Chapter 4
"The clear literary ties between your writing and the writing of Vonnegut weren't just clear, they were spot on. Ugh!" Carl nearly had a nerd-gasim sitting next to Hazel. "There wasn't a moment in that book where I wasn't screaming to myself, 'Yes! This is exactly what I've always wanted to read!' The self aware narrator, the religious tie-ins, how did you write such a book at such a young age?" his eyes gleamed with anticipation as a couple of luck charms clattered and clanked, hanging from his limp wrist. "I seriously would give my left arm for your writing talent! Here, take my arm!"
"Don't waste a perfectly good arm," Hazel waved his offering away. "I can't write for shit. I wrote about a villain named Agronomiton for Christ's sake," she slumped down on the bench still eyeing the Corn Palace across the street. Sure she needed to stop for prayer, but did she need to stop there? Did she really need to be two lanes across from one of the tackiest tourist traps ever conceived by man? And what were the chances that she would be getting a bus ride from the one and only person to have read her cursed book and actually like it. Should she be nice to him? She thought not, considering the fact that if Carl actually liked it he was obviously delusional, or just managed to never read any other books than hers. "Where did you even find it? The book I mean."
"I used to read your blog. Remember? Sunday Special Without the Ham and Cheese?"
"I…" stumped she grasped for some kind of reply. The blog some how managed to be even worse than the book. Lord, she started remembering the soap opera she wrote that included a talking jar of mayo. Was she insane? Surely that was the only sensical explanation for the mounds of trite filth that came from her pen. "I completely forgot about that blog."
"How could you forget?!" in his excitement a blue haired troll doll freed itself and leapt to the ground. "What about that one? The one with the transperson that stole underwear and then… well the ending was confusing. Or that one with the nursing home? Boy that was a creeper, eh?" he chuckled and slapped Hazel on the back a couple of times. "Or, oh hey ya'! That one with the hobo and God as a duck! That one really blew my mind!"
Hazel had to be in hell. Where else could she possibly be? Some how Carl knew more about her nonexistent writing career than she did. "Wow… You're, you're really a fan. I am… honored?" between Carl's smiling mug and the empty eyed corn child looming over the street she couldn't decide which got further under her skin. "Listen Carl."
"What is it?" he snatch up the fallen troll trying not to break eye contact with Hazel. "Could you sign my copy?"
Hazel shook ever so slightly at the sudden change in conversation.
"I have this fan club back home and boy howdy would the guys be jealous," he practically squealed. His entire line backer frame tensed up with glee.
"You… have a fan club?" no, she decided, this was entirely too horrible to be hell. She had to be in the Devil's mother-in-law's dimension to have a fan club. Before Carl could respond she held up a hand. "You can tell me all about it when we're on the road again. But for now how about you go and find your copy. I'll sign that sucker so hard," she punched him on the shoulder and popped her wrist while doing it. Was that even possible?
"Really!? You really for real mean it!? Ahhh! I can't wait to show Steve! I'll need to find my first edition copy! No, the hard back one! No, the illustrated one! Oh decisions!"
"How about… you grab them all, buddy. I'll just put my Jane Handcock on all of them since you're my biggest fan," there was more than one edition of the book? She had a hard enough time believing that one edition could be made, but more than one? And an illustrated one? It was probably a good thing she didn't eat that day. Jingling the entire way Carl shot back into the bus. "Didn't think he could move that fast," she whispered after him.
"You shouldn't joke about such things," a low hissing voice told her.
Frozen in place she stared at the corn child. Was it smiling a minute ago? She didn't remember that big toothy grin from when they first pulled up. All the other corn images lining the walls looked to be the same as they were five minutes ago. "Who the hell was that?"
"Come on darl'n. How could you forget such a long time friend?" the lips moved slightly out of synch with the words before a toothy grin returned to the corn child's face.
"Who does your dub work? Obviously you're paying them too much."
The child mimed surprise, "You should be one to talk sweetheart. Or don't you remember anymore?"
"Remember what? Did I go through a badly done kung fu acting phase in-between all those atrocious stories I wrote? I sure was one busy lady right?" she glanced around to make sure no one saw her having a conversation with a building.
"Really? You don't remember?" the mouth still moved out of synch, almost like it was speaking an entirely different language. "You don't remember grandma Heela? You don't remember the album?" a giant corn tear lobbed itself down the side of the building scattering into the street. "I'm heart broken. Really I am."
Grandma Heela? Hazel didn't have a grandma Heela. The only person who had a grandma Heela was, she gasped for air. Moments before she felt fine, she felt confident, she nearly felt whole. The familiar place, the familiar smells, they all built up a sense of security, a sense of belonging. But there, staring at that mockery, at that abasement she lost everything.
"Oh? Looks like some one might be remembering something," the cruel joke winked at her. The lips, they weren't out of synch at all. They weren't speaking another language either. She finally noticed. The child, Reza, was calling for help.
…
"I SAID OPEN YOUR EYES!" the harsh hand forcefully snatched her jaw whipping it around from side to side. "DON'T MAKE ME REPEAT MYSELF!" the man kicked her in the gut, another man kicked the back of her head. "Watch it asshole! You almost kicked me!"
"Sorry man," a quick fight broke out between the two before they broke it off with laughter. "What do you want to do with…" he spat on Raha's face. "It?" they both shuffled closer to her. She dared not open her eyes. She couldn't look them in the eyes, she could see… "Do you think we can leave it here? What if it talks?"
"And what if it does? Who's going to believe a damn word the abomination says?" cold steel caressed the side of her neck. "You know what? I think I'll let it live today. How will they know their place if they don't tell each other what happens when they get too uppity?"
"Hahahaha, you're right," a sick metallic sliding, almost slurping sound came from right beside her pulling a quick muffled scream from deep inside her chest. "Sweet dreams darl'n. If you ever need to talk just know we'll always be here," the hollow sound of feet smashing… smashing… he wasn't breathing. Maybe the breaths were just shallow. That had to be it. It must be that. He couldn't be… "Come on. I still wanna see the game tonight."
They left. They left Raha alone.
...
Reza, when did he, how did he, why did he? Innocence lost, never to be found. The malicious toothy grin loomed over her. Great gobs of tears flooded her nose, covered her cheeks, muffled her sobs. When could she move on, when could she let go? How could she let go? Every step of the way he came back. A memory, a pain, knowing, wondering what could have been. If… If only…
"Are you okay?" Carl's childlike face popped into view. "You can sign them later if it makes you feel any better. Do you need to talk? Do you need a hug? Is it… lady issues?" Hazel let out a muffled laugh in-between sobs fighting between a grimace and a smirk. He came so close to being thoughtful. So very close. She gestured for the books and a pen. The ink and tears mixed together on the pages, smudging and smearing like a watercolor of sorrow. Trying to make up for it she put things like 'To my biggest fan
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