10 - A Holy Search

Frank was, at a glance, an entirely pragmatic an sensible man. He might have gone through a brief rebellious stage where he had smoked cigarettes and had a bright red Mohawk but that lasted all of two days. The smoking lasted a little longer until he realized the drawbacks of having yellow teeth and permanently bad breath.

Now he was a successful business owner, selling office supplies which of course was always in regular demand and he liked to spend his evenings watching reruns of old TV shows and occasionally going out for social drinks and local theatre shows.

At thirty-five however, Frank began to feel restless. He started having the distinct feeling that he had forgotten something that wasn’t as mundane as keys or his Gym membership card. It wasn’t a provincial desire for a wife either. He had just ended his last relationship with a pretty receptionist with an odd predilection for rapping when happy.

Passing by a giant sign proclaiming “Have you found Jesus yet?” he decided that was what he had forgotten. Not Jesus precisely because how could he loose something he never had, but religion. If most people in the world followed one God or another or more then perhaps so should he.

Once he made this decision it was easy enough to stroll down to the nearest cathedral. St Paul’s cathedral was a beautiful building in quiet corner of a busy section of the city. The stained glass windows and worn pews were inspiring. Less inspiring was their holy book. It started innocuously enough but the God described in this book seemed to be jealous, angry and fond of killing people or making others kill people. A little more research on google brought up crusades and witch hunts and really far too many instances of death in the name of a God.

The next logical step was Christianity, it’s sheer popularity if facebook was anything to go by had to mean something, but they used the same book and the youtube videos of Reverend Pat Robertson irritated Frank for the sheer stupidity portrayed.

Judaism seemed difficult, something about bloodlines and the fact that Frank happened to love bacon. He considered Islam but it was hard to get passed the pictures of the Burqa and stories of suicide bombers.

Hinduism was out because Frank was not good at math and there were too many gods to keep track of.

Luckily for him, a Jehovah’s witness knocked on his door with leaflets and a wide smile but he soon found out that Christmas was anathema to them. Life without Christmas sounded boring.

Mormonism sounded quite fascinating. Frank could easily give up alcohol and even coffee for the right god, but Joseph Smith had clearly just pulled that story of golden plates out of his arse.

Scientology seemed popular with celebrities so perhaps there was something to it, but again, its founder was a science fiction writer and alien spirits was just too silly to believe while e-meters sounded creepy.

Frank considered some form of paganism, perhaps Shinto or Wicca but how could he become a pagan and worship nature while smack dab in the middle of the most concrete city in the world?

He couldn’t be a Rastafarian because of his need for practical hairstyles despite the marijuana and for the same reason he was not keen on becoming a Sikh despite the snazzy turbans and of course he couldn’t give up bacon.

Finally Frank found his religious calling while perusing Reddit. It seemed obvious. The perfect religious expression. One that did not ignore the science Frank had grown up with, nor interfered with the way he lived his life. His Holy Noodleyness had shown him the way. Terrifyingly squiggly, squishy with a hint of garlic, the Flying Spaghetti Monster had touched him with his noodly appendages. The church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster demanded no tithes, nor demanded attendance. It gave him no reason to ignore or change his moral compass or feel any guilt or anxiety for natural urges. It was his perfect religion and he had found his god.

9. Zombie Apocalypse HK

The end had come. In fact it came three weeks ago. It hard started with innocuous news reports of customers in Elements mall going insane, ripping up their Gucci handbags and attacking people around them. One report became two, then three then suddenly they were talking about a possible epidemic.

SARs had mutated, or maybe it was H5N1 or maybe it was swine flu. Diane didn't care. That was what scientists were for, to figure this shit out. What she cared about was the fact that first, they closed Elements, then all the other malls. They they started closing down the luxury stores. LV stores, Gucci, Prada, Coach. That was when Diane had a hissyfit worthy of a reality show. For her Armageddon had arrived.

Then the epidemic spread like wildfire. It didn't matter if anyone went shopping or not, people started to go silly, crazy then oddly carnivorous with a predilection for tearing at the necks and ripping open the skulls of nearby people. Diane took it seriously then, She couldn't shop without her head. She barricaded herself inside her fifth floor walk up. She closed the blinds and she kept her internet on. She could live without shopping for a few weeks. It would be like a retreat. She could diet while she waited.

Three weeks passed during which the news reported that German scientists had isolated the cause. A mixture of industrial chemicals in milk products, mystery meat sold as "pork" and strange fumes in air pollution had created a unique organism that latched on to brain stems and highjacked higher brain function. Whatever that meant, Diane didn't understand. She did understand the words "no known cure".

Diane first cried about missing what would have been great sales on shoes had zombies not decided to ruin it for everyone. Then she cried when she looked out her window and saw zombies ripping at their designer clothes and getting blood on their shoes. Finally she cried because she ran out of water.

There was nothing else for it. She liked how skinny she was getting but the lack of hydration was wreaking havoc on her skin. She couldn't stay here anymore. There was a news report telling survivors to make for the ferry. A boat was specifically waiting to take non-zombies like her out of Hong Kong.

It took her three hours to find the perfect outfit. She got her stretchiest skinny jeans and her favourite Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirt. She chose sensible Timberland hiking boots, worn only once when a date had insisted they go for a hike.Lucky for her, she could never throw out perfectly good footwear.

But she couldn't leave behind her collection. How could she. These shoes were her pride and joy. She packed them all, as many as she could into various handbags. She slung them over her shoulder and stealing herself, walked down her stairs and out the rickety front door.

Hell awaited her. Zombies lurched and groaned about in terribly twisted ways. Drooling and dragging perfectly good Choo sandals across the ground. If she had thought that body odor had been bad in the summer days, the stench was nigh overwhelming now.

Diane tried to mimic them. Some newscasters had suggested it. It didn't work. The zombies seemed to know that she was alive and delicious! They converged on her. Diane squealed and ran. It was all downhill so it seemed OK at first. Just a little dodging here, quick turns there.

Until Queen's road. There was a huge wall of zombies lurching about, unfashionably dirty. Diane tried to run around them, but they followed her! She dodge and evaded but her heavy bags were weighing her down. Tears slid down her face as she realized what she would have to do. Sacrifice some for the survival of others. She started rummaging and pulled out an old pair of Burberry boots. The heels were scuffed anyways. She chucked them at the zombies.

Maybe they smelled like her or they still had a taste for good shoes. They all went to the boots. Diane kept running. More kept appearing though! Diane reached in, she had no time to consider and when she pulled out her Christian Louboutin's she wept openly as she threw them at the zombies. They had killer heels she had always thought, and she was right. One went right through the eye of a green zombie and down he went. Others paused to pick up what had been thrown, ripping right out of the eye socket with the eyeballs still attached.

Well, if she was to give her up most treasure possessions, then she might as well have made them count. She started to pull out other heels and aimed for the heads. When she pulled out flats, she spun them, like boomerangs. They didn't come back, but they took out two at once. When she got boots she aimed at larger groups, trying to trip them making them all stop at once and block others.

Finally she could see the ferry ahead. Armed guards stood at a makeshift iron fence. They were gesturing at her to come. Some were shooting at the zombies behind her. She could feel the horde behind her gradually thin.

She was so close! So close, when she tripped. A gnarled, smelly, twisted hand hung on to her ankle. "Let me go!" she screamed. She kicked at the zombie. He was a green with wilting black hair and eyes that pointed in odd directions. He was wearing an Armani suit. She reached into her bag. Only one pair of shoes left. Manolo Blahnik sandals. Her favourite pink pair with pretty straps. Oh were it not so. The choice stood before her, shoes or ankle. Shoes... or ankle!?

The people behind the fence called out to her. "come! quick! The boat will be leaving soon!" Diane looked at them. They were so badly dressed. Like Hipsters! Could she be with them? She looked at the zombies, at their filthy branded clothes. They were so smelly.

She threw the Sandals as hard as she could. One bonked the zombie right on his head. The other impaled in his forearm. He released her his other hand reaching for the bloody sandal in his arm.

Diane got up and ran. As she ran she dumped her purses. What good was a Coach bag if her shoes didn't match it? What good was a clutch when she would never party without her Manolos. She was weeping as she rushed through the gate.

People congratulated her. She was hugged and patted on the back. They said, "Don't worry. We will take care of you. I'm sorry you lost so much already."

Diane nodded, "My shoes!" she wailed. Her life as she knew it was over. Was there life after Manolos?

8. Kidnapping

It was a crisp spring day. Beautiful by any standards with blue skies and soft squidgy clouds floating high above the concrete skyline. I had no clue that today was the day. The first day of a series of days that would spell out tribulations for me and a general mystery.

How could I have known as I walked down the streets, sidestepping the sad remains of cockroaches not quick enough to dodge the angry feet of the previous night. I walked with a spring in my step, almost whistling a tune were it not for the sour faces of the cleaning ladies. I was happy, carefree. Until i reached the office.

There was my desk. Seemingly nothing out of place. I sat and turned on my computer and while waiting sorted out my pile of paper clips. It was only when I turned to look in my drawer that I noticed it. The empty space in the corner. My pride and joy was gone. missing. Wrenched from my desk by a thief in the night! My pen! My Montblanc Typhoon LE pen. A gift from a grateful client but much more then that. My right hand in an almost literal sense.

Oh the anguish and anger as I gazed upon that empty space. It was unthinkable. Unimaginable. Where could it be?! When Frantic searches of the all my drawers came up empty, I had to face the inevitable truth. My pen had been kidnapped!

I cannot describe those feelings that washed over me at that moment. I notified HR immediately of the theft. A representative was sent quickly and I was interviewed with alacrity if perhaps a certain lack of professionalism. 

Yes, I locked my drawer every night.

Yes, I was sure I locked it last night.

No, I had not just lost my pen.

Yes! Of course I wanted to pursue this with the full extent of the law.

Their inaction and uninterested mien did not inspire me but I gave them my statement. I urged them to investigate. They promised to follow up.

Lunchtime passed and I heard nothing. Oh how I wept with thoughts of where my pen was and what horrible thief had taken it. I called HR on the hour, asking, begging for news but none was given.

"We are investigating, we will keep you informed," was all they said.

At the end of the day, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands. It was then that I checked my inbox. There it was! A ransom note.

"We have your pen," it read. "We have not harmed it yet, but we will. Put fifty dollars into an envelope and put it in the cookie tin on the fridge. Do not try to find us. If you do, the pen will get it." with the note was a polaroid of my beloved pen. It seemed unharmed, lying on a sheet of paper.

I complied quickly. The day was almost over and we would all be obliged to leave the office. I sat with my eagle eyes on the small kitchen but only Teresa out receptionist went in, and she came out with only a cup of coffee.

When it was time to go, grudgingly I left. I could only hope that my pen would be returned.

I was wrong. The next day was an envelope on my desk. Another ransom note, "we changed our minds. We want 100. Put another fifty in the tin," it read. rage boiled up inside me. How dare they toy with my like this? Instead of the 50, I put a note demanding my pen back in the envelope. All day i watched the kitchen. I could do no real work but i saw no one touching the tin.

The next day was my darkest day. There was another note. Nothing was written but there was a photo. My pen's clip had been broken off. In a rage i tore up the photo then in despair I ran to the toilet and wept. The monsters had harmed my pen! At that moment i decided to exact my revenge. But first i had to find the perpetrators.

I began with the photos and the notes. The Notes had been typed and printed so it was little help, but I noticed that the font was Comic Sans. Few in this office would use comic sans, this had to be a clue. The photos yielded more clues. The plan paper was lying on a fawn colored desk. 

I spent the day wandering the office. I spied on my colleagues, looking at their desks and first ruling out those with grey desks. Then i began to spy on them typing. Who had a predeliction for Comic Sans?

Unfortunately it seemed like no one. I felt like despairing again until i noticed Teresa's desk. It was fawn desk. In fact Hers was the only Fawn desk I could see. However this was not clue enough. I nonchalantly went to my desk and made a show of walking to the kitchen with an envelope making sure to exit without an envelope. Just as I expected, Teresa soon after went in for some coffee. There was my suspect. But how to be sure?

At quitting time, I pretended to be going home but in actual fact, hid in the toilets. My plan was to wait till Teresa had left as well. Being unsure when she might leave, i waited an hour. I peeked in the office. She was still there! I waited another hour. When i peeked again, she was gone.

I went to her desk feeling a small shred of excitement. I checked her rubbish bin. There it was! All the evidence i needed! The envelope in which I had pretended to put fifty dollars! My writing on the corner! Teresa was the thief!

I tried to search for my pen. Surely she wouldn't have taken in home. That would be too much. She had to have kept it in her desk! I began to open drawers. The first held loose papers and a stick of gum. The one under was a sea of staplers. Why did she have so many? She must have stolen them! But this was not my affair. The third held a small bottle of cheap wine. Teresa it seemed was quite the criminal.

Alas I did not find my pen. There was only one drawer left. It was locked. No matter. It would not stop me. I tried to pick it, but locking picking was not a skill i had learned, unlike teresa it seemed. I was sure my pen was inside, so i started to try to pry it open. I used letter openers, staplers and a metal ruler. I got forks and spoons and knives from the kitchen. Each was bent out of shape and the desk was slowly eroded and chipped away.

Finally, I pried open the desk out of sheer willpower and stubborn strength. Oh the joy i felt when i saw inside my beloved. There is lay in a sea of pens. Had they been kidnapped also? I could not leave them behind. I grabbed them all. Every single one. I put them in pockets. I took them home.

I had achieved success!

Well it wasn't so easy of course. HR might not have cared about the theft of one pen, but it seemed they did care about the destruction of property and the theft of 39 pens. I was fired of course and told that I shouldn't expect a good reference, but I didn't care. I solved the mystery. Got my pen back and Teresa was exposed as a kidnapper of pens!

7. Ong Kong

"Sir, initial reports are in." Orjty looked far too pleased with himself.

The Captain sighed as he looked up from his console. He had been busy fiddling with the oglydinks and the last thing he wanted to do was read whatever garbled report these planetists had cobbled together. "What does it say, give me the short version."

"Sir it's quite fascinating. We observed the inhabitants for a period of no less then 13 quablocks. Something like  the time it takes for this planet to circle it's star. We estimated that a full season would give us at least an intial assessment period, long enough to make some basic assumptions. However, I must stress that we are of course only scratching the surface, so to speak."

"Yes yes, so what did you find out. What is the dominant species on this planet?" The captain reached for the Hoklink. delicious they were, if one could subdue them enough to eat them.

"It's a rather odd species sir. Small, extremely squishy and quite odd looking. Instead of growing their own protective coverings, they seem to make them from organic materials grown. They are not very agile, strong or fast. We had to wonder how they became the dominant species." Orjty looked quite excited, squishy organic species being his particular favorite to study. The captain his his suspicions on why.

"Intelligent?" The captain bit into another hoklink, ignoring the little squeel.

"We had to assume so sir, because they do have technology of some interesting standards. What interested us more was the speed at which they seem to be developing new technologies, as inferior as it is compared to our own." Orjty looked nervous.

"Did you study the species as an entirety or pick any particular tribe?" The captain felt this was a good, sciency question to ask, better to hide how little he understood what planetists did.

"That... would be difficult. Specially with the time frame we were given. We picked what we thought was a good representative of the species. We picked an island on sector 149. It is a small island which as far as we can figure the natives call Ong Kong."

"Ong Krong?" garbled the Captain. "What an odd name. Why did you pick this spot?"

"Well, we wanted either a tribe or subspecies that was sufficiently well advanced to best respresent the species. Sector 149 showed a very dense population within a small space. We also noted a great abundance of high structures, far more then anything surrounding, intricate pathways and of course, this sector was an incredibly bright spot on the dark side of the planet. There were of course many other brightly lit settlements but we chose this sector for the great variety of subspecies that seems to cohabit quite well."

"Is sector 149 the only place with these statistics?" The captain sat back and rumbled his Grblplon. He could use a sip of Wfbm right now.

"Well no, not precisely. There were other sectors that could have yielded usable data... but we tossed a hooblecrod to decide and Sector 149 was it."

To be honest, the captain didn't care how the decision was made. "Alright, and so what did you find out?"

"They seem to be intelligent..." Orjty trailed off.

"But?" prompted the captain.

"Well, it's rather interesting, while they do boast some interesting technological advances in recent years, they have done so little with it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well... "

"Spit it out, Orjty. I don't have all day."

"Perhaps I should put it this way, They build these entertainment units and almost every individual seems engrossed in them. They spend almost all their waking hours staring at these units as if connected on a subatomic neural level. They have big ones at home that flashes images at them. They have different units that they are connected to via primitive consoles and even tiny ones they carry around. While some productive activities such as communications are performed on this consoles, for the most part they seem to be used to observe images."

"What kind of images?"

"Well.. it's very strange, they stare all day at images of another species they seem to revere to some extent. It's a small four legged creature with soft outer follicular coverings, pointy ears that emits a sound like 'Miaow'. They will watch all day if they could."

"Surely they don't do this all day. What is their society like?"

"That is fascinating also. In this Ong Kong. The species seems to be divided into two genders."

"Only two?!" exclaimed the captain. Orjty nodded. "How terribly boring. Go on."

"Yes well, they are divided into something they call man and woman. Womans seem to spend a lot of time trading pieces of paper or swiping this strange piece of plastic for items to cover themselves with. They spend much of their time adorning themselves. It seems the more garish the combinations of colors and textures or outlandish, the better."

"And these... mans?" The captain fumbled saying the words.

"Well they will adorn themselves also but to some lesser extent. This is a species that seems to like fast things.  They spend quite a lot of time zipping about great distances. I have posited a theory in my report that much of their mating ritual occurs while speeding about. I have personally observed, at great risk to myself, some of these mating rituals in their underground transport systems."

"Do explain," said the captain in spite of himself. Who didn't like hearing about mating rituals?

"Well, some males seem to work hard to increase their own scent emissions as a sort of attractant to females. They may not bathe for a long period of time and insure oral uncleanliness. In the close confined spaces of their underground transports, the species will often force themselves in almost to bursting point. My theory is that inside these transports, their heady scents will be better scented by as many females as possible and the competition of other males can be better judged."

"Fascinating."

"Yes and other behaviors have been observed. It seems to be extremely unpopular to give up seating units to the elderly or infirm, especially by the more sexually mature. Perhaps as a way of asserting their dominance or perhaps attraction is heightened by inconsiderate behaviors."

"Very interesting, anything else?"

"We have observed gatherings of large groups together in different places. They often carry large placards or signs and loudly proclaim things. The best we have determined is that they are angry about something. We haven't yet ascertained the purpose of these loud noisy gatherings but considering how frequently they have been observed in this behavior, we surmise that this has some sort of reverential element such as worship. Perhaps they have a primitive practice of celebrating complaint."

The captain shook his head, "all this is interesting, but the question we came here to answer was this. Are they advanced enough to make contact with. Will our species benefit from any contact whatsoever?"

At this Orjty looked a little worried. "Sir, this is a fascinating planet and I hope to be granted permission to return for more research studies, however I am not sure they are suitably advanced."

"You need to be more specific," snapped the captain.

"I do not believe they are advanced enough. Indeed, I fear they never will be."

"That is a rather alarming assessment," said the captain.

Orjty shook his head sadly. "Well, sir, While they have built a quaint city of more then a thousand fairly high structures and designed some rather sweet if piddly transport units, their planet is dying around them. It's rather disheartening to see so many other inhabitants of this planet struggling to survive while they have not even figure out that what they throw out doesn't necessarily go away. They haven't even figured out the basics in waste management sir. It does not bode well for them as a species nor does it commend them as an even remotely advanced species, sir and if they continue on this course, their planet will be irrevocably changed."

"They haven't figure out waste management?"

"They bury the bulk of their waste sir, their recycling efforts are too small to be even considered."

"Oh dear nebulae. A species that doesn't consider waste management as paramount is not a species worth talking to."

"Exactly sir. I suggest we return to show our findings to the council. The next course of action should be decided by them."

"Yes Yes... " the captain considered awhile, "Imagine if our waste management systems were as backwards as theirs," he laughed.

"We'd be swimming in our own fglydoos!"Orjty finished for him laughing.

Yes it was rather sad sometimes how rarely they encountered a planet with a species worth talking to, but one had to have standards!

6. Stitches and Jesus

"Jesus will take care of you," she says.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" is my instant reaction but I'm quick enough to stop the words from actually leaving my mouth. I shouldn't say anything. I should be polite. I can't take out my anger on her. I can't stand to look at her however. She's short, fat with the most masculine haircut. That incredibly unflattering police uniform doesn't help with her lumpy dumpy figure. Do they deliberately design those uniforms to be as ugly as possible? They look alright on men. They must design them to be extra ugly on women. Why am I thinking about this?

Everyone is staring at me. Why? oh because I have my own personal police woman shadow. She's smiling at me. Her expression is sympathetic. How am I supposed to react? I have no idea. I inch away. I dont want to be associated with her.

"Dont worry, Jesus loves you. Dont worry." She wont leave me alone. She's always two feet away.
"If you accept Jesus into your heart, he will take away all your sorrows. Come with me to church. I will show you."

"Shut the FUCK up," I want to say. Instead, I say "I did go to church. I went to church since I was little. It didn't help."

"Jesus can take away all your sorrows." She's smiling, but her eyes are so earnest and vacant at the same time. How does she do that? And did she not hear me?A nurse comes and starts to lead me away. Vapid Jesus freak follows me. She never touches me but she's spouting Jesus phrases still. I have no idea what is happening. God I am tired. What time is it?

Suddenly I'm in a room, sitting at some small table with my arm stretched out. The nurse is taking off the makeshit bandage the paramedics put on it. I think it should hurt. It doesn't. Can't feel a thing.

A boy arrives. What is he a nurse? An intern? He pulls on gloves, grabs a stitching needle and thread. Shit he's my doctor. How old is he? 12?

"Hold Jesus in your heart. He will give you courage." Fundie policewoman now looks concerned. She looks like he wants to hold my other hand. I sit on it just to keep it away from her. I'm watching her face, amused. Why is she looking so scared, it's my arm.

I'm quiet for the local aneasthetic, but boydoc doens't wait to stick that curved needle into the ragged edges of my skin. "FUCK!" I cry. I was bracing for the syringe but not the sewing. He doesn't pause. He looks Irritated. Tired. As if he might just be home asleep if he didn't have to sit here stitching up this batshitcrazy patient. "you aren't very good at this are you?" I ask. Probably shouldn't. He's only on the first cut. There's several more.

Eleven stitches total. Fundie police keeps saying Jesus, Jesus. I follow her with my mouth shut. I'm back in the police cab. I'm at the station, giving a statement. It all seems to have gone so fast but that can't be right. The clock tells me hours have passed. It's 2am.

The police ask lots of questions about exactly what time. Exactly where. Exactly how. They dont ask about how long it's been going on. How many years. What else happened in the years before. They dont ask why I did what I did. That's the strangest part.

Then again, I wouldn't know how to answer. Why did I do it? I dont know. It seemed like a good idea at the time? Too flippant.

Why did I do it? To get attention? Too pathetic.

Why did I do it?  I wanted to mess up myself on the outside to show how messed up I was on the inside? Too weird.

Honestly? I dont know why I put myself in hospital. I didn't plan on it. It was probably the better option then putting someone else in hospital

"Jesus loves you. Come to church with me and you will see!" says Fundie police hag as she drives me home.

"I tried Jesus, he's not taking my calls. I'm going to try Satan instead," I say as close the police car door. I glimpse her face, it's funny but I don't linger to enjoy it. I go up to my apartment. It's empty. For the moment. I know he'll be back. They'll keep him in the station at least overnight. Something about drunken disorderly. They can't charge him with anyone else. He'll be back. But for now, I have a little peace and quiet. Just for that, I'm grateful to my stitches. At least I get that much. Jesus couldn't do better.

5. Inside the Tank

Day 67. MY captivity continues. I remember well my abduction, the sudden wrenching from my home into some strange cell with walls made of some unknown material. I was with another, a strange to me at the time, though we have now become quite well acquainted. It hardly seemed possible that such horrors could be happening to us. I can only imagine that my abductors have other plans then to eat me as I am still alive.

Day 71. More captors have joined me and my fellow abductee. They are different species from us, but still welcome for the company they bring. However I fear for their lives. They are so small and fragile. My brother and I have conferred and we agree that we must treat these newcomers with sensitivity.

Day 75. Our days are endless drudging bores. We swim in endless circles and become alive only when our captors dump flaky dry and tasteless food at us. Oh how I dream of happier days.

Day79. Our smaller brethren seem to be faring well, too well perhaps. We thought them weak, but they wreak havoc on our days. So much energy that cannot be contained in such a small space. I almost wish for the days when we lived alone.


Day 84. It seemed that one of our smaller brethren was pregnant. Our small cell is now infused with tiny fry, darting this way and that. I had a moment of panic fearing that overcrowding may be an issue. I am not proud of it, but out of fear, I may have eaten several of the fry. In my defense, space is limited and I must think of the future!

Day 94. I wish there was some way to communicate with our captors. My brother is quiet. I wonder if he misses home as I do.

Day 95. My brother grows sicker. I now fear for his health. If only we could find a way to help him. Surely those who keep us, with their advanced technologies could help us. I swam frantically, trying to communicate with sign language, bubbles, interpretive dance. Nothing worked.

Day 99. My Brother has passed. Our Captors took his corpse. We were not afforded a funeral. I seethe with anger and frustrations. I am am alone with these smaller irritating ones.

Day 113. My black mood has lifted. If I am to live in this hellhole then I must make the best of it. I turn to Philosophy as my solace. What is the meaning of life in a Tank? I will figure it out.

Day 143. Have found a new hobby. I will learn to swim upside down! 

Day 157. Have discovered that if I swim in funny wiggles, I am rewarded with extra Food!

Day 199. I love food!

Day 253. Bubbles!

4. A party of many

Jojo was a bit of a bitch. Everyone had to agree on it. Oh she wasn't utterly hateful, but it would have been better if she were, then at least she would have been worthy of respect. No, Jojo was only mildly worthy of disdain. Angela did not usually dislike people quite so easily but the party invites had instructed people to come with at least one bottle of wine. Jojo brought none. She had also come dressed like a hobo. No, Angela would smile and be polite, but she hoped Jojo would leave soon.

Jack was enjoying this party. He enjoyed it so much more now that Ms May was here. Perhaps she would dance with him tonight. Jack had had a crush on her since he met her. She was so refined, with a lovely smile that made his knees weak. He loved her long wavy hair, her beautiful kind eyes and her hands. He loved the jokes she told, the way she made people laugh. Jack watched Ms May go around the room. Maybe he would pluck up the courage to talk to her tonight, though he would have to do it quickly. Mik was sure to make his move on her, that hound dog made a move on anything that moved. Jack took another swig. Soon.

The music was dull. The food mediocre. Ga In was bored. There were so many strangers. She knew Angela and Jack and a few others, but Angela was a social butterfly. Always so many friends. Why had she come? Because of Soo Jin who was at this moment sampling the table of food. Ga In didn't like parties like this. "Lets go," she whispered to Soo Jin when she came with a paper cup of cheap wine.
"we can't leave yet. It would be rude. Angela would be gutted if we left before they cut the cake," hissed Soo Jin quietly. Then she handed Ga In her paper cup. "dont worry, it should be soon. Angela loves cake." Soo Jin rolled her eyes and made a face. Ga In laughed. Soo Jin was normally quiet but sometimes she would do something funny and outrageous. Ga In liked her, but she was also wary. Soo Jin could be moody and short tempered. That's why she came, Soo Jin was scared to come alone, so she made Ga In come with her. Ga In had to come, to support Soo Jin.

The cake was the highlight of the evening, or at least it was supposed to be. Then the presents starting coming out of bags. Nicky panicked. She sort of assumed presents were not required. Nicky hardly knew Angela, she was rather broke at the moment, working part time wasn't paying well AND they were not 14 anymore. Surely Presents weren't required. Unfortunately, Nicky was worried and she told Phina who was sitting next to her.
"Don't worry. I got your back. I'll say we got our present together."
"you sure? i'll pay you for half of it," whispered Nicky.
"Nah, dont worry about it, quick sign the card." Phina handed over a brightly coloured card and a pen as Angela was busy opening another present, gushing loudly over how much she loved it. Phina waited till last and then said "this is from Me and Nicky." Nicky was very grateful. She was new in town and so unsure but Phina was so helpful. Phina was outgoing and generous.Nicky wished she could be more like her.

Jarrod laughed as he walked. He liked Angela, superficial and vain as she was but her parties could be boring. At least now they were finally heading out to the pubs. He might even pick up someone. He had had his eye on Jack all night. Such a cute boy. Pity he was straight. So was Mik the other hot man. No matter, he might pick up tonight. He saw Eliza walking ahead and cought up with her. "eliza," he purred into her ear. "been looking everywhere for you."
"eliza smiled icily, "you know i dont like that name." Jarrod winked at her. "you gonna pick up tonight?" she asked.
"of course honey, what else do I have to do. You should to," he said, "that Mik's had his eye on you all night."
"that player? please..." Eliza was feigning disinterest. Jarrod saw right through it. That was the problem with Eliza. she couldn't hide anything. She wore her heart on her sleeve and couldn't lie. That's probably why he hung out with her so much. He could trust her not to keep anything from him. Mik didn't deserve her, but she could also use a good shagging and he told her. Eliza answered with her most evil look. It was excessively cute.

Mik watched his prey. She danced under the pretty light. He'd been waiting to make his move just until the right moment. It was now. Just enough alcohol had been drunk so she would be fairly pliable but not too much to make the night a failure. Mik sidled into the dance floor and began to dance up to her. If he could get her tonight, it would be a good night. He knew why Angela had invited him, but pity, Angela was not his type. far too thin and bitchy. He liked his girls more soft and sweet. Just like what he had in his arms right now. He smiled as she melted against him. Yep, This one was in the bag. What was her name again? Beth or something similar.

Morning light streamed through the curtains waking up the girl in the bed. She got up slowly with a grimace. the figure beside her grunted and just shifted his face away. The Girl went into the toilet and washed her face and rinsed out her mouth. She looked at the mirror, saw a pale face with dark shadows under the eyes stare back. Who was this girl that was yet again in some guy's bed. Some guy she barely knew. Who was this girl who's face looked haunted. Oh god, she'd have to go home in the same clothes. Again. Walk of shame. Again. She looked down at her naked body. Not as thin as she'd like. Nowhere near as pretty. Made so much uglier by the thin scars on belly and legs. Scars in places that would not be noticable. Few boys noticed until the next morning which was why she made it a habit to wake before they did. Before they could see in the light of day. This way, they wouldn't know that they had just fucked a mental chick.

She looked back in the mirror. Who was this girl? She was a slut. A mentally unstable slut with huge issues. She was a slut who pretended to enjoy parties, who drank not because it was fun but because it helped her forget. She was a girl who dressed in baggy clothes to hide herself and told jokes to distract everyone. Her Father called her Josephina Elizabeth May. Her mother called her Soo Jin May. She called herself messed up May. Her friends all called her different names, Mik had called her babydoll last night.Yeuch.

Who was she? She wasn't sure. She doubted if anyone knew.