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Tattered Hawk.
Fred Raymond traveled the instant replay of his life and felt puzzled.
He walked over to the window of the small repair shop where he wasted away and reflected on his industrial surroundings. He had always loved backward Philadelphia with its wasteful, wide-eyed waters. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel puzzled.
Tonight was like any other night, he was working on a few cars for customers who likely wouldn't pay him. No, what was different tonight, was the blinding blizzard. The snow was so heavy, you couldn't see more than ten feet in front of you.
One of Fred's little freedoms was menthol cigarettes. The thing was, his boss, hated when he smoked in the shop, and he told his mom he quit. Fred's father had died of smoking the dam things. His mother couldn't bear to know he was still smoking them. He had a plan for his boss, he had no plan for his mom. Opening up the bay door, he would breathe in his death there, to avoid the tongue lashing from his boss. He might freeze his ass off, but he would be smoking.
Grabbing the key from his boss's desk, another transgression he would commit for his smoke. He shuffled down the flight of stairs, unlocked the padlock to the door, and rolled up the door, exposing himself to the white hell. All Fred had on was his shop issued coveralls and a light jacket that was useless in this cold. This was going to have to be quick. Fishing in his pocket he produced the pack of smokes, ejected one, and kit up.
The feeling of the cool refreshing smoke soothed his mind but for those few moments. In those moments he was living. The only thing to shatter this delusion of his was this freakish storm. No, he had to wrap this up, it was fucking cold. Taking the last few drags on his smoke, tossing it, he started to roll the door back down. Just as he reached up, he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Zoe Gobble. Zoe was an articulate, cunning, dangerous, gorgeous, government asset, and killer.
Fred could not understand his eyes. He could no more stand in the door of this storm, much less, walk around in it. He was a middle-aged, energetic, port drinker with grubby feet and dirty toenails. Who'ver this was approaching in the storm, had to be supernatural. Fred for once in his life felt alive, whatever this new adventure was, he was ready to meet it head-on. It wouldn't matter, no matter who he was, nobody was prepared for what Zoe had in-store today.
As Fred stepped outside and Zoe came closer, he could see the serious look on her face. Zoe gazed at Fred with an intensity that would have made satan piss his pants. She just stood there for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she averted her gaze and said in a calm tone, "you're going to make a call, I will give you a phone number."
Fred looked back, and up to his boss's office where the only phone was. Fred just looked at this snow-covered, for lack of a better term, angel, and moved his mouth to no sound. Finally, he stammered, "what is your name." The look this woman gave him, frightened him. Just as fast as the look came over her face, it was gone. Replaced by something feminine, dare he say, soft. The woman spoke, "my name is Zoe Gobble, what is your name?"
Fred blinked stupidly a few times and said, "my name is Fred, I'm the night mechanic." The look on the woman's face flashed something else, it looked like amusement. "Well Fred, I am pleased to meet you. I understand you might want to know, why, I may need your phone. Fred, I don't have time to explain that, please know it is of the utmost importance this call be made now."
Fred studied Zoe, Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Fred in an apologetic tone, "Let's go make that phone call." Gesturing to his boss's office, Zoe confidently led the way. Fred pointed to the phone, "there you go." Zoe looked at him, and said, "Fred, I need you to make the call. I will tell you exactly what to say when they answer." Feeling brave, "when who answers?" Said Fred.
Zoe looked concerned, her emotions raw like a grotesque, greasy guillotine. "Fred, pick up the phone, dial this number, and say what I tell you." This was enough, Fred took the number and dialed. The phone rang once. The voice said, "speak" Fred looked up at Zoe question, "Fred say, Zulu golf reports tattered hawk, recommend hammer time" Fred said the words. The only reply he got was "affirmative" and the phone disconnected.
Zoe smiled at Fred and said, "thank you." She walked down the stairs, found the front door, and walked out into the storm. Fred's shift ended at 11:30 pm. This bizarre encounter happened around 7:45 pm. He toiled away until 10:10 pm, replaying tonight's events on repeat, before rolling up the door again, for one more smoke. Standing exposed to the storm again, fishing out his smokes, he placed one to his lip, pulled his lighter, struck the flint, just as the brightest, hottest flash, vaporized his pathetic life away, as well as most of Philadelphia.
© Rising Darkstar
He walked over to the window of the small repair shop where he wasted away and reflected on his industrial surroundings. He had always loved backward Philadelphia with its wasteful, wide-eyed waters. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel puzzled.
Tonight was like any other night, he was working on a few cars for customers who likely wouldn't pay him. No, what was different tonight, was the blinding blizzard. The snow was so heavy, you couldn't see more than ten feet in front of you.
One of Fred's little freedoms was menthol cigarettes. The thing was, his boss, hated when he smoked in the shop, and he told his mom he quit. Fred's father had died of smoking the dam things. His mother couldn't bear to know he was still smoking them. He had a plan for his boss, he had no plan for his mom. Opening up the bay door, he would breathe in his death there, to avoid the tongue lashing from his boss. He might freeze his ass off, but he would be smoking.
Grabbing the key from his boss's desk, another transgression he would commit for his smoke. He shuffled down the flight of stairs, unlocked the padlock to the door, and rolled up the door, exposing himself to the white hell. All Fred had on was his shop issued coveralls and a light jacket that was useless in this cold. This was going to have to be quick. Fishing in his pocket he produced the pack of smokes, ejected one, and kit up.
The feeling of the cool refreshing smoke soothed his mind but for those few moments. In those moments he was living. The only thing to shatter this delusion of his was this freakish storm. No, he had to wrap this up, it was fucking cold. Taking the last few drags on his smoke, tossing it, he started to roll the door back down. Just as he reached up, he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Zoe Gobble. Zoe was an articulate, cunning, dangerous, gorgeous, government asset, and killer.
Fred could not understand his eyes. He could no more stand in the door of this storm, much less, walk around in it. He was a middle-aged, energetic, port drinker with grubby feet and dirty toenails. Who'ver this was approaching in the storm, had to be supernatural. Fred for once in his life felt alive, whatever this new adventure was, he was ready to meet it head-on. It wouldn't matter, no matter who he was, nobody was prepared for what Zoe had in-store today.
As Fred stepped outside and Zoe came closer, he could see the serious look on her face. Zoe gazed at Fred with an intensity that would have made satan piss his pants. She just stood there for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she averted her gaze and said in a calm tone, "you're going to make a call, I will give you a phone number."
Fred looked back, and up to his boss's office where the only phone was. Fred just looked at this snow-covered, for lack of a better term, angel, and moved his mouth to no sound. Finally, he stammered, "what is your name." The look this woman gave him, frightened him. Just as fast as the look came over her face, it was gone. Replaced by something feminine, dare he say, soft. The woman spoke, "my name is Zoe Gobble, what is your name?"
Fred blinked stupidly a few times and said, "my name is Fred, I'm the night mechanic." The look on the woman's face flashed something else, it looked like amusement. "Well Fred, I am pleased to meet you. I understand you might want to know, why, I may need your phone. Fred, I don't have time to explain that, please know it is of the utmost importance this call be made now."
Fred studied Zoe, Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Fred in an apologetic tone, "Let's go make that phone call." Gesturing to his boss's office, Zoe confidently led the way. Fred pointed to the phone, "there you go." Zoe looked at him, and said, "Fred, I need you to make the call. I will tell you exactly what to say when they answer." Feeling brave, "when who answers?" Said Fred.
Zoe looked concerned, her emotions raw like a grotesque, greasy guillotine. "Fred, pick up the phone, dial this number, and say what I tell you." This was enough, Fred took the number and dialed. The phone rang once. The voice said, "speak" Fred looked up at Zoe question, "Fred say, Zulu golf reports tattered hawk, recommend hammer time" Fred said the words. The only reply he got was "affirmative" and the phone disconnected.
Zoe smiled at Fred and said, "thank you." She walked down the stairs, found the front door, and walked out into the storm. Fred's shift ended at 11:30 pm. This bizarre encounter happened around 7:45 pm. He toiled away until 10:10 pm, replaying tonight's events on repeat, before rolling up the door again, for one more smoke. Standing exposed to the storm again, fishing out his smokes, he placed one to his lip, pulled his lighter, struck the flint, just as the brightest, hottest flash, vaporized his pathetic life away, as well as most of Philadelphia.
© Rising Darkstar
