Iggy
Iggy caught himself about to nod off in the alley. His head bobbed and he knew he needed to get up to see if there were any beds left at the shelter. Then, looking up, he saw a woman watching him—standing almost toe to toe with him, squinting at him almost like an upset girlfriend.
“You are my brother. Come with me,” Iggy looked at her. He didn’t know how to respond. “Eres mi hermano pendejo vente,” she told him again. Iggy stood up dusted off the back of his pants and followed her. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew she was telling the truth. This strange scornful looking woman was his sister.
Sitting at her kitchen table, this woman served him a bowl of soup and a glass of lemonade. She hadn’t said a word to him since she had called him a pendejo, and Iggy didn’t know what to do so he ate and hoped the soup wasn’t poisoned.
Finally, she sat next to him, squinted at him some more, then told him his story. Iggy was a normal kid—he ran track, had decent grades, then one day a tall blonde teacher showed up. Iggy was obsessed with this teacher and started to speak strangely, in circles, not making sense, and then became uncontrollable. He had many outbursts where he demanded apples and screamed at the sidewalk in front of their house. He lost his mind completely and his family gave him away to the streets.
Iggy was confused though, he told her he remembered a childhood where he hid and apples were his first love. He had all these memories of being a child and slowly the confusion set in deeper and deeper. He had no memories of siblings. Everything she said, Iggy didn’t remember. Iggy didn’t know.
She looked at him firmly and then coughed, “Creo, no creo. Pero yo te dijo la verdad…ques mas sopa?” Iggy nodded and felt his heart pull into a hundred chunks. Was everything he remembered false? She had to be telling the truth, why could he understand her Spanish perfectly? Why couldn’t he answer in Spanish? There were Spanish words flickering on his tongue, but they weren’t coming through. Iggy purposely chattered his teeth. He had the slightest memory of being able to speak Spanish; he knew it. But where did it go?
That night, Iggy slept on her living room floor. He spotted the little blonde boy watching him from down the hall. When their eyes met, the boy walked off. So that is why the boy followed Iggy. His sister showed up with an extra blanket and watched Iggy’s eyes meet her son’s eyes down the hall. She shrugged, “la sangre llama…” She went to bed and Iggy knew he was home, and as far away from home as he’d ever been, on this old shaggy carpet on Feline Street. Then it hit Iggy like a punch in the stomach, he didn’t have a home.
All Iggy could do now was sleep. The world was right, and upside down, and sideways all at the same time.
Week 3
Shatter: To break into many small pieces.
Superior Mother
Superior Mother was tired and the day seemed to drag on forever with the ladies. Busy, busy… always something to accomplish and organize. Superior Mother often pretended to stay focused on whatever task they informed her about, but lately she hadn’t cared much. Forcing herself to sit up straight and pretend to listen to the meeting was daunting.
Mother 35: “She’s at the shatter. We must agree on the shatter.”
Mother 9: “We mustn’t agree on anything. We will discuss and present our ideas to Superior Mother who will then determine the nature of the shatter.” With that, Mother 9 frowned significantly—a frown that displayed a belief that all others, except herself, were incompetent.
Mother 23: “I agree, such disloyalty to Superior Mother! We do not know what’s best for The Grey. We must be guided by Superior Mother. If we all believe the shatter should go in different directions, then we are not the same, we are different.”
Superior Mother patted Mother 23 on the hand and nodded. She is such a suck up, jeez. But, a suck up would almost always be loyal to their cause and Superior Mother needed this. Her time was coming up and soon someone would notice and take control. This could not happen, she needed to choose her successor.
Mother 87: Coughing and smiling at Superior Mother, “Have you decided on the shatter, Superior Mother? We are all dying to know.” Her smile grew immensely large, and she sat on the edge of her seat, waiting the big news of the day—something she coveted hearing before the other Mothers she was close to.
Superior Mother cleared her throat, “The shatter will be a break between their worlds. Everyday lives will break into many pieces and they will run to Lisa for help. The shatter will go in Lisa’s favor.” Superior Mother slapped her hand on the table, startling those who opposed her and left the room, taking all of her secrets with her.
Lisa
Hearing the front door close, Lisa realized that Craig had left for work. Craig left for work at the same time every day and always returned sometime in the evening. Lisa wanted to ask him about his whereabouts and schedule, but that seemed more girlfriend than roommate.
Then almost immediately, Lisa heard her vacuum being turned on. Mother 39 turned her head to Lisa when she came into the living room.
“You are aware that these work a lot better if you turn them on and push them back and forth every once in a while, right? Hell, preferably several times a week. Honestly, you’re repulsive.”
Lisa looked down at what she was wearing: a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, no bra, and messy hair—the kind of appearance that was unheard of in The Grey and heavily mocked.
Mother 39 rolled her eyes and shoved the vacuum handle into Lisa’s hands. “Let me tell you something, Sloppy Sally, we are all not the same, and we are sometimes different, but those that swing towards different don’t get very far in The Grey. Survival of the best darling, the best. We are all the same and none different—of the best, not trashy riff-raff.” She then threw her hands in the air and said, “Happy week 3 sugar cheeks, love Superior Mother.” She winked and walked out Lisa’s front door.
Lisa let the vacuum stand where she left it and sat on the couch, pursing her lips together and wiggling her toes. What could week 3 bring? Rubbing her calves, Lisa was starting to get very angry. Her whole life she had been raised among The Grey, everything was efficient with tons of information—sometimes more information than you could want or need. All those labels, all those name tags, endless hours of training and lecturing on how to do everything possible in an organized and efficient manner.
Then you’re spit out into the world of humans, given vague orders, and no information—no label on the marks explaining their habits and needs, no lecture on the shift, the rift, and whatever this week was called. Lisa stood up and threw her coffee table into the wall. Then, sat back down again, feeling defeated when nothing broke—not the table, not the table legs, and not even a fucking notch in the paint.
“FUCK!” Lisa got up and went to shower, then find her marks. She had no idea why.
Helen
Helen sat on her bed, knowing that one—at the very least—of the other mothers would loudly and politely wonder why she wasn’t in her classroom with the girls. All of the girls would be quietly sitting, doing their math homework without a fuss or even a sneeze.
Helen just needed to breathe a minute. She needed to breathe and see if she could feel her daughter. The shatter was a time when the marks lives would get tossed around like a basketball. Sometimes that would help them, sometimes not. Superior Mother always had a prediction about whether or not the shatter would go in the girl’s favor or not, most of the time it was on target.
But lately, Superior mother wasn’t on target; she was off. If you watched her eyes, there were times when she wasn’t listening. There were times when she checked herself out. The sharpness of Superior Mother was gone and Helen knew by instinct that this was her chance to make a very underhanded move to the throne.
Maggie
Maggie remembered nothing. She left church, she was walking home, and now she was in the hospital. Pretty young nurses wearing too much makeup came by and gave her a concerned glance, then left again, giving her a small porprecita smile.
Maggie said nothing to the young woman. She was in Los Angles, a city full of Hispanic people and nobody could find one Mexican nurse to speak to her? None of these cheap lipstick, scrub wearing whores could explain that in Spanish? Most were born with a pinichi toruntila en sus manos.
The doctor stood smiling at Maggie and patting her leg—which Maggie just noticed was in a cast. “Let’s get her some food,” again, the mocking sympathy, “comida.” With that, the two nurses in the room and the doctor all nodded in agreement that they were incredible people who had done their jobs to the fullest and Maggie should be grateful.
Again, Maggie said nothing. She was busy watching the curtain fold open, even farther this time. The shadow demon smiled and gave Maggie a thumbs up. Then, it looked at the doctor and the staff and snarled. Maggie was appeased; she would have their tongues before she left this place.
Lisa
Walking around, looking for Iggy, had turned into a chore that Lisa just wasn’t into. She felt different this morning. She wasn’t sure what kind of different, just different. The idea of standing on top of a building yelling Iggy’s name, then grabbing him by the dirty clothes, dragging him to her apartment, and tying him down seemed fantastic. “Mmmmm,” Lisa told the breeze; “I think… I’m so over this shit.” Maybe the feeling was ‘over this shit’. Could ‘over this shit’ be an actual feeling? No Maggie in the donut shop, no Iggy on the street, and no mother-fucking Rafael wandering around behind Iggy. The only one of her marks she could account for was Craig.
The frustration mixed with the ‘over this shit’ was getting Lisa to a point she had never felt before; she wanted to break shit, beat people up, and get drunk all while, “Eating a steak!” Lisa yelled at the air, “All while eating a steak!” Her apathy towards this mission had really fucked her over. She had really screwed herself by spending so much time dwelling on nothing, instead of getting stuff accomplished. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” Lisa could do nothing but yell in the middle of the street. Walking back to her apartment seemed like the wrong thing to do, but walking around Feline Street wasn’t the right thing either. She needed to get stuff done and she didn’t care about anyone’s feelings anymore. She didn’t care who she hurt or why they hurt. Now, she was going to get it done no matter the hurt feelings, no matter what human law she broke. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but it was going to get done.
Superior Mother
Helen heard her daughter loud and clear. It was time to get things moving, and it wasn’t going to be very pleasant. Helen rolled her eyes and stretched. It wasn’t going to be organized or clean; it wouldn’t be efficient, but malicious and probably sloppy. Helen hoped it would be sloppy.
Superior Mother felt a chill. There was a cold draft running up her legs where there was no cold draft to be had. She glanced around the room at the Mothers working busily in The Greys offices, speaking in soft tones and keeping things organized. The Mothers were a unit, all the same and none different. Yet, Superior Mother felt this chill, this warning in her skin that one of them was different—one of them had turned in a different direction than the others. Superior Mother rubbed her arms. But, which one?
Craig
It was the kind of shit morning Craig was used to, but today he was not keen to just dealing with it. The heat was beating down on him with constant thumps. There was no breeze, and his co-workers were in shit-foul moods. Along with the constant thump of the heat, there was a pounding in Craig’s head that wouldn’t let go. It hung on his brain like mold. No coffee, no cigarette, no anything could appease this endless flicking in his brain. Craig knew that the only way to get rid of the thumping in his brain was some chaos. He needed a release. He needed to do something so random and pointless that his brain forgot to focus on pain.
He thought about wrecking his truck. He thought about sinking a couple boats in the pier, but nothing fit. He had gotten kicked out of a bar, he had broken windows, and burned his house down. It all felt good, very good, but now he needed it again. He needed something to fill that void and something to relax his brain. Pacing his warehouse, he looked up and down the shelves, what could he fuck up? What could he tear apart so this pound, pound in his head would leave him alone.
Then, he spotted Maria, the warehouse clerk. He looked at her and knew what he was about to do. He knew it, he didn’t want to do it, but he couldn’t stop. His brain wouldn’t let him stop. She smiled at him, they were alone in the warehouse, and it was already done in his brain.
He grabbed her, and she cried out. “Quiet now…it’ll be painless and quick if you’re quiet.” She struggled, but Craig pushed her down and knocked her head against the floor. Craig heard her whimper and somewhere deep inside of him, he yelled at himself to stop. He heard the words he whispered, he felt the pain he was about to cause her in his fingers, but stopping wasn’t an option. It was going to happen; he could feel it coming like vomit.
He pulled her pants off, then her underwear, and pushed himself inside of her—covering her mouth with his hand. Craig kept thrusting, and with every thrust both he and Maria cried. He couldn’t stop. He wanted to stop, he had known her for years, and he never wanted to hurt her, but someone had control of him. He could see his hands on her neck. He could feel the pressure as he choked her. He felt her life go, and the second he felt her go limp the pounding in his brain stopped. Everything stopped—the waves stopped, her heart stopped, it all stopped. Craig was laying on the warehouse floor feeling almost giddy that the pounding in his brain had finally stopped. Then, he realized everything that he had just done. He couldn’t pop a pill or drink a beer to make the headache go away; now it was rape and murder. How vile Craig had become.
In her last minutes of life, he had taken all of her dignity and spit on it. Then he took his own shame and swallowed it, all to get rid of a pounding in his head. Craig wept for her family, and for himself, all while putting her body in his truck. It was going to be a long drive tonight, but he’d driven this road before.
Before he left work, he cleaned out his locker and took every single thing that belonged to him. He threw his coffee cup on the warehouse floor and let it shatter. He needed to look at that lame representation of what he had just done for just a second or two. What a stupid cliché, Craig thought as he drove off.
Superior Mother
Superior Mother looked at her assistant busily stapling papers and humming to herself. She wasn’t the one that had turned. Superior Mother could feel that her assistant was as loyal as a house dog. Superior Mother wanted to protect her assistant from what was surely coming, but she just didn’t know how and didn’t feel the want deep enough to really try to figure it out. Apathy does not solve puzzles.
Just then, Mother 55 came into the room, “Lisa’s shatter has turned…umm, ugly. Distasteful, might be the word. Do we pull it or let it keep going? The marks seem to be getting a little… aggressive in their actions.” Mother 55 seemed distressed about the news, yet still came across as casual and hopeful.
Superior Mother nodded and looked at Mother 55 with what she hoped were sincere eyes. She didn’t want to be bothered with their business while she could sense a mutiny coming towards her.
“Let it play through,” Superior Mother said to Mother 55 and waved her away. Mother 55 nodded, turned, and left the room with the same nervous energy as a bunny after Easter.
Helen heard whispering amongst the other Mothers. There was talk that Lisa’s mission had turned violent—one of the marks took a life. Helen felt on edge. The violence was no mistake in the mission. Peace was no mistake in the mission. She h
ad always had a suspicion that Superior Mother stirred the pot for every mission. Superior Mother knew what was happening, how it happened, and when.
Superior Mother was the one that turned Lisa’s marks violent, she was sure of it. Helen wanted answers: why the missions, why the marks, and why were they all kept in ignorance about everything. It was known that Superior Mother was the all-knowing, that they were the followers, and that they would only be told the minimum of information in order to prevent gossip and wondering. Helen felt that was wrong; they followed Superior Mother blindly. Why must they all be the same? Why couldn’t they be different?
Helen walked the hallways and was stopped by Mother 90. “Aw, honey you looked stressed and your hair is a mess,” she said, giving Helen one of those very calculated, crooked smiles. “Why don’t you take a bath and enjoy some hot tea…don’t listen to the babble.”
Babble, how trite… Helen kept walking.
Maggie
Maggie’s bandages felt like a leash to the hospital and the hospital felt like a prison. She needed out, but the doctor would only smile at her and tell her that she wasn’t strong enough yet. She needed more rest. Whenever the doctor spoke, Maggie watched her tongue wag up and down in her little boca, something Maggie could easily slice right off. This was wrong and Maggie knew it. She didn’t need more rest; what she needed was an escape from the little witches coming into her room constantly and giving her fake empathy that matched their fake tits.
“Bruja pendeja dejame en paz,” Maggie hissed at them, but they kept coming back. There was no end to it, and at every second, Maggie felt a fury build in her that would open that curtain all the way. Maggie wanted to burn that curtain down. Maggie wished she could burn it all down.
Starburst book 1 Page 17
