Green Desert - Chapter 2.2.4 - Zhíno

I gave the door a hard kick, right beside the knob, but the Pétíso-damned thing didn’t fly open like it was supposed to and I fell backwards into a shelf full of nails and wrenches and shit like I wasn’t supposed to. Shrapnel of pain overwhelmed me. Bones grated on bones.

“Fucking Pétíso-damned fucking fuck.” I grabbed a plastic jar of screws off my lap and hurled it against the wall. The damn thing stayed shut. I got up, picked up the guns, tucked one under my excruciating left arm and one in my left hand, then turned the knob. As the door opened, I quickly grabbed the big police gun with my right hand and stepped into an ugly-ass-green kitchen.

A chubby, balding old man gaped at me. Rifleboy sat at the table, eggs on his chin.

“All right, shitheads. No sudden moves or I start shooting.”

The old guy stuck up his hands and stepped away from me. The kid froze to his seat.

“Give me the keys.” Blood pounded in my head.

“Wh-what keys?” The old man bumped into the counter.

“My fucking car keys, that’s what keys, dumbass.” I waved the big gun in his face, ignoring the pain in my upper arm, twirling the handgun in circles that his gray eyes followed like a racecar fan.

“. . . my body for needle marks?” Fírí!

I kept the cop’s gun on the old man as I turned towards her voice. She walked behind a little old woman.

“Fírí, give me the keys!”

Green Desert - Chapter 2.2.3 - Fírí

“You can help me by telling me where the blood came from.” Was this old hag being obstinate on purpose, or was this normal for her?

She shook her head sadly. “My dear, it was your––”

A person-hitting-the-wall clunk interrupted Vata. She immediately tilted her head to listen. No other sounds came from across the house, but she turned––so slow that her pleated skirt didn’t flare out at all––and began shuffling down the hall.

“It was what?” I followed her, holding the sweatshirt in front of me with one hand. “It was my blood? If it was my blood, where’d it come from? I’m not injured.”

But Vata just kept walking, her slippers rubbing the carpet with each step.

“Answer me!”

“Be calm, my dear. Outer peace begets inner peace.” After a pause, the irritating woman added, “You know the truth.”

“Truth? The only truth I know is that I have no injuries and my shirt is covered in blood that you’re saying is mine. Do I need to check my body for needle marks?”

We turned in the living room toward the kitchen and there was Zhíno, looking as crazy as ever, a gun in each hand. Why couldn’t he just knock like a normal person?

He spotted me. “Fírí, give me the keys!”

Green Desert - Chapter 2.2.2 - Bhanar

“Are you leaving, too?” I couldn’t tell if the old man would be happy or sad either way.

I shook my head. “I need to fix Mé‘ısí first. Does that Tamé have a car repair shop, too?” I figured in a small town like this, only the autobody shop would have a towtruck.

Pí‘oro frowned. “Mé‘ısí’s your pickup, right?”

I nodded. “Yes. I bought her when I was seven––before I had a permit.”

“Tamé’s going to be plenty busy, what with all the damage Fírí’s boyfriend caused, but I’m––”

A loud thump shook the door to the garage, followed by curses, thuds, and the clattering of falling stuff. Zhíno.

“Where is my rifle?” Had the police confiscated it? I couldn’t remember.

Pí‘oro stopped halfway to the doorknob. His brow furrowed like I was a dolt. “In its case, in your truck, in my driveway, I reckon. At least that’s where you stuck it last night.”

The doorknob turned and flew open to reveal a grinning and bandaged Zhíno, waving two handguns like a bad movie. “All right, shitheads. No sudden moves or I start shooting.”

I stayed seated. Pí‘oro raised his hands to shoulder-height. Zhíno’s left hand could barely grip its gun––Zhíno almost dropped it with each random wave. My stomach felt very heavy, my feet even heavier.

“Give me the keys.”

Green Desert - Chapter 2.2.1 - Zhíno

My left wrist hurt like a motherfucker and my right shoulder wasn’t much better. The torn-tshirt bandage on my wrist was almost completely soaked through with blood. I needed medical attention. But the police knew that.

The piece-of-shit Vurıno minivan sputtered on the slight rise and I figured I’d have to get out and walk, but the engine stubbornly kept going. Why couldn’t I have found another car like that RZ-7 I’d almost got last night?

I saw the house, the long driveway, the blue pickup, all at the edge of the brush-and-boulder-covered orange desert. My car was gone. The pricks must’ve towed it. I turned the van up the driveway. Maybe these people knew where it was towed. Maybe the knew where Fírí and rifleboy went. I laughed. Rifleboy was still here. He wouldn’t have left his truck. Unless he got arrested. That would serve him right, the bastard.

I stopped the Vurıno, put the engine out of its misery, and stepped down to the gravel. The garage door stood open. A beige sedan blocked my view inside, but that sure looked like––it was. Un-fucking-believable. My car was still there!

I jogged up to it. The trunk was closed. Keys. Fírí had the keys. They couldn’t have gotten it in here without the keys, which meant the bitch was here. I licked my teeth. This might just be fun.

I ran back to the beater van and got my gun and the cop’s. It was showtime.

Green Desert - Chapter 2.1.6 - Fírí

“Don’t worry. I was just leaving.” I spun on my bare heel and walked out of the room.

Behind me, the old woman feebly said, “But dear. . .”

She hadn’t even asked if I was vegetarian. She just expected me to eat meat. Welcome to Hicksville, population clueless and backwards. What did I expect? You ain’t in Narakamíníkı anymore, baby.

I threw open the bedroom door. I’d left it open. On the newly-made bed sat my jeans, sweatshirt, socks, panties––folded and stacked. I picked them up. Clean. I flipped open my suitcase and tossed the clothes inside, but stopped before shutting it. The burgundy sweatshirt had a dark patch––a stain. I unfurled the shirt and held it out with both hands. Several dark blobs in a tie-dye sort of pattern. Blood? My forehead, my elbows––not even a scratch. But the stain was reddish. I held it up to the light and to my eye, scratched it with a chipped-paint nail. But that did nothing.

“I’m terribly sorry.” I turned my head. Vata stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her red skirt. “I was unable to remove the stain. Blood sets very fast, you know.”

I glanced at the sweatshirt. “But where’d the blood come from?”

The gray-haired woman smiled, accentuating her wrinkles. “We will not turn you in to the police. Please do not leave so quickly. You had a traumatic experience. You need to rest and recuperate. We only want to help you however possible.”

Good news!

Who would have guessed? Hunger isn't necessary: UN sees no need for hunger.

Which is good, because I'm hungry right now.

Happy Boss' Day...

Did you get your boss anything today? Yeah, me neither.

A little word on plurals and possessives apostrophes, then. Never use an apostrophe for a plural. Not even when discussing the 1840s or "Ps and Qs." When writing a possessive of a word ending in S, add an apostrophe and another S: bus's. But don't add an S if it's a plural ending in S: buses'. If the word ends in two Ss, the possessive is just an apostrophe: boss'. Never put three Ss in a row. That would just look silly and it's not like you pronounce three Ss. But if you have more than one boss, I suppose you should write it as Bosses' Day.

Thank you and good night.

Green Desert - Chapter 2.1.5 - Bhanar

I shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have been in that kitchen, that house, that town. I shouldn’t have been on that road. I’d been going west when I should’ve been going east. I missed the turn. Idiot. And Mé‘ısí all busted up, too. Pétíso-damned idiot. I mopped up the last bits of egg with my toast. I really should’ve stayed on the freeway.

“Why aren’t you eating, dear?”

Fírí’d only barely touched her hashbrowns––and nothing else. She looked guilty, eyes averted from Vata.

I gestured at her plate with my fork. “My stomach’s still got room.”

Fírí handed me her food. “Sure. Here.”

I didn’t know why shoe wasn’t eating and I didn’t really care. The rabbit was kind of stringy, but I didn’t cook it and I didn’t pay for it so I wasn’t complaining. Vata frowned, but went back to the dishes.

Somewhere in the house, a motor started. The garage door. Fírí watched at me as I took a mouthful of eggs covered in ketchup. She grimaced distastefully. I guess I wasn’t a proper-enough eater for her. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kılímı, for your hospitality. It’s much more than anyone could possibly expect after causing you the trouble we’ve done. But I––”

Between her and Vata, a door that I thought was the pantry opened and Pí‘oro entered, removing his cap. He set two bags of groceries on the counter and smiled at Fírí. “Could you please remove your car from my garage? Tamé will be here this morning to tow it to the station. Until then, I think it can remain safely outside.”

There's still time for hiking!

Dayhike to Snow Lake today. Chilly and cloudy and a little bit rainy. But Snow Lake is a good destination for that sort of thing. You get the clouds rolling up from the Middle Fork Snoqualmie valley and pouring out over the lake. Dozens of people on the trail. Over fifty cars at the trailhead.




Here's Catherine and Matthew, the only two people on the hike with me. Catherine organized it, but I was the one who suggested Snow Lake. She says this is the sixth time she's hiked this year and every time it's rained on her.


Viewpoint rock! We arrived right when a guy was getting out of his bivy sack. He'd slept right there at the viewpoint.


We went down to the lake, ate a snack at the lunch rock. Bluejays and camp robbers were very interested in what food we might have had.


The creek crossing. See the rain. Feel the rain. But don't mind the rain.

Green Desert - Chapter 2.1.4 - Fírí

Our plates had strips of fried rabbit, a large pile of scrambled eggs, a larger pile of hashbrowns that I hadn’t even seen Vata cook, and a slice of toast. Orange juice, milk, jam, butter, and ketchup quickly followed. “Eat up, dears!”

“Are you not joining us?” asked Bhanar.

“No, no. I ate breakfast two hours ago. Eat up.” She turned her back and started washing dishes.

I drank almost half the juice in one gulp, then clunked the glass down. Ugh. Concentrate.
Bhanar dug right into his food, shoving rabbit and egg and potato in his mouth all together. I picked up my fork and stabbed some hashbrowns from near the edge of the plate. Hot, greasy, bland. I globbed ketchup on them.

As I ate, my brain started to work. I had to get out of there. I didn’t think the cops had caught Zhíno. Bhanar had complained loudly last night about that. That meant my insane boyfriend would be back. The car was here. I’d hid it in the garage after Pí‘oro left––so the cops wouldn’t tow it and get my fingerprints off the guns––but as soon as I blew town, I didn’t care what happened to it. Zhíno, though––Zhíno would be killed if he didn’t get it back.

“Why aren’t you eating, dear?” Vata’s hands held a sudsy bowl over the sink. Her brow furrowed.

I looked at my plate, meat and eggs untouched.

Green Desert - Chapter 1

1.1.1 - Fírí
1.1.2 - Bhanar
1.1.3 - Fírí
1.1.4 - Bhanar
1.1.5 - Fírí
1.2.1 - Pí‘oro
1.2.2 - Bhanar
1.2.3 - Fírí
1.2.4 - Pí‘oro
1.2.5 - Bhanar
1.2.6 - Fírí
1.3.1 - Pí‘oro
1.3.2 - Zhíno
1.3.3 - Bhanar
1.3.4 - Fírí
1.3.5 - Pí‘oro
1.4.1 - Zhíno
1.4.2 - Bhanar
1.4.3 - Fírí
1.4.4 - Pí‘oro
1.4.5 - Zhíno
1.4.6 - Vata
1.5.1 - Bhanar
1.5.2 - Fírí
1.5.3 - Pí‘oro
1.5.4 - Zhíno
1.5.5 - Vata

on to Chapter 2!

Right War, Wrong Reason

So the southern states hold up the constitution and say it gives them the right to secede, and the North better get their armies out of the South. The federal government replies, "No it doesn't," and refuses to leave. So the South starts shooting.

What a stupid way to settle a constitutional disagreement.

Shouldn't they have consulted the Supreme Court? It's the court's job, after all, to settle disputes of this nature. There's no need to resort to violence. We had a political process in place and they all threw it out the window so they could go get some rebs/yanks.

Maybe it's a good thing the liberals don't have guns. If they did, a new civil war would be a fair fight. . .

Green Desert - Chapter 2.1.3 - Bhanar

“Rabbit.” The old woman chuckled, the tassels on her vest dancing. Yellow blouse, flowing red skirt. She looked like a farmhand seventy years out of date.

Rabbit? No wonder I didn’t recognize the smell. “Um. . . Is rabbit a usual breakfast in Sarıma?”

Fírí snorted a laugh. Vata shook her head while she continued to push the meat around with a spatula. “No. Nor in this house. But we will not waste Névazhíno’s gifts.” The God of Animals. With her free hand, Vata grabbed an egg, cracked it on the edge of the pan, and poured it alongside the cooking meat.

“Do you need any help?”

She added two more eggs to the pan, scooping the rabbit onto a plate. “No thanks, dear. Go ahead and sit down.”

Four chairs. I took the seat to Fírí’s left, facing Vata. Fírí looked at me––studied me. She had blue eyes, pale skin, her hair drawn back in a ponytail.

“Where are you from, kid?”

I bristled at the “kid,” but I tried to hide it. I mean, she was only four years older than me. Who was she to talk to me like that? “Zhuphío, Kètnít.”

She flashed a stunning smile. “Where are you moving to?” She’d seen my full truck.

“I will be going to college in Morízhoso‘ono.” Classes didn’t start until the middle of next month. I still needed to find an apartment.

“Then why were you headed west?”

“Here you go,” said Vata, setting a steaming full plate in front of each of us.