HAIKUS: Aqua-Man and Elmo

Is there a connection?  Is there?

HAIKUS: Spider-Man and Wolverine

Marvel at these haikus and cartoons.

SHORT STORY: Track 14 – I Did My Best

Track 14 – I Did My Best

James Frank, or Jimmy the Tank as his coworkers dubbed him, clenched the phone in his hand and cared not if it shattered to pieces in his hand. Actually, he let the notion sink in, if one of the glass shards were to infiltrate his vein it would solve his one major problem of the night. He looked down at the phone that was on the verge of giving way and muttered to himself.

“You alright Tank?” Jasmine asked and ran a caressing hand across his chest.

“Trouble with the ex,” Jimmy grinded his teeth.

“There are reasons they become ex’s,” she whispered into his ear. “Want me to take your mind off of her?”

“Sorry, I need to figure this out,” Jimmy stood and tossed Jasmine a wad full of bills before passing by the other scantily clad women and exiting the dressing room; Tim’s Tata Emporium was a frequent stop for Jimmy the Tank.

“Hey that’s for the talent only,” a bouncer reprimanded as Jimmy pushed through the door.

“It’s only me,” Jimmy held up his hands as if he were being apprehended.

“Sorry,” Carlos, a mountain of a man, grinned and patted his friend on the back. “Hope you had a good time and sorry about the tightened security, we have had some troubles this past week.”

“I have some troubles of my own,” Jimmy kept walking and did not entertain Carlos for the conversation he was trying to rope him in on.

Jimmy left his home away from home and sank into his pickup truck with an exhalation of defeat. He could not let her dictate his life, not when something so important is on the line; if he disobeys he runs the risk of losing much more than leverage. Jimmy started up is truck and pulled out into the dusk.

Driving around, what he figured was aimlessly, Jimmy passed by the same church that he had passed by dozens of time before in any given week without even a second thought. Today was different; he could use some spiritual guidance even if he was not a religious man.

The early evening was unusually quiet and the crunching gravel drive of the church parking lot sounded as loud as thunder in Jimmy’s addled mind. The truck came to a stop and the driver sat there for a moment taking it all in; could he just walk in and everything would make sense? What exactly was he expecting; Jimmy had no idea what he was doing.

Large, beautifully carved doors opened and the spliced smell of musty pews and incense infiltrated his olfactory system. Jimmy wanted to sneeze, but he fought the urge, although on second thought he figured he should have taken the opportunity to be legitimately blessed. Quiet, Jimmy thought and feared that it was so silent that his thoughts could be overheard; he was just being superstitious about the teachings on an omnipotent and all seeing God that were driven into his brain as a child.

“Hello?” Jimmy called out when no one came running to greet him and throw themselves at his mercy; again he did not know what to expect.

“Come to escape the bite of the wind?” A robed and aged man almost appeared out of nowhere and took a few strides towards Jimmy before stopping so that his smile could be fully appreciated.

“I am…um,” Jimmy fumbled. “I was hoping for like confession, or advice or something.”

“Would you like a private or public forum?” The priest questioned with a delicate nod.

Jimmy looked around at the empty church but for some reason he still felt it would be proper if they talked in the confessional. “Would you mind if we made it private?”

“Not at all,” the priest smiled and took his position behind the door of his booth.

Jimmy the Tank cautiously opened the door, as if to make sure he would not be smote for any quick movements, and he knelt down to make it official. “Father, I am in need of some counseling. I do not really have anything to confess, other than being a lousy husband and an alright father, but I did my best. Now it is my boy’s birthday and my ex-wife is throwing him a surprise birthday party that she was trying to keep from me so that I would not show up. But I found out about the party, and I called her up and tricked he into letting it slip, I guess I lied a little, so I guess I can confess to that and I apologize. She tried so hard to keep it from me and when I confronted her about it she threatened me with a restraining order if I try to come. Now I am all sorts of messed up in the mind, and I want to show up just out of spite, but I do not want to jeopardize how much time I can spend with Jamie.”

“First off, two Hail Mary’s for fibbing to you ex-wife,” the priest smiled through the mesh window. “I can tell by the conviction in your voice that you have nothing but love for your son, as it should be, and I can tell by our brief time together that you are indeed doing your best, but that is in no way an admittance of inadequacy. A man’s best in most occurrences far exceeds expectations. It sounds as if you and your ex-wife are both suffering from bouts of stubbornness trying to fight for Jamie’s affection at this crucial time, and for what? Fighting for a child’s sake does more damage to them physiologically than good can be gained from more bonding time with you. Teach Jamie civility, teach him how to be humble. If there seems no way to attend the party, have you considered having Jamie come to you after the party? Jamie gets his party, Jamie’s mother can have the party as she intended, you can spend time with your son on his birthday, and Jamie gets two celebrations.”

“Bring Jamie to me,” Jimmy smirked with a wave of understanding; this whole religion thing really did open up one’s mind. “Thank you Father, thank you. I know what I need to do, thank you. Two Hail Mary’s coming your way, and who knows, you may even see me on Sunday.”

Jimmy jumped up and hastily made his way out of the church and to his truck. He started the engine and screeched around the block back onto the highway while unsuccessfully getting his ex-wife on the phone. She was probably screening her calls now; he needed to find a pay phone.

With mind racing about how to put his plan into action, and his vehicle racing towards a truck stop that he knew of with one of the only working pay phones in the area, Jimmy the Tank seemed to have it all together. He pulled up to the stop and quickly jumped out of his car with quarter in hand.

“Hello?”

“Claire, it’s me, don’t hang up.”

“I have a party to prepare for.”

“I know, I know. After the party is over would you mind if I take Jamie out for ice cream or something. I just want to see him on his birthday.”

“You can see him on your weekend.”

“That is not his birthday. It is not the same.”

“I am not having this conversation.”

“Hello? Hello?”

Jimmy slammed the phone down on the receiver with force; she had hung up on him. Jimmy had expected that she would not be cooperative and that he would have to resort to Plan B, and he was fully prepared for the consequences. Jimmy made his way to convenience store attached to the gas station for the proper supplies.

Two key ingredients to the plan; Jimmy was focused. First and foremost, he needed a birthday gift for Jamie. The store had a small section of stuffed animals, which Jamie had always loved when Jimmy would bring him back one went he went away on business; perfect. A plush and, masculinity aside, adorable owl was the obvious choice, so brought the toy up to the counter where he knew he would be able to find key component number two; a bag of mixed nuts.

“Just these two things,” Jimmy said to the teenage clerk who seemed to have more important things on his mind like playing with his cell phone.

“Twelve seventy eight,” the kid said while running a hand through his unkempt hair.

Jimmy took out his wallet and tossed a credit hard onto the counter.

“System’s down, no cards,” the kid mumbled.

“Check good?” Jimmy asked, reaching into his pocket.

“Nope, just cash today man.”

Jimmy looked into his wallet and saw a solitude five dollar bill, which was enough for the nuts, but not for the owl. The owl was the most important part; he needed a gift for Jamie. Jimmy’s heart started to pound and sweat started to emerge on his brow, but he needed to remain calm. Without looking suspicious, he glances around the corners of the store; no cameras. “Can I also get a pack of smokes? Marlboro.”

The kid nodded with a glazed over look and turned around to open up the cigarette case. Jimmy grabbed the owl and nuts off of the counter and ran out of the store, into his truck, and spun back onto the highway. It was for the right reason, Jimmy told himself; perhaps a few more Hail Mary’s could be thrown in for good measures.

Jimmy the Tank pulled into a strategically placed bar, tucked the owl into his back pocket and entered. “Whatever’s on tap,” Jimmy muttered as he sunk onto a bar stool and took out his protein packed mixed nuts.

“Here ya go,” the bartender produced a home brew that look to be a wheat beer. “Wanna start a tab?”

“Sure thing,” Jimmy smiled, thinking to himself that another Hail Mary may be in order after what he had planned. Jimmy then took the perspiring glass and took a swig along with a mouthful of nuts. Chewing down Jimmy tried to figure out what all the fuss was about, and although tasty, they seemed a little too salty for his liking. Any minute now, he waited, knowing the reaction was on its way to link his plan together. Jimmy coughed and a rush went to his head that caused him to topple forward. Is this it, Jimmy thought to himself, did he go too far? Was this a stupid idea? Was he now circling the sink of life, never to see Jamie again? Why did he think this would work? Jimmy’s world faded to black.



“Dad?”

“Ughre.”

“Dad, are you awake?”

“Jam, raagh.”

“Jimmy your son is trying to talk to you, are you awake or not?”

Jimmy sprung up in the hospital bed, he knew that voice, he knew both of the voices; Jamie and the ex. “I’m awake.”

“You scared me dad, but luckily the restaurant you were at was right next to the hospital,” the boy smiled at the sight of his superman overcoming another challenge in the form of an anaphylactic attack.

“I thought you knew you were allergic,” she hissed and walked out of the room.

“Happy birthday Jamie,” Jimmy leaned onto an elbow. “Go over to my pants and check in the back pocket, I got something for you. Jamie, I did my best for you.”

SHORT STORY: Track 13 – Nothing to Write Home About

Track 13 – Nothing to Write Home About

Harley Crisp sat and sulked before his large hand crafted oak masterpiece of a desk. Occupying the desk were only two stationary residents, a single sheet of blank paper and a motionless pen. Harley winced and let his tear be the third arrival to the desktop party and his sigh of contempt was the soundtrack. His life was not all that people made it out to be and he knew it.

He picked up the pen with great hesitation and he hovered over the upper left hand corner of the page. It should be so easy, he told himself, just “Dear Mom,” and then tell her all about the good things in your life. What good things, he scoffed; he gave away all the good things a long time ago in order to achieve this level of fame and fortune.

Harley could write about how he up and left his small hometown in Alabama for a bright future in acting, completely ignoring his mother’s pleads for him to stay. He could write of how he dropped out of school and turned his back on the only people who genuinely loved him. He thought about this constantly and the shame he had been able to bury was the greatest thing keeping him from having any communication with his family for over fifteen years; he had brought this on himself and he was punishing himself for it.

Harley shed another tear as he recalled some of his mother’s words of wisdom that, at the time, sounded like nothing more that empty lies to keep him grounded in Alabama. She said that this place of acting and money was filled with nothing but cruel people who are only out for themselves. Why didn’t I listen, Harley damned himself. He placed his head into his hands and took in a deep breath thinking that no one here in big time Hollywood understands what it is like to feel so alone and empty because they are hollow already; Harley did not want to grow hollow, but he really saw no other outcome for himself.

In all his time living the glamorous life, had he learned anything of value, Harley clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. Why live this life at all? What was the money good for? Harley reckoned that the answer was the same as what war was good for, and yet he remained, doubting that he would be able to turn away mostly for the fear that he would not be accepted back home.

And who am I anymore? Harley stood abruptly at the thought and knocked his solid chair over with a crash. “John, please sign this,” or “Dear John, I admire you,” or “John we have a perfect role for you,” from the so called fans, and producers, and agents, but that is not his damn name, John is a character he played and every time he was called by his most famous persona he felt a little piece of the true him died. Harley punched the wall and slumped to his knees weeping; it was all his fault, he wanted this.

Who was he to complain, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling fan mocking him with its carefree existence. There were worse things in life than a bout of identity crisis and being homesick, Harley winced, like having a real crisis or actually being sick, like the millions of people all around the world. He was just one miserable millionaire, so he had no right to talk about his woes; no one wants to hear the selfish ramblings of an egotistical and self-centered hypocrite. Just keep on doing what you do just like every other day Harley Crisp, dance like the fool you are.

“No,” Harley shouted at no one in particular and jumped up to his feet to readdress the blank letter. “I control my own fate; I can teach myself the things I have yet to learn.” Harley reached for the pen and with great control he scribbled exactly what he wanted to say.

“Dear Mom, I love you. Love Harley.”

SHORT STORY: Track 12 – Tell Me When

Track 12 – Tell Me When

What is the point? I stand up from my bath which I was hoping to relax me, but I have grown used to disappointment. I stand there and let most of the beads of water drip off, they want nothing to do with me and I can’t blame them; join the party. I reach for my towel and finish drying up, this is my daily routine, work, bathe, sleep alone. Day after day after day, when does life begin, because this certainly is not a life.

This is no way for a thirty-five year old woman to live; I should have children by now to love me, or at least a husband. I would settle for anyone at this point, faithful or not, just someone to talk to. I look at my exposed self in the mirror and I can’t help but think it is laughing at me. Who is this fool, the mirror says, she lost all that weight so that someone would find her attractive, but still no one wants her. The mirror is right.

I step out of my bathroom onto the carpet of my bedroom; the only other room in my miniscule apartment besides the kitchen. I don’t even have enough room in my apartment to have anyone else in my life. I need to get out of here; this place will not be my final tomb. I throw on a t-shirt and jeans, dressing to impress, yeah right. I reach for my keys and in doing so I knock my phone off the receiver and onto the floor. Should I pick it up? Why the hell should I, who is going to call anyway? I leave the phone, leave through my front door, and close the door loudly behind me.

“I hate you,” I scream to the door, aiming my words at the apartment, but my life and myself earned some of those words too. I put my key in the knob to lock it up but then I pull my hand away. I will just leave those there so that it is easier on whoever has to clean it out, God forbid I inconvenience anyone to the point of calling a locksmith.

I walk to the curb where my car was resting and I start it up, it too sounds like it’s on its last breath. It sputters and rocks and we are off. I am not sure where I am headed, and I really don’t care, I know the right place will present itself as long as I am looking. I start by driving around my dark neighborhood, looking into my own eyes in the rearview mirror. You really are nothing to look at even for myself; why would anyone else want you? I take to the deserted highway and under the lonely moon my car moves along for eight miles before giving up all together. Just what I needed, a stalled car in the middle of nowhere, but was this my sign?

Just in front of me was an overpass to a river below. Coincidence that I am stopped right here, or simply fate? I can just ease off and end it all, and no one would know; or care. Just as quickly as I am forgotten I can be gone, and why else would God stop me right here? I can do this.

I leave my car and approach the edge of oblivion. I can hear the rush of water below and even in its fury it seems tranquil. I can do this, this can be how my life begins; with the end. Just hold your breath and let go. I step up onto the guard rail and I can feel the breeze of the night caress me. It is chilly, but none of that will matter soon; one last exhilarating plunge. Just let go, you can do this, you earned it.

I can’t. I didn’t earn it, I didn’t earn anything. I just got dealt a hand of life and the house always wins. I can never do it, I am not brave enough, and in fact I am not anything enough. Not thin enough, not beautiful enough, not smart enough. I am maybe sad and hopeless enough, but then again if it was enough I should be able to follow through.

I retreat back to my car and pick up my cell phone. I flip through the numbers on my speed dial and punched in the tow truck company I have become a regular of. I told them where I was and I sat in my car for twenty minutes until they arrived.

The driver was an older, balding, somewhat muscular man and to be honest it was good to just have someone else there, even if it was just to load my car onto a hitch and drive us somewhere to fix it; perhaps that is why I go out for my midnight rides all the time?

During the ride back to the shop, I sat in the cab with the driver and I tried my best to look enticing, but I am such an amateur he paid no mind, why would he, he was probably married with kids and a whole handful of people who cared about him. We pulled in and after the mechanic looked over the car he informed me that I was just out of gas. Perhaps I was aware that I was running low on fuel, perhaps not, but this was the third time in the past six months this mechanic told me the same thing. I paid him and the driver for their services and I went on my way; this was my life, and this was my social interaction.

I decided to just head home when I came to a red light. While idling and waiting my turn, I noticed the neon glow of a bar that had just opened up. A new bar I thought, that means a whole new crew of men whom look the other way, but at the same time they never saw the skinny me. Maybe I can meet someone? What’s the worst that can happen, I head home miserable; already there.

I pull into the partially filled parking lot and enter the bar. The air smells musky, but the bar had not yet been tainted by the smell of sour beer; give it a few more weeks of spills. I sat at the bar and smiled at the bartender who nodded back. He asked me what I will have, and I said I needed a moment to decide. Playing games, I know, but I wanted someone to buy me a drink. Never in my life has someone bought me a drink, and I needed this. Just one drink, just a few bucks and I will feel like I have started a new chapter. Please.

My wait turns into ten minutes, and then twenty minutes, and as I smile at everyone in the bar they all turn their heads. I could understand no one looking my way when I was fat, but I am thin now, I thought life would change. Why did I bother putting in all that work on this body? Am I not thin enough? Is it just my natural look? Is my nose too big? Am I too old? They aren’t much younger; someone has to at least acknowledge me. Even the guy sitting alone by the bar won’t look at me twice. Him, he is a little husky, has a full reddish beard, and short reddish hair. He is kind of cute, but certainly no catch, even by my low standards, and he won’t even look at me? Perhaps I should have taken the jump.

Wait, why am I waiting? I waited my whole life, I deserve better. Screw the house always winning; I am going to make my own luck. I stand up and almost knock the bar stool over behind me, but I don’t care. I walk over to the bearded man of solitude with as much confidence as I could muster and I take a seat next to him.

“I would like to buy you a drink,” I said as I flag down the bartender.

“Well alright sweetie,” he said somewhat uncharacteristically effeminate. “I’ll take it, but y’all know what type of bar this is right?”

Just my luck I let my head fall in defeat. What kind of cruel sense of humor does God have? I knew better than to think it was that easy. “Tell me when does life begin, or better yet, tell me when it ends?”

He sees the tears run down my cheek and places a meaty arm around my shoulder. “There now, don’t fuss yourself over me,” he said sweetly as he patted my shoulder. “You know what, my brother is on his way here to pick me up and he is not like me in one regard, and I think he would just love to buy you a drink.”

SHORT STORY: Track 11 – Just Like Anyone

Track 11 – Just Like Anyone

She looked out of her makeshift home into the blackness of night. She knew the way and could easily get there with her eyes closed, but that was not what was freezing her there; it was fear. She had been living there with her tribe for what felt like three years now ever since the catastrophe which left them stranded and cut off from the world. She often wondered why no one looked for them, but only in the first few months; after that survival trumped all other thoughts. Survival, she ran through her head again and again.

Just twenty short feet into the woods was all she needed to go. To compound the issue, the stress she was currently undergoing was negatively impacting her stomach, which meant that she had little time left to convince her legs to walk before she would be soiled. Why didn’t she just take the safe route and claim it was an accident? She knew why, she could not handle that sort of torment, not anymore. You would think that a small group forced into a society through hardships and tragedy would not have the time to find and ridicule an outcast; she would forever think, but she was always wrong.

Just then the gloomy clouds parted and the pale moonlight lit the way momentarily; this was her chance, she sprang from the door and ran barefoot into the unknown. She reached the plank door of the outhouse, pulled it opened as quickly as physics would allow and she slammed it behind her; she cared not if she woke anyone with her antics. She took in deep calming breaths, dismissing the aroma, and allowed her heart rate to settle.

She went about her business and reflected on the one friend she had when it all began. Tom was about her age, give or take a year or so, and he was kind to her. Whenever the others would gang up and find it their duties to explain how useless she was, Tom would appear and put an end to it. That was over two years ago, because he was the second to go missing.

They had set up their little village, the twenty three of them, and went about living. There were three to a room at first until time allowed them to build more homes; which consequently became a moot point. After a year full of constant failed attempts to discover where they were, and how to return, they began to grow disheartened and drop their guards. One night, after hearing a savage rustling of the trees and bushes about the village the strange things began to happen. In the morning, the exteriors of the houses were severely damaged with what could only have been claw marks. None of them knew what to do and after a distressed meeting, it was decided to fortify the windows and see what the night brought again. That was the night Tom went missing.

He was never found, but after him, once a month or so, another would go missing, some of which turned up weeks later; or at least parts of them turned up. Two years living in fear, and now she sat in the darkness amid the woods as one of the only four remaining survivors.

Why? She thought. Why me? Why not me? My own kind will not accept me, and whatever it is out there does not want me either? Must I be picked last for everything? Torture upon torture. Wait, she screamed in her own mind, can’t I make my own fate? Can’t I choose to be chosen? Why couldn’t I be like the other nineteen before me? Why couldn’t I be more like Tom? I can, I can be what I want.

On that she stood and pushed the plank opened to reveal that the moon had once again retreated behind the clouds for complete shade. She stepped out with pride in her step and conviction in her marrow. One step led to another, but she was not going in the direction of her straw bed, in fact she was heading in the opposite direction; into the unknown.

Unknown, she chuckled to herself, was it really the great unknown? She knew where she was headed and she knew what to expect. She was going to be one of them, one of the majority. She took each step eagerly and no longer cared to mask her sounds. Although she was not tracking the time she was walking, she was sure that she had not been traveling long before the air became frigid and so did her muscles. She stopped in place and heard the muted hiss of breathing; she was no longer afraid.

She felt something dig into her shoulder and the pain was welcomed as her world spun around her like a top. She was no longer going to be just the awkward her; she was going to be someone else, just like anyone.

SHORT STORY: Track 10 – Eyes of a Child

Track 10 – Eyes of a Child

Clarissa Ewings ran through the park as the sun almost finished its descent of the day. Beads of sweat were escaping down her face as she hastily hustled towards home; if only she had lived closer. So much to do and not enough hours in the day, she thought to herself, allowing her mind to become overwhelmed once again.

Clarissa had to get home to Johnny and Jacob before six so that the babysitter would not charge an additional hour; money she could not afford to hand out. She had to make a quick dinner, probably pasta, before Bethany and Clyde had to leave for their part time jobs; it was sweet of them to help out, but Clarissa wished she could support them all so that this was not the case. She needed to help Frank with his math, help Susan with her reading, and make sure the other seven did not kill each other with rough housing while she did all that. On top of the children, she needed to find a cheap plumber to fix the toilet, but how to would find the money to pay for it she did not know. She wished that the broken toilet could go the way of the broken toaster and vacuum and that was to just stay broken, but a toilet seemed like a necessary item.

Lost in her thoughts Clarissa tripped over something on the sidewalk and almost lost the small brown bag she was carrying, which was the whole reason she was out in the first place. In her bag were Johnny and Jacob’s cold medicine, and a full array of her prescriptions for anxiety, depression, and various other medications to treat the ailments of an overworked, overstressed, single working mother of thirteen. Clarissa looked down on what she had tripped over and her eyes went wide and her heart sunk.



Meanwhile, on the other side of the park Royston Jenkins trudged along in a zombie like state as per his typical daily ritual. His mind was thinking of nothing but sleep as he clung to the worn newspaper gripped in his fist. Visible on the newspapers pages were highlighter marks and red circles around various employment opportunities for anyone with no discernible life skills.

Royston coughed into his free hand and looked down at the paper thinking, how was he going to handle a fourth job? He got no sleep as it was, waking up at four in the morning to get to the hotel to serve as their watchman, and then for a few hours later he would head to the hospital to serve as a file clerk if they have anything that needed filing, and then after filing, he headed through the park to wait on tables at the diner, sometimes until two in the morning; and then the routine restarted.

When would he even have time for another job, he asked himself, but he did not really want to know the answer, all he knew was that he needed money to get his car back, pay his lousy ex-girlfriend child support so that she did not have to lift a finger and could just float through life. He also needed to earn enough money to pay for the medication and doctor’s visits he had to frequent as of late; ironically enough, his decreased health was due entirely on overexerting himself and running himself down, which he did so partially to pay the bills to make him healthy again. As Royston let his mind go he could not help but see a woman standing over a crumpled form, and even though he was already running late and his tips would suffer as a result, he had to stop.



Cat saw the two adults standing over a small and filthy boy laying there on the ground, and even at her mature age of thirteen she could not help but reminisce about when she first hit the streets seven years ago and degraded herself to once thought unthinkable things to earn money. That was around the time she ran into Rick, who said he would take care of her, and in a way he did, but it was not exactly the caring a young girl would have hoped for. Cat knew that she was just a tool to Rick to turn a profit, but for a while she was alright with their arrangement as she had no other options.

Not sensing the girl behind her, Clarissa looked down at the quietly whimpering boy and extended a hand. Should she take him in, she asked herself. She already had thirteen children at home and, although she may not be able to identify which deadbeat father sired which one, as if it mattered because they were never going to come around anyway, what was one more? He was clearly in need and she thought about what it must be like for him living all alone on the streets. Children are supposed to have high hopes and ambitions, to dream of the stars, and not have to go on day by day wondering if you will eat any time soon. Being a child was supposed to be a glorious feeling of ignorant bliss before learning of all the turmoil in the world; this boy needed love.

Royston watched as the woman leaned in and touched the boys shoulder and he let a tear run down his cheek. His whole life he was thinking about himself and by doing so he filled himself with rage. He was working hard to earn all the money he could to pay for his child, and who cared if his lousy ex-girlfriend lived off of it? He was providing a home for his son, he was providing food for his son, and that was all that really mattered. This tattered boy lying on the ground in a dark park did not have any of that Royston knew; and it broke his heart.

Cat watched the two adults and she felt a sudden twitch of nerve run through her, a side effect of one of the toxins the wonderful Rick had introduced to her, and she was beginning to go through withdrawals. She then looked down at the boy and she smiled. This boy has no home, and has no family, and has no food, she knew. These two adults see that and they feel sorrow for him because they think a better life exists out there for him, Cat sighed. I know there is a better life out there for him as well, Cat smirked and raised her hands in front of her, and I know that the optimistic thoughts of the fools won’t do anything for him, but that doesn’t mean they are of no use.

“Empty your wallets,” Cat demanded as the two spun around with stunned faces as a thirteen year old girl waved a pistol back and forth between them.

The two obeyed in fortified shock as the girl collected the small amount of money while her filthy and despicable accomplice stood from the sidewalk and joined her at her side. Cat smiled at her partner, an eight year old con artist in training named Tim, and the two ran along their way; just a few more scores like this and they could truly run away from it all for good.