my-name-is-not-abner

      Stephen was yanked from his reverie when he heard voices growing gradually louder and stopping outside the door to room 910.  He quickly and quietly crept into the closet, leaving the door open a crack so as to listen to the conversation unfolding in the hallway.      "Ms. Johnson, the brake lines of the 1998 Ford Taurus that your daughter's boyfriend owned had been cut, we figure sometime between 7:30 and 10:00 last night."      A hushed silence followed this little announcement.      "I don't understand..." Denise looked from one officer to the other.      "The car accident your daughter was in was not an accident; ma'am, do y

      The two girls they were meeting were already seated by the time Stephen and Zac arrived at the restaurant; the blond waved them over.      "Sorry to keep ya waiting, ladies," Zac apologized sleekly, sliding smoothly into the booth, across from the blond.  "This is my buddy, Stephen."      Introductions traveled around.      Jessi was the blond, with brilliant green eyes and a wide, gaping mouth that reminded Stephen strongly of Steven Tyler's mouth.  Despite her resemblance to an ever-aging rock star, he could tell right away that she was the one Zac was interested in; she was abrasive, obnoxious and loved telling crude jokes even

      Being dragged along by his buddy, Zac, to Applebee's at two in the morning had definitely not been in his plan for the night.      "Come on! Just be my wingman for a couple of hours-"      "Zac. Are you telling me that you can't snag this girl on your own? You don't need me," Stephen responded.  "Besides, I thought you were interested in what's-her-face... the one from Chem."      "That's this girl, idiot."  Zac punched him in the arm, jostling the soda in Stephen's hand.      "Watch it!" Stephen warned, switching the can to the other hand.      Zac hit him again.      "Help a guy out, man!" Zac said.  He lifted his fist to

      By the time Denise had slipped back into her mask of composure, Stephen was already heading towards the stairs, not even bothering to wait for an elevator and taking the stairs two at a time.  When he finally reached the third floor, there was an annoying stitch in his side that he brushed aside as he walked down the corridor, looking for Chloe's room.       904...906...908...       910.       The door opened easily, and he slipped into the small room.       Chloe was the onl

      Chloe's mother, Denise Johnson, pushed her way gently but determinedly through the waiting area up to the desk, where the horde of people parted in order for her to see the secretary.      As Stephen also wormed his way up to the counter, he glanced at Denise.  She looked as composed as ever, if not a little frayed around the edges.  Her sleek, long, blond hair was escaping the bobby pins that kept it fastened securely in place - save for this occasion.  The makeup she was usually so particular about had smudged slightly under her eyes, and the A Night to Remember lipstick she had been wearing had faded hours ago.   Her lips were purs

      The chaotic scene that greeted him when he reached the emergency room waiting area of the hospital an elevator and three hallways later was the answer to his question.      People were scrunched into tiny, plastic seats that were bolted to the floor, more people were lining the walls, and there was a crowd blocking the secretary's counter from view.  Some were crying, some were bleeding, and all were clamoring to be heard.  Doctors came and went, snaking expertly through the crowd before a single, grief-stricken loved one could grab hold.  A woman's nasally voice would sound every few minutes over a static-laden intercom, trafficking

      He had forced his puffy, swollen eyes open, only to see nothing but radiant fluorescent lights glaring down at him from a pale, paneled ceiling.  Stephen strained to lift himself into a sitting position; his sore muscles screamed protest against such an act and his consequent groan of pain echoed throughout the room he had been sleeping in.  His strange surroundings slid into focus as he blinked sleep and spots - care of the bright lights - out of his eyes.       It was a gutless room, one devoid of personality and warmth.  The walls were a blank

Tick Tock.. Tick Tock.. The hands of the clock   are all I hear.. Pressing steadily on. Time is slipping away at an evenly-marked pace. Tick Tock.. Tick Tock.. And it's driving.                      Me.                          MAD. What the hell am I supposed to do? A pillow over my head,     to deafen the sound, to muffle it, but that God-awful noise is persistent, incessant. Heaven help me, please..   Heaven's not listening. So I take my hard-covered book of verses       and smash that tick-tocking clock to bits. And I can't stop laughing.