Mark Taylor: Genesis (Prequel in the Mark Taylor Series) (23 page)

They shot a few games of pool and lack of practice showed. Mark had to admit he’d never been great at pool, but he could usually hold his own. Tonight, he stunk. Not that he cared. He laughed it off and suspected that Bud let him win the third game.

He clapped Mark on the shoulder. “Congrats! How about another game?”

Mark shook his head. “Nah. The Cubs game looks like it just started. How about we catch a few innings?” He’d missed all of last season and it looked like half the team was new. One more thing to catch up on.

Bud shrugged. “Sounds good.”

The two men sat in companionable silence, munching peanuts out of bowls on the counter and washing them down with a pitcher of draft. Bud had a rhythm going, peanuts in one hand, beer in the other. Peanuts. Beer. Peanuts. Beer. Mark glanced around the bar. He’d anticipated Bud would drag him to some dive, but this bar was clean, with polished wood and brass accents. Peanuts. Beer. Peanuts. Beer. Mark chuckled and almost wished he hadn’t when the sound disrupted that rhythm.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just a stray thought.” Mark sipped his own beer and focused on the game.

“So tell me, Taylor, how’d you end up living in one of my dumpy apartments? You just outta prison or something?”

Mark swallowed hard. Beer wash up inside his nose and set off a fit of coughing. He pinched the bridge of his nose and used the time to come up with an answer. “It’s a long story. Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it.”

Mark Taylor related writings

The following selections never appeared in any manuscript. They were written with the intention of using them for my blog or in the case of one, to appear in a collection of drabbles.

The following is a triple drabble. A regular drabble is a story with exactly 100 words, so a triple drabble is exactly 300 words. Originally this was  drabble written for a contest on a now defunct website. I think the contest said we had to use the color red. Recently, I re-wrote it to be more of a flash fiction/triple drabble. It’s probably the darkest thing I’ve ever written.

Red

The scent of popcorn and funnel cakes teased Mark’s hunger as he paid for tickets. With a grin, he turned to Jessica. “What do you want to do first?” He loved carnivals and it had been years since he had been to one. Not since before he had been locked up as an enemy combatant. 

Jessica opened her mouth to reply when a photographer approached. “May I take your picture?” Without waiting for an answer, he shoved a ticket stub at Mark. “You can pick up a print when you leave the carnival.”

It wasn’t the best sales pitch, but Mark didn’t care. He smiled and slung his arm over Jessica’s shoulders. The flash blinded him and red spots danced in his vision.

 Red. He hated the color red.

It had been the color he saw behind his closed eyelids when they made him stand in one position for hours. It was the color of his hands when they were trapped by the restraints. It was the color of the blood he coughed up after getting slammed in the ribs.

Red.  It was the color of pain and the deep, dark red of anger at the unfairness of it all. It was the color of frustration that no one believed in his innocence, and the color of sadness as he imagined his parents' grief. 

It was the color of the dogs' snarling mouths and his fear when they lunged. It was the terrifying color of the glowing ember of the guard's cigarette as he held it close to Mark's face and the sizzle as it burned his skin. Red .It was the color of his screams.

“Mark? How about we get a corndog first. I’m starving.”

He blinked the last of the spots out of his vision. “Sure. Sounds good.”

This next drabble was written for a friend who writes books that are a collection of drabbles:
Lessons IV: The Dead Carnival and other Morbid Drabbles
by Michael Crane. The one above was also submitted to the collection but was too dark and didn’t quite fit the theme. This is the one which appeared in the collection. It’s a true drabble at 100 words. In keeping with the collection theme, this is fun, but somewhat morbid.

Mark gripped the metal bar pressing him into the seats as he struggled not to slam against the side of the car. Screams stabbed his ears, but the other passengers were just a blur, their terror spurring his own unease. Spinning and falling, his stomach lurched. He knew he shouldn’t have eaten the funnel cake. Or the corndog. The beer-- bad idea too. The car spun faster, whirling and diving. He clutched the hot bar. He wouldn’t make it. Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard.

Then only stillness. With a click, the bar released.

“Thank you for riding the Scrambler.”

This is more of an alternate scene. I wrote it well after No Good Deed was published. It was inspired by Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  I always felt so bad for Charlie in the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. He was so sweet and innocent and I remember in one scene, he could only look longingly in the window of the candy shop. If anything would make a grown man want to retreat to memories of a safe childhood, it would be imprisonment as an enemy combatant. If this scene had been in the book been, it would have taken place the day after Mark was released from prison. I saw this as him becoming like the man on Lower Wacker Drive that Mark remembers in No Good Deed. It was one of his worst fears.

Candy Wishes

The scent hit him first. Sweet and rich, it triggered memories of cold December afternoons when he was a child and he'd come in from sledding to the irresistible aroma of hot chocolate and marshmallows. His mother would ruffle his hair and comment on cheeks pink from the wind.

Mark crossed the street, averting his eyes from the stares of the well-dressed commuters. He tugged the ill-fitting jacket closed, trying in vain to cover the dirty oxford beneath. Crisp and white yesterday, his tumble down the steps last night, and sleeping in it while it was still wet, had taken a toll.. He knew he should head in the other direction, down into the subways, but for just a few moments, he longed to drink in the aroma of chocolate. The morning sun reflected on the gold lettering, making it appear to flash, beckoning him closer.

A woman exited the shop, allowing a mixture of chocolate, spun sugar and faint fruity scents to escape from the confines of the shop. Mark stopped beside the window and closed his eyes, nostrils flaring. His mouth watered as he touched the window with the edge of his hand and peered inside.
Heaven.
This is what heaven would look like. He was sure of it.

A candy counter ran the length of the quaint store. Panes of glass separated the rows of chocolates in little brown paper cups from the sections filled with rainbow-hued piles of soft, chewy candies. Beside them, the star of the case. Huge, succulent strawberries dipped in dark chocolate with a delicate drizzle of white chocolate.

Nose flattened against the window, he pretended he had money to buy the treats. Which one would he choose? Chocolate drenched almonds? Luscious strawberries? Tangy citrus chews? Mark licked his lips. Maybe a few of each? He smiled and let his imagination run wild.

The door burst open, startling him from his fantasies.

"You! Get away from the window!" The stout shopkeeper scowled at Mark and pointed to the grimy fingerprints on the glass. “Look what you did!”

Mark tugged the cuff of his shirt over the heel of his hand and tried to erase the marks, but the man shooed Mark away, his lip curled with disgust.

After a last lingering glance, Mark shuffled towards the steps. He inhaled through his mouth, hoping that if he took a big enough breath, he could hold off the inevitable stink of the subway. Exhaling, shoulders hunched, he descended into the reeking bowels of the city.