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Post by Pool Boy on Sept 10, 2013 14:19:04 GMT -8
01 THE MAGPIE DIEShe is back from one of her adventures. A cloth bundle is tucked discretely under her arm, soon hidden in the closet. The smell of the wind clings to her black motorcycle jumpsuit. Opening the wine cupboard, the thief plucks up an antique ivory die hidden in a corner of the wood. Her home was never meant to become a crow's nest.
Yun rolls it in her hand for a moment before letting it tumble into the bowl of a glass. She pours her bottle over it to celebrate, and she takes it with her when she reclines on the sofa. The night is a sleepy velvet. She turns the glass between sips until she falls asleep.
Face one. The eye of the blackbird is a hidden presence. Behind those calm yellow circles, a map has been chiseled. Elevator shafts, circulation vents, stolen keys, infrared detectors, and the mouse maze between her and a ruby.
Face two. He is the princess, and she is the bluebird on his shoulder. Hopefully he can brush her off before he types the password.
Face three. The slim, Italian dress of her mother stands in front of the fat suit of her father. They speak quickly in Chinese above her toddler eyes, their faces red. Yun wonders if she is a part of them.
Face four. A room aged in cigarette smoke and the must of green ink. She has an old man's treasures, and they have the money.
Face five. She is surrounded. The fifth reveals himself with a laugh. He taps a bat in his palm, and the other three pull out their guns. She laughs too before he swings.
Face six. The weight of these six marks have taught her more than any of the other five. She curls in the pain of the bruises and a broken rib, breathing like an animal, knowing she is lucky to escape with her life and this fateful die.
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Post by Pool Boy on Oct 26, 2013 18:47:12 GMT -8
02 COUNTRY HOUSEHer father's country house looms above her. Classical music plays while guests promenade her father's gardens. Acquaintances and business connection remain indifferent of her eight-year-old existence as they mutter about the economy, stocks, and the government. She wanders in boredom. She doesn't like to walk on the lawn at night. She is afraid of the feeling of bugs on her skin. She sips lemonade and stays on the paths.
There is the sound though of another girl, younger, exerting herself in the grass. She is barefoot, trying to grab a bug, but too young to be considered misbehaving. A few adults chuckle at her goofy attempts, and walk on. Yun notices her too. The fireflies rise like embers between them. This is her half sister, and her name is Dai. In a moment, a woman stands behind Dai, whispering in her little ear and pointing at Yun. Dai stares back at her. She wears a pretty, white summer dress but she has a bit of chocolate pudding smeared on her face. Yun doesn't know who the little girl is, but she doesn't like the curve of the older woman's long nails. No one tells her Dai's name.
While Dai's mother furiously wipes the pudding off of her daughter's face, Yun turns away, following after the steps of a strolling couple. For the rest of the evening, she pretends she is meant to be with them.
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Post by Pool Boy on Oct 26, 2013 20:04:13 GMT -8
03 THE PRIVILEGE OF THE OLDShe's out the window, glass breaking, then crunching under her palms and her feet. She runs. Gutter steam saturates the air. Her head snaps to look over her shoulder. Red and blue flash on the walls. A man is leaning out the window. He points his gun at her, and she turns straight, ducking.
A minute later, she falls into the basement entrance of Mrs. Cho's grocery. The old lady's black cats leap away from their food. She clutches the left leg that's gone to jello and she shakes at the nob of the back door frantically. It's locked. Yun grabs a bobby pin from her hair, gulping. There's no time to turn around and look. She has to feel for the clicks. She has to sooth open the door with gentle fingers. She cries while she works. She doesn't know if she can do it in time. The piece of metal twists in her fingers, pressing deeper and deeper with each slow second.
Finally, Yun falls inside. She kicks the door shut. She is sobbing, but she doesn't make a sound. She pulls herself to the shelf, her mouth open for air. She is in a storage room. Cat litter, salt, flour, soda, and other basics are piled around her in the darkness. She can hear their feet running outside while she catches her breath. Her hand grabs her leg, and her mouth closes to hold the sound in. But she must crawl around the shelves. She tears open boxes. Sports drinks. Valentines chocolate. Mints. Finally, she discovers the sugar, and she grabs a paper bag of it and tears it open with her teeth.
Yun pulls down her tight pants where she lays on the dank cement, lifting them where the bullet bit her. She can't make out the stain, but the crusty wetness is distinct. There is a hole in her leg. A well of black blood oozes from it. Yun dumps the grains over the wound, whimpering. Her hands collapse over it. She counts to one thousand before she removes the pressure.
Then she finds a plastic bag, and she ties herself up with it. She laughs suddenly, a gurgling, haughty giggle even though nothing is funny. The plastic is cheap and satirical. She pulls her pants up, twisting on the ground. Its lumpy and obvious where the bag was tied. Yun uses the shelves to help her stand, and then she wipes her face and her hands on a hung apron.
She doesn't want to walk on it, so she hops. She shouldn't be walking, but she has to get out of here. They might come back. They might interview all the shopkeepers. They might ask to look in all the backrooms. She limps to the storefront door, and then, she peeks through the crack. No one is there, so she slips through. The restroom is beside her, and the merchandise in front of her. The meat coolers cast a pallid light. A cop is talking to the cashier. She limps down an aisle of canned vegetables. The market is packed with goods on high shelves with narrow spaces to walk. Cats roam about. Yun holds her leg, the color drained from her face.
She comes to a section of plastic toys, army men with parachutes, decks of cards, and faux plastic rings with glue-crystal jewels. Her hand leaves her legs to pretend to contemplate the toys. A shopper is coming down the intersecting aisle, cane whacking the floor. She must look rough in all black, but if she unzips her coat and lets down her hair, its modern.
"Why are you girls interested in these rocks? They've destroyed some people's lives." She turns to meet the haze of Mr. Cho's cataracts. He grabs her arm like she is a child. She pulls away, but his bony grip is firm. "I've read books about it. The wars. The diamonds. Pah! Maybe if you ladies didn't fall to pieces over them, we would all be in a better place!" the old man scolded. Mr. Cho likes to speak as he pleases.
"Don't be silly," she chokes, finally yanking her hand away.
Mr. Cho gives her a stern look and walks by. "Women," he mutters. "All they want are rings, cars, houses. No way to live."
He leaves her, and then, she waits for the cop to leave too. Soon, the kid at the register is back to reading manga. Now's her chance - the old man'll surely be back. Stiffening, she walks up to the kid. Her leg drags like a cheap whore's. Weakness washes over her face. "You got any spearmint?" she struggles to ask. She'll be noticed if she doesn't buy anything.
The kid leans behind his stool and grabs the gum packet. "One sixty," he says, and she pays with a lose five. Then, she waits for her change because letting him keep it will also make her noticed. The old man is already eying her through a canyon of ramen packets.
Finally outside, she turns left, and past the storefront, she leans, gasping, swallowing, shoulder kissing the brick. Her limp is shameless now. Her bike is around the corner beside the dumpster. Yun will always give up at the end of the day. She knows what she has to do, but she isn't cut out for it.
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Post by Pool Boy on Oct 26, 2013 20:40:09 GMT -8
04 CASABLANCA SATIREThe black sea rises up and down against the struts of the dock. Yun leans against the levi's railing. A storm is coming. Another man's coat is wrapped around her shoulder. His arm is around her waist. It could all be very romantic. She could be Ingrid Bergman and he could be Humphrey Bogart. Stuck on a little island in the Atlantic. The city setting presses against her back.
Yun plays her part.
"You're an insurance salesman?"
"Yeah, I could get you a deal on some, if you want," he says softly, hypnotized by the moment. The sound of the waves is powerful and inspiring. But beneath the romance, the sea is but a mirthless graveyard.
She pressed closer to his side, and when he squeezes her ass, she peels out his wallet.
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Post by Pool Boy on Oct 26, 2013 22:27:20 GMT -8
05 IRREVERSIBLEGlass is one of the strongest materials in the world. A normal man cannot break an inch-thick sheet with his best punch. Even with a sledge hammer, he would have trouble.
But when glass it hit with a proper blow, it is completely and utterly destroyed. It shatters. It breaks everywhere. And if you pick up the fragments, you will notice the edges are an opaque white. Glass breaks at the ultimate atomic level. The silicon-oxygen covalent bonds tumble apart like dominoes.
When glass shatters, it can never go back.
The gods themselves shattered her mortal self. Mo Yun quaked after Creation left her alone in her empty apartment, the shadowy curls of his robe trailing behind him in a supernatural flavor. The sensation of his fruit in her hands, everything she could ever want, cracked her glass castle. Her face was a catharsis of fear and nihilism. A thieving, heartless creature pressed against the inside of her skin. What had been the point of all her efforts? Why hadn't she ever stopped and gone back? Yun had never become what she wanted to be, and the fruit would only make it permanent. It would make her horrid glass diamond.
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Post by Pool Boy on Nov 4, 2013 5:45:58 GMT -8
06 LOBSTER QUADRILLEThe pot boiled on the Chinese restaurant's stove. On the counter beside it, Cho's hands were dexterous with the kitchen knife. Even still, the curses of tough cabbages made scars on a few of his fingers where the knife had slipped. Yun sat on a stool of plastic milk crates against the wall behind his station. His generosity of a bowl of white rice was cradled in her palm. A dry dishtowel hung around her neck. Her hair was wet with rain. She held the bowl close to her mouth, devouring the soft white food and hiding her embarrassing greed.
"So my mum and pa run this grocery store off of Main. Little neighborhood place. I can pick you up some milk an' eggs on the way home for nothin' if y'like."
"...You have my gratitude."
"My friend has a place by the beach you could stay at. He's off traveling in America, but he asked me to feed his cat. You can stay there too, until- you get yourself on your feet."
"You... are too kind."
"You're not cold or anything now. I know I cranked up the oven, but I'd say that dress is soaked through. Here's an apron-" the bowl tipped precariously in her hand as a thick, cotton chief's smock was thrown over her head. Bits of rice spilled on her evening gown, but coffee rings of dirty rain already marred its former shine. She pulled down the tough fabric, slowly, setting the bowl aside, and she wrapped it around her icy shoulders. She used it to hide the briefcase on her lap. Then she picked up her bowl again.
"Don't swallow it so fast. Chew."
"...I'm sorry for the trouble," she muttered, her eyes narrowing as a delivery man intruded with a crate of lobsters. Their murky brown claws and tails clicked as their shells slide over each other in the enormous box.
"Fresh from the docks, as usual."
"Thanks, Ricardo."
"Who's the lady?" He grinned.
"Just an old friend down on her luck."
"That dress looks lucky enough to me."
"...Want to have a beer with me after shift?"
"Nah, the lady wants me home. Maybe tomorrow." Ricardo left, his boots squishing back into the puddle outside the backdoor. Cho picked up one of the lobsters from the shipment. Its spider legs wriggled. He picked up another. His gentle hands slipped them into the boiling pot.
"The truth hurts you the most, doesn't it," Yun said, her quiet voice folding into itself and bristling with the spikes of laughter.
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Post by Pool Boy on Nov 4, 2013 11:08:24 GMT -8
07 BLACKBIKEblackbike b r e a t h per fumes thetwil(n)ight; and angels&demons angle lips, demonstrate the ch(rome; y)owling&popping gaso line nose- She Is a vampire, not a dream; not a pretty thought. teeth stuck in the (lover)rubber ride under rickets under sickeness underfire.
blackbike d e a t h isfreedom? held on these metal bars lean in, whisper (I am not you but,) roarroamfoam above (two-ply skin fleshwhite under) black evil knights whowould whistle at the paint; pin life&death to the license plates like you. Freud's thumb ('sfucked) nightmares like this blackbike but its only remembered (forgotten) in the rumble and a key and on andon.
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Post by Pool Boy on Nov 5, 2013 11:12:51 GMT -8
08 TECHNICOLORFollow the yellow brick road. Ruby slippers never hurt your feet. Emerald cities. Poppy fields. Silver men. Pert black dogs. Dancing scarecrows. Flying blue monkies. Harumphing lions. Charming conniving fairy green witches. Exploding color. Banging hues clamoring to escape the screen, escape this cash-fat briefcase.
Yun is cautious sitting beside Cho in his beaten-up Volvo. The grey paint is scratched and dented, and the interior nibbled by rats? She doesn't look at him because color mars her vision. The world is strange. It's brilliant. There is a new paint to her loneliness, a color to this sudden, intense desire for what she ran away from. She sits like a child with a pumpkin on its lap. She knows she had a to carve a life from the diamonds inside this black case, but like a child, she doesn't know how to make it on her own. The hues swarm around her, buzzing in her ears, everything she had thought she wanted, in the end, a cheap replacement for the little room beside her mother's.
Even though Cho is grey, the streets are grey, and the kitchen apron and her black dress as classic as Hitchcock, Yun 's seeing the world for the first time. The somber shadows are their own poison. She wants to go home.
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