Feed Me to Baikal Seals
The Winston apartment complex housed exactly ninety-eight wonderful tenants. Most paid their rent on time, but there were of course, a few outliers who loved to test the boundaries. They usually came up with lousy excuses as to why their rent was not paid. Oh, my cat had to get ACL surgery, or oh, I spent my last bit of money buying a hot dog stand, they would say. This really got on Maurice’s nerves because he knew these were big fat lies. None were worse, though, than the tenant in room 214. He was on the short end of the stick, already. He’d missed rent twice and was late on it four other times. So, when Maurice went to check this month’s rent, he discovered yet another missed payment from room 214 and was quite furious to say the least.
He grabbed a beat-up Red Sox cap with a chunk of cloth missing on its bill, from a side drawer and put it on. Then, marched out of his dingy office, turned left toward the elevators, and clicked the up arrow. While he was waiting, he noticed a heap of trash resting below its home in the corner. This only added to his rage as he picked up the mound of garbage and threw it in the trash can. The elevator dinged, then slid open. He chose the second-floor and folded his arms while the car rose. He got off and crossed the long hall, a lightbulb flickered erratically in the middle of the hall. He stopped under it and made a mental note about it, then continued. The door to 214 crept open after a series of agitated knocks.
From within the poorly lit room, a young man stuck his head barely through the door’s opening. He had on glasses that sheltered always moving eyes, shaggy blond hair, and no shirt on. “Hey Maurice, what can I do for ya,” he said and opened the door a bit more. His left hand was hidden behind his back, accentuating an already see-through chest.
“You haven’t paid your damn rent again, Dallas,” he said with restrained anger. “You got it for me?”
“Well, I don’t have it now,” he said. There was a real confusion in his soft voice as if he didn’t know that rent was due, or that he had to pay it at all.
Maurice stared at him like he couldn’t believe the words that were just spoken. “That’s it, I can’t take your shenanigans anymore,” he said and shoved a piece of paper in the young man’s chest, knocking him backward.
The door was open fully now and he made no effort at the paper, it just floated from side to side until it was on the ground, face up. At the top of the paper were the words, Eviction Notice, in red block letters.
The two just stared at the paper then back at each other. “What the hell you got back there?” Maurice asked, just now noticing Dallas’ hand that’s been tucked on the small of his back the whole conversation.
“Nothing. Just been trying to pop this pesky pimple on my back,” he said half-heartedly.
Maurice didn’t buy it one bit. He knew that Dallas loved to tell a fib and pressed on. “Come on, give it up. I know ya got something back there.”
Dallas, very hesitantly, revealed an enclosed hand. His hands were rather large compared to a skeleton like frame. They were like big claws the way they extended from his frail wrists. “Okay ya got me. Its just my little friend,” he said and smiled a wide toothless smile.
Maurice readjusted his hat, eyes glued to the now extended fist. “Go on. Open up.”
The enclosed fist ached open, and a fat little rat sat on his palm. It walked around the wide surface of his hand, nose wavering through the air.
“What the hell,” he said and jumped back to the wall. “What the fuck you got a ra—”
“Don’t worry, he’s a friendly little fella. Found him on the street yesterday in a bag of potato chips. His name is Sir Edward the third,” he said and stroked its tail between two fingers.
“Jesus christ, you know we have a strict no rodent policy, right?”
Dallas just shrugged and held the rat up to eye level.
“You and that nasty rat are gone. By next month, understand?” he said and shuffled a few paces to the left.
“Whatever you say,” Dallas said and crouched down, letting the rat crawl off his fingertips. It scurried along the side of the hall and under someone’s door. “I like your hat Maurice. So have you always been a sox fan? Or just this year because they’re in the world se—"
A small but trained fist screamed through the air, connecting with the still crouched Dallas. The punch landed right above his temple and sent him against where the door opens on its hinges.
“I want you out in two god damn weeks, and I mean it,” he said and stormed down the hall shaking the sting from his hand. He was just getting on the elevator when Dallas was getting to an upright position.
*
It was quarter past eleven when he started for the train. The street was busy with commotion. People crossed the road, strictly worried about their own agenda, not the passing cars. He watched as a couple nearly got flattened by a speeding bus. It was nice out, despite it being late fall. The trees around were mostly barren, their colorful extensions lying dead on the ground below. He passed through a pile of leaves that cluttered the sidewalk and took a right into the train station. The train was screeching to a stop just as he came to the tracks.
It finally rested, the doors slid open, and he boarded the packed train, went all the way to the back row of seats and plopped down. The seating of this particular locomotive had three seats on either side of a thin walkway, with grab handles spaced evenly apart above. He chose the middle seat and placed the backpack he was wearing on the seat closest to the window, then turned it to face him. After a few minutes, the train jerked then surged forward. He watched the passing buildings blur by. Then the train passed through a long tunnel and the buildings were replaced with his own reflection. He had on a long overcoat and the right lens of his glasses had a few thin cracks running through it. The train emerged through the tunnel and grinded to a stop. There were quite a few people around where he was sitting, most of them exited and a new batch loaded on.
There wasn’t much seating left when a small girl came striding down the aisle. She stopped right next to him and tried to reach the handle above, but was far too short.
He was sort of leaning over the empty seat so no one would take it. But opened up and asked the girl if she’d like to sit when he saw her struggling.
She said she would, and thanked him.
“Just come from church?” he asked.
“Yeah, it was pretty boring I must say.”
“Why’d ya go then? Don’t ya have any parents, why’re ya all by your lonesome?” he said and leaned back as if to study her. The little girl had her strawberry blond hair in two piggy tails, she wore a light blue dress that was a little too small, with yellow flowers on it. She had these hideous black clogs on to match.
“Well because I wanted to find god and all, I think,” she said. “And no, I don’t.”
He turned only his head and stared at her, then laughed once as if to rub it in her face. “So you’re a bastard then? That sucks,” he said and smiled inward.
She didn’t respond just crossed her legs and turned towards the aisle.
The train came to another stop and the patrons filed out, leaving the train somewhat sparse. He turned to the bookbag, unzipped the top and cupped his hands over the opening and looked inside it. It was like he was peering into a darkly tinted window. He released and zipped up the bag until the two zippers were kissing.
“So, why’d ya want to find god?” he asked and poked her.
“You’re mean,” she said over a shoulder.
“Why? Because I laughed at you being a filthy bastard?”
“Do you have to be such a jerk?” she spat at him.
“I’m sorry…” he droned off. “But its okay because I was a bastard too!” He said in a wild tone. “So, I’m allowed to joke about it because I was a bastard like you once.”
She turned to him, uncrossing her legs. “You were?” a sympathetic frown followed the words.
“Yeah, never knew my parents, really. But I don’t much feel like talking about it,” he said and turned to the bag, cracked it open a tiny amount and glanced inside. “So why’d ya want to find god?” he asked again.
“Well because I want to go to heaven when I die, that’s why,” she said and twirled one of her ponytails. “Don’t you?”
He shut the bag abruptly, shifted to face her. “Well when I die, I don’t care to go to heaven much.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s boring, really,” he said and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes hard. “Ya want to know what I want.”
“Yea—"
“When I’m on my deathbed, I want someone to bring me to a family of Baikal Seals…” he broke off. “You know what those are?”
She shook her head no.
“They’re these seals that have jet black eyes and long whiskers that stick out from their faces like needles. They kind of look like demons that swim through the water,” he told her. “Anyway, I want someone to take me to a family of them and let them eat me, that way my soul can be transferred to them,” he said and gazed out the window for a second, then turned back to her. “You think you could do that for me?” he said with hopeful eyes.
“Where do they live?”
“Russia, but I’m sure you could import some,” he said.
She stared blankly at him. “Well jeeze that’s kind of far but I could try I guess,” she said.
“Splendid!” he turned to the bag, opened it, and fished his hand around the inside.
The little girl combed a loose strand of hair behind an ear, stood up and straightened out her dress. “Whatcha got in there?” she asked.
“Where?”
“In that bag,” she said and pointed to his bookbag.
“Just my dead pet rat,” he said with a morose frown.
“Oh I’m sorry,” she replied. “How’d it die?”
“I really can’t say for sure how it happened,” he said and slouched in the seat. “I came home today, and his head was clean off. You know how rats can be sometimes, but I thought it deserved a proper burial, so that’s what I’m headed to do.”
The girl didn’t respond, just side eyed him while the train came to a halt. She told him this was her stop and that it was a pleasure to meet him, even though he was most peculiar. She stood and said goodbye then disappeared with a group of people that got off.
Moments later, the train began on its course again. The next stop came quick, and the train was mostly empty now. It was his stop, he peered into the bookbag one more time, and slung it over a shoulder, then exited.
The cool air flushed his face as he stepped off and started down the sidewalk. He continued on it for a while before cutting through a thicket of trees that came out to a beaten path. To his left was a fast-flowing river. It wasn’t too fast though and had quite a relaxing flow to it. A blue heron lifted off from the opposite shore and flapped awkwardly through the air before veering off and behind a group of trees. He walked to the edge of the river and set the bookbag down against a collection of rocks, sucked in a breath of fresh air and closed his eyes, arms extended out to the side. He then bent down and unzipped the bookbag ever so carefully until it gaped open like a mouth. From within, he pulled out a Boston Red Sox cap and fixed the now bloodstained hat tightly to his head. Then, he reached with two hands, inside the bag and pulled out the severed head that the cap belonged to. He held it up at eye level, stared at it cockeyed. The eyes were cut out and blood dripped sporadically from severed flesh that slung down. After a moment of staring at it, he hosted it to a shoulder then shotput it into the river He watched intently as it bobbed up and down in the water, eventually disappearing over a small waterfall. He picked up the backpack, fastened it on and began walking down the path while whistling a tune.
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