© Mar 2, 2016. All Rights Reserved.
It’s a peccadillo for her to glance away from this mansion that petards can’t burst through. The exterior build of this majestic house is of milk-white stone and black, metal roof panels. A garage is attached to the house and on the porch, there’s a hardwood floor, made out of mahogany. Spider plants live in the black garden pot on both ends of the white, wooden rails. There’s a rocking chair on the right end of the porch and solar post caps on the staircase.
Amelia’s curly, black, tousled hair shields her face from the sunlight. Showing her dark sunglasses positioned on her forehead, the wind blows every hair strand to the back of her scalp with ease. Slowly, Amelia’s eyes open, sensitive to the scintillating light. Her first reflex is to cover her eyes. She turns her head to the right side, resting on a white ring buoy.
Her black and tan chihuahua stares on the edge of a blue diving board with his tail wiggling side to side. His bark is like a ubiquitous one scolding her. Amelia jumps from the ring buoy, sinking down the limpid swimming pool. She flaps her arms as if she is drowning. An irate Amelia spews out water from her mouth and nose. She wipes her eyes from the blurriness the water caused, and witnesses something eerie.
(Ellis), her misbegotten chihuahua then yelps repeatedly and slowly moves backwards. Ellis glances at his owner, then steps off the diving board to stare at Amelia’s majestic house. Amelia looks at the front windows and sees the television on in the living room, then sees a light in the hallway turn off by itself, simultaneously. Unnerving her, a red, lit candle from upstairs pass the horizontal blinds blow out by a dark figure. Ellis jumps over a white wicker chair, then jumps over the tawny fence. Amelia is all alone to face what’s ahead.
Her pink cell phone has opal diamonds around the screen. It rings on the wicker chair beside a round, glass table. On the table is spaghetti and three chicken wings on a white paper plate, beside a folded, white towel. Water is dripping down her nervous face, and upper body as she walks closer to the pool ladder. Shivering, she makes her way up on the concrete and hears a tap on the front window, coming from inside the house. She gives a confused and terrified look.
“Cut! That’s a wrap! Great job everyone,” the director, standing behind the camera says.
Ellis, an ebullient dog, agog to see a comely Amelia, runs to her. A baldfaced Amelia shivers from the cold wind blowing against her wet body and dramatically jumps up. To her desire, she grabs a white towel from the round table and dries herself with it. Ellis stares into her hazel eyes as she wraps the towel around herself. After rushing on a black, laced spaghetti strap, blue jeans, socks, and shoes, she pats Ellis on the head, then leaves the film set.
“Same place, tomorrow,” she says to the director.
Subsequent to the film shoot, a bodacious Amelia walks across the street passing a ragtag group of raucous pedestrians, then enters her white, convertible car. Her mind ambulates to a flashbacks of her pregnant, weeping over a wall-mounted, rectangular bathroom sink. She has on a grey camisole and a blue skirt made out of denim. In the dark room, she sees a white flashing light from the window. Back to the current time, she drives cautiously making a right turn, then surprisingly sees a burning pyre set on fire in the woods. An anonymous dark figure wearing a black ski mask runs away from the scene.
When she’s at an intersection, a raccoon runs in front of her, just before she sees the green light signal. The raccoon is safe, and she drives 3 miles to her garage. With the press of a button from her car keys, the garage door opens, she parks, then presses the same button to close the door. Amelia exits her car, opens a door to her dark living room, and heads into her bedroom. Before stepping on the black, plush carpet, she takes off her shoes. She hops on her bed full of seven fluffy pillows, then takes a nap in her luxurious clothes.
There’s a narrator with a deep, lugubrious voice in her dream, and he says, “Seemingly, whenever she talks, someone dies. For every word she says is how many people die. That’s the legend. It all started on New Years Day, at 7:00 A.M., when hundreds of people in her neighborhood were pronounced dead at similar times. These people are perceived to have died of natural causes. She sees this unfortunate occurring, and denies its existence.”
3 Years Ago:
Roy says, “Girl, you know you talk too much. You’re my daughter though. I don’t want Roger coming over and hugging all over you.”
She says, “That’s my sweetheart you’re talking about. You’re both comrades. You should get to know him more. You all have a lot more in common than you think.”
Her water breaks, and she slowly sits on the milk-white couch, screaming. Roy panics, and picks up his cell phone. Instead of making a phone call, he chokes her around her neck. Her arms wander, and her fingers linger. As she struggles to breathe, her exhausted eyes show confusion and scorn. She stops moving after fifteen seconds, then trembles.
Uncontrollably, she screams, “Stop!”
Roy’s arms lower. His legs move backwards, and he trips over a glass table, taking a grievous landing. She catches her breath. Then, she picks up her cell phone. Roy isn’t moving one bit.
8 Minutes Later
Two (police officers) marksmen arrive. One officer (Dennis), stands cattywampus to (Samuel). Dennis tries to deliver her baby. Samuel looks at the sight of Roy’s death. Samuel is in utter awe.
“You need to tell us what happened,” Officer Samuel says.
She screams, “I don’t know!”
A famished Amelia with the collywobbles, wakes up on her bed to a harrowing alarm. Her blurry eyes are half-open. First, beside the black flat-screen television, she sees a 3-shelf bookcase made out of mahogany above a milk-white, steel, sturdy shelf and rod bracket. She instinctively moves her hand upward, beside the beige dresser. Her roaming hand searches for the 5 minute snooze button on the alarm. Alas, she knocks the alarm off the dresser. The crashing sound awakes her, and she grunts, rising to stare at the upsetting scene. As if her home is confiscated, she sluggishly and angrily gets in a supine position, to rest on two bluish-green pillows. Amelia’s eyes adjust to the light shining off the T.V.. She pounds her left fist on the bed as if though it’s a snickersnee.
“Amelia. Amelia,” Roger’s raspy voice says on speakerphone from Amelia’s right pocket.
Amelia frowns at the phone as she places it to her right ear, and she says, “Hello.”
“It’s too good to be true. Pati Sane. What took you so long?”
“Pati is just a character I play. I made a mess, and I postulate that you’re infuriated by it. I’m ghastly with a migraine the size of a soccer ball,” she says.
“Amelia Buttinsky. The ugly woman I’m engaged with. The least attractive woman I know.”
“Ugh. I’m charmed by your gallantry. You play too much with your pernicious lies,” expressing her contused heart on her face, she says, “Accidents happen. I’m tired of you accusing me for things I’m not guilty of. Your face belongs in a golf hole.”
“Have you ever thought about seeing a therapist? We can go together. All three of us.”
With a flustered face, Amelia says, “You’re making me blush. I’m really too exhausted for this. I wonder what dowdy outfit Aisha will wear tonight. Would it change you if I said I have your baby?”
His resentful eyes could protrude his face as he says, “That’s bullshit! If you’re too tired to work on our relationship, I’m too tired to remember you ever existed!”
Her eyes are atingle with a smirk, she says, “Cheer up. You’re amusing. That’s why I chose you.”
“I will. Seriously. Up for a fun night out?”
“Dinner is all yours, hun. Just last week, I paid for dinner prior to your car ticket. I’m always the one paying for gas money. Roger, I made it clear to you and Aisha that I’m an ambitious woman. I’m not letting anything get in the way of my dreams. That includes love. If you want an easier relationship, we can distance ourselves.”
“No thank you. I love you too much for that.”
Amelia ends the phone call while seeing an entombed mummy on the television screen. Her television goes kerflooey, sparking with electricity. Instinctively, her legs wrestle with the mattress, forcing her body to head backwards. She hits the back of her head on a black headboard while snapping the four wooden bed slats. The pain brings her face to her pillows as she touches a large lump, Her hair hides the lump when she lowers it. Her disturbed face grins at the smoke coming from the television.
A merry Amelia jumps on the bed while swaying her hips, saying, “Friday night!”
30 Minutes Later
It’s noon, and Amelia flumps down into a wicker chair. She has the desire to aggrandize her acting career as she faces her pomegranate. The fruit is in the palm of her right hand. She separates the internal white pulp, peels the rind, and sits it into a brown paper bag. In a small-sized, wooden, black bowl, she places the fresh, edible, red seeds in her mouth. She eats the rest of the delectable fruit in a slovenly manner, then spits out several seeds on a stack of flyers and local store retailers. Her appetite is temporarily full.
Decrying isolation are her nerves. Thus, her stiff body twitches practically every second. As if she debased her love life, she rests on the table, crying. She can’t breakup with her boyfriend. The assessment of her problem fades.
The doorbell rings. Amelia sluggishly moves her head up, then walks to the front door. She peeks through the peephole. It’s a red-haired chick (in her mid-twenties) in a black, wool cloche hat. She has freckles and red lipstick. The red-haired chick has a jaunty smile, and goofily sticks out her tongue. Amelia notices that she has a tongue with a silver piercing in the back. Amelia twists the doorknob, opens the door, and hugs her.
Aisha walks through the door as if though she is resettling, air-kissing Amelia on both sides of her cheeks. The red-haired chick is holding a cigar with wisps of smoke wandering the living room. She has on a black, laced corset, a silver owl pendant attached to a silver necklace, black stockings, and black, high heels. The smoke gets into Amelia’s nostrils. Her disgusted expression deeply shows she abhors cigars.
Opening two front windows to let the smoke free from her dream house, Amelia says, “Nice to see you on this exquisite day.”
“Very nice. God woke us up this morning.”
“About that. I love you. I really do. I just can’t be with you or Roger. I need space, but I don’t want space.”
With an onslaught of words, Aisha says, “That’s the devil talking in you. Me and Roger were better off without you anyway. For a moment, you began to mean something.”
“The devil may be right. Evil is pervasive. Next time, try not to overdose on scopolamine. I won’t be around to save you, bawd.”
“Are you mad?! Do you know how you sound right now?”
“I sound like a classy lady who just wants her own space. I know exactly how I sound, you feckless scavenger. It’s too much. I can’t be distracted from my acting career if I have to constantly worry about us. And would you for once put that cigar out?! Jesus! That’s boorish behavior! You’re tiring me already!”
Tossing the cigar out the front window on the right side, Aisha sarcastically says, “Bye-bye, my beautiful cigar. I’ll miss you.”
“How dare you smoke in my presence. This isn’t a wildlife preserve. This isn’t a lair. It still hasn’t dawned on you that I built this house from scratch. I even design my own clothes, and you’re tarnishing my legacy. I relinquish my friendship. You’re just as attracted to drugs as the gangly men you sleep with. When you sleepwalk, laxative drugs are on your regimen. You and Roger are the perfect amative couple. You two will have little ragamuffins with buskins. My insecure, old friend. Don’t pother about it.”
Aisha says, “Whoa! We go way back. I mean no harm.”
With an enigmatic smirk, she says, “Indeed. That’s what makes you crazy. You mean no harm, but you cause me harm. You and Roger are troublesome, time-consuming, and gullible. In your house, I’ll build giant, homemade ladders, behind two walls, and you’re jinxed. Nine o’clock?”
Aisha shambles to the kitchen. Her fingers shake as her right palm rises to her forehead. Her eyes linger in the opposite direction of Amelia, facing a black hamper, made out of polypropylene. The hamper has integrated handles on all four sides, a retractable handle, and gliding wheels. Gulping down saliva, Aisha stretches her arms around her neck, which creates an audible popping sound. Dramatically, she darts her head around to wink.
Aisha says, “I’d love to. If it gets bad, I’ll pull the trigger umpteen times.”
7:00 P.M.
The sound of crickets are outside while vivid, yellow stars crowd the sky. Symmetrical willow trees are in front of Amelia’a house, on each side.
A flustered Aisha glances at Amelia, then back at the trees, saying, “I don’t remember those trees being there in front of your house.” “Peculiar. Those willow trees has been in front of my house for a year now.” In awe, Aisha nods her head sideways as she enters the garage, slumping down into the passenger’s seat. Amelia slumps down into the driver’s seat, twisting her car key into the ignition switch.
“I have a carport. I should start parking my car in your garage. It’ll fit right…”
Amelia interrupts, “I can’t fathom why you wouldn’t just live here then. You’re very hostile. You’ve gotten your flea-bitten hair everywhere.
“My hair is…”
The sound of the car engine overpowers her voice. Amelia drives backwards at an unsettling speed until she sees a mahogany pergola in her rear view mirror. The pergola has two benches parallel from one another made of stone. There are dozens of willow trees. A beehive is on one of the nearby branches. In the background, there is a murky forest with dead trees.
Aisha calls Roger on speakerphone, “Hey!”
“Sup. Most women who flirt with me have their degree in criminology.”
“Cunning, little hunk,” Amelia says.
“You’re full of shit. We’re on our way,” Aisha ends the phone call, then says, “Maybe Roger can fix my neck problem for free.”
“My assertive chiropractor can fix your neck after he gives me a sensual, everlasting massage. He can fix umpteen things, but on the contrary, not your envy.”
At 36 inches is a fire pit made of milk-white stone with a black, steel cooking grate over it. Amelia drives pass the fire pit while Aisha draws a gun out of her left pocket. Aisha removes her cloche hat, yanks a once hidden, black headband, before twisting and wrapping it around the gun. On the lower right section of her hair, she puts a handful of hair strands between the headband. Then, she covers the loaded weapon with the upper section of her curly hair.
8:30 P.M.
With black, tousled hair, Roger exits a local library before holding the door for an elderly lady with crutches. He has on red sunglasses, a red T-shirt under a black, fleece jacket with black drawstrings, dark blue jeans, and black roller blades. From the car, one of his two girlfriends (Amelia) says, “Such a gentleman.” The elderly lady has grey, short hair, a purple shawl, blue jeans, and black sandals. The anonymous lady smiles saying, “Your mother raised you well.” “Thank you. Take it easy,” he replies.
Roger skates to Amelia’s car. Aisha exits the passenger’s seat, then hugs Roger as he nearly loses his equilibrium. Aisha yells, “It’s been too long! I love you!” Amelia exits the driver’s seat to jump in Roger’s large arms, lip-locking with him. Roger, (the hunk) somehow hoists up her weight, smiles with a fulfilled dream. They all get in the car; Amelia sits in the driver’s seat, Roger sits in the passenger’s seat, and Aisha sits in the back seat. Amelia drives.
9:00 P.M.
“I’m not hungry anymore. I drank plenty of water to where it just may be mountainous hurricanes,” Amelia says, respiring with shallow breaths.
A curious Roger says, “Why? We’re almost at the restaurant.”
“Hush before I rape you with a rapier. I’m just not hungry. You seemed to be having fun bantering with women all the time.”
Aisha says, “Please don’t vomit. We can eat later.”
Over Amelia’s shoulder, Roger (with a baleful glance) aims a gun at an elderly lady. She screams in a piercing tone like she is being deflowered by the demon incarnate of angina pectoris. Thus, he shoots the elderly lady in the scapula while she’s walking to a cash machine. Blood splatters from her wound to the strong gust of wind. It’s the same elderly lady he saw at the library. Amelia screams and Aisha giggles. As the car accelerates, a calm Roger pats Amelia on the back of the head.
The car is going 65 miles per hour. Amelia’s hands are shaking on the steering wheel. Somehow, she manages to dodge several cars through the intersection. To giggle and extend her middle finger, Aisha takes her head out the lowered side window of the back seat. Once she positions her head in the car, Roger turns around to lip-lock with her. His tongue lands on her mawkish taste buds.
“Thank you, “Aisha says.
Roger responds, “Don’t mention it.”
10 Minutes Later
Nearly driving into a stop sign while steering the car around, Amelia puts her foot on the accelerator pedal. Once again, she steers through the intersection dodging cars. The elderly lady is being placed on a stretcher by paramedics. Amelia speeds down the same corner, yanks Roger’s gun, and shoots two paramedics. One police officer (Officer Dennis) hides behind a police car and another (Officer Samuel) behind an ambulance. Aisha pulls the trigger, making an unerring target at Officer Dennis. Blood leaks from the officer’s cranium onto the concrete pavement.
As if there’s no burden of murder, Roger smirks, once again, patting Amelia on the back of the head. His smirk is the specificity of seeking carnage. Aisha flinches from an invisible rapist, then Roger calms her nerves. “It’s not real,” Roger says. He shrugs his shoulders as Amelia drives through a bluish-green bridge.
10:10 P.M.
At Roger’s house, in the kitchen, Amelia opens the refrigerator door to take out a bag of strawberries and a transparent amphora of wine. She opens the wooden cabinet door, pretending like a tied up baby girl isn’t in front of her eyes. To the right of the baby, she grabs a glass plate, placing it on the counter. She then closes the door only to open it door again. The baby cries louder as Amelia seizes her. Aisha stares at Amelia hugging the baby. Amelia clumsily drops the baby on the white tiled floor, causing blood to splatter.
“Whose baby,” Aisha asks.
“I need a mop,” Amelia cries and screams.
Amelia snaps her right finger three times, then Roger walks by surprised, mumbling, “Another baby gone.”
Amelia picks up the baby as if she’s still alive. With her right index finger, Amelia tries tickling the baby’s tummy. She places the baby on the living room rug. Then, she wraps the rug around the baby, and tightly ties it with a black extension cord.
Again, Aisha asks, “Whose baby?”
Roger says, “How should I know?”
Amelia says, “It’s mine.”
Isaiah Lawrence 