"Page Two"

Sani slowly peeled the bedcovers back in the total darkness, careful not to wake her sleeping husband. Placing one foot, and then the other, on the cold hardwood floor, she slipped out of bed, silently making her way to the bedroom door, down the stairs, and to the small workspace in the kitchen, where her laptop continued to caste a deep blue glow across the room.

After moving a small wooden stool before the counter and positioning her laptop for comfort, Sani began rapidly typing the url of the message board she had seen by happenstance months earlier, when searching for something to help her with one of her diseased azaleas. Hitting the enter key, she waited briefly for the page to appear in an explosion of color and text.



Logging in, she immediately checked the status of the post she had placed earlier in the day.



Sani scrolled down to read several responses to her post. Most pressed for more information. Some said, that if what she had was really that important, she should bring the matter to law enforcement or the media. A few, impolitely, suggested she seek psychiatric help.

Sani read several times each serious reply and contemplated the thin advice offered. She knew if she were going to get real help, she would have to say more. Sighing deeply, she clicked on the 'Reply' button to her post and began to type.

Within seconds, the kitchen lights flicked on and flooded the room with offending brightness.

"Honey, what are you doing?"

Sani's heart pounded in her chest, but she responded naturally to the question. "I'm just checking email," she said, shutting down the browser before her husband could see more clearly that she was not reviewing email.

"I thought I heard you wake up. What's wrong? Couldn't you sleep?" he said, moving towards the refrigerator, opening it, and retrieving a carton of orange juice.

"I needed something to drink, too," she replied as naturally as possible.

"Where's your glass?" he gestured with the carton of orange juice. "I'll pour you another one."

Sani looked to her small workspace. "I already put that one in the dishwasher, you can get me another glass."

Sani's husband pulled two glasses from a kitchen cabinet and began pouring the juice. "So, anything new?"

"New?"

"Your email," he said pointing to Sani's open laptop. "Anything interesting?" he said, as he handed Sani a glass of orange juice.

Sani glanced quickly at the screen, relieved that the browser had in fact closed. "No," she said, "I was hoping my sister had sent something. But, she didn't." Sani took a quick drink from her glass.

"When was the last time you saw her?" Sani's husband said, as he moved closer to her.

"Last November, in New York. Why?"

"That's right. That was a while ago," he said, with uncharacteristic concern. "Maybe you should think of visiting her again. Maybe even this next week, if you want to."

Sani downed the rest of her juice. "Next week?"

"Sure. I'm going to be pretty busy, and the kids would like the trip. Why don't you give her a call tomorrow?"

Sani's heart began to pound again. "I don't know," she said, standing up and drinking the last of her juice. Maybe she should go, forget about everything, and pretend nothing happened. But, she couldn't ignore the horrible truth.

"You'll love it," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "I might even join you over the weekend," he said smiling, as he took Sani's glass from her and moved towards the dishwasher.

"I need to think about it," said Sani, rubbing her forehead and trying to keep at bay the torrent of confusing and painful thoughts assaulting her tired mind.

"You should really go. It would be great for you and the kids to get out of here for a change," he said, as he opened the dishwasher door.

"Maybe. Like I said, I'll think about it."

Sani's husband turned to watch his wife begin to make her way back upstairs. "Hey," he said with surprise, "the dishes in here are clean."

"I know," said Sani in her tired voice. "Just leave the glasses in the sink. I'll take care of them in the morning."

Sani's husband coldly stared at his wife as she continued up the stairs to their bedroom.


[edit on 25-9-2005 by loam]

Great piece of work,



I look forward to seeing more of your work

Asala

looking like a good story Loam, liked how you did the quote

keep it up and look forward to the next instalment

rynaldo

Good story Loam Like rynaldo said nice touch with the quotes gives it that 24 feel lol but if you get me lol but not in the real time sense keep the work up

Thanks, folks! I thought this would be fun. In fact, anyone can feel free to add to the story line. It would be interesting to see where that would lead. I have a general sense of some ideas, but feel free to take it anywhere you want.

Here’s my next installment.

Richard Burns burst into his apartment with an exuberance and energy level that always seemed to escape him during the workday in his position as a mid-level account manager for UBC Bank.

Today was no exception. Within minutes, the whirling fan of his microwave oven, the stilted voices of pointless telemarketing messages on his answering machine, the argumentative drone of pundits discussing the latest sensationalized news issue on television, and the familiar groan of his personal computer booting up, sang in unison to accompany Richard’s newfound after-work energy.

When the high-pitched whine of the microwave oven announced the readiness of his favorite pre-made meal, macaroni and cheese, he grabbed an oversized fork and made for the small desk in his living room.

Making himself comfortable and savoring the first mouthful of his yellow mush, Richard pulled the keyboard closer and began logging into his email account and opening several browser sessions preset to his favorite websites and message board. Seeing little of interest in his emails, or the websites, Richard scanned the most recent posts placed on his message board of choice.



Will there be civil war in America?

UFO Sighting in Pennsylvania

Scientists Warns of Rising Ocean Temperatures

Terrorist Attack in Rome

…

Learned Something by Mistake

Releasing a single, but extended, burp that rivaled the din of the television, partly as an unusual and personal gesture of approval to the new list of the thread titles, Richard began methodically sifting through the substance of each post.

Despite the fact that many of the threads were often a rehash of familiar subjects, Richard could not imagine a more satisfying activity. He loved the anonymous connection to the virtual community of the message board. As a regular member for more than a couple of years, Richard had developed a strong connection to many of the other members. It was true that he knew most of them only by their aliases, and often knew little of the details concerning their personal lives, but in comparison, Richard felt that no more different than what he knew of most of his neighbors, whom he has shared living space with in the same apartment building for more than five years.

One thread in particular caught his attention. It seemed to be a plea for help from some well-to-do housewife claiming to be in danger. When Richard first read the post several nights ago, he merely dismissed it as having been authored by some teenager who likely dreamed up the drama for attention and kicks. Predictably, many members flamed the post. Some took it seriously, extending languid, but sincere, offers of advice or help.

Richard normally didn’t respond to such posts, but when he first saw that post on that particular evening, the threads seemed slow and he could not resist adding a reply.



ScaredGal did not reply for several days. He did not really expect it, nor did he feel it terribly important. Many hoax threads ended abruptly, presumably as “little Johnny” (or in this case, “little Sally”) found more mischievous entertainment elsewhere. But as Richard scrolled down the page, and while he licked the last of the yellow cheese from his oversized fork, he found that ScaredGal had indeed replied.



Richard read the next set of replies to ScaredGal’s post. Most were supportive, and the flaming seemed to stop. Then Richard noticed that ScaredGal had posted another reply a few hours later.



Richard leaned back in his chair. Now that was some heavy stuff, he thought. He scrolled through the last remaining replies of condolences ending the thread.

Suicide by hanging. What a terrible way to go, he thought.

Texas?

Richard opened another browser session and began searching for any Texas news stories related to a suicide by hanging.


[edit on 1-9-2004 by loam]