My Paradise

Darkness.....

Nothing but darkness and a sound like rushing water.

For how long this went on, it was impossible to say.

Time had not yet come into being, the accumulation of change not even a thought.

There was no body, only a thing too primitive to be called a mind.

No thoughts of self, only....

Smooth, peaceful darkness.

It was perfection; the object of the search, the orgin.

Yet, at long last, came the Other.

The voice.

"Susie!"

There came a prodigious whomp on the door that made the crudely painted molding on the ceiling creak in protest.

It was her mom.

Awake now, the great shutters of that powerful skull withdrew partway to reveal yellow sclerae and sharp, hostile pupils.

She looked around blearily; it had to be close to noon judging by the light.

"Susie! Your teacher just called!"

She cleared her throat, her nose solid with snot, and uttered a guttural affirmative.

Damn cold today. Her eyes felt far too large for their puffy, underlined sockets.

Susie covered her face with her arm, and pulled the blankets and heavy faux-fur comforter tight.

Her matress on the floor resembled a leaking jelly sandwhich; a mess of purple hair spilling from the top of the nest of tan blankets.

A scent of burnt incensce and cigarette smoke hung in the air; she had spent a long night listening to music, brooding, and smoking like an orally fixated Turk.

The room was a small one, paneled in wide, dark boards with sandy plush carpet on the floor beaten down by traffic and gummed together in spots by accidents long forgotten. Her bedroom was at the southern end of the trailer next door to the bathroom and the laundry closet.

Two heaps of clothes stood in the corner opposite the door sorted according to her exacting standards: dirty, and slightly dirty.

A cream-of-wheat dresser with a missing drawer stood beside it, covered in diverse kinds of candles and pictures of her grandparents. The drawers were full of VHS tapes and "relics".

A few of these latter objects hung from the wall, artifacts that bore messages such as STOP and NO PARKING 7 A.M.-7 P.M. and STOP STEALING THIS SIGN IT IS DANGEROUS TO DO THAT.

Alongside of them hung her favorite posters, most depicting metal bands such as H.O.R.N.E.T and Psychopomp, and a few drawings from the internet that she had printed off at the libraby.

One of them depicted an eastern human warrior with a bow in his hand standing alongside of an armored boar monster slumped in death against a tree, its sightless eyes wide with terror and anguish.

The monster had been feathered with arrows, and the human was bracing his red felt boot against its back and bending to extract his missiles. Snow was all around them in that no-place forest, and a horse covered in cloth barding watched on placidly in the distance.

There was something noble about it to her; to live free in the wilderness, to battle your enemies with the ferocity that she read upon that windburned face with its black, drooping mustache and cruel eyes.

She would fantasize about herself atop a charging pony with bow and arrow in hand, roaring in anger as she felt the strength of horn and sinew strain against her muscles, her foes trying to flee in vain as her horse trampled their pitiful bodies.

So much for dreams; it was time to get up, and face the new day.

Gathering her willpower, she uttered an inarticulate mass of vowels and cast her covers onto the floor beside her. The empty bags of 10x sugar and raw pizza dough that were the legacy of her nocturnal debauch crinkled under the weight of the blankets, provoking her ire  at the sharp noise so early in her day.

Not that this was an unusual state for her to be in; on most days, she would go to bed angry and wake up merely irritable. Everything annoyed her after had she awakened, her head feeling as thin and dry as Venetian glass for hours afterward.

Swearing and mumbling to herself, she balanced precariously astride the matress as she picked up her gray sweatshirt from beside her pillows and pulled it on. For a moment, her vision clouded over, and she paused to wipe away a crescent of rheum from her left eye before she gathered up her tartan pajama pants and struggled into them.

Stepping free of her bed, Susie stretched her arms as far as could behind herself, clutching her fists as she felt her shoulder muscles tense and warm with work. Swinging her arms forward, she then reached for the ceiling with all of her might, feeling the upper half of her body come to life under the sudden strain, and then released, bending forward with surprising grace and stretching down until her palms rested upon the floor. From the wall, her signed promotional photo of Count Grimdark stared menacingly at her excersises, his spiked mace and armored fists ready for battle.

Enough messing around. Susie crossed to the door in two heavy strides that sounded as if they may punch through the floor, and threw it open with such force that it rebounded from the wall with a loud report. The smell of detergent and cigarette smoke wafted down the hallway, and in a few steps she was standing at the southern edge of her living room.

Susie's mom was sitting on the couch chuckling at the television, one of her ever present extralegal foreign cigarettes smoldering between her lilac colored fore and middle fingers. There was a great deal of resembelance between the two, although the woman sitting on the couch in her powder-blue terrycloth robe was shorter and somewhat lighter-skinned than her daughter. Her thick, unruly hair was parted in the middle over her snout, and as she noticed Susie she exhaled a cloud of smoke from her nostrils like, well, a dragon.

"Morning, chicky." She greeted before turning back to her show and laughing uproariously at what was on.

Susie grunted noncomitally and stalked over to the kitchen. Her mother was in a suspiciously good mood today; she had been out late at her friend Carol's house, and Susie was all but sure that she had scored some pills. She regarded her mother for a few moments, watching her expressive, inebriated motions, and knew that she was right.

After that, Susie turned to their black refrigerator, which was covered in magnets of praying hands and the delta rune and droll quotes. She sighed, pulling hard on the cushioned plastic door handle and granting herself entrance to the beloved food kingdom. Pushing aside pitchers of ice tea and water, she pulled out a jug of Mr. J's Pulpy Orange and set it on the counter next to her. Reaching to the second rack without looking at it, she felt around until she located the bag of maple bacon and withdrew it, slamming the door as soon as her hand was clear.

She unscrewed the lid of the orange juice and took a big slug, putting it down and sighing with relief as the cold liquid raced downward to her stomach.

Turning towards her mother, she raised her voice to be heard over the spectacle on TV and asked "So, hey, you said my teacher called here for me, or somethin'?".

Her mom reached for the remote and muted the televison.

"Yeah, Ms. Alfids?"

Susie nodded.

"Ms. Alphys. That little geek, remember?"

Her mother shrugged and stubbed out her cigarette, sending out a smoke signal to attack the wagons.

"She said that she's concerned about how many days you've been missin'. It's not even halfway through the year, and you've missed way more  than anyone else. She wouldn't come out and say it, but she wanted to remind you that you're on thin ice with all of the shit you've pulled the last couple years."

Susie chuckled darkly, and peeled off a strip of raw bacon to shred in her mouth.

"I know."

Her mom coughed and reached for her nearly empty pack of cigarettes.

"Ya know Susie, you've gotta get your shit together, girlfriend. What the hell are you gonna' do if you get kicked out of school?"

Susie shrugged her shoulders and belched, pulling apart the last three pieces of meat.

"I don't know. Get a job at the dump or something."

Her mother made a noise between a hiss and a laugh as Susie stuffed herself.

"Well, lemme' tell ya' somethin'. People who don't go to school and don't work, don't live here."

Susie masticated in silence, extending a claw into her sharp teeth to pick at a chunk of fat that was stuck amoung them.

Her mother gave her a long, consternated stare before grunting and unmuting the television. The daily ritual was over; the sign of peace had been given, and the congregation would disperse.

Susie tossed the greasy plastic bag into the garbage can and returned the orange juice to the fridge; time for a shower.

In a short while, she was undressed and stood in front of the vanity mirror in the bathroom meticulously examining her teeth after brushing them. She ran a finger over their deadly serrated edges, clinched her jaw to see them from a different angle, and was satisfied. She shook her long hair her out of her eyes, and stared at the image in the mirror.

"Ugly old hag."

She extended a generous middle finger to herself, and walked over to the bathtub. It was a luxuriant affair for a trailer, a true freestanding tub that was probably twice her age or more. A slightly moist towel with cartoon rabbits on it hung over the rim, and she picked it up and tossed it down at her feet. Turning the combination hot-cold knob halfway, she waited a minute before reaching into the stream of water. Ice cold! She turned it all of the way up, waited a few moments, and tried again.

"Shit!"

It was better, but still far cooler than she would have preferred: Uncle Ron was supposed to come over and adjust their hot water heater, but it was still on his to-do list. Cursing loud and long, she pulled the switch over the water spout, letting a wide stream of lukewarm water rain down from the showerhead suspended from the ovular curtain rail above.

Uttering novel oathes, she steeled herself and stepped onto the cold porcelain. Her skin revolted and immediately began to contract as it contacted the water, her entire organism seeming to shrivel like a salted apple as she screeched unintelligble laments to Hygieia. Within a minute or two, the water began to grow warmer, and she acclimatized somewhat to her surroundings.

As she worked at shampooing and conditoning her hair, which to her was a highly tedious task, her mind began to wander. She thought about this and that thing, thinking now of a guitar solo from her favorite Mercy-full album, then about a dead crow she had seen by the railroad tracks one time. The lyrics from her metal albums percolated out of from her memory, stories of blood and iron and battles with gods and giants. She let out a mermaid's laugh as water splashed into her mouth when she thought of how corny they were, but she loved them all the same.

Soaping her thick arms and torso, she whistled a shrill, tuneless song as the smokey funk began to wash off of her violet skin. The moisture on her lips made her sputter random high pitch notes, and she growled and made strange gesticulations of power as she turned to let the water wash her backside. Susie was at last enjoying the feeling of the now comfortably warm shower when the pressure gave out, and only a trickle of cold, cold water dribbled impotently from above.

With a howl of anger, Susie beat her fist on the small tiles of the backsplash through the curtain and called out every curse known in Hell or Heaven.

A few minutes later, she was dried off and had just finished getting her clothes around for the day's adventure. It was cold in respect to the season, and she had put on an insulated olive drab fatigue jacket on top of her favorite black and white chekered flannel shirt. She had cautiously snuffed at the seat of a pair of ripped jeans before deciding that they would do for a few more weeks, pulling them up over her nerdy black socks and snaking into them. She pulled on a beaten pair of black engineer's boots, grabbed her cigs and lighter, and headed out.

She said goodbye to her mother as she grasped the door handle, who now lay sprawled on the couch and gargled what might have been an inquiry or a farewell.

Susie didn't stop to reply, letting the metal inside door swing furiously against the spring hinge until it clattered shut behind her. It was a bright day outside, and her eyes narrowed as she stepped onto the unheated sun porch and ripped open the exterior door.

This was the home of the beast; Crescent Ridge Mobile Home Park. Referred to as Hell's Half-Acre by some of its residents in jest and Dirtytown by exo-territorials in earnest, this simple quadrilateral next to the railroad tracks had been the stage for the great dramas and tragedies of her life. It was here upon the gravel roadways and between the corridors of trailers and sheds that she had learned the virtues of casual meaness, strength, and a sort of low cunning.

It was a quiet day for the park, with most people either working or too old or inebriated to come out in the chilly weather. Susie crossed the road diagonally without looking and made for a yellow double-wide with an ancient satilite dish protruding from it.

This was the home of her Uncle Ronnie and Aunt Tammy, both of whom were of no blood relation to her whatsoever. They had been close friends with her mother before she had even been born, and they had looked upon her as a daughter ab ovo. But this wasn't a social call; it was strictly business. Only so many hours in the day.

Susie mounted the three steps onto the porch in a single stride and carefully opened the aluminum and glass outer door. She pounded on the hard wood of the inner door with her fist, and waited. Somewhere inside a voice shouted for her to come in, and she did so, gingerly closing the outside door behind her; her uncle would be pissed off if she let it slam shut as was her wont.

The smell of cooking meat and fennel filled her nostrils as she stepped into the kitchen, where her fat Uncle Ron was making lunch for himself and his wife. Ron was a short, stocky little opossum monster with his gray hair tied back in a rebel's ponytail; his impossible gut jiggled as he turned to greet her.

"Heyy! There she is! Little miss Susie-woozie."

Susie glared at him, and turned to her aunt who was seated at the table with a crossword puzzle.

"Hey Aunt Tammy."

Tammy was a thin, jaundice-colored monster woman who resembled a forlorn secretary bird. She raised her sharp, tiny head that looked as if it had been boiled down by cannibals from a larger original and greeted Susie in a warm, ragged voice.

"Hi honey, how're you? You look gorgeous in that coat."

Susie snuffed and placed her hand on the back of an unoccupied dining chair.

"Thanks. I'm doin' pretty good."

She turned her attention back to the grinning opossum.

"What're you making me for lunch, Ronnie?"

Ron flipped a few of the sausages in the pan.

"Sausage à la  Ron, all the girls love it. Right, Tammy?"

His wife scoffed and filled in a vertical column.

"They want a meal, but you only serve appetizers, honey."

Ron dismissed her with a wave of his silvery paw.

"Pshaw! So what's new, señorita?"

Susie shrugged her shoulders.

"Not much. Came over to get smokes for my mom."

It was a lie; but as the saying goes, time turns our lies into the truth.

Ron shook his head, and stared at the blackened surface of the pan.

"Didn't come in yet. I can give you a couple packs for now, but you had better make sure some make it home, capisce?"

Susie nodded, scratching idly at the pattern carved into the head of the chair.

"Sure, one for me and one for her, got it."

There was a silence that lasted for the space of about twenty seconds before Ron turned with a malicious grin on his face.

"So what else did you want? Comin' over to talk?"

She chuckled and flicked her bangs to the side.

"You got my stuff?"

Ron pointed to the fridge with his plastic spatula, a teardrop of grease falling unnoticed onto the rug.

"On the condom-mints shelf."

She opened the ancient custard yellow fridge with its faded veneer paneling and looked around. Sure enough, amidst many jars of mustard and pickled peppers was a brown paper bag with what appeared to be a bottle inside of it. She calmly grasped it in the middle and pulled it free, and then shut the door.

Susie felt a grin break out on her face as she lifted the precious vessel from the paper sack and examined it. It was a clear glass bottle of similarly transluscent liquid with a pale label, upon which a brown bear in a red and gold streltsy uniform was swinging a long shashka in martial excitement. The tip of his weapon nearly pierced the blockly, half-backward letters of the title, which informed her that she was looking at a bottle of VOIVODE PREMIUM VODKA.

Ron smiled and jostled the pan back and forth.

"They raised the price a bit, but don't worry about it right now. You can settle up with Tammy when she brings your mom her cartons."

Susie slid the bottle back into the paper and stuffed it into her jacket.

"Thanks a lot, Uncle Ron."

He mumbled dismissively, and then turned around and tried to put on a serious mien.

"You take care what you do with that. You didn't get it here if you get caught. Your mom and Aunt Tammy'll kick your ass if you get yourself in trouble."

Susie grinned unhealthily, the wet enemal of her extramaxilarly teeth glinting like tiny daggers in the bright kitchen lights.

"Not me. I'm a perfect angel."

Ron waved the greasy spatula at her threateningly, and then regarded his sausages.

"I think these are done, Tammy-pie."

Susie coughed and then jacked a thumb towards the door.

"Well, I'm gonna' head out."

Ron was digging into the cupboards, trying to pull a plastic serving tray out from under a bunch of dishes.
He looked over at her for a moment and went back to his labor.

"Stay outta' trouble, kid."

Tammy folded up her paper and stood with her arms held out to Susie. They stepped together and embraced.

"Goodbye sweetie, you be good and stay in school. Otherwise you'll end up with a man like this one!"

Ron hissed and pulled the tray free, unleashing a landslide of plastic lids that clattered onto the linoleum.

"Funny, Tammy, real funny....."

Susie squeezed her aunt tight, then released her and moved slowly towards the door.

"Well, see you guys later."

She exited to the sound of their farewells, her heart swelling with a sense of victory. She sounded a war whoop and jumped down the stairs onto the sward, the heels of her mighty boots crushing an impression into the grass that remained for hours afterward.  There was a lot of sunlight remaining in the day, and she could barely restrain herself from breaking into a run straight for the railroad tracks at the thought of what was to come.