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| Alarmingly Strange Stories |
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The Resurrection Machine |
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| . And as a salmon is born with the knowledge of a future death swimming upstream, Brandy was born unto this waiting room with full understanding of the concept. She knew she was dead and waiting for her next life. She also knew that when that life ended she would be back here doing it again. Here is where existence begins and ends. For forever, this waiting room has stood in the center of everything, recycling life and keeping the universe populated. Sometimes there may be a short delay and sometimes a new arrival waited years for placement. And especially during time of war or a major natural catastrophe, when this waiting room was filled, the wait could be tremendous. The loudspeaker asked for a gentleman by the name of Number Nine Chris Lee Knolf and a guy with blood draining from his nose and one ear sauntered from the seating area. Good, only two people ahead of me. Her card said #11 She continued knitting as a planeload of people seated themselves towards the back. The last time Brandy sat here, 1959 I believe, she began the afghan. Her name was Eileen Abbot at that time. Heart attack victim. In those days, smoking was not prohibited. She didn't want a cigarette right this second, but soon the need would strike her. Damn she thought, I gotta wait until I'm a teenager again before I get another cig. She gathered all the necessary yarns and needles from the Sewing Window and took her seat. That time she was called quickly, so she only got a small part finished. She lay it on her seat and went to the Enter Window. There the receptionist gave her a Showing of her new life. This 'new life' was as any other; birth, then the interlude known as life, then death. She even foresaw the bus, at the time not realizing the largeness of the episode. Then, after walking into a glowing orb, she saw a woman's birth canal. And blood, plenty of blood. Then a man slapping her ass. She tried to tell the mean man to stop but all that came from her mouth was a cry. As a fetus, she still contained all the knowledge of her past lives and such, but the memories faded within minutes Then all memories of the reincarnation center left her. Like an eraser removing chalk, her mind eliminated all data concerned with that subject. Her mother named her Brandy. And what happened was: she grew into a beautiful blonde young girl, then into a beautiful teenage girl, then into an ugly pile of crunched body parts. Before the bus mangled her into a dishrag, she weighed a hundred and twenty-eight pounds. Afterward, about sixty. She only wanted everything to look alright for the party. Hank and Sara and probably Misty were coming tonight, and Bobby may stop in after the gig. Bobby was playing the Scottsdale Theater tonight with his band Shodelmyer and if he showed up, it would be about four in the morning. That was way okay in Brandy's book, the others would surely be passed out by then. Maybe her and Bobby could hook-up, if you know what I mean. Besides, Brandy hasn't seen any action since Lance up and left. Oh, and don't get her started about Lance. After that bastard of a fuck just grabbed his shit and hit the road, she was pissed big time. He didn't leave a note, he didn't call for days, and he took the savings account too, that bastard. When he did call, it was only to ask what lawyer she had. "Can I at least know why you left?" Brandy asked over the phone. His reply, "Irreconcilable differences." Irreconcile this you piece of shit she thought as she opened the sour kraut cans. Lance never once told her why. That hurt her more than the actual divorce. But enough about that asshole. She dropped hot dogs into the crock-pot and added just a smidg of brown sugar. Now Bobby on the other hand, there's a hunka, hunka burnin love. She poured three cans of kraut on the dogs and felt a tingle. A small tingle, but nevertheless a tingle. Bobby could fix that problem she believed. She hoped to be awake if and when he arrived. The tingle became stronger the more she thought of Bobby, how he played that yellow Stratocaster hung down low, how he sometimes flashed her the male equivalent of a beaver shot when he soloed. Oh yea, Lance can just eat shit because there's a new kid in town. . |
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