The Story VOL 1. CHP 1. VERSE 7

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter One

Verse Seven: The Story

Marion stood frozen, his finger touching the cracked and drying blood on his lip. His mind tried to catch up with itself as it ran in circles inside his head screaming absurd theories and panicking.

"Okay, Option number one is that I bit my lip during the hallucination. And I guess it matches the scene from the dream world so well because my sick tumour ridden brain incorporated me biting my lip into the hallucination, because you know, it's considerate like that. Option number two is that I just dived head first into a less PG-13 version of the tales of Narnia, only without the wardrobe and the Lion Messiah analogue," Marion paused in mid monologue and noticed people were staring at him, he debated trying to hide, but discarded the idea and kept talking. He needed to clear his head more than he needed to look normal to strangers at this point.

"Of course option three would be that both things are true. I have a nasty brain tumour that is psychically teleporting me into a Narnia world where I can be a hero as my brain dies. Given the life I'm living, I could deal with that. The question then would be whether I stay in the Narnia land, with it's cannibal monsters and paranoid villagers after I die or the window is only temporarily open due to my occasionally amusing brain sickness?"

He paused again.

"There are probably other options, but I can't think of them right now. I can ask Harley later, he'll think of all the boring reasonable options. Harley!"

Marion tipped his head down to look at his cell phone, now sitting on the concrete walkway beneath his feet. He bent down and picked it up cautiously. The phone thankfully appeared to merely be scratched and not broken entirely- Marion could not afford to replace it if it broke. Harley's call had dropped. Marion noted that the phone was displaying seven new text messages. Marion opened his text messages, they were all from Harley.

<<Marion are you still there? I can't hear you but there's still sound on the phone.>>

<<Marion are you ok?>>

<<What's happening? Talk to me>>

<<You've got me worried. text back.>>

<<Marion>>

<<MARION!>>

<<Marion can you hear me? Do you need help? Marion when is your break over?>>

Marion's shoulders sagged as he read the last text. He looked at the time listed on the phone, he'd been in dreamland for at least twenty five minutes. His break was fifteen minutes. He was late. Again.

Marion quickly tapped out a text to Harley.

<<I'm ok. Late. Again. Hallucinated again. I'll tell you later. So screwed. I'm never lucky.>>

Marion considered his options. He could sneak back and hope that he hadn’t been missed. Or he could just tell Mr. Wheately that he had just made a pact to save the children of a lady from a magical village inside one of Marion’s hallucinations. Sneak and and hope that nobody had noticed seemed like the better option. If he was lucky, but that seemed like a bad thing to think about just at that moment. Marion darted back into the building and walked as casually as he could to his section while also staying out of clear view of other employees. Marion kept alert for any glimpse of the tall razor shaped profile of Mr. Wheately.

Marion finally reached the literature section, and with Mr. Wheately nowhere nearby and no anywhere in sight, Marion allowed himself a brief thought that maybe his luck wasn’t getting any worse. Marion truly loved bookstores, even big box commercialized cookie cutter bookstores like Allons-Y Books. Bookstores were quiet; almost like a library, although a bookstore was never that quiet. Marion took a moment to breathe in the silence, the quiet spaces in the air that gave Marion room to think. And then into that silence clamoured the sounds of a male and female voice rising in argument.

"This is not the time or the place, and neither is it your place to discuss your female objections to my business activities. Know your role in the grand scheme and keep to it Mary." The man's voice was loud, but he wasn't yelling. Marion knew that voice from University, he had heard it in the throat's of many tenured professors who didn't have a counter argument, but didn't agree with the student's assessment. Whoever Mary was, she was on the receiving end of an authority lecture. Marion also knew that if the fight got out of hand Mr. Wheately would somehow find a way to blame Marion for it. That seemed to be how the game was being played today at any rate. Marion strode through the shelves, honing in on the argument, hoping to placate the fighting couple before Mr. Wheately decided that this argument somehow showed something unemployable about Marion.

"Do you want to know what is my place Darius? My place is, as you so love to tell me, raising our children right. How am I going to raise them right when they watch you destroy lives for a few more dollars? How am I going to tell that it's important to be a moral and ethical person when their father is willing to gouge out an open pit mine in the middle a protected park on indigenous land by using the loophole of setting up a fake tribal council to approve your project? How do I tell them that morality is important when there father does that?"

"It's not a fake council, the local governments: both federal and municipal have recognized that tribal council as valid. And do you think that the world keeps turning without raw material? Do you think our comfortable existence with my lovely car and that amazing house you get to raise our children in are possible without the materials needed to build them? THey come from somewhere Mary, you just don't like to look at the process."

Marion rounded the corner and saw the people who were arguing. The man was imposing and dressed in a white on white suit with a crimson tie. He hair was a rich auburn streaked with grey. Two children, a girl with black hair who looked about nine years old and a boy with auburn hair who looked about thirteen years old stood behind the woman. Marion recognized the woman instantly as the woman from his hallucination.

"Morrigan?" He asked in surprise.

The family turned and they all looked at him in confusion, the man named Darius scowled, and the woman looked at Marion with an expression that told him instantly that she didn't know him. But he still knew her. Her hair was black with the same single strip of white. She was dressed in modern clothing, but all black with bird shaped patterns along the edges. This woman was Morrigan, Marion was sure of it. What he was to do know though, Marion had no idea.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. Can I help you folks find anything?"

"Yes," the woman said, " You can help my husband find your business ethics section. Meanwhile, I am looking for the works of Chinua Achebe. Do you know where his books are located?"

"My grasp of business and of ethics are perfect. Perhaps if you ran a business and had some income of your own, you would understand the realities of business and ethics on the ground." Darius said.

"I stayed home to raise the kids on your insistence you hypocrite. And I gave up a promising career to do so."

As the two began to argue again the girl pull on her mother's dress, "Mom. The Dreamer is here. He's here to help."

Marion looked at the little girl in shock.

"You have come to help, right?"

Darius stopped talking and looked back at Marion. "Of course he is. That's why we came in here. You should help them find the books Maia wants and then we can leave. It was Maia's idea to come here. So once we have her books, we can be on our way. We can continue this discussion in private, where family matters should remain."

Marion's mind raced, but he calmed himself back into bookseller mode, "You're in the right area for Chinua Achebe, it's sorted by last name in the Literature section. But I don't know that we'll have much of his work besides 'Thing's Fall Apart', the store tends to only stock things that have pop culture visibility," He turned to the little girl named Maia, "And what book did you want help finding?"

The little girl looked up and him, "Do you have any copies of 'Twelve Years a Slave'? Or what about Nelson Mandela's autobiography?"

"How old are you?" Marion asked.

"Nine. Why?"

"Those are heavy books. That's a great reading level for your age if your reading those books. Heavy subjects too, they're both about people who were unjustly imprisoned."

"Did you put her up to asking for those books?" Darius said, his voice rising to dangerous levels. He took a step closer to Mary and loomed over her in a way that made Marion suspect he might strike her. Marion quickly squeezed between them arms up.

"Kids are perceptive," Marion said quickly, "The whole store can tell you two are having difficulties, and your daughter is going to hear this at home too. If she's trying to send a message, maybe you should listen."

"How dare you! Do you know who I am? I am Darius Salt, and I could buy and sell you."

A little voice in Marion's head told him that this was not the situation he needed to be in right now. That little voice told him to back off, and to apologize and let the fight continue. Out of the corner of his vision, Marion could see Mr. Wheately leaning back against a bookshelf watching. Marion knew that how this ended would say a lot about his future at the company.

"Please help us." Maia said quietly. Marion wasn't sure if anyone else heard her. But Marion heard her.

"Then, Mr. Salt. Perhaps that says a lot more about why your daughter chose those books than anything her mother could have told her to say. Because, I you treat your business interests anything like you treat your family, your grasp of ethics would make Ebeneezer Scrooge shake his head at the disgrace of it."

Mr. Wheately seemed to materialize beside Marion as he finished speaking, "My name is Wheately, sir. I'm store manager. Can I be of some assistance?"

Darius Salt stood with his mouth open and stared at Marion for a moment. He tried to speak and made no sound. He opened his mouth a second time, but no words emerged. Maia giggled and finally Darius Salt found his voice again.

"Yes you can be of some assistance. Fire this employee."

"It would be my pleasure sir."

Marion smiled and shook his head, "At least I earned it."

The Firebird, and Pants VOL 1. CHP 1. VERSE 3 (Draft 2)

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter One

Verse Three: The Firebird, and Pants

Marion peered through the metal metal grill work down five floors to the cracked and settled asphalt below. Water had filled in old pot holes. The alley was littered with garbage that consisted of a few more broken bottles than Marion had hoped to see.

"I don't know that I have a choice at all, "Marion said and swung a naked leg over the railing of the fire escape.

He swung his other leg over and then stretched a leg out to reach the other fire escape. His foot touched down and, as he attempted to shift his weight, Marion lost his balance and his feet slid further apart. His left leg snagged on the railing on his fire escape and left him stuck awkwardly balancing between the two fire escapes. Marion shifted his weight and tried to find a balance point where he could safely move his right foot over to his fire escape, while at the same time trying to not look down. Marion did not consider himself particularly afraid of heights, but balancing over a five story void had a way of introducing the concept that was new and surprisingly effective. As he struggled to free his left leg and also regain enough balance to move his right leg, Marion noticed movement from the alleyway below. Taking a moment to look, he saw a man in a dark suit and sunglasses watching him for the alley below. Marion tried to get a good look, but the fire escape creaked and Marion was forced to heave his right leg to his side to prevent himself from slipping further. He quickly swung one leg and then the other over the railing to safety before looking back. But when he looked again, he saw nothing but a poster for "Men in Black 5: K's Still Alive!"

Shaking his head in the hopes of clearing his mind, Marion reached through the small opening left in his window and grasped the slim line of rope that would open the lock on his window. He pulled, and nothing happened. He pulled again, a little harder, and felt a strange resistance in the line. He gave the line a solid yank, hoping to pull loose whatever was snagging in his system, and hear a melodic jangle that Marion knew was the sound of three coat hangers falling to the floor and his system failing entirely.

Marion looked back the Men in Black poster and barred his teeth in a growl as though the poster and ghost CIA agent look alike were somehow to blame. He looked through the window and saw his pants laying in a crumpled pile in the hallway. Marion knew that he would now have to break the window if he wanted to get in.

Worries began to have a town council meeting in Marion's head. He worried that Mr. Grimly would hear the sound of breaking glass. He worried that Mr. Grimly might use the sound of breaking glass as an excuse to barge into his apartment. He worried that Mr. Grimly would use the whole event as an excuse to evict him and possibly even call the police. Mr. Grimly had never liked Marion as far as he could tell. They had never been friends. Marion didn't think Mr. Grimly liked friends. You couldn't charge friends rent.

"I don't think Mr. Grimly will ever forgive me for that inflatable Moose Incident," Marion said quietly to himself, "He won't forgive me for this either, but at least this one would be my fault. But, If I'm very lucky, Mr. Grimly will never know about this one."

Marion knew Mr. Grimly was a stranger to compassion, and that he would evict if no rent was forthcoming. And since Marion couldn't pay his rent if he got fired, options seemed to be a choice between bad option number one and bad option number two. So no point in hesitating now.

He looked around, but saw no tool that he could use to break the window. Marion examined the window. It was very old and consisted only of a single pane of glass. From experience, Marion knew that the window let in the cold without mercy. It couldn't be that strong. Marion looked at his hands and experimentally balled both hands into fists. Marion shook his head, unconvinced at this own display. He closed his eyes, and swung a clenched fist at the window.

The sound ofbBreaking glass erupted in Marion's ears and he was surprised that blow hadn't hurt. He opened his eyes to find his right hand red with blood and slowly became aware of a sharp sting in his knuckles.

"I'm never lucky." Marion said quietly as he pulled the last big glass shards of the window and began squeezing through the window. Half way through, Marion realized he could have opened the window now that it was broken and not risked cutting himself on the shatter glass still in the frame. He realized this as the glass cut his thighs in neat angular little grooves. The pain in his thighs was excruciating as he pulled himself through. When he finally stood inside his apartment again, he found himself wondering if Mrs. Trilby was right about that tumor and his attention to detail.

He walked to the sink and washed his knuckles and his thighs, delicately putting X-Men band-aids over the cuts, using a whole box of band-aids in the process, since he didn't have any larger bandages, his last box of band-aids in fact. He felt a bit woozy and wasn't too pleased with the day's current performance. Marion splashed water on his face to hopefully clear his head. But when he removed his hands and looked at the mirror, his reflection was gone.

In place of the mirror and the expected reflection, Marion was staring at a bird, much like a pheasant or a peacock with a long sweeping tail, but also impressively expansive wings. The bird was an iridescence of reds and golds that moved in waves over a black backing like fire over hot coals. Actual flames licked the air around the bird and it looked at Marion intently. Then it cocked it's head away into the distance and took flight, a nimbus of flame surrounding it. Marion debated following it, but found that it didn't matter. He was flying behind the firebird- coasting on its wake.

They flew out over a lonely highway, passing a worn down old diner out past the end of the highway into a vast wilderness and then on. They flew over a small village built of mud or clay with grass on the roofs and further on into a blasted landscape of burned fields and shattered homes. The land below took on the appearance of a war zone or the aftermath of a zombie outbreak, slowly becoming increasingly urban until the firebird's flight took them straight into the heart of a city under siege by its own people, with fires in the streets and upturned cars. The firebird aimed its path for a huge skyscraper in the center of the city and Marion held his breath as they aimed straight at the shimmering glass facade.

The scene shattered to sound of exploding glass and Marion found himself floating in darkness.

The firebird circled and then landed in the void and sat, quietly nesting in the darkness. Marion looked around and saw a vast spiderweb stretching across the darkness and a small girl with hair in dark braids stuck fast in the center of the web. To Marion's horror the web began to dance as something large and heavy began to move along the web, deep in the darkness. As Marion stared in horror a pounding drumbeat began in the distance. The Girl began to struggle and then seemed to notice Marion. She looked at him, and then seemed to look past him. Marion turned around to follow her gaze and found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror of his bathroom.

Marion stared at his reflection a moment, and then shook his head.

"Maybe Mrs. Trilby is on to something," He said quietly.

Then Marion noticed that the drumbeat was still pounding in the background. And then Marion realized it was the sound of a meaty fist pounding on his apartment door.

"I know you're in there you little newt. I heard you banging around. If that glass was anything important its coming out of your damage deposit. Hell, I'll skin you and sell your skinny hide to make up my missing rent! Open this door before I break it in! Doors are expensive!"

"I'm not that far behind on my rent." Marion muttered to himself, "Maybe torture and then allow to live level of late. But no, Grimly goes straight to skinning and selling my hide."

Mr. Grimly kept banging on the door, demanding to be let in.

"Let me in! I'm your landlord! You've got no secrets from me you filthy little salamander!"

Marion realized that Mr. Grimly was counting on Marion opening the door so the landlord could pretend he had been invited in. But Grimly sounded really angry and might graduate from yelling to actually entering the apartment without permission, Tenancies Act be damned.

Marion ran out into his front hall and grabbed his pants.

Marion heard the sound of jangling metal from the hall, a key chain. Panicking, Marion jammed a chair under the door and flipped the three door-bolts into place. Marion had added the door-bolt two months ago after Mr. Grimly snuck into Marion's apartment to wait for Marion to return home. Mr. Grimly had tried to insinuate that he could have Marion killed and the body disposed of quite easily. The landlord had made references to alleged criminal friends and a dog breeder who wasn't picky on what she used to make her kibble. Marion hadn't really believed the landlord, but had no intention of testing his claims and had installed the door-bolts the next day, one at the top of the door about forehead level, one about chest level and one near the ankles. Marion didn't bother to put on his grey work pants. Instead, he went back to the broken window and, opening it this time, he slipped out and began climbing down the fire escape, pants in hand.

Marion heard the door open and then a metal thud as the door reached the limit allowed by the door-bolts

"How dare you install a door-bolt you little worm! I'm going to nail your skinny ass to the wall you little skink!"

Marion tried to pull on his pants as he ran, but the converse made that impossible. He paused and untied his laces, ignoring the passersby who were no doubt eyeing up his Astro Boy boxer briefs. As he pulled his pants on, Marion looked up to see the number eight Main street bus pulling into the stop. He grabbed his converse and ran in mismatched stocking feet towards the bus stop, but was still a block away when the bus pulled out from the curb and rounded the corner onto main street.

Marion staggered to a cursing and wheezing halt, watching his only hope coil out of sight round the corner. He sighed.

"I'm never lucky."