Sick of Surviving
By
Jose Israel Cordova

Part One

July 3rd, 2012.
11:38 P.M.
Los Angeles.

The sky was on fire. A fierce, rolling inferno started at the southern horizon and shot through the sky at an incredible speed north, noiseless. For 5 minutes the night turned into day. Ten seconds after it passed, all the lights of Los Angeles went dark. Walking outside, eyes still adjusting to the lack of man-made light, Odd saw all the neighbors come out of their apartments and congregate outside, discussing what the hell just happened. He heard most of them speak of God and the second coming of Christ. They REALLY believed that's what it was. Others said it could've been an asteroid, meteor, nuclear device or something of that sort. Extreme cases said it was aliens.
"All I saw was fire,” he thought to himself, walking back into his apartment. He grabbed a pair of flashlights only to find out they were useless. Cell phone, too. Pocket radio, not even static. Nothing electrical worked, even with fresh batteries. He sat, and stared at his moonlit room for a while, as the echoes of hundreds of tires screeching, coming to abrupt crashing ends made their way into his ears from miles around. Lost in a blank stupor for who knows how long, he came back to his senses when the taste of blood overflowed his mouth. He'd been gnashing his teeth. "We're boned." he whispered as he grabbed his backpack, emptied it and threw in his slingshot.
Born and raised in Los Angeles, Odd knew it was a matter of time before the little bit of thread that held this city's sanity together snapped. Walking through the crowds outside and seeing worried faces everywhere, he thought about the people. Most of them, like him, were living paycheck to paycheck, barely making enough to pay the rent each month and having a bit left over to feed themselves. Early in his adult life he came to realize that shared feeling. They've all been getting screwed by society, all struggling each and every day, and given any slight, well placed trouble or further injustice on top of that heavy over bearing load, would cause the population to lose it. This desert city will burn brighter than anything humanity has ever seen, a hell on earth turning all its inhabitants into the demons they unknowingly held inside.
He decided to take Van Nuys Blvd. to his destination, less apartments, more businesses, less people. "Got no ammo..." He scanned the street, no rocks, but plenty of cars, and a lot of them where crashed and abandoned. Odd strolled to the nearest auto, a sedan that had found its way into a compact sports car, and lifted the hood. Took out the spark plugs and threw them on the floor with a bit of force. Picked up the pieces and stuck them into his pocket. He reached the parking space of the shopping center, and saw what he was looking for, the Mighty Dollar store. One problem, they had a metal barricade on the entrance, with no way to squeeze in. Looking around, making sure no John Q. Laws with a strong sense of duty were walking, he made his way around the building, finding a rear display window with no barricade. Quickly he took out his slingshot and placed the biggest piece of spark plug in it, with a flick of the wrist and controlled movement of a pro, he had reached the maximum velocity in 3 seconds. With all his body he swung and released the piece, it barely made any sound, but the 7-foot window was completely shattered. Two boot stomps later, Odd was inside.
Duffle bags are great for storage. He filled up 4 bags with canned foods, crackers and other heavily preserved edibles. Good enough to last a single person over a month. Thinking about what supplies he might find useful or need, he walked around with a duffle bag slung over each shoulder, carefully looking at all the items. Gloves duct tape, wires, screwdrivers, wrenches, hacksaws, and hammers, hatchets- all cheap quality but there was quantity. 6 duffle bags with zippers barely holding its contents flew out the window and landed just outside. A bottle of aspirin caught his eye, "First aid...” grabbed two more bags and filled those with gauze, adhesive bandages, the basic necessities you'd find in a typical first aid kit. After throwing those two bags out, he grabbed a shopping cart with all the wheels working as best as he could find and flipped it out the window. "WATER!" He yelled at himself, "You stupid bastard, we will all need water!". Running back again into the store he chucked gallons into the cart outside, and a couple of cases of the small bottled water.
Staring at the small cart half stacked with water and realizing he could only take 4 of the supply bags with him, he stood there trying to think of what he should leave behind. "Fuck it." Odd didn't look back as he pushed his way home, leaving all the food hidden underneath some bushes. Nearing the apartment, he was a bit surprised to find only a few people outside, now most of them consisted of the many teenagers who belonged to the local crews of the neighborhood. Some of them recognized Odd by sight; but he never got in their way. After unloading and storing all the supplies, he lay on his mattress staring at the ceiling as his body began shaking, then he passed out.


Part Two

It must've been around noon when Odd opened his eyes. Drenched in sweat he quickly got up and opened the windows of his studio apartment. Reaching to open a bottle, he saw the tap still dripping. Stripped out of his clothes and jumped in the shower, relief was felt when the cold running water hit. The quick shower woke up part of his brain, and it was telling him to fill some jugs up before the water pressure eases up. He filled every single cup, glass, bowl, pot, bucket and plastic container he had in his possession. His backpack lay in the middle of the room with its contents spilling out. Candles, matches, lighters, containers of lighter fluid, a few notebooks, pens, a stack of paper, crayons, markers, chalk, tooth brushes, tooth paste, bars of soap and two empty spray bottles.
The knocking on the door made him jump. Before opening the door he yelled, "Hello Irma."
"Odd you sonovabitch open the god damn door, it’s hotter than hell out here."
"It ain't much cooler in here." he opened the door and saw his neighbor Irma with her 7-year-old daughter Iris. "What the fuck happened last night? Don't tell me you slept through it? The fucking sky was on fire! What do you think...”?
"Hello Iris, how are you?"
"I’m okay Odd, How are you?"
"I’m alive."
"Why is there always stuff on your floor?"
"Because you guys always show up when it’s messy in here."
"Always?"
"Yeah, always."
Irma annoyed and demanding attention asked "Odd! What the hell? I'm talking and you're acting like noth..."
"Sky was on fire. Anything that uses electricity doesn’t work. I know. Now can I talk to you later? I got to go somewhere."
"Where are you going?" She asked.
"None of your business. I’ll knock on your door when I get back."
"Okay, be careful."
Irma was a 28 year old single mother Odd met when he first moved in to the apartments. At first he thought she wanted something from him when they began talking in the laundry room, but quickly he realized she was just bored and lonely. Iris was a sweet and smart kid, with a crazy mother and no father in sight. From what Odd could tell she seemed to be growing up fine.
Walking outside to the summer heat felt like getting covered with a blanket. A suffocating, smothering, and in-adaptable heat. Deciding to return for the food he had stashed away the night before wasn't looking like a good choice, either way it had to be done. The shopping center was a disaster when he arrived. There seemed to be a few baggy clothes wearing, bald headed thugs about every 20 feet. The one who saw him didn’t look a day over 11, the kid whistled. Immediately all the guards turned and looked at Odd. An older looking guard tilted his head up a bit “Hey! Where you from?" Odd answered by turning around and running. After about 4 blocks he stopped and sat near a palm tree. "God damn it." Out of breath and drenched in sweat with an over 100 degree heat, the delirium started to kick in. The sun stared and mocked him "Ha… ha... ha... ha... ha... ha..." Or was it his own heartbeat he heard? Either way he flipped off the sun, "You won’t beat me." "Ha... ha... ha... ha... ha...” His exposed skin burned and felt tight, slowly he got up and walked back home.
The sound of shattering glass marked the hour like bells at a church. In the distance the first pillars of smoke stared rising from the east. Most likely the gangs had started looting all the mom and pop shops and sparking off riots. Great time to settle old scores, and stake their claims on the new found commodities. Every so often he saw a few people running with shopping carts full of random things, from breakfast cereal to plasma screens. They had caught on to his actions, but twisted it their own way. What good is a plasma screen when the city is burning and there is no electricity?
Once home, he filled the spray bottles one with alcohol, the other with lighter fluid. He duct taped them to the sides of his back pack, and attached a hammer and a hatchet each to a length of cable wound and bound to the straps. Waiting for darkness didn't take long, the city was over come by shadows and gangs quickly while the sunset. Leaving his house, he decided to head east first, then south for a bit before cutting west to the stores, but first he had to knock on the door next door.
"Hello Odd. MOM, ODD'S AT THE DOOR!" Iris answered.
"Where is Irma?"
"She's in the bathroom."
"Listen, if you guys ever need water, there is plenty in my apartment, just don't waste it. I repeat, Do-Not-Waste-It. There will be trouble and you will need what you can find. In case I don't come back, here is the key. By the way, don't let your mom sell anything in the apartment. Take care."
"Where you going?"
"Out."
He had walked less than two blocks when "What you got in your bag, man?" It was a skinny 18 year old, about a half foot taller than Odd, wearing a baggy blue t-shirt and baggy checkered shorts that looked like a skirt from far away. Odd tried to ignore him, tried to keep his eyes on the road ahead, but the guy persisted "Hey bitch I said what you got in the bag?" That stopped him. "Tell me something, do you like having teeth?" Skinny looked puzzled, but began walking towards Odd. "What you say?" As soon as the question was finished, Odd swung the hammer and smashed the spot between nose and upper lip. The skinny thug hit the ground hard, gurgling and moaning loudly. Looking over the bloodied figure, Odd noticed a movement on his right in nearby bushes, but it was too late, the bottle had already broken on his left ear. "Mother fucker!" He stumbled onto one knee and swung the hammer wildly, hitting nothing but air. The figure began to take shape, another baldy about Odd's height but with more muscle. "I’m gonna fuck you up.” It seemed like he saw it in slow motion, maybe due to a slight concussion. The figure swung his leg back; Odd saw it coming straight at his face. It took little effort, just reflex, to bring the hatchet into the kicker's shin. With the force of the kick, the hatchet was completely imbedded in the leg and couldn't be removed.
Regaining his composure, Odd smiled and laughed at his attackers lying on the floor so helpless “Tell me something Skinny, how does it feel? Huh? I can't hear you. It's ok; you can tell me when they grow back. I need my hatchet back.” Odd put his foot on the kicker’s ankle and yanked the cable with both arms, retrieving the hatchet along with a nice chunk of flesh. "The loud moans will definitely attract more of the bastards, gotta get the fuck out of here." he thought. He ran down a dark residential street with cul-de-sacs that ran east and west. Eventually the street led him about a quarter mile to where the stores and the bald guys awaited.


Part Three

PST was written in black spray paint all over the buildings surrounding the shopping center. Psycoe Street Thugs, that’s how they spell it. It started about 7 years ago as a small graffiti crew consisting of about 8 teenagers. Their numbers had grown once they started selling weed to the local middle school and high school kids. Within two years they grew to nearly 60 members, controlling a square mile section near Odd's apartment. 3 years after they controlled 4 square miles and their numbers grew innumerable, all members varied between the ages of 10 to 25. In that time period Odd noticed their scrawls all around the neighborhood grow, along with a larger number of crack and meth addicts stealing at night and begging for money during the day. For what this gang had done and caused, there will be no mercy for any of them.
He reached the back alley when he noticed a guard unzipping his pants near a dumpster. The guard hadn’t seen Odd, just seemed too preoccupied with taking care of business. Quickly Odd walked up behind the guard, "What the fuck?!" The guard turned his head into Odd’s hammer. The blow caused the gangster’s head to bounce off the dumpster with a loud crack. Odd chuckled as the thug fell with dick in hand, but was surprised to see him slowly rise and stumble out the alley.
Holding his head, the guard drunkenly made his way into a section of the shopping center’s parking lot. His moans caught the attention of a stoned pair of guards who stared at the bleeding hunched over figure through bloodshot eyes. Both of them looked like they hit puberty the week before; one covered in acne, the other with a small mustache. It took them a few seconds to realize what it was they were watching, "Oh shit, I think that's Mayhem." "Who's that?" said the other. The pair looked up at Odd swing his sling shot at them; the closest one got hit in the throat, fell to his knees and struggled to breath. Mustache boy whistled and bolted into the darkness.
"Fuck him. I'm tired of running...” Odd told the acne boy. “I got a question, what did you think you would get by joining this gang?" Odd asked as he began soaking the young scout with the spray bottle. "What?" he managed to squeeze out of his throat. The kid could smell the liquid, and tears began running down his face. “What are you doing?” asked the boy through a choking sob. "I thought you wanted the thug life? Anyways, I won't kill you. That’s between you and the flames." A dozen PST members arrived to a ghastly scene scored by an unearthly language consisting of high-pitched screams echoing through the shopping center.
Odd made his way around the block to the bushes where the food lay hidden. "How am I going to carry all this shit?" Looking around quickly he spotted a bent shopping cart that was lying on its side. Quickly he realized why it was being used as a seat, the front wheels shuddered and shook making a commotion that grew louder the faster he pushed. He ran away from the shopping center as fast as he could. Someone whistled; they’d spotted him. Two blocks away Odd slowed down.
Odd noticed the duffel bags came with detachable shoulder straps. Odd felt his heart beat harder and harder, yet he ran fast and gained a block lead. Removing a strap and soaking it in alcohol, he stepped up to a parked truck on the sidewalk and twisted off the gas cap. They were two blocks away. The strap was stuffed into the gas tank with a piece hanging out. One block away. His lighter clicked and lit the strap. Ignoring sore legs, pounding heart and fatigue, he pushed the cart as fast as he could.


It had been two years ago when he saw the homeless man with a concave skull. He had gotten off of work late from the metal shop; the bus picked him up an hour later. After getting off the bus, he waked to a nearby liquor store to get a drink. There in the parking lot, a man lay on his back in a pool of blood by a dumpster. "What the fuck you looking at?" said a 6 foot and a half, 300 pound gorilla wearing a plain white t-shirt. He showed off the Louisville slugger he held in his hand. "I don't see shit." Alberto replied and walked straight home. "P.S.T.!" barked the savage. That image stayed etched into his memory.
The next incident took place a couple of months later. Walking home late from a nearby taco place, Alberto was followed home by a pair of kids. He was ten feet from his door when one of them came beside him and pointed a gun to his face. "Empty your pockets." he looked and saw the fear in the gunman's eyes, but the gun made the kid feel comfortable. "Hurry up!" said the lookout. Alberto took out his wallet and gave him the five dollars he had for the next day's bus pass. "Chump." said the teenager as he grabbed the money and ran.
One of his neighbors was a hard working landscaper with a family of three. He would warm up his pickup with all kinds of gear in the bed every morning while Alberto walked by on the way to the bus stop. Then one day the man wasn't there anymore. A few days later Alberto found out through Irma that the landscaper was shot. The man was at a nearby doughnut shop one morning, getting some coffee for the day ahead, when two young men approached his pickup and told him to get out. "No, I got to go to work." he said. They pulled him out, beat him, and then shot him in the head. The pickup was found a mile away from the doughnut shop without any of the equipment.
"You know, when I met you I though 'He's a bit weird, harmless, but definitely odd'. Now you're more....Odd!" Irma told Alberto after telling him the story of the landscaper. "Guess I am." That’s was the last thing he said before cutting off contact with anyone for a month.

The force of the shock wave threw the tired figure into the cart. His feet seemed to lift over his head toward the side; the cart defied gravity with him and landed on his shoulder. Screams and moans slowly replaced the deafening ring in his ears. Dizzy and nauseated, Odd forced his body to put the bags back into the cart. His eyes stared into the fire when a figure moved on the floor near him. The charred, bald figure was small, maybe five feet in length. It just shifted its head side to side, with rolled back eyes, jawless.
His stomach heaved, his nose and mouth felt like he was drowning. Odd’s eyes couldn’t focus; everything was blurry with double images. He vomited. It hurt to stand; when he tried to put some of his weight on the cart he felt his right shoulder snap. Vomiting again, he noticed this time it was blood. “What the hell is that in my rib?” feeling a five inch piece of shrapnel in his left side, he laughed as his vision narrowed and grew darker and darker. With legs shaking he pushed the food. Somewhere in the darkness the smell of dirt followed by the pleasant feeling of cold concrete on his cheek. “You didn’t beat me. You couldn’t win. You bastards where scared. You didn’t beat me…” He felt himself smile. Then he heard a whistle.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 24.07.2009

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