Obsession

"I can't believe it." Billy scrolled through the never ending pictures of himself on his crush's phone. "She's...obsessed with me.”

"BS,” Devin said, trying to grab the phone away from him. 

Billy moved down a seat at the cafeteria table. "I'm serious."

"If you were so serious, why are you hiding the proof from me?”

"I don't want you wreaking her phone," Billy said, tapping on a picture of himself getting dressed in his room. He turned it toward Devin, careful to keep the phone out of his friend's reach. "See?”

"You never said you two hung out?"

"We never have."

Devin grabbed the apple off of Billy's lunch tray. "So how did she get a picture of you inside your own house?"

"Not sure, but does it matter? Clearly she is into me."

"Maybe a little too much into you, don't you think?" Devin said, crunching into his apple.

"Nonsense. She's just–"

"A stalker," Devin interrupted.

"She is not."

"I call it how I see it.”

"Well not for long. I'm asking her out," Billy said, placing the phone on the table.

"That's a really bad idea, but then again, so was stealing her phone. Maybe I'm wrong though and you two are meant to be with each other." Devin threw the half eaten apple at Billy. 

"You're just jealous Sandra doesn't give you the time of day," Billy said, putting the phone in his pocket and picking up the apple. 

"Sandra at least respects my privacy."

"She sure does. Gives you plenty of space."

"Rather have a woman not interested in me than...whatever that is," Devin said, gesturing to Billy's pocket.

Billy ignored him, taking his tray and walking to the other side of the cafeteria. The dull grey tiles squeaked under his shoe, yet drew no attention from the rest of the students eating and joking at the other tables. He was on a mission. To ask out Jeanie. Confidence was not in short supply as he marched up to her table. The two girls Jeanie was sitting with got up to dump their trays, leaving Billy the perfect opportunity to enact his plan.

"Hey there Jeanie."

"Hey Billy. How's it going?" Jeanie said, playing with her ponytail. 

"It's going well. Say, I think I found your phone,” Billy said, taking out the phone from his pocket.

"Oh my gosh! I have been looking everywhere for it. Thank you so much, Billy. You are such a great guy."

Billy handed her the phone. "Well I think you are a great gal."

Jeanie blushed and held her phone close to her chest, partially hiding the ACDC logo on her shirt. Billy leaned in closer, causing her to gaze into his hazel eyes. 

"I like your shirt. Maybe I could take you to see them sometime? Say this Saturday?" Billy asked in a soothing voice that he himself didn't know he possessed.

"I...I would like that Billy," Jeanie said, not breaking eye contact with him. 

"Great. I'll pick you up at eight," Billy said and walked away. 

Jeanie watched him walk away with the stride of a runway model. She bit her lip trying not to squeal out of excitement. Once he was out of sight, she quickly unlocked her phone and was greeted with an enlarged picture of Billy getting dressed. A maniacal grin stretched across her face. 

"Billy Kennedy McGuire. I got you right where I want you.”

Pocket Dimension

"How about a game of chess?" Morty asked.

Liz looked around the tight blue fabric world. Light filtered in enough to remind her of a summer evening. She lounged at the base of the pocket that cradled her like a hammock, poking at the stretchy wall next to her. Her blonde hair covered her lint pillow.

"Naw, I think I'm good."

"You have been saying that for three months. Why won't you play with me?"

"Cause I have other things to do."

Morty looked around to make sure he wasn't missing something. "Like what?"

"Relaxing," she said, closing her eyes and letting out a sigh.

"Don't you want to return to your family? To the real world?"

She shrugged. "Eh."

"Eh? Your family is worried sick. You probably lost your job by now. It won't be long before you are declared dead."

"That's ok."

Morty kicked the stretchy wall next to him and the entire room moved like a bounce house. Liz's whole body went with the flow.

"Oh yeah that's the stuff. Do that again," Liz said.

"If you play chess with me, I will."

"And ruin my vacation? I don't think so."

"Come on Liz. Please?"

"Nope."

Morty leaned against the wall and slumped down next to Liz. "Why don't you want to leave this place? There is literally nothing to do here."

Liz paused for a moment and sat up. "Life is too stressful. Expectations. Deadlines. Run here. Do that. All for what? To put some food on the table? Make my parents proud?"

"I didn't realize life bothered you so much."

"It doesn't. I just wanted a break is all. And I couldn't afford a real vacation, so this was a welcome surprise."

Morty pulled himself up by pinching the wall in his hand. He wobbled to stay upright for a moment.

"Well, you can stay here for as long as you would like."

"Really? And you will stop asking me to play that stupid game?"

"Stupid...game?" he muttered to himself, his eye twitching and mouth starting to foam.

"Morty? Are you ok?"

He shook himself out of his minor mental breakdown and smiled at her.

"Yes. As long as you like. But I will be taking off some of the comforts you have grown used to."

Morty snapped his fingers and nothing happened…to the pocket. Liz hugged her stomach, trying to muffle the loud gurgling sound. At the same time, a toot came from her butt and she pushed her hand firmly against her jeans. Her pants felt heavier and brown liquid leaked out her pant leg.

"What did you d–" she said, followed by a green stream of vomit that splashed against the wall.

"You haven't relieved yourself for three months. Naturally there are some side effects to that. Also…chess isn't a stupid game."

Finding Purpose

"Number sixteen. Sixteen," I said to the lobby. 

"Over here." An older man waddled up to the counter and grabbed the brown bag of grease from me. 

I looked out into the sea of faces all waiting for their turn on the shit express. It's one way to clean your plumbing out, but I would prefer an enema. I turned away from their far too happy faces and returned to the scorching fires of the kitchen. 

The fries relaxed in the bubbling vat of despair, calling for me to join them. Patties let out a sigh of comfort on the stovetop next to them. They enjoyed their last moments unconcerned they will be ripped apart by some little monster who mixes all the fountain drinks together. Their purpose in life seemed much better than mine.

"Hey Steve, look who's here," Susie said from the window.

I walked over and it was thee Jackson Merrick. My jaw dropped so low it could have scrapped the grease off the floor. Jackson Merrick. At a place like this. Susie was counting his money to get him change.

"Is that really him?" I asked her, looking back out the window.

"It sure is."

"Give me the change. I want to talk to him."

"Sure. He had number nineteen," she said, handing me the change. She took off her blue cap and headset, leaving me to talk to my hero. I leaned out of the window and stretched out my hand full of quarters.

"Here you go Mr. Merrick. I have to say, I'm a big fan. The way you rebelled against your family's purpose for your life. It's an inspiration."

"Let me guess, your parents wanted you to cook?"

"Serve others. But yes. My whole family cooks, so naturally I'm stuck here. I only wish I could be like you.”

Mr. Merrick dropped the quarters in his cup holder and threw the car in park.

"You wanna know the secret to how I went against my parents' purpose for me?" Mr. Merrick said.

I leaned in closer, almost falling out the window. "How?" 

"I didn't."

I shook my head. "I don't understand…"

"Your parents' purpose for you is to serve others, right?"

"Yes."

"Who said you had to cook? Your purpose is broad, not narrow. The more creatively you think about your purpose, the more you will realize your family got it right. You just haven't found it yet."

I handed him his bag and let his words sink in. I hadn't found my purpose yet. I hadn't found my purpose...yet.

The Poor

"Day 35. I was almost captured today by a swarm of them. They are getting more ingenious and desperate by the day. Trip wire hidden in the sewers. I cannot risk another chase down there again..." Daven said into his recorder. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reliving that moment. It smelt like a backed up septic tank. The water tensed his calf muscles as he tried to run through it. His fancy white collared shirt had turned into a brown and green monstrosity that locked in the smell of his new environment. The solid metal tube offered little hope, stretching farther than he could see in the dark. All it did was amplify the squeaks of the rats. 

"He went this way!" a voice echoed from behind.

Light started to come around the bend. Daven ran for it, splashing water everywhere, afraid The Poor caught up to him. He took a few more steps and tripped over a wire just above the water. He flipped over head first, gulping a mouthful of the disgusting water. He gagged on its putrid taste and looked around for an exit. A little farther down was a ladder. Salvation was found.

Daven opened his eyes again. He was safe. Holding his recorder, he was tucked inside a cardboard box. His knees burrowed into his chest and his arms kept them tight together while he held the recorder up to his face.

"If I don't make it, I just want to say I'm sorry for what I did. I should have never flaunted my wealth, especially at the expense of The Poor. Wiping my ass with hundred dollar bills and giving it to them was not my finest moment. I learned my lesson and humbly ask you to take this sincere apology into consid…"

The box caved in with a foot punching through the top, smacking the recorder out of his hand. He reached for it in the dark until he was dragged out of the box. The Poor had caught up to him. Surrounded by dirty men with missing teeth and various degrees of balding, they took turns kicking him with their wet shoes. Daven tried to protect his head while the blows kept coming. 

"Please! I'm sorry! Please!" he said in-between kicks.

"It's too late for that. Nobody messes with The Poor!"

They kept kicking well after his eyes closed and his body went limp. Pedestrians walked by and some stuck around to watch, but nobody tried to save Daven. His fate was sealed. There was only one rule in this city. Don't mess with The Poor.