awakening

Bruford McMillin was in for a rude awakening. In fact, he was in for the rudest awakening of his entire life…and he should know; his entire life had ended just a few moments ago.
He was almost amused that his final breathing thought had been, “So this is how it ends? That hooker is gonna freak out!” His first thought after he died was, “Look at me. I’m all Swayze.”
Now before you start judging Bruford for his hooker comment, I’ll clear the air. Whilst he was in Vegas and he did die doing the thing that took up the most of his time prior to death, he did not ‘pass over’ whilst in the arms of a ‘lady of the evening’. He died going to work. I might add that he was indeed 100% correct about the young lady freaking out (she totally freaked out) and he was mostly wrong that she was a hooker. She was in fact just a rather extravagantly dressed bride-to-be out with her bridesmaids for a super Vegas-ized bachelorette party.
There is no way that he could have seen the resemblance as he was dying, but right after he crossed over he could plainly see that she was the girl about to marry his 1st boss’ partner’s grandson’s brother’s roommate. Things were so clear now. With this kind of clarity he could really clean up at the poker tables …if only he hadn’t been so dead.
“Oh well,” he thought, “let’s see how this plays out.” At first he tried to stand back and sorta blend in with the crowd forming around his recently vacated body. Then he remembered that he was dead and since he was dead, he could pretty much stand wherever he wanted because nobody could see him anyway.
He’d never ridden in an ambulance before and thought that it was really cool…again except for the dead part. The time at the coroner’s office however, was something that he felt he could’ve gone his whole life with out seeing - and luckily for him, he had.
His funeral was a tossed salad of emotions; for the attendees and the guest of honor as well. Being not blinded by the fog of personal agenda, Bruford found himself fully aware of the guests’ truest feelings. His heart broke right along with those truly saddened by his death. A pre-death suspicion that his boss really was underpaying was confirmed when he felt his boss wondering about where he was going to find another sap that good who’d work for such a low wage. He also found out that 4 of his co-workers had serious crushes on him. 3 of those were at near stalker levels. The other non-stalkerish one was the only female of the bunch. All in all though, it was a touching service. It left him feeling better about some things, although there were those 2 people for which he wished he could’ve cleared a couple of things up. But he knew that ‘that ship had sailed’ and he was, for him, oddly ok with that.
After the last car had slowly rolled away, the last clod of dirt had been flung and the last tear of the day had been wiped away by a empathetic hand, Bruford gave a sigh that (had he still been able to breathe) said, “And I’m done.”
He turned away and began to walk. Shapes and colors mixed, blurred and swirled about him. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but walking seemed like it was what he was supposed to be doing.
Eventually he looked up and saw a place. In his soul it seemed to resonate ‘home.’
“I am here,” Bruford thought. He entered, found his bed and sat on it testing its comfort level. The word ‘perfect’ wasn’t even exact enough of a word to describe how dead on (no pun intended) its comfort level was. He leaned back onto the perfect pillows, kicked up his heels and thought, “So this is what I’ve been working for, for so long.” He smiled, snuggled in, closed his eyes and released a would-be breath of total relaxation.
Then he felt it…then he felt it again. What he thought he’d felt was someone knocking at his front door, but if that front door was actually his brain.
He cracked one eye, saw nothing and resumed his attempt at relaxing. That’s when he heard someone very deliberately clearing their throat at him. He frowned at this pretense and opened both of his eyes. There stood a man, or at least he thought it was a man. He felt like he should rather use the term ‘character’; definitely ‘character.’ He decided that later on when he was recounting this event, he’d definitely, with out a doubt, refer to this person as a character. But then he thought, “just who am I gonna recount this to? I’m so dead…woulda been funny though.”
Without sitting up or even raising his head, he gave this character a good look. He, the character, stood there at full posture; fingertips pressed together in a high-school theatre competition sort of way. Bruford had no idea what was going to happen next, but he was pretty sure that this character was waaaay overdressed for it. He almost chuckled as he concluded that he must have a name like …Froobert Van der Plums.
He, the recently named Froobert, stood silently with a look on his face that loudly whispered, “Look, I don’t mean to bother you, but what I’m about to tell you is really going to bother you…like…a lot.”
Bruford broke the silence asking, “Froobert?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your name? It wouldn’t happen to be Froobert, would it?”
“Err..no. Perhaps Froobert was re-assigned. I can as for them if you’d like. However, my name is Jesper, Jesper Saint Florence and I’m here from LMAC.”
“Who’s Mack?” Bruford asked. “I don’t recall meeting any Mexicans named Mack.”
“Not ‘el Mack’, L-MAC. The Lifetime Misappropriation Accountancy Convention.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Well of course not. We only deal with the dead. And, if we get enough done before a long weekend, sometimes a remote hermit. “
“So what’s your gig? Why are you here for me?”
Bruford could tell that Jesper was all excited that he’d asked. “Well sir, we are the fine souls that keep track of each single second of the time you wasted in life; so that you can pay it back now.”
“Are you serious?”
“Usually far more than necessary. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘you’re living on borrowed time and someday you’ll have to give it back’? Well, today is that day!”
Bruford was perplexed and partially because he didn’t remember sitting up, which he was clearly now doing. “So I have to spend the day paying back wasted time?”
Now Jesper was really in a tizzy. One would guess that he lived for this kind of thing. But then one would have to guess if he was alive or not. And that just open a whole bait shop o’ worms of guessing and nobody wants to see that. He almost spurted joy as he explained. “Oh no, not just today; EVERYDAY! Well, everyday until your debt is cleared. I did say that I have a record of each and every second of your life.”
Bruford began to think that this whole being dead thing was beginning to lose its raison d’etre. (pun intended) “And now I have to pay it back?; Everything that I wasted?”
“With 20% interest, compounded daily; it adds up quickly. And since you took a few days for your funeral and such, you’re already a few weeks behind schedule.”
Bruford stood up, waved a half hearted goodbye to his bed and decided that he might as well get started on his time penance. “Guess there’s no rest for the wicked, eh?”
Jesper quickly corrected him. “Well no, but you’re not the wicked. They have an 84% interest rate and it’s compounded using the complete quadratic. The wicked, that’s Glaywallace’s domain.”
“Glaywallace?”
“Yes, Glaywallace Van der Plums; the LMAC super hero, or super-villian depending.”
Bruford was 100% sure that he didn’t want to entertain that conversation. “So, how do I get this party started? Is there a factory or how does it work?”
Jesper, being far more serious than necessary, responded. “There actually is no party. What happens is that I will introduce you to a TDP (Time Debt Processor) and they will assign you to your retro’s. Starting back as far as you go, you’ll see every time you’ve wasted the time of others and you’ll give needed time back to them or to their closest living deserving relative.”
“Deserving?”
“Yes, deserving. If the nearest living relative is a son who is busy wasting his own time, then you won’t give him a single second. But if his 2nd cousin is minutes away from being late on a house payment that would result in her getting evicted, then you’ll pay your time to that person…as long as they continue to deserve it and as long as you owe time to their relative.”
“When do I start?”
Jesper pointed to Bruford’s left. “Behind you is your TDP Timbrin Caspolininini. She’ll be your guide for what I suspect will be the next great while.”
Bruford nodded a greeting, shook her hand and set off to work. He was determined to do the right thing. And he did…
74 years, 8 months, 23 days, 17 hours, 4 minutes and 9 seconds later he had paid off his debt of wasting other people’s time. He returned to Timbrin who remarked that she had never seen such zeal before. Never had somebody taken to righting their wrongs so voraciously. She said that she was both sad and glad to sign off on his final assignment. She told him that it was now ’His Time’. Bruford had noticed that she had said those words in a way that made them feel capitalized but he was also a bit tired as you can imagine, but not nearly as tired as you’d expect someone to be who hadn’t slept a wink in nearly 75 years. Bruford looked down at this, his last debt. It instructed him to meet with Darlop Krang P.O.C. He was really beginning to think that the 3 letter acronym was essential to any business that wished to survive; dead or otherwise. He found Darlop. She sat him down. He asked her what P.O.C. stood for. She revealed, “Personal Offense Counselor.”
Bruford was even more perplexed than when he had unknowingly sat up on his bed. “I just paid back my debt to everyone. Timbrin said so. Who could I have personally offended? Whose time have I wasted?”
“Why, your own.” Darlop clarified. “Life is full of so many precious moments and you cheated yourself out of so many of them. Now I’ll show you those moments and how they could’ve been different had you not stolen them away from…well, you.”
And thus began to scroll every chance to nap, every home cooked meal refused, every phone call unanswered, every kind word unreturned, every single kiss not dared, every goodbye unhugged and every moment not spent in the arms or smiling glow of a true loved one traded for something that at the time seemed worthwhile but now flapped in the wind of truth.
For a moment Bruford felt empty and hollow. But that chasm filled slowly and painfully with regret at losses he could never recoup. And when it was all over and the final image poured past of him rushing out the door on the morning that he had died with out so much as a ‘see ya later’ to those around him; rushing towards a job for which he now knew he was profanely underpaid. Past all of those souls whose lives would have been enriched by a smile; after all of this had faded and he was left with nothing but that weight inside himself only then did he hear the sound of Darlop stamping his account receipt.
She handed him the ticket and he read the front. In big bold red letters it declared “PAID IN FULL!” Bruford placed it in his pocket, turned away and began to walk.
This time he knew where he was going and when he found it, it was just as he had left it all those years ago. He lay down on the bed, rested his very full head against the perfect pillow, closed his eyes and snuggled in. this time hoping to relax.
Then he heard it…then he heard it again…BEEEP! Like an angry alarm clock. But what was that other sound? He tried to focus in on it; as if cupping his hand up to his mind’s ear. Then he heard it again. And he felt like his perfect bed had grown a very large hand that had decided to give him a great shove. PAIN!!!!
“What was this?” Bruford thought, “There is no pain after death?!?!!” and then with a complex feeling he likened to what a toilet must feel like as it’s being flushed, Bruford felt himself make a sound. And it felt like something he hadn’t felt in forever. Then there was that sound again…what was it? He could tell now. It was a voice. But it wasn’t Jesper’s or Timbrin’s or even Darlop’s. He didn’t recognize this voice at all. He tried to focus in on what the voice was saying. Finally he could make it out…
“I think we got him. Yep, we got him!” and then there were sounds of cheers. It was a struggle unfelt before but Bruford opened his eyes and what he saw was…well it wasn’t his perfect bed. It was a crowd of people and…and there was that hooker again, (still freaking out) except he knew that she really wasn’t a hooker. People were cheering and hugging all around him as somebody rolled him into an ambulance. He got to ride in an ambulance again! He had to admit, this time it was much much cooler especially since it didn’t end up at the coroner’s table.
Bruford arrived at the hospital and was placed in a room of his own. The bed wasn’t anywhere close to perfect, but it was the best bed he’d felt in nearly 100 years. A nurse came by and asked if he wanted to call anybody. He had two calls in mind. “Call my boss and tell him I quit. And then call my house and tell anybody who answers that I love them very very much.” The nurse chuckled, said that Bruford sounded like he had a plan and she just needed him to write down the numbers for her. Without thinking, Bruford reached into his pocket to get a pen and perhaps some paper. What he pulled out was an odd looking ticket. On the front, in big bold letter it read,

“PAID IN FULL?...”

...and the winner is...

I once had a dream about a boy and a girl. They were brother and sister and were the goth-iest kids to ever float the earth. They were also clothing designers and extremely competitive with each other. This is the story of how one of their competitions went scary. It began one day when the brother showed up with a shirt made out of something so black that other colors were repelled by it. Not wishing to be out done, the sister arrived the next day with a pair of cargo pants made out of something so black that any room she entered seemed to dim whilst she was in it. The brother realized that things had just been stepped up and decided to step things up himself. The next day he came around with a hoodie made out of “shadow.” This bothered some passers-by and a few people found it difficult to walk behind him as he strolled the streets. The following day brought rain and it also brought the sister with a raincoat made out of “just out of the corner of your eye.” People kept almost running into her as they couldn’t see her until they had nearly passed right by her. Brother sat confraculated for a while. Then you could see his eyes switch over as he had a moment of clarity rarely seen outside of 18th century Eastern European training manuals. On the morrow he made his mark on the day by unleashing onto the world his boots and hat made out of “cold chill running down your spine.” After some disastrous incidents at local barber, he was asked to change his garb. On his way to do so he heard a sound he had yet to hear before, but instantly knew what it was. His sister had completed the ultimate triumph for a young goth-y competitive clothing designer. She had successfully brought about a most fearful garment indeed. Lesser people went crazy or just shrieked themselves into unconsciousness when their eyes fell upon her. She ghosted her way down the boulevard clad in a hooded trench-cloak constructed entirely out of “nothingness.” Luckily for me my alarm went off wrenching me from this dream before I became one of those ill-fated whom had the unfortunance to have seen exactly what this looked like. This is a knowledge that I am TOTALLY ok with having never gained…

Beside: chapter 1

There is no name for what I am. No word fouled or abominable enough has ever been scraped across teeth or tongue. Ground has not been so transgressed as to when I alight upon it.
I have just crawled forth from my time of hiding. A sleep of sorts until the salt, sand and dirt vomited me out in a tearing upheaval of rock. Again I move, on the move; watching and being watched for.
I was once a great soldier; the deepest hunter. But then, through acts of the greatest treason and aggression was snared in nets seeping deceit. I cut and dug against it and passed out into a much darker light. And for it have become at once the most hunted hunter.
Vigilance is my every breath. My shield never drops and my sword is ever drawn to the ready. No army at my back and no friend at my side, I have only enemies in sight.
There is no grace for me. Beyond the most fallen, I have been cast asunder and am beside.
My story began long before your past and present. I, Bur’zkiel, proudly carried staff, shield and blade in the host of Him known as I. For time beyond time I served; loyal and true. Too true for the likes of Grazuel, who was before known as Araxiel; but is now the rogue…the betrayer.
My trust and love of once a brother blinded me to his orchestrations. I was lured by the trumpet calling for aid and flew into his trap. I found, not Gabriel, but a trick of Zagum twisting the blasphemous blare of Murmur. For the slightest of seconds, my disbelief paused my shield. The gargoyle Bar-Lgura fell down upon me. I was captured and set upon by the Upyr’s metal fangs. My defilement weakened me. As I lay writhing with the poisoner’s curse fighting inside me, I faded away from my senses over and over. Yet I could hear their bragging over me.
Grazuel sided himself with darkest of fates; Baalzephon (the captain of the beast’s guards) and Thamuz the chief of weapons. Commander of all their armies, Agaliarept, had commissioned a new super weapon, and I was the forge. For who could stand against an army of angels who had been bitten by the fang of vampire?
I had become something new. I was changed and even as I lay there I could feel the hand of grace sliding away from me. Forsaken and stolen from all that I had loved, I raged with this new strength within me. My blade flashed and my shield fell no more. I could feel the power surge and I could just as strongly feel the tearing inside me. The more I used my power to slay the enemies of Him that is called I, the more asunder I slid.
I fled.
I hid.
I clawed at the dirt and I climbed into it. Its blanket hid me for longer than I know. Now I am whole. The raging inside me knows its place and its grip I can now control. I walk your world, a soldier with no company, no home, and no world to call mine. I am hunted by everything that has ever raised munitions in this the great war of the ever. I am the thorn in the cheek of them all. For I am a creature that He, that is called I, did not create and I am the weapon that those fallen fates cannot command to aim. So every eye is watched and no back is trusted. Until I can find a future that I can claim as mine own, I shall be at war, ready with a shield thick and solid, a staff sound and a sword sharper than the dawn.
For I am Bur’zkiel, the asunder; the beside…