litote_convoluted: elements: 12:01 AM

12:01 AM

         Matthew has been at the computer for more than 12 hours - inspiration has struck. It’s a fabulous first draft of a short story fraught with danger, excitement, intrigue.
         “This one is going to get published,” he says out loud with a satisfied sense of completion. Just as he’s about to type “The end.” at the bottom of the document, his email service pops up:
         “You have a new message from Faith !”

         Mary hoists the baby into her arms with a grunt - the stitches in her arms from the car accident still ache.
         “I’m coming, honey!” she calls down the stairs. He’s been impatient and edgy with her. If only they could find affordable babysitting, then she could go back to work.
         “Hurry up!”
         “I’m coming!” As she puts her purse over her shoulder and juggles keys and baby the phone starts to ring. She groans and ignores it, pulling the door shut behind her. As she starts down the stairs she hears the answering machine come on.

         Zeek is making love to a beautiful Microsoft intern in a broom closet at a technology convention. He can’t remember her name, but he does remember entering the convention hall, seeing her smile at him, and making a mental note to thank the paper’s editor for having him cover the event.
         His pants are around his ankles. He hears his phone beep in his pocket on the floor signaling a new text message. The sound is hardly discernable over her moans.

         John sits up with a start. He had fallen asleep over his keyboard. Did he hear a scream in the night? It’s almost Christmas. His parents died in a car accident on their way home from a business trip two days before Christmas a year ago. John had had to fight to get custody of his little brother.
         A shrill cry rings through the house. Yes, he had heard a scream. His little brother is having the nightmares again. He gets up, pulls on his robe, and begins to cross the hall to his brother’s room.
         Just after he steps out the door his instant messenger dings and his away message pops up.

         Seraiah is sprawled on the bed in a men’s undershirt and a pink thong. An open bottle of vodka and a variety of prescription painkillers are scattered on the end-table and the floor. Her face is relaxed, mouth slightly open, her breathing very shallow. Her heartbeat continues to slow.
         The cat, sensing something is wrong, stands beside the bed and mews.
         There is a sound at the door. Seraiah dimly thinks that it must be the landlord posting an eviction notice. She doesn’t have the strength to laugh at the irony she perceives.
         It’s not the landlord, but she doesn’t know that. An envelope is slipped under the door.




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