Wednesday, June 13, 2012

8 Teaser, Naja Haje Abyss

“What are you staring at? Don’t you know me? My name is Ida B. Belligerent,” she snorted loudly. I moved down the bunker on hands and knees and heard her shout, “Go away and mind your business, Mr.”
Just as Ida finished jeering at me, a long spear zoomed overhead, and Ida let out a curse that was as shrill as the wind on the heels of the spear. I peeked over the edge of the bunker only to see a very tall, very thin young woman dressed in a black see-through, gown that was tied at the shoulder, like a toga.
“You rotten, good-for-nothing, miserable rat,” the woman yelled.
I looked around to see if she was talking to me, and she was. I ducked back for cover in the bunker and a second later another spear flew over me.
“What are you hiding from Mr. Havmyway? Are you afraid of Willameana Angry? You better run, cause I’m coming after you, now!”
       With the threat of Ms. Angry and her spears, and more bullets flying overhead, I spotted a sewer pipe and quickly crawled into it for shelter. I had gotten about twenty feet from the entrance when without warning a grate dropped behind me blocking any change of mind I might have had. Then suddenly there appeared four additional sewer pipes in front of me. Each pipe had a sign above the entrance that read, “Danger, Do Not Enter”.
        Without time to deliberate, I was suddenly faced with rushing water coming from behind—I had no choice but to go against the warning signs. I plunged into a pipe on my right and had no sooner pulled my feet in than the water surged past like a jet stream. There was no turning around. As I watched the torrent of sewer water go by, something kept it from flowing into the channel I’d chosen. I sat still for a few minutes wondering where my angel was.
       “Windoline,” I whispered, but there was no answer. Then I realized I could speak.
        I had never said prayers before, but I certainly had watched a plethora of movies, which called out the Lord’s name in rude and unholy ways. I wasn’t a religious man, as I said, but my deceased parents were devout Christians. As I sat there, I remembered some of my early Sunday school lessons. I’d stopped attending by the third grade and never went back, not even to church. My folks were killed in a car accident, and I went to live with my aunt, who despised the church, though she never said why.
Suddenly it came to me. Mr. Chew Smackum from the first hall continually searched for the Son of Man. Even though his reasons for doing so were wrong, I now knew the distinction. Before I had time to finish my contemplations, the water from the first pipe turned into mine. I immediately headed away from the gushing, smelly low, hoping with all my heart that I could reach the exit before the deluge caught up with me. I was almost immersed in it before I saw daylight. As soon as I reached the exit, the dirty water stopped. I stood up and stretched, hoping to see Windoline and wishing I were back at my bistro serving coffee. But no such good fortune awaited me.

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