“Aw, man, I’m so tired.”
That’s what Jake would say every single day. He was possibly the most exhausted person on earth. Dark shades around the eyes, slightly hunched shoulders, and greasy dark hair screamed TIRED all day long. Judy couldn’t imagine what kind of work he had to do to be so tired all the time. Just standing beside him made her feel better about herself, since standing next to him for 5 seconds was enough to make anyone feel as if they were the luckiest and happiest person on earth.
“What’s wrong? Work again?” Judy asked, out of politeness rather than anything.
Jake let out an exhausted sigh. He looked as if holding his head up straight was costing him more energy than he could muster.
“No, not exactly… although come to think of it, I think I might be better off jumping off a roof now than having to do all those stuff,” said Jake, looking out the window almost wistfully.
Judy had already heard him say this many times before, so she wasn’t too worried. However, she couldn’t help but feel disturbed at such thought and changed the subject.
“Jake, did you know that Professor Knowels is retiring this year?”
“No,” he said, taken aback, “but I thought she was only 50-something right now. A bit early to retire, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, I know!” exclaimed Judy. She was excited to tell her story now that Jake was displaying obvious interest. “They say that it’s because of her mother. It sounds like she has a heart condition.”
“That’s a shame. She was a really great teacher,” said Jake.
“The thing is,” Judy added, toning her voice down mysteriously, “I know for a fact that her mother and father already died of car crash like decades ago. I saw that while I was researching in the library for my term paper. What a lame excuse, ‘my mother is sick.’ It’s almost as bad as ‘my dog ate my homework’!
“I think there’s a lot more to this; you know, people covering up stories for the school name and so. She might have got herself addicted to drugs, got broke gambling, got into a freak accident…”
Judy had always felt threatened by Mrs. Knowels. Even though Mrs. Knowels was in her 40s, she was rather popular among the boys and Judy knew there had to be something wrong with her.
“Or,” said Judy, with a sudden inspiration, “she might have eloped with a student!”
Jake snorted into his coffee.
“Wha- what are you talking about?”
Sputtering, Jake struggled for words.
Judy grinned mischievously.
“Jake, don’t say you didn’t know! It was all over the school! Mrs. Knowels had this mysterious “secret admirer” thing going on but then it suddenly stopped. People were saying that it was because she said yes to whomever it was and –“
Jake suddenly stood up. The weariness had been wiped from his face and instead, Judy could sense a cold anger burning behind his eyes.
“I think I left something behind at the library.”
Judy stared.
“I’ll see you around, Judy, thanks for the coffee.”
It was nothing like the usual drawling, weary voice she was used to hearing from Jake. It was cold, brisk, and rather emotionless. Judy couldn’t think of anything that she said that may have offended him.
Jake stormed out of the coffee shop. His eyes were starting to water.
2011년 6월 14일 화요일
2011년 6월 6일 월요일
Satan and Snakes (Part 1)
The cold winter air cut through Dr. Greyson’s cheeks. Trying to cover as much of his exposed face as he could with his coat, he walked towards the police station with hurried steps.
As he passed through the glass doors, the guard greeted him.
“Good morning, Dr. Greyson.”
Dr. Greyson answered with a halfhearted smile. His visits to this place were always depressing. Everything about this building got on his nerve: the dusty red bricks, the dirty windows, the black metal bars distraught him and the fact that he was visiting either a psychopath or a psychotic did nothing to improve his mood.
Dr. Richard Greyson worked as a psychology consultant for the Department of Justice. To put simply, he was in charge of investigating the mental well-being of a convicted felon so that he or she may be put under trial or admitted to a mental facility accordingly. This was a gruesome task; why an average person like him worked as a consultant was a mystery to many of his colleagues. He was not the kind of person who thrilled at the pleasure of analyzing a criminal, nor was he an avid advocator of justice who wished to uphold the law with his own hands. One might take him for an accountant or a banker, but never a psychologist. Trying not to be intrusive, however, no one actually asked him; he must have his reasons, no doubt. And if he was good at spotting out frauds, who cared why he worked as a consultant?
Dr. Greyson took out the ID tag from his bag and hung it around his neck. He shuffled along the corridor which leads to the holding cells, flashing his ID at securities. Some of the guards were dozing in their posts; other men were busy munching down a frosted doughnut while reading a newspaper. Only one officer seemed to notice that he was passing by.
“Hey, Rick. Up for another round of foosball?”
It was Lauren from homicides. She and he had worked together on a case previously, and ever since then, she seemed to have taken a liking for him. They had gone out several times already, but their relationship never got past the point of beer, foosball, and bed.
Dr. Greyson couldn’t think of anything to say, so he could only reply by smiling awkwardly to her proposal.
“Friday, 7:00, at Tony’s! Don’t be late!” Lauren shouted across the hall. Some of the guards looked up, snickering.
With a reluctant sigh, feeling his energy drain away already, he opened the door of the holding cell number 6.
There, he saw the face of an angel.
--------------------------------------------------
As he lied awake on the bed beside Lauren, looking up to the ceiling, Dr. Greyson could not help but wonder if there was such a thing as a supernatural being in this world. How else could one explain the existence of something so beautiful yet so deformed, unless it was the product of his irony? He could feel his destiny calling out to him, beckoning him to purify and heal this tainted and scarred soul. He voiced out a silent prayer, thanking his good fortune.
“Anna Skatesands,”
He mouthed the name of his true love.
--------------------------------------------------
The girl sitting in the chair wore an orange convict suit. She seemed to be no older than 16. Dr. Greyson was lost for words. Her short black hair fell elegantly on her left cheek. Her sharp eyebrows accentuated her clear blue eyes. Her scarlet lips contrasting with her pale complexion made the perfect portrait. His heart seemed to skip a beat; his eyes seemed to water from staring at something so perfect and beautiful.
Feeling the blood in his body thumping, Dr. Greyson, with difficulty, tore his eyes away from the girl. He read the file in his hands.
“Anna Skatesands?” he asked.
She nodded in affirmation. Trying not to notice how the light seemed to bounce off her hair, he took on a professional voice with a slight cough and said,
“It says here that you…”
But he could not finish his sentence. He could not connect the girl in front of him with the heinous crime that was written in the case file. In the case file, it said that the girl with the porcelain features, the girl with the beautiful blue eyes had been convicted with murder.
--------------------------------------------------
Anna stared down at her bloodstained knife. She frowned. She had expected to feel something. After all, she had just stabbed a person in the chest, right between the left 3rd and 4th rib, tearing through the pectoral muscles, and into the lung. Her victim was drowning in his own blood, gurgling out incoherent words while entering the first stage of hemorrhagic shock. He would die painfully and slowly, unable to move or even call for help within the hour. It was more than enough for her to discard the weapon and all evidence that could connect her to the crime and flee the scene to build a solid alibi. Since this man had no friends or family, it would take at least 2 days until his body started to stench for anyone to notice his absence.
She calmly wrapped up the knife with toilet paper and placed it in a plastic bag. Taking care not to step on the pool of blood forming on the carpet, she left the building.
--------------------------------------------------
Dr. Greyson had never seen a case like this. She seemed to be perfectly healthy and mentally stable. He couldn’t detect any anomaly in her behavior except for her lack of guilt for what she had done. Even gang members had displayed more guilt than this 16 year old girl had. If anything could be said about her mental state, she was healthier than other modern day citizens of New York, where the majority suffered from depression, insecurity and solitude.
“So what do you think? She a nutcase, or a criminal?”
She was mentally in perfect condition. There was no doubt about that.
“Definitely a psychological disorder. I’ll take her off your hands.”
Dr. Greyson smiled reassuringly.
--------------------------------------------------
As he passed through the glass doors, the guard greeted him.
“Good morning, Dr. Greyson.”
Dr. Greyson answered with a halfhearted smile. His visits to this place were always depressing. Everything about this building got on his nerve: the dusty red bricks, the dirty windows, the black metal bars distraught him and the fact that he was visiting either a psychopath or a psychotic did nothing to improve his mood.
Dr. Richard Greyson worked as a psychology consultant for the Department of Justice. To put simply, he was in charge of investigating the mental well-being of a convicted felon so that he or she may be put under trial or admitted to a mental facility accordingly. This was a gruesome task; why an average person like him worked as a consultant was a mystery to many of his colleagues. He was not the kind of person who thrilled at the pleasure of analyzing a criminal, nor was he an avid advocator of justice who wished to uphold the law with his own hands. One might take him for an accountant or a banker, but never a psychologist. Trying not to be intrusive, however, no one actually asked him; he must have his reasons, no doubt. And if he was good at spotting out frauds, who cared why he worked as a consultant?
Dr. Greyson took out the ID tag from his bag and hung it around his neck. He shuffled along the corridor which leads to the holding cells, flashing his ID at securities. Some of the guards were dozing in their posts; other men were busy munching down a frosted doughnut while reading a newspaper. Only one officer seemed to notice that he was passing by.
“Hey, Rick. Up for another round of foosball?”
It was Lauren from homicides. She and he had worked together on a case previously, and ever since then, she seemed to have taken a liking for him. They had gone out several times already, but their relationship never got past the point of beer, foosball, and bed.
Dr. Greyson couldn’t think of anything to say, so he could only reply by smiling awkwardly to her proposal.
“Friday, 7:00, at Tony’s! Don’t be late!” Lauren shouted across the hall. Some of the guards looked up, snickering.
With a reluctant sigh, feeling his energy drain away already, he opened the door of the holding cell number 6.
There, he saw the face of an angel.
--------------------------------------------------
As he lied awake on the bed beside Lauren, looking up to the ceiling, Dr. Greyson could not help but wonder if there was such a thing as a supernatural being in this world. How else could one explain the existence of something so beautiful yet so deformed, unless it was the product of his irony? He could feel his destiny calling out to him, beckoning him to purify and heal this tainted and scarred soul. He voiced out a silent prayer, thanking his good fortune.
“Anna Skatesands,”
He mouthed the name of his true love.
--------------------------------------------------
The girl sitting in the chair wore an orange convict suit. She seemed to be no older than 16. Dr. Greyson was lost for words. Her short black hair fell elegantly on her left cheek. Her sharp eyebrows accentuated her clear blue eyes. Her scarlet lips contrasting with her pale complexion made the perfect portrait. His heart seemed to skip a beat; his eyes seemed to water from staring at something so perfect and beautiful.
Feeling the blood in his body thumping, Dr. Greyson, with difficulty, tore his eyes away from the girl. He read the file in his hands.
“Anna Skatesands?” he asked.
She nodded in affirmation. Trying not to notice how the light seemed to bounce off her hair, he took on a professional voice with a slight cough and said,
“It says here that you…”
But he could not finish his sentence. He could not connect the girl in front of him with the heinous crime that was written in the case file. In the case file, it said that the girl with the porcelain features, the girl with the beautiful blue eyes had been convicted with murder.
--------------------------------------------------
Anna stared down at her bloodstained knife. She frowned. She had expected to feel something. After all, she had just stabbed a person in the chest, right between the left 3rd and 4th rib, tearing through the pectoral muscles, and into the lung. Her victim was drowning in his own blood, gurgling out incoherent words while entering the first stage of hemorrhagic shock. He would die painfully and slowly, unable to move or even call for help within the hour. It was more than enough for her to discard the weapon and all evidence that could connect her to the crime and flee the scene to build a solid alibi. Since this man had no friends or family, it would take at least 2 days until his body started to stench for anyone to notice his absence.
She calmly wrapped up the knife with toilet paper and placed it in a plastic bag. Taking care not to step on the pool of blood forming on the carpet, she left the building.
--------------------------------------------------
Dr. Greyson had never seen a case like this. She seemed to be perfectly healthy and mentally stable. He couldn’t detect any anomaly in her behavior except for her lack of guilt for what she had done. Even gang members had displayed more guilt than this 16 year old girl had. If anything could be said about her mental state, she was healthier than other modern day citizens of New York, where the majority suffered from depression, insecurity and solitude.
“So what do you think? She a nutcase, or a criminal?”
She was mentally in perfect condition. There was no doubt about that.
“Definitely a psychological disorder. I’ll take her off your hands.”
Dr. Greyson smiled reassuringly.
--------------------------------------------------
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