The Hungry Ghost

The story below is an entry for consideration in EndOfThisWorld, a surreal novel whose creators started with an inciting event. Writers are invited to submit chapters that take the lead from the one previous, and ultimately the story leads to a global catastrophe. The project is worth taking a look at and submissions so far are quite good.

EndOfThisWorld invites all writers to join in.

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Mob Mentality

Los Angeles, CA – 2:25PM

Star approached the intersection at Fairfax and Olympic, rolled down her window, lit up a joint and cursed her life. For over an hour she sat trapped in her car, traveling no more than a mile, convinced she would surely die as a result of smog-induced lung cancer. With four cars separating her from the intersection, Star peered ahead and noticed the cause of the mess – the traffic lights were out, and people, typical for L.A., were not yielding. Cars were entering from all directions, swerving, horns honking, and tempers flaring. Star smiled as a vision of wildebeests entering a crocodile infested river popped into her head.

As she waited her turn to cross the river, Star took an opportunity to ruminate about her life and what she was about to do. Nothing had turned out as she had planned - whales were still being slaughtered in Japan; plastic bags littered Santa Monica Bay; her writing was going unnoticed, and teaching yoga was not paying the bills. Star sighed and stared out the windshield at the brown, hazy sky and resigned herself to the possibility that it might take another two hours to reach her father’s house – a routine she had grown to regret – she would ask for money, an argument would erupt, he would agree to the request. The scene was repeated every six months and to Star, there seemed to be no end in sight. She sighed, took another hit from her joint, opened a party-sized bag of cheesepuffs and tried not to think about the money.

Taking advantage of the delay, Star shifted her car into neutral, set the parking brake, leaned over and dug around her glove compartment for her favorite Lucinda Williams cassette. She found it under a stack of parking tickets and covered with lint and crumbs. She wiped the cassette on her skirt and blew off all visible debris, popped it into the player, turned up the volume and stared into the traffic. Earlier she had tried to listen to the radio, but all the stations on the dial were broadcasting white noise. She suspected this had something to do with the red line that glowed on her television screen and was confident that FOX was somehow involved. In the rear-view mirror she could see a blue Bentley idling away the earth’s resources and to her left a blonde woman in a black Porsche convertible was dialing and redialing her iPhone in a frustrated and dramatic manner. Star smiled and imagined the woman’s life story– high school dropout, actress/model /porn star and future plastic surgery devotee. The woman caught Star looking, mouthed the word “freak,” rolled up her tinted windows and continued dialing. Star chuckled, popped a cheesepuff in her mouth, licked the sticky yellow residue off her fingers, and crept forward another car length.

For the next twenty minutes Star finished her joint, munched on her cheesepuffs, sang aloud and allowed her interaction with the Blonde to invade her brain. Tomorrow I’ll be 30, she thought. I have a Liberal Arts Degree, no prospects of a job, no prospects for a husband… no prospects. She looked to her left and stared at the Porsche. No prospects… The Blonde Woman raised the convertible top. Star waited a moment, and then yelled out “You’re a Fucking Evil Cow!” Nobody looked, but Star quickly rolled up her window anyway, turned up Lucinda, took her place at the intersection and prepared to enter.

The scene in front of Star was complete chaos. In the middle of the intersection, a new Honda with dealer plates was stuck attempting to make a left turn, its turn signal flashing red  in vain. Cars circled around, insults were yelled and rude hand salutes danced to an orchestra of car horns. Star had planned on making the same left turn, but decided instead to continue up Fairfax, even if that meant sitting in traffic longer. She took a deep breath, rubbed the belly of a small gold Buddha on her dash and ground her car into gear. She looked left, then right and slowly entered the intersection.

Suddenly, the Blonde Woman in the Porsche sped into action, swerved around the car attempting to turn left, and cut in front of Star, stopping short of a collision with the car in front of her. Star slammed on the brakes, quickly checked her rear-view mirror and pressed hard on her horn. “That fucking plastic bitch,” she yelled to herself. The Blonde Woman stretched her arm out of her window and flipped Star the middle finger. All Star saw at that moment was an enormous diamond flash in the hazy sunlight. No prospects… Star reached for another cheesepuff, took deep a breath and steeled her resolve. “Enough of this shit.” She shifted her car into first gear, knocked Buddha from his pedestal on the dash, and pointing her car in the direction of the Porsche, stomped her foot onto the gas pedal with full force.

Copyright© 2007-2008 Mark B. Papale. All rights reserved.