Jessica

          Jessica pulled over and parked on the street near the grocery store a couple of blocks away from Brian’s apartment. She wanted to make sure she was completely unseen while she performed her work. Jessica had every intention of making Brian and Rachel break up. The least evasive way was with this spell a friend of her had given her. Any other way would just have to take up too much time planning and plotting. Her friend had told her this was a sure-fire way to make them break up, as long as she did it correctly.

            It all seemed pretty easy. Put some private articles in a bag of sand. Write Brian and Rachel’s names on a piece of paper in green ink, and say a few incantations. The only difficult part was actually being able to see in the woods. She brought some candles with her to light her way. Flashlights lit up too much area, and would be too obvious to any passers by. The police did not like people coming into the woods at night. Let alone, any psychotic ex-girlfriends putting spells on people.

            If one were to ask Jessica why she just could not manage to get over Brian, she would not be able to answer. She was the one who always broke it off, and to no fault of Brian’s. Yet she always insisted on tormenting him like this. She did not even want to date him again. She was already dating someone else, whom she enjoyed much more. Yet, Jessica could not stand to see Brian in a happy, loving relationship. This one was pretty serious. Brian was even holding back on a lot of things. He had not even slept with her yet, and treated her with the utmost respect.

            It was not that Jessica wanted to date Brian again, it was that she wanted to be his number one girl again. She wanted him calling her on a near daily basis, telling her how beautiful she was and how devoted he was to her. He would wait forever for her – no matter how long she took to realize they were soul mates. He did not want to be with anyone else, ever. He completely belonged to her. Well, he just went back on his word, didn’t he? Just went off and found him a new girl who was two classes above him. Hell, she was three classes above Jessica! She did not mind the fact he was dating. Just that he was dating someone much better than her. Brian was not allowed to be happy. All ex-boyfriends must forever wallow in self pity for ever losing a gem like Jessica. No other girl he ever dated could possibly measure up to her greatness.

            After lighting a candle with her car lighter, she walked the two blocks to the woods just behind Brian’s apartment. She knew this part of the woods pretty well, and she did not want to fall down some ravine because her could not see it. She found a clearing in the woods just next to the river and sat down to organize her items.

The Haze

The Haze was lying in the middle of the floor in the hallway by the front door. He had attempted to get himself to the bathroom, but the tequila did not let him. He had collapsed right here, rather incoherent. He heard shouting outside, and someone running up the stairs. Then, thunck, the door was forced open by someone and into Haze’s head.

            “Dude, man. That fuckin’ hurt.” Haze said as he brought his hand up to the large, throbbing bump on the back of his head. It felt warm and moist. He brought his hand back to his eyes, and saw that it was full of blood.

            “Nobody open this door!” Brian said as he walked into the living room. It was all Haze heard before he blacked out.

Brian

“There’s too much drama in this house.” Brian said, reflecting on the night’s happenings. He and Rachel were sitting on the steps to the front porch of his apartment building. She had shown up and hour earlier and gotten tired of hanging out with “those losers” and demanded to go outside. She was obviously in a bad mood.

            “There’s too much drama in this house,” She said in an irritated tone. “And do you know why?”

            “Why is that?”

            “It’s because your lives are so dull and meaningless, that you have to create your own drama to make it appear more interesting.”

            Ouch. That hurt.

            “It gives you the illusion that your lives are actually worth living.” Rachel continued her rant. “All you guys do is sit around all day, drink beer, and play on your guitars.”

            “That’s not all we do.”

            “Yes, it is. But you just deny it to yourself. I mean, look at Marc. He’s a fucking drama queen. He will do whatever he can to get attention brought onto himself.”

            “That is not true.” Brian began to laugh.

            “Whether it’s positive or negative,” She continued. “It doesn’t matter to him. Attention is attention. He will lie, connive, or start a fight for no apparent reason. All this for attention, and to get people to start talking about him. He is so afraid that everyone will forget he’s there.”

            “You are just so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Brian began laughing even harder. “I hate this house! I’m getting out of here as soon as I can!”

            “You are always talking about how badly you want to get out of this place. You cannot stand your roommate. You hate how you are living your life. You talk of living a better one, of owning your own house, and having car. But I don’t see you even attempting to reach that goal. It’s all just a dream to you, but you don’t realize how easy that dream is to reach. You could be out of this place and forget about these people in a matter of months!”

            “I just got fired from my fucking job, for chrissakes! Be easy on me, will ya?” Brian was steaming while he sat there. He wanted to walk upstairs to his apartment and leave her there. But he knew that if he did that, he would never see her again.

            “Yeah, you got fired for Oak Express, and I’m sorry for that.” She said, snotty. “But you didn’t save a penny while you worked there. You blew it all. I watched you. You got paid for two weeks worth of work, and all the money was gone within three days. Twelve hundred dollars spent in three days! It’s not like you pay rent or have bills to pay.”

            “I’m not always going to be like this!” Brian was now getting defensive.

            “It’s like you expect some rich relative to die and leave you their fortune. You’re not going to get out of here, unless you get off your lazy ass and actually start working at it. I’d rather be dating a guy who was living with his parents than a guy who lived like you.”

            “Then, why don’t you just leave then, if you hate my lifestyle so much!”

            “Believe me,” Rachel continued as she stood up and began searching her pockets for her keys. “I’m not materialistic, but I’d rather be with someone who actually has ambition.” With that, Rachel began walking toward her car. Brian sat there, trying to figure out what went wrong with the night.

            “I was just trying to make conversation!” He shouted after her. But it was too late. Rachel was already in her car. Without anything else to say, and wanting to have the last word, Brian chucked his beer bottle at her car as it drove away. The relationship was pretty much over anyway. The bottle, to Brian’s surprise, hit and broke her rear window. The car came in a screeching halt in the middle of the street. Not wanting to see Rachel’s wrath, Brian ran upstairs to his apartment and locked the door behind him. “Nobody open this door!”

Lore

     The man who stood before me was one with a peculiar past. No other man in existence could share the same sense of mystery. He had become another cliched ‘tortured soul.’ Yet another person, a wandering body, to forever coast throughout his existence. No personal attachments. Eternally filled to the brim with secrets. I got to know quite a few of these secrets, but I know that there are still hundreds more still locked within him.
     Currently, he has wavy brown hair, the ends just above his broad shoulders. He has a square jaw, perfect roman nose, and the most perfect lips I have ever seen on a man. His pale skin has a slight tint of pink around his cheeks and nose, just enough to not look sickly. He stands tall, but not too tall. Just enough to demand notice and respect, but not to be intimidating. The most striking feature on him, are his piercing gray eyes. Dark as steel, they seem like they can see right through you. His eyes almost seem like different entities all together, completely separate beings from the man who stood in front of me. He smelled fabulous. I could never pin-point exactly what that smell was, but I loved it so. It was comforting.
     I certainly did not like the look on his face. Quite too somber, as though he was trying to detach himself from me. Pretend that I wasn’t really a person, with feelings. Most especially these particular feelings for him. I couldn’t help but stare at him, right in the disembodied eyes. Look at me. I am a woman who loves you. How can a man change his attitude about a woman so quickly? Yesterday he had been so happy with me. Tonight, he has become a completely different person. A complete stranger.
     “I have to leave.” He says so bluntly, it stings. He said it like I’d say, “I want chocalate.” or “I had an aweful day at work today.” But I can’t look him in those eyes anymore. I truly cannot be upset with him, because I knew this day was coming. In my mind, I curse the day I met him. Even though I did not love him yet, there was something about him that grasped my curiosity.
     I curse myself for ever thinking of a future with him. How pathetic am I? Dreaming of a lavish wedding in the mountains. Of my darling wearing a traditional kilt, bagpipes playing in the distance. How dare I think of children, and growing old with him! I always knew it was never going to be an option. He cannot even grow old. I want to hate him for letting me into this world. How dare he let me love him. Especially when he was fully aware of his circumstances.
   “I am leaving for Florence in the morning,” he surprisingly explained. How astonishing he even bothered to! “Then I will be going elsewhere.”
     “Okay…” I drone on. “Good luck to you.” Why do I attempt to be aloof at the wrong times? Should I just jump him once more for good measure?
     “Is that all you have to say?” He whines. Wow, he has feelings? For a minute there, I thought he was a robot.
     “Lore,” I sighed. (That was his name.) “There really isn’t anything to say. What am I supposed to do? Protest?”
     He sighed himself, and walked out the door. Those gray eyes would never look the same to me.
　
　
　
     Lore grew up in the kingdom of Paurance in what is now considered Scotland. I have yet to determine exactly how old Lore is, but he has appeared to be much older than those legends of King Arthur. Like the rest of his life, even Lore’s very birth was peculiar. His mother had always wanted a child. She and his father had tried for many years. She had nearly died at least twice, giving birth to Lore’s stillborn siblings. She even became insane over it, eventually, protecting herself, and her womb anyway that she could. Then, suddenly, she became pregnant with Lore.
     The pregnancy grew suspicion around the house from the very beginning. Lore’s father, and the entire house staff, knew that his mother had not shared his father’s bed in quite some time. But yet, there wasn’t exactly divorce in those days, and Lore’s father was in desperate need of an heir. So, lips were kept sealed. His mother’s supersition led to the appearance of many gypsy women, who claimed they could rid the house of the evil spirits who poisoned his mother’s womb. But one woman, an elderly gypsy with crooked teeth, and straw for hair, said there was already a curse on the child. A curse that no one would ever be able to break.
     There was already knowledge of a prophecy that a man would be born who would ruin the world. He would bare a birthmark that would tell all who his was. He was to be the first sign of the apocolypse. But this legend was nearly ancient. No one truly believed in it anymore, but the crazy gypsies. (Whom no one bothered to pay attention to.) But this old woman, told the mother that the child growing inside her would be the barer of this curse. He would be the one to cause destruction, chaos, and the end to all life.

Cocoa

Cocoa

            Cocoa was not her real name. It was actually Monica. It was just that everyone called her "Cocoa" because she would grant sexual favors in exchange for cocaine or crack. She also stole things to sell to pawn shops or give to dealer for her drugs. It was surprising to most people that met her that she was only eighteen years old. Her constant drinking and drug use made her appear much older. Cocoa had ver rough skin and several wrinkles around her eyes. Her long blonde hair was frail and stringy. She dropped out of high school when she was sixteen. She had been pregnant with her daughter. What was her name again? Cocoa could not remember. She had told her parents that she would go back to school and get her GED once her daughter was older. But here she was, more than two years later, and she had not even attempted to go back. Like most drug addicts, she just lacked the ambition to.

            Actually, Cocoa lacked ambition all together. She was a magnificent dreamer, though. She dreamed of starting her own business, getting her GED, and even going to college. But she never did anything to put the odds in her favor. Like her brother, Marc, she almost expected good luck to plop in her lap. As though she was going to win the Illinois lottery without buying a single ticket or a rich uncle would die and leave her money. And the longer she waited to gain the ambition to do these things, the more difficult it would be to get herself out of this bind.

            Cocoa and Marc had both grown up with silver spoons in their mouths. Their parents owned a lot of land along the Fox River. Their father had his own construction business. They had built several houses on their land and collected rent from people that lived in them. The duplex that Marc lived in was one of his father’s. It was also conveniently next door.

            Somehow, Marc and Cocoa got into the wrong crowd. They began drinking in high school, but their parents never lifted a finger to discipline them for it. If they were sent to jail, their parents would only bail them out and hire a good lawyer. Since they kept getting away with it, the trouble just continued and got worse.

            Cocoa began drinking when she was fourteen. She had lost her virginity to a friend of Marc’s two years before that. (She wanted to know what all the hype was about.) She could not remember for the life of her what friend it was. It must have been Brian. Cocoa learned that for women, sex is power. It is almost like currency. With her being a woman, she did not get a much respect as the men did, but she had more power over them. The men did not realize it, though. And Cocoa was not about to tell them either. It was like some secret in the media or something.

            Her cancer-ridden mother was taking care of Cocoa’s daughter. She was a good baby and rarely cried. She liked to play with building blocks, and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but Cocoa would not have known. She was rarely home to see her daughter. The only things that mattered to Cocoa now were parties and drugs. Marc almost always had a party going on at his place. If there were not any drugs, there would always be beer. Coca had other friends too. They lived on the east side of the city in large, run down buildings. She would spend an entire paycheck for a night’s worth of drugs. If that had not been enough for her, she would resort to stealing. After all, she could only sell herself to the same guy for a certain amount of cocaine so many times.

            Cocoa would steal anything and everything. She would even steal from her own mother, which she often had. She would sneak into Marc’s apartment late at night once everyone had passed out, and steal things from wallets and purses. She had even stolen Brian’s guitar once and took it to the pawnshop. But Brian went to the pawnshop and got it back. If Cocoa needed a lot of money quickly, she would steal some blank checks from her father and pay for her drugs that way. Believe it or not, drug dealers did take checks. If any of them bounced, though, they would hunt you down and beat you with a rusty sledgehammer. She had been beaten up several times, but not just by the drug dealers. Many of Marc’s friends had thrown a punch or two her way. The guys normally did not hit girls, but Cocoa was different. She was one of them.

            Cocoa just had a big mouth, and was too ignorant for her own good. She would often pick fights herself by talking shit about someone’s girlfriend. There were several dents in the wall behind Cocoa’s favorite chair from beer bottles being thrown. It was more than just beer bottles. Brian and Joe would throw anything within reach. Cocoa had had lamps thrown at her, ashtrays, flower pots, chairs, coffee tables, bongs. Even a thirteen-inch color TV had been thrown at her. The TV did not hit the wall, though. It had flown threw the window and onto the neighbor’s dog. (The police were called for the incident. It was very difficult for Marc to explain why the television had been thrown out the window in the first place. He had thrown it himself, and did not want to receive any attempted battery charges.) For some reason, Cocoa could not learn to keep her mouth shut. It was almost as though she enjoyed the attention she was getting. To her, negative attention was better than no attention at all.

            It was ten o’clock on a Tuesday night, and Cocoa was walking to Marc’s apartment. She had to avoid her father for a few days. She had really done it this time. She had traded her father’s brand new La Saber for some crack rocks. There was nothing else for her to do. Her paycheck had disappeared three days ago, and no one would lend her any money. She had been having a horrible case of withdrawal and could no longer stand it. So, she took her father’s care and drove off to the east side of the city to get some rocks. She tried to just offer the dealer a blow job, but it was a no go. He wanted that La Saber. Cocoa had traded her father’s twenty-five thousand-dollar luxury car for two hundred dollars worth of crack-cocaine. And boy, was Daddy pissed. There was no way Cocoa was going to go home for a few days. She could not even stay at Marc’s for long. Her father would most likely come up to the apartment looking for her at some point of the night. She was just going to walk right up to Marc’s attic, smoke until she got a good buzz going and leave. She would most likely stay at her friend, Liz’s house. Liz always took her in. Cocoa would have to make sure to save a rock for her.

            She heard several voices coming from the kitchen and living room to her left as she entered the apartment. But nobody was in the main hallway. The stairway to the attic was directly to her right. If she moved now, she would be in the clear. No one ever went up to the attic. Brian’s room had been up there during the winter, but now that summer was here, he could not tolerate the heat. She had often gone up there to smoke. No one else in Marc’s circle of friends smoked crack. They could not stand the smell of it. Marc and Brian would kick her out if they saw her, and it would not be a pretty sight.                      

            Cocoa carefully walked up the stairs to the attic. The stairs had been built with plywood and made loud creaks under weight. If Marc or Brian heard her footsteps above them, they would most certainly go up to investigate. Then, her father would be over here, and it would ruin her whole evening. She went into Brian’s old room and sat on the old, dusty futon on the fair side of the room near the window. Her rocks were wrapped in a plaster bag with a twist tie in her right hand. Her pipe was wrapped in facial tissue and stuffed in her left pocket. She assumed position on the futon, and began her normal ritual.