Fiction Hellacious

            It was the last day of August and sprinkling rain. This first it had rained all summer.             “It’s been almost a year,” he said sitting there on the park bench. He was sitting by himself, though, and not really talking to anyone.             This first day of rain meant the promise of another dark, emotional fall and of a long and apathetic winter. Already, the tip-tops of the trees were turning pink but the day was still warm enough to sit outside. And so despite the rain; he did. Because one just never knew around this time of year when everything always felt like a last chance.             “Yes,” the voice was clear.             “I don’t think I can take another one. I don’t think I want to.”             He was the only person in the park and somehow, to him, it only seemed fitting. Up a slight, little hill there was a small pond where some geese were floating around. One of them kept honking intermittently but because of the distance it was a soft

            Cheesily as to be expected, the TV news station was about to cover a love story for Valentine’s Day. And this year, in an effort to make the station’s stories seem more hip, tech savvy, and ‘with it’; the news director proposed they do one on the world’s first couple to have met and married via Vidigab, the internet’s original (and still most popular) site for video chatting. As a promotion for the site itself, some of the leading thinkers and marketers had come up with the idea of locating any couple who had become wedded by using their product. On their site, they posted a notice to any potential couple asking them to register their names. The notice remained posted for one month to ensure that as many potential couples as possible could be discovered. By the end, the company had gathered a surprising (despite Vidigab’s having been available to the public for nearly a decade already), several hundred couples in all. Some of them were scams, to be sure. And although

            “So? How ya feeling?”             “Fine. I feel fine,” Sammy spoke into the phone. He was sitting in the dark to be able to concentrate on her voice better, “I was really depressed but now I'm fine. I promise.”             “You wouldn't lie to me now, would you?” she spoke into the phone too. She was in her kitchen cooking with wine.             “No. And anyway, I figure you'd know if I was.”             “Oh yeah? How come?”             “Well, don't you like... deal with psychos all the time? I mean, isn't that your job?”             “No!” she wasn't as defensive as she sounded though. She took it with a grain of salt, “I help people! Poor people, mostly. Some of them just happen to be psycho. Alright, a lot of them,” she admitted, “I think being really poor can sorta make you that way.”             “I'm really poor.”             “Yeah, but you're not a psycho! You're just depressed.”             “ Was depressed. A

I arrived the day before you at this sort of bed and breakfast retreat. You were having some trouble because of the unexpected weather. The Central Valley isn’t used to heavy snowfall. And I waited in what would be our room watching flurries from the window. Sad because I had to wait for you and because I was so warm and toasty when I knew you were still out fighting crowds of sneezing people and cold wind. But then word came; you were down in the lobby. People wanted me to know so I could help you with your luggage. Maybe they just wanted me to know period. And you looked so pretty in your sweater. We paused for a quick hug. I asked what other bags you had and you said, “Cuneiform.” I knew this to mean your white boxes with the scratchy, decorative-lettering. You squealed with glee to be alone with me in the warmth of our room.   

            “Omar! What's up, buddy?!” Val spoke to his best friend elatedly from the video screen, “I know, I know. That's a bad joke. But fuck it, I still think it's funny. Anyway, I suppose they asked you to do the eulogy. It was per my request so I at least hope they asked you. In fact, I sort of need you to so if anyone else is doing it then you need to fucking kill them. Or at least restrain them until after the funeral or something. Sabee? I know you must be really weirded out by now. And you're probably stressing about the eulogy on top of it!” Val smiled, “But I promise you...everything's gonna be okay. Even the eulogy! In fact, I'm gonna help you write the fucking thing. How's that for best friends? So here goes. First, just talk about how awesome I am and what a badass I was and how much I got laid and everything. Then talk about how I'm the shit. And then talk about how I'm totally money. But I'm sure that's pretty much what