Stories

So both of these came from exercises in my book that I'm working through. The first one just said "Start a story with the sentence: "I was the only one who recognized him." The second comes from a protagonist who wishes to hide something. In both of these I attempted to go for a more dark type of humor that I'm normally not good at, but I'm pretty sure I failed.

Here we go!
Story 1:

I was the only one who recognized him. Well… recognize would be the wrong word. I had just finished serving drinks to a few senators and CEOs when I laid eyes on him. I had never met him personally before, only seen him on the news with “WANTED,” “DANGEROUS: DO NOT APPROACH,” and “TIM” plastered on them. I didn’t know why he was dangerous honestly, all I knew was that everyone acted like Tim was the most dangerous criminal to walk the land since Leeroy the Hatchet (and you did not want to meet THAT guy).
Now it may have been the fact that no one who has an income high enough to attend this party read newspapers, or perhaps they just pay people to do that for them, but I was positive the man who I had just offered a deviled egg to held a striking resemblance to the grinning countenance with greasy black hair on the WANTED posters I’d been seeing on the news. Clearly a logical impossibility – people like this do not go to the convocation party for the Mayor’s daughter – at least I thought they didn’t. Yet here he was, champagne in one hand, white tuxedo with matching running shoes, and looking as natural as a flamingo among a group of peacocks. They say the human brain has amazing powers to ignore the odd occurrences in reality so it can cope with daily stress – that had to be what was going on here. There was a logical impossibility that this man could be at the party; therefore it was just someone who looked like him.
“Benjamin Sarner!” Raul hissed into my ear, “You’re not getting paid to talk with them; you’re getting paid to serve them. Now get back to work!”
“Yes sir.” I watched Raul roll off. My boss was a perfect role model for Santa Claus; a man who, after coming to a full stop, the rest of his body took a while to get the message and kept wobbling about, each pound futilely attempting to keep its momentum. He was right though, I was daydreaming again, and daydreaming doesn’t get me paid. It was a bad habit from the Los Angeles Film School, where my teachers taught that, “Adventures of the mind turn into adventures in reality!” which was a tempting enough tagline given that all I wanted to be was be an adventurous pirate, detective, or any other adventure movie occupation.
I ambled back to the kitchen for a refill of champagne to make sure our guests couldn’t possibly worry about anything in a few hours. The party was specifically for the mayor’s daughter’s convocation. Well, that’s what it said on the invite at least. It most likely just another opportunity for one high-roller to meet another and pass on pearls of wisdom, or stories about their boats, or whatever a person like that does when they meet someone similar. I worked my way back around the room, futility attempting to keep an eye on Tim – since he was obscured by at least twenty people every few seconds. I had to hand it to the mayor at least; he had made the right connections and knew how to throw a party. He rented out the entire ballroom of the Plaza New York Hotel and filled it to the brim with people. If there were any signs about the carrying capacity of the building, they had been ignored. It was my job to make sure that every single man woman and child (well except the children, since they weren’t invited to this party) was kept satisfied in every means necessary. It was easier said than done really, it was starting to feel like a sauna in the room, even with the AC on full blast. The AC wasn’t exactly quiet either, so the average volume of the party had increased ever since. Thankfully, by this point, most of the guests had lost their voices from attempting to yell over the hustle and bustle, and it was starting to quiet while folks started shuffling into their seats. Now that I could finally maneuver again, I strolled past table 28 as naturally as possible, looking for a hint of suspicion as to why Tim was here. Aside from his slightly odd getup though, he acted just like any other of the partygoers. Hob-knobbing with the rich and famous just like the best of them.
Finally, about 7 minutes (Raul was big on the synchronized watches deal) from when the mayor was about to introduce his daughter to all the other high-society flops when I watched him get up and cross the entire hall, hands in pockets, whistling a tune to himself when the thought popped into my head. It was a terrible, spontaneous thought that most likely made my entire family spin in their graves.
Do I really need to get paid today?
With a question like that, I knew that I could only come to regret the answer I’d decide on. As I noticed that my feet already heading across the hall, I decided to resign myself to poverty this month. An adventure, I told myself, is worth starving for. An adventure I was already building in my mind into a movie plot. I had been stuck in a rut for quite some time, writing like mad and realizing I had somehow made ink and paper into garbage. This was it though, I could feel it. This man was going to lead me to something interesting. No, something amazing that I could use. With a quick glance to make sure Raul wasn’t in sight, I set down my tray and politely excused myself to whomever was listening, trotted across the party floor, all the while wondering if I could somehow concoct a soup out of leftover burrito and ramen.
He had quite a good head start on me, as I was only halfway across the dance floor when I saw the tail end of a pant leg and a Nike running shoe disappear behind the hallway door. I sped up, grinning to myself now, worries, but more importantly hopes, piling up in my head. My adventure was starting, and I couldn’t stop it now. That’s not even entirely true. I didn’t want it to stop. I felt that this was it. This was going to give me my inspiration I needed.
With a silent prayer of, “Academy Awards, save that Oscar for me,” I step through the portal of where I’m supposed to be to where I am most definitely not allowed to be and find exactly who I didn’t want to find; Goon A and Suit B idling down at the end of the hall. As unobservant as they usually are, sadly, they saw me. Thankfully, it could’ve been worse… it could’ve been Raul. The one wondrous property I’ve learned about a proper uniform and a quick tongue, it is the greatest weapon against any trouble that may befall you whilst exploring, which happened to be my one (of many) vice on the job. Every new Richie Rich’s pad has something new and exciting, even more so when they had security on the premises. After all, it was security’s job to keep you out of the interesting places. But I digress. All you have to do is act like you’re meant to be there, and name the proper authority, and voila, instant access! I could see Goon A preparing the inevitable stock and store so I had to prepare fast. “I was simply looking for the kitchen sir,” wouldn’t work; that would have me escorted back out the doors I just entered. “My boss sent me to fetch,” … Nah. Raul is only terrifying if he’s signing your paychecks. As the first word left his mouth, I felt the hallway grow brighter as the proverbial light bulb lit up over my head.
“What are you doing here?” Goon A boomed as he strolled down the hallway.
“The Mayor told me to report to him on the alterations to the cake,” I flat out lied. They shared a glance at this statement. They knew the Mayor loved doting on his daughter, and they knew his daughter loved doting on her cake. By doting, I mean eating. That one glance which holds the same information that every guard I’ve seen give it before; ‘He’s only a waiter, what harm could he do?’ ‘I don’t want the boss to be angry with me for ruining his party,’ ‘I only got this job because I failed every class but gym.’
Ok, maybe they don’t think that last one, but I like to think they do.
Suit B grunted what I think was assent, but Suit A hesitated a little. I almost broke into a sweat, but his radio gurgled out something as unintelligible as always, and he relented. Years upon years of improving technology, and walkie talkies are still as indecipherable as the day of their invention. However, they seemed to understand the gist of it, as they grumpily waved me on, and started walking away. As they exited into a door on the right, I started to wonder, how did Tim slip by these guys? I smiled to myself, a good mystery and the rush of satisfaction from outsmarting someone just made this day get better. My next thought was: Now where exactly did Tim go?
I discovered the answer quite fast. As my walk started breaking into a run from excitement, I turned the corner and found myself face to face with the man. Or well, it was more at arm’s length with the man, and instead face to face with one of those things that goes bang.
He stood still for a moment, and then smiled the most evil smile I had ever seen.
“You act like you’ve never seen a gun before.”
“Only in the movies sir,” I said, realizing my hope for survival relied on the goodwill of someone who presently had no reason to have any.
“Ah, well, don’t worry; you don’t usually suffer as much in real life. In fact, death is pretty much instantaneous at this range.”
“Meep.” I said.
Laugher erupted from Tim, far more boisterous than I expected. I heard footsteps from around the corner, and prayed to whatever god my Mom believed in that it was Goon A and Suit B to my rescue. I promised that I would never make fun of guards again, and that I’d be a good boy, and I’d start doing my job correctly, and never do anything bad ever again, if only they would help me.
“Everything O.K. boss?” Suit B said as he plodded into view
“Do you need us to take care of this?” Goon A said it as if remarking about removing a stain from a mediocre shirt. After that, all my hopes I once had sunk faster and deeper than a rowboat hit by a cannonball.
“Hehehe… Heh… hehhhhh,” said Tim as he wiped away a tear from his eye, “Naaaah. I like this kid. He’s got guts, everyone I made eye contact with shied away; he just kept starin’ at me. Plus I love deviled eggs.”
Goon A and Suit B exchanged a shrug, “Well, everything’s in place, so we’re headed out. You should too.”
“And so a wonderful evening comes to an end,” Tim sighed. With that he gave what appeared to be a wave goodbye with his gun, and promptly placed a shot right next to my ear, making sure my ears as well as the pants I was wearing were ruined.
The shot rang out and I just ran. I ran past Raul, only seeing his jaw flap up and down. I ran past the party goers, starting into a panic after hearing what could only be a gunshot and witnessing a terrified waiter sprint like his life was on the line. I felt like it was at least… I ran out of the party, out of the building, out of my mind. Next thing I remember is the police knocking down the door while I was sobbing uncontrollably. I’ve told them this story as I’m telling you now as I’ve told all the news stations. I didn’t know about the bombs, I didn’t know why they did it; I didn’t even know I was the only survivor. I learned all that afterwards. Now all I have left is a story, and a bad memory. It may have turned out differently, had I called the cops, had I warned people, had I wrestled him to the ground and taken his gun… But I ask you, can you be as brave as they are in the movies? I wanted to be.
I really wanted to be.

Story 2:
“DECK THE HALLS WITH BOUGHS OF HOLLY, FA LA LA LA LA, LA LA LA LA. TIS THE…”
Dillan pulled the phone out of his pocket and sighed. Trisha’s face with the familiar number plastered the screen as the Christmas ringtone blared. Dillan took a deep breath and wrenched his face into a smile.
“Hello dear.”
“Hiiii honeybun,” the voice from the speaker exploded, “how’s your shopping going?!”
“It’s… going.”
“Have you bought me my present yet?”
“Not yet dear.”
“Well it better be good ok!? And don’t forget the new battery for my baby!”
“Oh don’t worry de-” Dillan grunted as a stampede erupted from the nearby Macy’s, headed to the next nearest Christmas sale. “I won’t forget. Dear, do you mind if I call you back? I can barely hear you right now” he lied.
“Sure thing sweetie!” Trisha exclaimed in her shrill voice, soon accompanied by a thankful *click*. Dillan smiled to himself, now able to get back to the goal of shopping. The smile didn’t last long however, as the Christmas spirit attempted to force its way back into the minds of all the shoppers as the loudspeaker announced another sale announcement. Dillan groaned and rubbed his chest, he was pretty sure one of the soccer moms had shouldered him in the chest. Buy a battery for her baby, he thought to himself. He hated how she used that word for her car. Trisha’s beloved 2009 pink Lexus (Last years’ preset from her parents) lay in the garage – it never went out, mostly because every time it did Trisha left the lights on and drained the battery, and now it finally had died. Not that Dillan minded. As a mechanic, he considered her treatment of the thing sickening. The thing was an eyesore honestly, and the way she started using baby only after what had happened.
Shaking his head, Dillan decided to shamble over to the Caribou Coffee for a quick break. Hescanned the selections for something without peppermint. Unable to find anything, he resolved to see if they just had an average hot chocolate. Waiting in the cluster that supposedly resembled a line he got an irresistible urge to find the person in charge of the music and put some Heavy Metal on… or at least something that didn’t offend human sensibilities like Christmas carols did.
“Can I take your order?” an overly peppy voice said, drawing his attention to the counter.
“Uhh… Just a medium regular hot chocolate please.”
“Alright, will you have anything else?” the peppy voice said.
“No, that’s fine.”
“Alright, that’ll be $3.59, have a Merry Christmas!”
“Yeah… right.” He muttered as he deposited his money into her hand. As he told his friends daily every time this time of year rolled around, he hated Christmas with a passion that would have made any fanatic jealous. Dillan moseyed around to the pick-up area and leaned against a pillar while he waited for his drink. This Christmas was especially bad. Not only did his sister get laid-off a few weeks ago, but there was the recent scuffle with Trisha to deal with, and the whole deal with his baby, Ripper. Not that the scuffles were anything new, of course. Crinkling his nose in disgust he was starting to realize the minty smell of the pine trees was already getting overpowered by smelly last second shopper, furthermore, the skylight wasn’t exactly making spirits bright with all the overcast clouds that had been hanging around lately. Dillan was determined to get this over with today though. His shoulders straightened as he regained his resolve. Hearing his named called from the counter; he marched over and grabbed his drink without missing a beat, and charged forward into the masses, already with the perfect gifts in mind.
Dillan took a sip of his drink and his shoulders slumped immediately. Without turning he tossed it in the trash can with the skill that would have made any basketball player proud.
“God-damnned-fucking peppermint.”
***
“How’d shopping go today honey!” Trisha’s voice greeted Dillan as he crumbled through the door, throwing his wet jacket on the ground. Without missing a beat she went on, “On second thought, I already know, since you were out there shopping Christmas Eve. I’ll go make you something. How does a peppermint hot cocoa sound?” She bounced up from her couch, happy her toy had made it back in one piece, and hopped into the kitchen not even waiting for a reply.
Dillan muttered something imperceptible under his breath. He had told her thousands of times, “I hate peppermint,” or “No thanks, I’m not a fan,” but he knew it was futile; she remembered what she wanted to remember – things that related to her. It used to be different, but now she mainly cared about herself, clothes, her car, herself, her hair, money, and the poor – oh wait, no, that last one was a lie.
“That sounds wonderful dear,” he forced out with a grin, “and as for the shopping, I’m all done. Got my mom a new set of china, after her cat managed to tip her cabinet with them inside over. Got my sis a few pick me up liqueurs along with this cute stuffed animal that I think will go with her collection. And I got you the best gift.”
“Ooh! What is it what is it?” she said as her head popped into the doorframe for just a moment. “Can I guess?”
“You can guess all you want, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna tell you.” He smiled slyly.
“It’s not electronics.” She said.
“Well duh.”
“Could it be furniture?” she asked.
“Am I really that boring?”
“Oh oh, I know,” she said, completely ignoring the question, “you went and got us cruise tickets to Hawaii!”
“Really now,” Dillan said, “You’re not going to guess this one, so you might as well quit now.”
“Fine,” she sighed, “Your hot cocoa is pretty much ready anyway.” She entered the room already pouting. Dillan knew she hated surprises, but he was going through extra efforts to make sure this one wasn’t spoiled. He had been planning giving this to her for a while, and nothing was going to get in his way. “Ooh ooh, one more guess,” she said, pointing her finger to the sky, positive she was right this time. “A ring.”
Dillan’s stomach did a barrel roll, and this time it wasn’t from the smell of peppermint. Thankfully, high school drama class was about to pay off, recovering marvelously to smirk a small, “Perhaps… perhaps,” out.
Trisha’s face went crooked for a second as she glared at him. “You’re hiding something.”
Dillan almost let a frown flash on his mouth, but caught it. Unfortunately not before she noticed his mouth twitch. She was the inept at relationships that didn’t pertain to her, but at some times she had the ability to read him like a book. Which was an accomplishment considering she didn’t read all that often. Dillan decided the best course of action was to stay silent this time, and just defuse her with a smile.
Then the frown came. Oh Dillan knew that frown. She didn’t like something that had happened today, and he was going to pay for it. “Speaking of your sister, she called today. Saying something about how you were going home for Christmas?”
Oh god, why sis… why would you do that? Dillan instantly thought.
“You said we were spending it together this year. Are you hiding something from me?” She said, twisting her face into a mocking caricature of a puppy dog. Dillan hated that face. He used to fall for it so hard, but not anymore. This time though, he’d let her have her way. She would win this one without a fight, even though he also had promised his sister and mom that he would be home for Christmas.
“I think she must be confused. I’m visiting them after Christmas dear.”
“Good.” She smiled, content. She had won an easy victory this time. She liked those.
“I wouldn’t miss this Christmas for the world dear… not for the world.”
It was the first truly sincere sentence he had said that night.
***
The cold air made his throat sting, as he watched his cloudy breaths rise into the night sky, which was finally clearing up. Just in time for Christmas Day, Dillan thought to himself. He rubbed his hands as he finished stuffing his bag full of his clothes next to the china, liqueurs, and stuffed animal in his crappy, yet faithful, 1990 Corolla. He had been secretly sneaking the rest of his belongings out for the past few weeks. She had only just started getting suspicious. Now the final thing he had to do was prepare her gift. He had only thought of it a few weeks back, almost right after the last straw. She had been getting worse over the past few months, caring less and less about him and his family, but he thought it was just a phase. At least, until he had to go away for the week.
“Alright Trisha,” he had said, “All you gotta do is take her for a walk every day, and give her her bits. She can handle the rest by herself for a week.”
“Alright dear,” she said, not paying attention. He knew she wasn’t but figured no harm could come from it.
“Oh, and make sure she doesn’t get into the pantry, and you don’t feed her any leftovers – human food can be very bad for dogs.”
“I wouldn’t ever do that dear.” She said, clearly thinking of something else. He didn’t mind, after all, she couldn’t fuck up something so simple… right?
“Treat Trishy nice, ya hear baby?” He had said, turning my attention to Ripper. Ripper, named her before he knew she was a girl (He thought it was hilarious at the time). Ripper – a glorious, 7 year old Golden Retriever. Ripper, as Dillan said, was his baby. That was the last time Dillan had called Trisha Trishy.
Not even two days in Trisha had a night out with the ladies. She drove, she left the lights on when she parked the car, and she brought the chocolate cake they hadn’t finished back with her. She of course hadn’t fed Ripper that day. She couldn’t be bothered. Well, look at that – she had food she wasn’t going to finish, and here was this hungry dog.
“Chocolate. Everyone knows chocolate was bad for dogs.” He had even left of list of what not to feed his baby. “Fuck, was it that hard to read a fucking list?” now speaking aloud to himself.
The thing Dillan hated the most wasn’t the fact that she hadn’t realized she’d killed Ripper until two days later. It wasn’t even the fact that she hadn’t called the vet when she realized Ripper wasn’t moving. It was the fact that she tried to hide it from him. She didn’t call him. Didn’t mention it when he got back. Didn’t answer when he asked where she was. All there was was a fresh patch of dirt in the backyard, as if someone had buried some treasure. His baby was gone. Perhaps the biggest insult wasn’t even the event itself. It was how afterwards, only sometimes at first, she used baby to describe her car. To say that made him angry was an understatement.
Well he was angry now. He usually was a calm guy – never doing anything rash or stupid. He wanted rash and stupid now; he wanted to be mad… madder… madderest.
He thought of peppermint, and then walked into the garage where her baby sat.
***
Dillan cracked open the door to the bedroom, letting the smell of freshly baked cornflake crusted French Toast, smothered in chocolate sauce waft into the bedroom, the speakers from the living room playing, “You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch.”
“Merry Christmas,” he said softly, waking Trisha up. “Rise and shine.” A grin plastered on his face.
“What’s got you so happy?” Trisha grumbled. Mornings did not agree with her, not even Christmas ones.
“Your gift,” Dillan smiled slyly.
He almost skipped back to the kitchen as Trisha groaned like a zombie approaching the breakfast table. She sat down and froze, raising an eyebrow. “Something is up.”
“Nothing is up dear, it’s just Christmas, can’t I spoil you on Christmas?” His smile didn’t
“No… something is up… what is it?” her face suddenly getting serious.
“I’m just excited about your present dear.”
“Mmmm,” she smiled, thankfully distracted by the thought of presents, “It’s Christmas, can’t you tell me what it is now?”
“Patience will make this one all better dear.” Dillan was playing the part of a fisherman now; reeling her along with as gently as possible.
“I HATE it when you hide things from me.” Trisha started to shriek. Dillan sighed. Not even more than fifteen minutes awake and already she was already firing up bitch mode.
“Alright dear, you win,” he consented, “Your big present is in the living room.”
A loud eeeeeeeeeee followed by a suddenly rejuvenated girl sped off through the house to the living room. Dillan slowly stood up, turned off the stove, and walked out to the garage.
There sat one of those overly large presents, just for hiding cars. Well, underneath this one wasn’t exactly a new car. Soon enough Trisha would have unwrapped the first box in the living room. Inside that was a smaller box, and so on, until she would come to her old battery, and a note saying; “Got your new battery – and your real present is in the garage.”
He peeked under the box one last time, admiring his handiwork once more, and walked out the side door of the garage. As Trisha would soon find out, underneath the box in the garage lay only a new battery and a note saying to go outside.
He glanced back one last time and saluted. On the lawn lay a dismantled engine, pointing only to the roof. On roof lay the pieces of her baby, smashed glass, sliced tired, dismantled car, all spelling out the message: “Goodbye baby.” He turned around and started strolling down the street (he had parked his car a block away) when he heard the scream. A bloodcurdling terrifying screech, one that seemed to be attempting to form words but didn’t have the capacity to do so.
As Dillan turned the corner, he did something he thought’d he would never do.
“Tis the season to be jolly fa la la la la, la la la la…”