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Beware Your Inclinations

Fiction folks, don’t come after me please

The voices in his head tell him to do things he shouldn’t do. Open a bag of chips at 2:00 a.m., call his ex and hang up, pour a third glass of wine; innocent enough. Not lately. Lately the voices are louder, more demanding. A couple of days ago he walked up to a stranger and told him that if he didn’t pick up his dog’s shit he was going to shove it in his face. To Mark’s surprise, the guy picked it up and said nothing. Certainly not the outcome he expected; especially not in Camden, New Jersey.

This emboldened voice worried him. What if Mark did what it told him to do and he wound up dead or worse; perhaps in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He decided that a therapist wasn’t going to solve this problem; what he needed was solitude.

In the meantime, Mark keyed a car that was parked on the sidewalk, he destroyed a motorbike that had somehow lost its muffler (the owner of the bike lived two streets away from his house), and he accidently pelted a selfie taker with an extra large egg. He didn’t want to or mean to do any of these socially unacceptable things, but that voice was ever present and insistent.

Mark was feeling conflicted, not knowing if he would be held accountable for his bad and perhaps even criminal behavior. After all, he was not that guy. Or was he? Was this voice speaking to him his own thoughts? Nah, he would never think that egging someone might be appropriate.

After months of trying to mitigate this vindictive voice, he decided to tell someone. Choosing whom to confide in was not an easy task. Most of the people in Mark’s life would either judge or disown him. He was already a loner, therefore, losing non-existent friends was not an option. He was certain that his family was more fucked up than he was, so he ruled them out as confidants. There was this one guy at work that he thought could handle his dark thoughts. Gary was also a loner, usually quiet, and often aloof. He was sort of an enigma to most of their co-workers. Mark knew that these days, this type of person was just ignored or totally avoided. Gary couldn’t care less how people treated him or spoke to him. Mark had never thought much about it before, but he decided that he liked Gary.

Gary, you got a minute?

What’s up?

There’s something I want to run by you. Are you up for a beer after work?

Sure Mark, but you’re buyin’.

Of course, whatever.

Mark must have changed his mind about telling Gary six times, but when it was time to leave work, he made the decision to alleviate some of the burden and unload. Mark suggested a pub about six blocks away. He wanted to make sure that no one from work would overhear them talking.

They sat staring at their hands on the table for the first five minutes. Mark finally said,

Hey Gary, do you ever feel like your mind is telling you to do things you may not want to do?

Like whatcha mean?

For example, you’re standing over the sink and your brain tells you to smash a glass your washing against the wall.

Oh yeah, I’ve had that kind of thing happen.

Really? Have there been other things your head has told you to do?

Well yeah, but why are you asking?

You want another beer?

I tried to use AI to create a photo of a man setting a motorbike on fire, but AI would not create the image for moral reasons — I’m flummoxed

Gary went on to share some of the things he’d done. Mark wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He told Mark that he’d recently gone to the house of their boss to set his shed on fire. Mark gathered from their conversation that he didn’t appreciate being written-up for being ten minutes late. Some of his other confessed crimes were less troublesome. By the end of their four pints and numerous trips to the bathroom, they both knew they’d have to do something to quiet their dangerous thoughts. They made a pact not to do anything else without saying something to the other first.

A couple of weeks went by; Gary would pass Mark on the way into work and say nothing. Then one day he texted Mark to ask me if he wanted to get a beer after work and this time he’d be buying. Mark was a bit worried about Gary’s state of mind, but he was curious as well. They met at the same pub and chose a corner table. Gary was smiling, something Mark had never seen him do.

Mark quietly listened to Gary as he shared a plan he’d hoped Mark would help him to execute. Mark learned that Gary was married up until about two years ago. They didn’t have any kids together, but he had to move out of the house and say goodbye to his dog. Gary was bitter about his failed relationship and the loss of his dog and he needed to shake it off.

What amazed Mark was watching this quiet, introspective, and complicated man come to life. He became animated and showed passion in ways Mark had not seen before. Gary was slowly building up to an ask. He told Mark that there was something he hoped they could accomplish together, that he could not do it alone.

Gary went on to share his plan. It had to do with work, which Mark had anticipated. Gary had watched the management team fly on private jets, drive high-end company cars, and boast about big expensive accounts, for years. Whenever it was time to evaluate wages and benefits, there was never any money. He was sick of it. Mark had noticed it as well, but he wrote it off as typical corporate greed. His ears pricked-up when Gary said something about teaching the management team a lesson.

Just as Gary was about to share his plan, he asked Mark what he was thinking. Mark said he agreed with Gary that it wasn’t right, but he wasn’t ready to lose his job over it. Gary nodded and said,

Tell you what Mark, I’m going to zip it and let you sleep on it. This way you’ll know nothing about my plan and you can never be accused of being an accomplice. Let’s call it a night and revisit this at another time. Mark agreed that sitting on this for a while might be best. They shook hands and said goodnight.

As Mark walked to his car, he couldn’t help but imagine what Gary might be planning. He admitted to himself that the voices were stronger than ever and that he needed to act on them soon; he also knew that no good could come from it. He wanted to text Gary right then and there to share that he was in, but he didn’t know what that meant. He decided to wait until the next day — what difference would a day make?

His coffee brewing and his dog Kelly let out to do his business, Mark turned on the morning news. Saturday’s were usually light news days, but something caught his attention immediately. Running across the screen there was news breaking that six executives from Argyle, Mark’s company, were found dead in their cabins while on a company retreat about 50 miles north of Camden. When the newscaster finally got around to reporting the deaths, he said that it appeared they were asphyxiated. The executives were all male and the four who had wives had not brought them on the trip. Mark was relieved that only the CEO and five vice presidents were found dead; there were no other casualties.

The first thing Mark thought he should do was call the police, but what would he tell them? At this point he didn’t know for sure that it was Gary who was responsible for the murders; in fact, the newscaster said that the deaths may have been accidental.

Minutes later Mark received a text from Gary:

Are you watching the news? It’s incredible, I mean, they were all scumbags, but I wouldn’t have wished them dead.

Mark didn’t reply. He was in such deep shock, he didn’t know how to respond. One thing was certain, he would never have agreed to any plan with this sort of outcome. His demons hoped to cause some discomfort, perhaps a bit of psychological pain, but never death.

Mark continued to follow the news; however, not much had been learned about the cause of the gas leak. The men had all been in the main cabin, sleeping in separate bedrooms. There had been no sign of a break-in and there were no surveillance cameras in the house. The cameras outside had been turned off for weeks. It seems as if Gary had been planning this for quite some time.

On Monday morning, all 160 employees were gathered up by Human Resources. They were told that the Board of Trustees would be putting a new management team in place. The families of the men who perished would be announcing the details of their funerals very soon. The employees would be given time-off to attend. Mark glanced over at Gary who sat quietly staring ahead. No one seemed to suspect that he may have been responsible. The two sat down for lunch in the canteen later that day. Gary did not say a word about the incident.

Weeks passed and it was business as usual at Argyle. Gary and Mark never spoke of what took place the night the six men died in their sleep. Mark had decided that he had dodged a bullet; he respected Gary for his decision to act alone. He assumed Gary was responsible, but perhaps it was a tragic accident; he’d never know. In the meantime, the voices in his head remained silent and it would stay that way for the remainder of his days.

State-of-Mind

I have a dear friend who often tells me how much he enjoys this part of my post. I think he likes that it’s raw and unfiltered. But . . . to be honest, few people comment on it. To be even more honest, the voices in my head tell me to share less and less.

New year, new beginnings right? I’m not so sure in my case. Lots of emotional and physical healing in 2025; a little less of that would be a welcome change. I’ve been happier since I cut back on travel. It’s good to be home with Paco, sleeping in my own bed and eating my own food (most of the time). I enjoy eating out, but it was a big part of my career. It had unfortunately become burdensome and tedious. When I indulge in restaurant dining now, I like for it to be special — sharing simple food and drink with friends.

A new gym is a welcome change — better hours, cleaner, and less socializing. I go to the gym for a workout and for quiet.

Paco, my six year old pooch, has been fighting a tough battle with a very resistant bacteria over the last 10 months. He’s a trooper, but this fight has me emotionally exhausted. I hope we get relief soon.

I don’t do New Year’s resolutions, however, I have decided to increase my daily Portuguese lessons to 30 minutes. It’s a difficult language, but after eight years it’s starting to make more sense and it’s now or never.

“A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.” – Josh Billings.

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When Obsession Turns Toxic: Pippin Knows Best

It started with an occasional glance over his shoulder. A crazy feeling, an odd sensation that someone was watching. Each time Peter would dismiss this notion, knowing that being paranoid is neither reasonable nor founded in truth. After all, he was a nobody, a non-entity.

Two weeks went by and his cell phone rang at 3:00 a.m. Peter looked down at his phone and saw that it was an unknown caller; he ignored it. It happened again the next night and the next. He’d tried blocking the number, the same ring at the same hour, the caller persisted. It got Peter thinking about several people he might have pissed off over the years; there have been a few. There was that car he sold to this guy on Facebook Marketplace. It was a Dodge Dart that looked pretty good on the outside, but had been a lemon from the start — let it be someone else’s lemon he thought. The buyer’s name was Steve; Steve wasn’t very happy. Then there was this woman Sharon he’d met on Tinder. Sharon was a bit too needy and Peter tended to be emotionally unavailable. Her free flowing tears became a problem and he forgot to leave a note. Then there was this cousin who couldn’t handle who Peter voted for in the most recent election. He told Peter that blood was everything and Peter told him to fuck off and search for his soul, being certain he’d lost it some time ago.

The ‘do not disturb button’ on Peter’s phone did not deter the caller. He became incredulous; refusing to consider how far this person would go. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he should pick up the phone the next time. Later that evening, as predicted, Peter’s mobile phone rang and he answered, “Who is this?”

Beth said, “No need to be rude Peter.”

“It’s 3:00 a.m. and I’m being rude? What the fuck do you want Beth?”

“Just to say hello, it’s been a long time.”

Peter cut off the call and turned off his phone. He sat and mulled over what he had done to Beth to drive her to this point. She’d stalked him, annoyed him with middle of the night calls, what else had she done that he was unaware of? Peter couldn’t recall how their relationship had ended. He recalled meeting Beth in Art History at Uni. She was attractive, opinionated, and approachable. They’d gone out for a coffee after a lecture on Caravaggio. Beth found him to be provocative and progressive and Peter believed him to be subversive and propped-up by the far left of his day. They’d had a heated conversation that got him all worked-up and horny; he had to have her.

Peter hadn’t given her much thought lately, but come to think of it, Beth did seem a bit off; maybe that’s why he had run away so fast. There were moments he’d checked out, but to be fair, there was that intense passion; hard to resist and Beth knew it. When he did finally leave her, she wasn’t having it. They had a bit of a public screaming match and she finally got the message. Peter had been through similar break-ups before, so he shrugged it off. He knew he could be an asshole, but he was young and cocky.

A week after he’d hung up on Beth, there was an incident that had him confused. He was sitting at his desk at work and a DM popped up on his Mac. It was from a woman he had dated over five years ago; her name was Lisa. Lisa insisted they meet as soon as possible. Peter was half hoping she was interested in seeing him again and half hoping it was something completely unrelated to their romantic involvement. He had a drink with Lisa the following night. She told him that she’d been contacted by the FBI. She had agreed to talk to an agent who questioned her about Peter and their history. At the end of a 15 minute phone interview, the agent told her that Peter was being investigated for treason. Lisa said that since she never had a problem with Peter and because she was certain he wasn’t capable of treason, she´d decided to tell him. Peter was upset about what Lisa shared, but he considered it ridiculous and probably a mistake. They both agreed that he was a schmuck, however, not cut out for crimes against his country.

Then it happened again a few days later with Lauren, a girl he’d dated briefly in college. Lauren said the conversation with the FBI agent was brief, but concerning. It had gotten to the point where Peter thought he should contact the FBI to find out more about what they were investigating — thinking cooperation would help his case.

The D.C. FBI office had no record of these phone calls. They told him that this sort of thing happened all the time; scorned lovers and angry neighbors. Peter put two and two together and decided to speak to Beth. He didn’t think calling her would be very effective, so he went down to the bar in the Village where they’d met.

Sure enough, there she was having a drink at the bar. Peter casually walked over to say hello. Beth was unapproachable, in fact she behaved as if she’d never met him. He had never experienced anything like it before. He quickly realized she was playing games with him and he wasn’t interested in taking part. He told her to stay away from him.

“If you continue to harass me Beth, I’ll involve the police.”

Beth looked straight into his eyes, “I’ve never even met you, let alone harass you.”

Peter just walked away. Things were quiet for a few days, leading Peter to believe his threat worked. That Saturday, he decided to visit his mom at her home in Queens. He usually just showed up and let himself in. As he entered the house, he heard voices in his mother’s living room. Peter walked in and there was Beth just chatting with his mom.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Beth didn’t flinch, “I came to see your mom, is that not allowed?”

“Mom, can you come to the kitchen right now please.”

Peter’s mom followed him to the kitchen. She told him that Beth had shown up at the door saying she just happened to be in the neighborhood. Beth had only been at the house ten minutes before he arrived. When they walked back into the living room, Beth was gone. Peter told his mom what had been happening and insisted that she not let Beth in the next time she showed up.

Peter was out-of-his-mind with anger, having no idea how to handle the situation. After some thought he remembered that Beth had a small Lhasa Apso. He’d never been to Beth’s apartment, but he followed her home from the bar one night and found out where she lived. He watched her walk the dog from a few houses over. Beth seemed annoyed, practically dragging the dog down the sidewalk. Peter knew what to do and he had to do it sooner than later.

A friend once showed him how to pick-a-lock; a skill he knew would one day come in handy. Peter wore a hoodie and sunglasses and looked down, in case she had a camera at the door. Getting in was pretty easy. Peter thought Beth had said her dog’s name was Pippin, so Peter called out his name. Pippin came over to him wagging his tail — he scooped him up and carried him to his car. The neighborhood was quiet. Peter drove off with Pippin’s head out the window, enjoying the breeze. He figured he’d have to keep the whole affair on the downlow; Beth knew where he lived. Peter fortunately had a roof garden, making it easy enough to stay away from the streets. He was certain that two weeks of keeping Pippin would shake Beth up a bit.

Peter didn’t feel great about what he’d done, but clearly this woman needed to be taught a lesson. Pippin was a delight to have around the house. He was well-trained and a great companion, but after a week Peter’s guilt was too much to bear. He had searched social media to see if Beth had put out word that Pippin was missing, but he saw nothing. Still, he thought it best to return him to Beth. When he brought him back to her neighborhood, he didn’t see any street signs asking for help finding Pippin. It didn’t seem like Beth cared that he was gone.

Peter quietly returned Pippin to Beth’s house. The little guy was whimpering and giving him the saddest face he’d ever seen. It hurt Peter to leave him. The following morning Peter was leaving his building and there Pippin was sitting with his doorman Sal. Sal asked me if Pippin was his dog because he’d seen him carrying him out the day before. He said that he was and Peter took him upstairs to his apartment. He unblocked Beth’s phone number and texted her that he had Pippin and that she should come for him. An hour letter he received a text from her:

“Hey Peter, I know you took Pippin, but he seems to prefer you to me and to be frank, I don’t want him anymore anyway. So keep the little runt. I’ll stop bothering you, but you should know the gonorrhea you left me with was pretty shitty. I hope I never see you again . . . ever!”

Ironically, Peter was fairly positive she didn’t get the gonorrhea from him, seeing that he’d never had gonorrhea. He didn’t return Beth’s text or Pippin. Pippin turned out to be a great companion and Beth became a distant memory.

Side Note: My medical doctor ex read my story and wrote to tell me that he loved it, but that I should know that one could be a carrier of gonorrhea; however, not be aware of it. So then, Peter could have left Beth with that unwanted present. I thought it added a nice little twist and now I know all I needed to know about gonorrhea.

State-of-Mind

“I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.” G.K. Chesterton

It’s been a while and I’m tempted to share why that is, but I’m thinking it’s boring and tedious and it might be best to just leave it behind.

I recently had the great pleasure of hosting two new friends who live in my neighborhood. Both women went to the high school across the street from my apartment. It was one of the most enjoyable afternoons I’ve shared for a long time. A reminder of the joy of getting to know new people, the pride in sharing your nest, and the warmth felt when realizing you are in the exact place where you should be. It’s quite an amazing feeling and I am grateful for recognizing it.

There has been a major shift in my life and my priorities. This new direction will inform me of my choices. I have come to realize I’ve been spending way too much precious time concerning myself with matters I cannot control. I have never been one to spend a great deal of time on regrets, but I also do not spend enough time on gratitude. My focus for now is taking stock of all that is good and satisfying and real in my life. After all, what else matters?

“Enough is a feast.” Buddhist proverb

Sometimes people write and tell me that I should either finish a story or expand on one; that’s fair. I will if the spirit moves me, until then, they will remain as they are.

Thank you for reading and have a great summer.

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If You Hadn’t Been So Rude

You never know if and when your kettle is going to boil over. She sat across from Henry on the city bus almost every day. Same time, same route, same rude behavior. Her phone would ring loud enough for the passengers on a passing bus to hear it and she’d always answer it; she spoke as if she were in her living room or the middle of an empty football field. Wouldn’t matter if he’d been on the back of the bus or the front of the bus, because everyone could hear her on her phone.

Some people acted like she wasn’t there and others just stared in her direction. She was oblivious; either she didn’t notice or she didn’t care or perhaps both. One day someone standing over her politely asked her to keep it down. She waved her hand as if to say, “If you don’t like it, don’t listen,” and then she crossed her legs and raised her voice. Henry knew that if they’d been in New York City, she’d have to shut up or be thrown off the bus. He hated that about Portland, the people were just too easily intimidated.

This went on for weeks and months until Henry couldn’t stand it anymore. He started waking up in the middle of the night hearing her voice and seeing her tiny little vacant eyes. Weeks prior, he’d gone to his supervisor to see if he could change his work schedule by 30 minutes, but it couldn’t be done. He’d thought about quitting his job; he thought about other alternatives that were even more drastic. One night Henry woke in a cold sweat as he pondered getting rid of her.

Just threatening her wouldn’t be enough. She’d bark back or ignore him. Henry could be confrontational, but most people just laughed at him or shrugged him off. He found himself pushing most exasperated thoughts back into the deep, dark corners of his deranged mind. But these intrusive thoughts kept resurfacing; each time clearer and more likely to be manifested. A recent break-up left him melancholy, bitter, and lonely; no one wanted to be with him.

The woman on the bus had to die and it had to look like an accident. Her death would provide the greatest satisfaction of Henry’s life. He wished he could take a survey of the bus passengers to see who would be happy to see her gone — he suspected all of them would cheer. He would have to be on the bus the day after the deed to see and hear the reactions of the other riders. Being there would complicate things just a bit, but the reward was too great to pass up.

He’d have to study her closely over the next few days; what did she do on a daily basis that left her vulnerable. She always had an iced coffee in her hand, she carried a shoulder bag, she wore heels, and she never let anything out of her sight. She entered the bus across the street from Joe To Go Coffee Shop and she got off the bus at SW 10th & Burnside; the busiest intersection in Portland.

His best bet was to poison her iced coffee, but how? And would it be enough to kill her? How could he get her to put it down long enough to do the deed? One morning he waited for her at Joe To Go. He watched as she ordered her coffee and waited for them to call her name. That was it, he’d cause a distraction at the shop after they called her name. He’d quickly grab her coffee, add the poison, and place it back on the counter.

The distraction would be easy. He’d plant a recording device near the counter with the sound of fireworks that would imitate gunshots and last about 30 seconds. Everyone would take cover and Henry would quickly poison her coffee.

He learned her name was Carla while waiting in the coffee shop. If Carla ran from the shop, he’d have to come up with Plan B or abandon the plan altogether.

AI generated photo. This is too much fun!

Henry could be very patient. He’d wait for the right day to add atropine to Carla’s iced coffee. He was able to purchase the atropine in Morocco a number of years ago. At the time it was for emergency purposes; a home invasion or his future mother-in-law. He was certain it would kill Carla and never be traced back to him.

The initial effects would cause Carla to hallucinate on the bus — now that would be something to see. If she stayed on the bus while the atropine was doing its job, she’d eventually pass out and die soon after. Everyone would get to watch her writhe and wretch. Henry became more and more excited as he imagined Carla’s demise.

Days before Henry was scheduled to fulfill his greatest act to date, he was called into his supervisor Jason’s office. Jason proceeded to relieve Henry of his duties. He was told budget cuts and downsizing were the reasons, but the truth was that his co-workers found his behavior to be off-putting. He left his office for the last time at 10:00 a.m., not seeing Carla on the bus during his ride home. His thoughts shifted away from Carla for the first time in weeks. It was Jason he was focused on now, but how would he settle the score.

Include your email address for a drop in your mailbox whenever a new fictional story is posted. Thank you.

Weeks away from a trip to Warsaw and a bit of renewed perspective. Years ago I discovered that I need a dangling carrot. I consider it a reward for this and that; mostly that. No matter why or how, I need it soon.

Have a good day and don’t use your cell phone on a crowded bus.