Leonard sat on the hillside overlooking the park, finishing a half-pint of whiskey in the damp grass. The night was clear, he wished his mind would be that way. He'd come here many times in his years of homelessness. He always came alone--always, and only when he'd lost one of his friends. The park was as empty as Slimmy J's alley. And that's why he came here. He took the last shot of whiskey and, dropping the bottle, laid back waiting for the ghosts to whisper in his ear stories of a life past.

Out of the alcohol, upon the wind they came, and carried him to another hill, in another time.

"Look," Leonard pointed to a dot of star-like light, "it's a satellite."

Lauren looked in the direction of his finger. Her young eyes, much sharper than his.

"See it, moving across the sky there. It looks like a star."

"Oh yeah!"

He loved her enthusiasm. It reminded him of a place he hadn't been since he was a kid. A place where anything was possible, where imagination hadn't been dowsed by commercials, bosses, taxes, products... She lived in a place where dreams were as real as the blades of grass poking them through the blanket.

"What's a satt'ite?"

Leonard cringed. This wasn't going to be easy, "It's a machine that floats around the earth, like the moon."

It was because of a real girl, Wendy, that Peepsite had finally left school. She wasn't the only reason, just the last straw. It was Peepsite's sophomore year of high school. He was much bigger than all of his classmates, but that would have been true even if he hadn't been held back. By junior high, everyone had realized it best to just leave him alone, lest they end up a bloody mess like Danny had that one fateful day in fifth grade. Peepsite generally disliked his classmates, never forgetting the treatment he'd received all through school, and was mostly happy to be left to himself.

Still, he wasn't immune to the effects of loneliness. He was always envious of the guys he passed in the hallway, holding hands with their girlfriends, or guys getting love notes from girls in class. Sometimes he would see couples he knew from school just out at the movies having a good time, while he sat alone in the back, twitching in the flickering dark. Peepsite was a romantic, he might as well have been the Elephant Man.

The dandelion reminded her of her best friend Scott, the day they met in the park.

Scott had always been a sensitive boy. His grandparents bought him a plastic swimming pool when he was very young, before he was made to go to school. He never used it. One day, he went out to play, after several days of mostly constant rain. The pool was filled with brownish water and soaked leaves.

Scott found a stick and poked at the vegetation floating in the pool. A drowned mouse drifted out from underneath. With great urgency, he ran inside to the kitchen, to get his mother. He pulled on her dress, crying and pointing at the pool. She ran outside with him.

He pointed at the mouse.

"Oh," She said, thinking he wanted to splash around in the water, "I don't think you should get in the pool. That mouse might have had a disease."

"Get it out!"

His mother still didn't understand, "No honey, it's dead. Stay out of the water."

"Why did it die?"

"Things die, Scott. That's what happens."

At some level, it seemed to him that he was possibly being irrational. But he pushed that nagging feeling away, buried it deep down in a pit of anger. That was his mother talking. He knew it, because that's what his father taught him. His father had never made a secret of his many, many mistresses. That's just the way it was. His mother either had to accept it as a fact of life or hit the road. She chose to stay, to raise her sons, to blind herself with a Valium habit, thankful when her husband was home, sitting in the Lazy-boy with a beer, a cigar and a Playboy.

It wasn't really cheating to Anthony when he screwed one of his waitresses in the back room after hours. He was just being a normal guy--just like his dad. The thrill of banging some bitch he barely cared about--tonight was Doreen's lucky turn--far surpassed anything Lynda ever did to him in that bland cave of a bedroom. As he thought about it, it occurred to him that she never did anything to him--it was always him doing it to her. That was part of the problem.

Still, she'd make a good mother and Anthony knew he would have to get her to marry him before he could really do what he wanted. That's why he kept his affairs from her, why he rushed home and was relieved she wasn't there, even though he knew it meant she was probably out with whatever cocksucker she was fucking. And why he jumped in the shower as fast as he could get his pink shirt, black slacks and gold necklace off to wash away the scent of stale cigarettes, beer and dried pussy juice.

As consciousness slowly dissolved into him like a stubborn chunk of snow overcome with water, he realized he was damp. It had probably rained overnight, and that's what caused his dream, he thought. His eyes were still closed, glued shut by discharge. He barely had the strength to get them open. He was starving and his body ached as it consumed itself to provide the energy for him to lift his head a few inches and look around. The alley was dry, he had pissed himself in his sleep again.

He knew he needed food badly, but there was no way he could summon the strength or the will to get it. He'd been in that alley for months, crawling around like a dog crippled by a car. He may not be able to feed his body, but he could still feed his habit. Weakly, he reached into his damp pocket and retrieved his lighter and a small piece of cellophane wrapped around a small rock. He put the rock into a broken light bulb lying in front of him and paused to summon the strength to hold it to his mouth long enough to smoke it. When he finished, what was left of the muscle in his arms gave out and they fell in front of him. As the euphoria took hold of him, tears streamed from his eyes, carrying away the crusted discharge like tiny bottle caps in a snowstream.

He heard footsteps approaching from the distance. It wasn't the crisp tap he associated with cops, cocky and purposeful. It was the slurred crunch of someone dragging the weight of life behind them like a shackled prisoner. Slimmy J tried to moisten his cracked lips, but his tongue was just as dry as they were, "Professor, that you?" He croaked.

Ms. Snodgrass was the bane of many a fifth-grader, for as long as she had been teaching--however long that was. It was impossible to determine her age. Some of her features, like her hair style, were that of an older woman. She had no wrinkles, but her body was shaped like a wax pear left out in the sun too long. Attributes that might pique interest if they belonged to someone remotely attractive seemed as though they were haphazardly stapled onto Ms. Snodgrass to dangle and jiggle like a cow's udder.

It was difficult for Peepsite to think of Ms. Snodgrass as a woman. And if there was anything Peepsite liked to think of, it was women. Moreso than the other fifth graders, who hadn't been held back a couple of times. As Peepsite watched--but not listened--to her lecture like a drill sergeant, it struck him how her name so matched her person.

"Snot," he thought, "Grass. Grass is green. Green snot."

Peepsite examined the drill sergeant. The way her lower lip protruded made her look as though she were constantly chewing tobacco. Her thin nose slanted down, like a chute aiming for her lip. He imagined her pulling the lip out further and tapping her nose, sending more material oozing down for her to pinch between her lip and gum.

"Peepsite! Pay attention!" She yelled.

Peepsite twitched reflexively. His face contorted into the gnarled mass of nerves that had been responsible for his nickname. All the kids laughed at him.

Danny, sitting next to him, poked him in the ribs, "Why do you do that?"

Peepsite reddened. Even the nerdy misfits were superior to him. The class continued to laugh. Danny, who was in no position to make fun of anyone with a head shaped like Frankenstein's monster, removed his black-framed glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes. Peepsite grew more frantic and the world around him blurred. He caught fragments of different classmates laughing at him. David, whose ability to outrun most anyone made him the most popular kid in class, was laughing. Susan, whose recently-emerging female attributes were the inspiration for much teasing among the boys, was laughing. Even Ms. Snodgrass was taking time out from chewing her salty cud to laugh.

But Susan hurt the most. He had long had a crush on her. Though, deep down, he knew she could never have any interest in the likes of him, she was at least kind to him. A rage ignited in his stomach and burned his chest. He wanted to hit her. How could she be so cruel? But he knew he couldn't hit her, so he hit the next best thing. He grabbed Danny by the neck and threw him backward onto his desk, raised his fist and plunged it into that misshapen Frankenstein head as hard as he could. Then again. And again.

The glasses broke. Danny's nose began to spill blood. His tears of laughter turned to tears of fear and pain.

Peepsite's surroundings had completely vanished now. All he could see was his prey lying there helpless before him. He continued pounding on that ugly head capped with short black hair until Mr. Newman came and dragged him into his office.

It didn't work. A wraith of smoke drifted away, taking nothing with it but a few soft glimmers of moonlight. But Frankie wasn't disappointed--it had never worked. He looked at the cigarette, its tip glowing orange in the night, just a few inches from his fingers. That did calm him. He'd seen what that orange glow could do to a man--a man held in place by a couple of other guys. Now, he was playing with it, in full control. With the flick of a finger, it would be suffocated by the puddle of dog piss ten feet away.

It seemed to be the only thing he had control of. In a half hour, he'd be at home waiting for dinner with the kids and grandkids. Everyone would be screaming as if they were blocks away from each other. The children would be howling with glee as they chased each other around the house. None of them would have any idea of the burden he carried--the burden he carried for them. And it took more and more energy to keep up that wall. If it wasn't for his eldest daughter, Lisa, he didn't know if he could do it at all.

His throat tightened as acid bubbled up from his stomach. Shaking, he took a roll of extra strength Tums from his pocket, peeled away the wrapper and popped four discs into his mouth. He rubbed his chest as he chewed, "That was a bad one."

Lisa had been born prematurely, tiny, weak and blue. Frankie had never experienced fear like he had that early morning when she was born, not even when he lost his leg. The instant he saw her, her life meant more to him than anything--even his edge. The nurses whisked her away. She was silent and her arms and legs moved slowly.

He rubbed his eyes and paused for a few seconds to let the blur fade away. Then the most important thought of each new day: Where am I going to get the money for a bottle? I just need a half-pint to start. He felt deep into his pockets and scooped up everything that his fingers could find--mostly bits of paper and gravel. Thirty-seven cents in change. It was a start.

As his focus sharpened, Leonard found himself looking at the Catholic Church across the street. It was a large, old building constructed of white stone with a big, sloping red roof. There was a marble statue of an angel in front, bathed in spotlights that were hidden by plants around its base. The building always seemed inviting, which is why he slept close to it. He felt safe with it near. A group of happy, well-dressed people--mostly couples--came out of the large, arching front doors. They were the same people who whispered about him as they passed on the sidewalks. Saddened, Leonard continued on his way.

An attractive, younger woman was coming out of Starbucks with a coffee in one hand and holding a cellphone to her ear with the other. Leonard paused to avoid a collision, as the woman showed no signs of slowing down herself. Though she was looking ahead, her eyes seemed vacant as she spoke into the phone. She didn't seem the slightest bit aware of his presence.

"That son-of-a-bitch is gonna find himself in a lot of trouble if he pulls that shit with me!" She told the pink plastic box. Leonard watched as she tromped across the street without looking for traffic. Miraculously, she avoided any cars, almost as if the statue across the street had planned it that way. Leonard shook his head and continued down the sidewalk.

Further on, there was a woman standing in front of a building smoking a cigarette. The cigarette looked inviting, unlike the mottled lips from which it dangled. As he approached, the woman glanced at him nervously. He walked up a few steps and stood across from her in the entranceway, "Think I could bum one of them from you?" He nodded at the cigarette dangling from her mouth.

The woman eyed him momentarily, "Sure." Shaking, she dug a cigarette from her pack and handed it to him.

"Can I use your lighter?" There was a hint of shame in his tone. He had nothing but the clothes disintegrating from his body and the ancient memories disintegrating from his mind.

"So, they pretty good about opening up at 8:30?" The woman asked, revealing a mouth devoid of all but a single, rotten upper tooth barely embedded in spongy, red gum.

I apologize for my absence from this site. The real world kinda got in the way, as it has a tendency to do. Things have calmed down a bit, and I am returning with a new series called "Under the Sun." I want to take some time and work on the previous story at my own pace, behind the scenes. "Under the Sun" is in a format more appropriate for the web. So, I will go with that until I can figure out a better way to wrangle the last story into more digestable format.

Warren

Thanks to everyone!
Warren Mann

The way it works, they put up a pre-interview thread where people can post questions, they take the best questions and forward them onto me. I pull whatever bullshit answers out of my ass and they post them for you to laugh at.

So, here's the thread where you can ask questions. The answers, which will be posted March 12, I believe, would be found in this area somewhere.