needed ingredients, but, to his utter dismay, the foodstuffs he so desperately desired were nonexistent. His dinner with Regina Daniels would go down as the worst first date in history. (And Ollie had several nearly successful attempts at that title.) The only solution to his problem was simple (but yet so terrifying): traverse the mean streets of the city to the nearest supermarket to collect his culinary components.

Ollie hastily dressed into his warmest clothes, careful to heed the weatherman's warning about an impending blizzard (which, if he had been more observant he'd have known that it wasn't impending but rather currently happening), and made his way out of his small apartment. He smoothed down his rumpled hair as he descended into dreaded territory. All Ollie hoped for was a safe passage to and from the store, but, as he was about to observe, he would receive nothing except the complete opposite.

When Ollie opened the apartment door, an icy gust of wind threatened to knock him to the cold, hard floor, but Ollie persevered in his not-so epic quest of grocery shopping. He swore as the chilling fingers of Jack Frost penetrated his coat. His feet refused to budge as the moisture on his boots immediately froze to the snow-covered pavement. Ollie could do nothing but laugh at his own ill-fated luck: even Nature was against him going on his date. He trudged ahead desperately fleeing from the arctic gales an soon found himself in a dilapidated alleyway. The wind couldn't follow him, he thought, but what did was even worse.

"Yo, kid!" A voice sounded from behind Ollie. "Whacha doin' comin' on my turf? Don't chu know dat dis is my turf?" Ollie cautiously turned around only to behold a behemoth of a man. He was black, with muscles rippling underneath his skin-tight shirt, (which was quite odd to see, considering it was snowing outside) and he wore an eye-patch on his scarred face.

"Wh–What do you mean?" Ollie stuttered, horrified at the though of what may happen to his puny body if the hulking man attacked him.

"I'm Jamal Dequan Bricabrackaberry, da leader of da Black Panthers. I am da king of the gangs. I own deez streets and if someone's got a problem wit dat, den dey need to take dat up wit da ten homies hidin' round here."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brick-of-Blackberries. Uh–Uh–" Ollie was trying to slowly distance himself from the gang leader when the frightening man suddenly erupted with rage.

"Brick-of-Blackberries? You iz askin' to die kid!" The gang leader's face was contorted in pure, unadulterated fury. "Kill him, boyz!" He shouted.

Three gang members appeared from out of an abandoned building, brandishing MAC-10's However, before they could even get a shot off at Ollie, three loud cracks rang out followed by three gun-toting men falling down dead.

Jamal let out a string of obscenities even Charlie Sheen would cringe at. He grabbed two of the MAC-10's that his underling had dropped and wielded them Rambo Style. He aimed at the entrance to the alleyway, where the shots had originated from, and held down both triggers, attempting to hit the perpetrator of the triple homicide, but to no avail. Jamal tossed the two automatic rifles aside and picked up the last one. He carefully looked at the origin of the shots, patiently awaiting his stealthy foe. When the opponent appeared, Jamal fired every round in the magazine.

Something did hit it's mark, but it wasn't Jamal's bullets, but rather a fourth bullet from the enigmatic shooter. It sped straight towards Jamal's only working eye, tearing through the gang leader's pupil. Blood spattered everywhere: the brick walls, the dumpster, and even on Ollie's shoe. A sickening sound of a skull cracking chilled him as he imagined the pain that Jamal must be going through–that is if he was still alive.

"You okay, amigo?" The shooter asked in a Mexican accent.

"Um. . . Yeah. Thanks." Ollie replied unconvincingly. "Who are you?" He asked the man.

"Before you ask, I saved you because if he didn't like you, then you're alright in my book." The man dodged the question, albeit very conspicuously. "Plus," he added, "you gave me a perfect opportunity to eliminate a rather tenacious rival of mine."

"Well, um–Wait! I know who you are. I saw you on the news. You're the leader of the street gang The Frijoles–" Ollie looked up at a sudden sound from the direction of the rooftops. When he focused his gaze back on the man he found that he had suddenly vanished. "–Jose Raul Mendez Delgado Castro Chavez Something-or-Other." Ollie said completing the thought.

Ollie could hear gunfire from the streets so he decided to take a detour. He entered an abandoned building only to find the walls (or what was left of them) covered in graffiti. He walked through the building until he found the door opening to a connecting street, but unfortunately, there was a slight problem: some ne'er-do-wells were blocking it while smoking illegal drugs.

"Eh, excuse me." Ollie said, approaching the group. "Could I possibly get through?"

"You wanna try a smoke, kid?" A long greasy-haired girl asked extending what appeared to be a joint. "Come on. It'll be fun."

Ollie hesitated. The joint looked so alluring but he remembered what his mother had always told him: 'never do drugs,' but what was the harm in having just one smoke? Ollie slowly took the joint from the girl. He brought it close to his lips when suddenly he realized something: every person in the group had a haggard and beggarly look to them. He considered it for a moment.

He threw the joint on the ground and ran straight into the door. The termite-ridden piece of wood splintered at the impact of Ollie's weight. He crashed to the ground with a loud thud. A shard of wood had pierced his shoulder, blood slowly oozing from the wound, but fortunately for Ollie, he had come out of the building just across from the supermarket.

After pulling the wood from his shoulder, he crossed the street to the supermarket and entered. He strolled down the numerous aisles until he came to his query. He swore. The shelf was completely devoid of anything even remotely resembling the ingredient he needed. All he could do was hang his head, defeated and dejected.

"My, my. It looks like the indomitable Ollie Winter has lost." A man in a black suit and sunglasses addressed Ollie.

"John Smith? What are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be harassing a taxpayer or something else IRS agents do?" Ollie snidely remarked.

"Oh, Mr. Winters, that's the closest I've come to laughing in months. You're lucky I didn't. After all, you've made enough money this year to be required to pay taxes. All I'm here to do is notify you of this fact."

"That's not it, is it? There's gotta be something else." Ollie said. He attempted to move past the government official, but Agent Smith was steadfast. "Could you get out of my way please?"

"Or what, you'll call your friend and have him shoot me up just like he did to Mr. Bricabrackaberry? If you want to do that I have news for you. If I die, two more agents will fill my place. If they are also slain then four more will come." He paused for emphasis. "Next there will eight, then sixteen, and thirty-two. Sixty-four will fill their spots and then one hundred twenty-four. You can't kill me Ollie. I am insuperable!"

Ollie just stared dumbfounded not knowing what to say. "You've gone insane!" He finally said. "You think I would actually kill you? And how do you know of that gang banger?"

Agent Smith started laughing hysterically. "Of course you won't kill me. You'll just run away just like you did with Miss Kitty Rainbow Hyacinth. I know what you've done today. If you don't pay you're taxes I might just call the police. Accessory to four murders is not a good thing, Ollie."

"You wouldn't!" Ollie exclaimed in disbelief. "And who's Kitty Rainbow Hyacinth?"

"The girl who offered you the marijuana. She was really put out with you. It was quite an insult to refuse it you know, especially since I would have testified against when you went to court for use of an illegal substance."

Ollie was growing more impatient by the second. Finally he lost it and elbowed Smith in the stomach and ran off. He dashed out of the supermarket down several streets and when he stopped for a brief respite, his cell phone rang. He answered it.

"Hello. . . Yes, Regina. Hi how are you? . . . Change of plans? Dinner at your place? I can do that. Just give me some time to get ready. . . Alright, bye."

Ollie hung up the phone and literally jumped for joy. Even through all the events, Ollie felt energetic, but now the snow was starting to pile up and the pervasive chills were back again. He'd best get back home to change so he could have a successful date with Regina Daniels. That is if Nature was willing to cooperate. . .