[s] The Morning After
Jonathan Norburg
windows onto the inert figure curled up on his couch. Blearily, Jonny stared at
the still sleeping form of his unexpected guest. Female. Twenty-ish. Shoulder
length black hair. Pale skin. Skull earings. Black leather jacket and skirt,
black Joy Division t-shirt, black fishnet stockings and black Docs. Goth or
wannabe. Whatever. Cute.
Cute? Oh, well, ne'mind. She was still alive, which was more than could be
said for her friend, Dubois. The guy who was supposed to help him take out
Dusty Miller. Jonny doubted that he'd get any more help from the Wanderers.
They'd just leave him here. And now this girl, this kid has attached herself to
him. Maybe some tequila will help, he thought to himself. He started to get up
out of his big easy chair, then heavily sat back down. As soon as the room
stopped moving, he decided. He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
*****
The first thing of which Kirsten was aware was the sound of snoring, followed
immediately by a blinding headache and nausea. The morning sunlight filling the
room caused her to wince in pain as she muttered something about "evil
daystar." She fought the nausea and headache back, one of the few things she
retained from her basic training, and slowly opened her eyes again.
She looked at the floor and noticed the cause of her discomfort, an empty
tequila bottle next to the couch. Understanding drifted back, but she was
surprised to note that she was still dressed. Funny, that never happened when
she went through Wanderer training. Hangover, yes. Waking up alone and
dressed, um...
Her eyes wandered over to the chair where LostJonny was sitting. She began
counting the empties scattered around the snoring man. El`Mahr, he could almost
match Deuce! She thought back to a rather pleasant memory of "Deuce" O'Conner
and a gift he'd given her. Fortunately, the doc at the clinic in town said that
it was cureable and gave her a shot clear it up. Nausea chose that moment to
make it's presence known, and she barely made it to the bathroom for her morning
prayer.
Several minutes later, Kirsten, looking even paler than previously, wandered out
of the bathroom. She looked at the Jonny, sleeping like the dead in his
recliner. She picked up her bag and made for the door as quietly as possible.
Looking back around the room, she turned off the overhead light, silently opened
and closed the door, crept down the stairs and was gone.
Half an hour later, Kirsten was in Seward, walking toward the street on which
the apartment where she and Stephane had resided for the last couple of weeks.
As she approached Franklin and 21st Avenue she saw the smoke rising from two
blocks south. She made the turn on 21st and saw the avenue blocked off at 22nd
Street. Upon reaching the barricades she saw the charred remains of her
apartment building. Her eyes widened. She saw the beer truck parked on the
other side of the street, three houses down.
They got DuBois' papers, allright, she thought to herself. Tears began to form
in her eyes as she turned away and headed back to Franklin to catch a bus over
to Jonny's. This wasn't how things were supposed to work.