Tuesday News

#13 Proven to be Unlucky

by ryanfuller

10/30/12

It has been scientifically proven that the number thirteen is bad luck. Dr. Bruce explains, “It’s all based around the high and low entropy surrounding a situation that makes the number play a significant role in the outcome and how it is portrayed by the individuals involved and soon to be.”

For the number thirteen, the levels of entropy and the state of surrounding equilibriums work against each other and end up destroying any positive atmosphere. Among the large list of reasons why it’s lucky is it’s an odd number, it’s the first of the teen numbers, there are always thirteen black cats in a thirteen block radius, no middle school has over twelve stories, etc etc…

This discovery will start a major movement in how this world (may, can, will) work. Not only does this mean that the number thirteen is unlucky, but it opens up the gate to discovering the reality of luck and whether you can control it. “While we found out how the number thirteen is unlucky, our next step is to look at more variables and the events surrounding them to see what the reactions are,” Dr. Bruce continues, “we may come to a point where we will be able to control luck itself and completely avoid bad luck.” But is this ideal? Living with the ability of controllable luck is individually a paradise of an idea, but questions arise as to whether the world is ready for such a thing. It’s a loaded gun of magic and mystery and there needs to be a check as to whether it will be available to the public.

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sickunderpressure

The taste of some type of fake leather seems to do the trick in shutting me up, especially when it’s forced onto my face like an octopus’ sucker. The thought grosses me out when I look into the guy’s eyes. There’s something wrong with him. The black ski mask doesn’t help me think otherwise.

“What the hell?” Ed starts to raise his voice when he comes back inside to investigate this very questionable situation.

The guy motions for Ed to stop but still keeps one hand over me. “Shh…” he says.

“Larry?” Ed speaks a little more calm. And then outside a hesitant thunder of boots come rolling by the door.

We hold our breath. I do mostly because he allows me so little room to force my breath through. Through my nostrils is where I’ll get most of my air, pushing in and out the smell of wet wood.

I can’t move my head. I can’t see Brynn. I can’t hear her. Why would there be something wrong with her why is she quiet? What is going on? Am I… Am I…

And then very slowly, he releases his grip from my face. Rebooting my oxygen, every breath makes my chest heave heavily as I try to catch up to what’s happening. I look around everywhere but at this stranger. Brynn is pale but respectfully stays quiet keeping her mouth shut with her own hands.

Until, “Oh my god get this guy out of here!”

“Shut, up!” Ed shouts, breaking his own rules I can see he realizes. He’s already pulling the leech off me and directs me to keep my mouth closed and don’t answer that door if anyone knocks. “same goes to you Brynn sit on the couch, Larry you go into my room actually girls go sit outside on the balcony.”

We all do exactly what he says as he’s saying it so in a matter of seconds the living room is deserted.

“What the fuck was that?” Brynn asks as she paces back and forth the closet sized balcony. I can’t sit either but lean on the poled barrier looking out. She picks up the only cigarette on the ledge and she takes a drag to sit down on. Through a breath of smoke she asks “we can’t get in trouble can we?”

“I think, first, it’ll be best that we try and not get anyone in trouble.” She takes another drag.

Everything seems to have appeared at once. Far away there are ambulance sirens. Over by the student deli is a police car with silent flashing lights. I’m sure that’s got something to do with this “Larry, is that what he called him?” But I hope those ambulance sirens aren’t because of him. I don’t know if I can fully commit to the morality of covering that up. How badly could the person be hurt? Brynn doesn’t seem to make any distinction between the faraway sirens and the silent cop car so I keep this frightful thought to myself.

I look back through the glass doors into the empty living room in time to see it quickly become occupied by Ed who looks like he knows something. He looks at the door and then at us. And then I hear Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

*** *** ***

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sickunderpressure

‘Hey girl, see that thang, see that thang I’m gonna make you sing, All Night!’

I can’t help it, when ass is on the line you evolve.

Brynn is off her ass and I’m right there on it with the music. A smooth creepy groove. An escaping fume of her pubic sweat gives my body an awful little twitch but my every sense craves it. Embrace the cringe.

She takes a step away from Ed, teasing in her dance. He steps into her as she in sync steps back until he’s danced her onto the counter separating the room from the kitchen. She’s trapped. She smiles. Before he could initiate she lunges at his lips for her own good hard kiss. After a moment she breaks and peaks her head to the side at Cathleen standing by the balcony door, “Oh Cat can I have one,” and she slips from the inescapable trap. “I left mine in my room.” Brynn catches a camel cigarette, menthol, and lights up by the open door letting the smoke catch on the passing winds outside.

Lesbians. I just want to fuck already just to get it over with. But I give in to the fact that I can’t win right now. She’s in teasing mode.

“Here give me one and let’s just sit outside on the balcony.” I motion for a cigarette from Cathleen but she starts messing with her phone. She’s ignoring me or just didn’t hear so I snatch the cigarette from her lips to take as my own, breaking her from her disillusionment.”

“What the fuck Ed”

*** *** ***

The spiral stairway is partially cemented closed. Leaving large openings like windows to mark each floor and a view of Pinsky Court.

Take every second step instead of every one or third so you can keep the quick, choppy speed but the advantage of a decent stride.

I pass the third floor door when the fresh cop starts his ascent. I’m faster than these guys. They realize escape is possible.

*** *** ***

It’s been a minute or two since that call with Larry. I thought maybe we could see him come into the dorm grounds from here. Cathleen lights up and sits in one of our camping chairs.

The “Original” Church of God sits almost directly in front of my balcony view off campus. It’s ridiculous, don’t ask me why. A row of houses head down to the street corner at the student deli. And beyond this row is our beloved city barely awake. Sitting beneath a twilight not yet ready for sleep.

“Let’s just stay here tonight.” Brynn suggests.

“Why not.” I say.

“I mean let’s not go to the Void and just drink here.”

“Who said we were going to the Void?”

“Nobody now,” she smiles, “besides, when our friends get here we’ll have some real fun right!”

Girls, they’ll make dry babies with you one second and then insinuate fuckin around with the fresh meat coming in, it’s the only truth in beauty about them.

*** *** ***

Once through the fourth floor entrance there’s a two second stretch of hallway before a right down an open door-ed hallway heading for 4E but not before I knock down this fat ass obstacle with G-Unit jeans into the wall and out of my way. I can hear the cops deep in the stairwell when the door slams shut and I hit the turn. 4A, 4B, 4C,

*** *** ***

“Uh, yeah, I’m not sure how long we’ll even stay here.’ Cathleen sets her cigarette on the concrete ledge by our feet and heads inside, still rubbing her phone, “Mad dog in the fridge?”

“Mad Dog in the fridge,” I say with no allegiance to a specific tone.

“I’ll get the glasses,” and Brynn goes back into the living area. Their cigarettes on the ledge. I can hear from inside Cathleen say something about church when a loud crash busts my door open and the cause body slams into what sounds like my fridge. When I turn around I see an invisible force slam my door shut and then Cathleen, “aaaAAAHHH!”

*** *** ***

4D, and I thrust myself into 4E immediately meeting a sturdy, yellowing refrigerator tossing me to the floor quick enough for me to taste the door bouncing back. Some girl in the kitchen starts screaming just as I kick the door closed. Shaking myself from her hypnotizing yell I shoot to my feet and corner her against the counter top with my hand over her mouth muffling the scream until she stops. Squeezing her face in my hand tight so she knows I fucking mean it. Her eyes peek out over my fingers and lock onto mine, terrified.

“Quiet.”

*** *** ***

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sickunderpressure

It takes five seconds for an ambulance to pass by intensely against their direction and its sirens to reach a more comforting distance. Up the hill the road plateaus becoming Vine street and the cops aren’t visible anymore. A hard sprint is an understatement in the speed he needs to pick up to get down the three blocks to Houston street where he can turn and disappear. The sting of sweat in his eyes makes him go faster. It’s a long stretch until that beautiful green sign comes into view. And then a cop cruiser comes strolling around the corner.

I slow my speed to a walk and snatch the mask from my face. Squeezing it in my fist. Fuck. The cruiser passes by me but I don’t make eye contact. I don’t even look. It doesn’t exist. I speed walk forward. Straight, casual. And then you hear the power steering.

You turn around and palm your face with your free hand to see that they’re no more than ten yards away and that the street’s too narrow for them to make a full turn. Squeeze the mask harder. The cop in the car looks at you and speaks into his talkie. Just keep walking backwards. Away.

My breath is heavy against my palm. The cop keeps talking. Looking at me. Looking at him through my spread fingers. Keep moving away.

The cop turns his head in time to see cop number two hit the plateau and I sprint back into beat with my previous pace around the corner up Houston street. Out of sight by the time I can barely hear the guy get our of his car and yell something like ‘stop,’ or ‘don’t!’

Up Houston makes a steady rise in slope going against the one way. Houses and a Church of God is on the right and on the left is one dormitory after the next. Johnson, Holden, and then after McClain is a gap before an entrance that leads to the open door-ed Pinsky dormitory stairwell.

*** *** ***

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Tuesday News

Man’s Limbs Has Minds of Their Own

by ryanfuller

7/24/12

On July 19th, Phillip Alexander woke up to a body that did not quite belong to him anymore. It started with the left arm when his day began to the sound of the morning alarm. When he turned to cut it off, Phillip found himself unable to reach out. Instead it sat by his side and his hand balled up in a fist. “I tried my hardest to just stick a finger out and it was impossible,” explains Mr. Alexander, “I got out of bed and for about ten minutes it was stiff at my side and it spastically started reaching into the air for any nearby object. I had to move my entire body out of reach of anything.”

Slowly throughout the day Phillip began to lose complete control of his own limbs. His right arm was the second to go and he finally decided to see a doctor. Not having the ability to drive he was forced to walk and it was at this time where his arms began to act up.

“It was pretty embarrassing,” recalls Phillip. “In a windmill motion, my arms moved constantly. Every now and then, stopping to make some extreme gesture.”

Passerby’s report in telling us of what they saw: “While walking my dog, this guy was walking toward me and from a good distance away he held up his middle finger. As he passed right by me he held it right in my face. He wouldn’t even make eye contact. As he walked further away his arm was still extended in my direction, finger full fledged.” Another tells about how he would punch every sign he passed by, “I was wondering what made him mad. He wailed on at least five stop signs. Strange thing was he didn’t seem to like that he was doing it. Not many people who punch signs out of anger yell out, “Ow.”

And a female claims, “Oh I feel bad not knowing his conditions, I was just on my daily walk and he just reached out and tried to grab my chest. I gave him a good pop in the eye. And then he some how managed to grab my ass.”

Phillip confirms these stories along with a shiny black eye. By the time Mr. Alexander made it to the doctor’s office he was dragging himself with his right leg, for his left was no longer his. “They took me in the back and when the testing began finally my right leg too was of its own mind.”

Dr. Jordan, who’s seeing over Phillip, explains, “…his condition is extremely rare, this is not the first time any hospital has encountered this but at the same time it’s easy to lose focus on what needs to be done.” Recalling Phillip’s initial movements when the disease fully kicked in, “His left leg was trying to go right and his right leg was trying to go left. Rarely were they moving in normal sync while his arms gestured like a pissed off demon.” But Dr. Jordan also emphasizes that this is not any form of a demonic body take over but a serious physiological nerve processing and psychological reactive dysfunction. “It’s very important that we contain Mr. Alexander until we have complete control of his body. Unfortunately, the wait for recovery is unknown.”

“My life is, for the time being, now on hold. I have yet to let it sink in,” wondering if it’s possible his head/mind is next, “and until then, and through then, I’ll just have to deal with it,” Phillip explains with a teary voice as he sits tied up to a reclined chair waiting for a hopeful moment.

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