[stylist] Comments on CK fantasy response

[Bridgit Pollpeter]

Chris,

Thanks for posting. It can be revealing to get out of the comfort zone,
grin.

You write with such a conversational tone. This came across as though
you were telling a story to the guys at the pub.

Because of the drinking and oxy, Mr. Kuell could be dreaming, delusional
or it actually could have happened. This element lends some
believability to a fantastical story because we just don't know, grin.

Nice details. The ex-wife, Lucy's description, the quiet street, etc.

I like the end. It's funny and in character for Mr. Kuell.

Good job at fantasy. And you kept it within your style of writing and
voice, which makes it authentic and not feeling forced.

Bridgit
Message: 8
Date: Mon, 22 Apr 2013 16:44:44 -0400
From: "Chris Kuell" <ckuell at comcast.net>
To: <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Subject: [stylist] CK fantasy response
Message-ID: <55680F6B2844475AA77210A58DE718DF at ChrisPC>
Content-Type: text/plain;	charset="iso-8859-1"

Greetings,

Fantasy really isn't my thing, but here's an attempt anyway. All
comments and suggestions are welcomed.
 

 

Unexpected Guest

 

By Chris Kuell

 

 

The last I remembered, the Yankees were two runs down, but those
bastards are always coming back in the ninth, so you never know. The
ringing of the doorbell jounced me from the reverie of my recliner.
"What the hell --" I muttered, trying to get a fix on my surroundings.
The television was nothing but fuzz and static, so the ball game must be
over.

After another ring, I managed to get up and make my way to the front
hall. I flipped on the lights and opened the door.

An attractive woman wearing a conservative blue business suit stood on
the porch, hands clasped behind her back, giving me a nice view of a
pearl necklace and a fabulous bust line. Not completely deaf to all
Maria used to nag me about, I raised my focus up to the woman's face.
She had a pleasant, Carolina-girl look. Soft, shoulder-length curly
hair, clear blue eyes and the friendly type of smile you see so often
when traveling in that part of the country.

"Hello?" I said.

"Hello. Are you Mr. Kuell?" Her tone was official.

"Are you a lawyer?" I asked, my hand on the door, ready to slam. "Are
you serving me papers? Did my ex-wife send you? Because I'm up to date
with the payments-I've got receipts."

"No, I'm not a lawyer," she said.

"Are you a Mormon, then?" This produced the tiniest hint of a smile.

"No, I'm not a Mormon, either." 

"That's good," I said. "Then, how can I help you at this hour?" I
glanced at my watch, 9:45. That couldn't be right. The game was over; it
had to be one or two in the morning.

"I need you to come with me," she said.

I chuckled. It had been a long time, way too long, since I had been
anywhere with a pretty woman. 

"Normally, I'd take you up on an offer like that in a snap. But, perhaps
for now, you could just tell me who you are and what you want?"

"My name is Lucy, and I'm here to escort you to the hereafter," she
said.

Now, there's a conversation stopper. My innate cynicism took over and I
glanced up and down the street. All the houses were dark and unnaturally
quiet. Not a light to be seen, nor a dog to be heard.

"No offense, but you seem a little old for a sorority girl." I searched
for the carload of drunken college kids, but the neighborhood was vacant
and still.

In her airport customs agent tone, she said, "Mr. Kuell, you need to
come with me." 

Whoever she was, she was good. Not a hint of a smile, a chuckle,
nothing. Maybe she was a psycho, or an escaped mental patient, which
wouldn't be good at all.

"Listen, Lucy, or whoever you are. It's late and I'm tired and going to
bed. You're welcome to join me, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass
on going out tonight." I paused, then finished my thought. "Besides, I
think you've got the wrong guy. I'm only forty-two years old, and still
quite alive."

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Kuell. You're dead."

"Okay, Lucy, believe that if you will. This dead guy has a full bladder,
though, so I guess I'll just say good night-" 

"Tell me," she asked, were you drinking tonight, Mr. Kuell?" 

"I had a couple of highballs while I was watching the game. No law
against that, is there?" Actually I'd had five, but that was none of her
damn business.

"Did you also take a prescription painkiller?"

"I took a couple of oxys. They're legit, I got 'em for my back."

"Did you read the label that warns against taking the medication with
alcohol?"

"I've got a friend," I explained. "He's studying to be a pharmacist. He
says those labels don't mean anything."

She scowled, and then continued. "Were you smoking this evening while
drinking and on a strong narcotic, Mr. Kuell?"

 "I've been trying to quit, but, you know. I can't yell at the Yankees
without a butt in my mouth. It's just not the same."

"Congratulations. You have now officially quit." She smiled briefly as
she delivered that line. Then she was back in Perry Mason mode.

"Do you remember falling asleep this evening?"

"Aw, shit," I muttered. "Did I do that again? The ex used to rag on me
about how I was gonna burn down the house someday."

Wait a second. Did I just talk about myself in the past tense? Lucy
stepped towards me and put out a hand.

"Take my hand," she said softly. Irresistibly.

I took it, the warmth instantly comforting, safe as a lover's touch. She
waved her other hand before us and swiped away my house. In its place
was the recently burned-out rubble of an ex-house. No walls, no TV, no
comfy leather recliner. Just ash, soot, and charred remnants of a life
that used to be.

She swiped her arm back and my house magically returned. At least the
image of it, I think. This was a lot to absorb. I did drink the five
highballs and I'm no Einstein. 

She looked at me, still holding my hand, and said, "It's time to go."

I walked with her down the steps, out to the sidewalk and towards . . .
I'm not sure where. As the night closed in on us, the dark murkiness
sifting upward, I asked Lucy one final question.

"Do you know who won the game?"