Page 5 - Deep Fried Goodness

Jackson hated his job.

He hated every single minute. Every minute seemed to drag out longer

than the next. Beeping came from the frothing bath of lard before him.

He hit the button and lifted the fries.

He dumped the fries and sprinkled them with salt.

He took the hot basked and filled it with more fries.

He lowered the fries into the vat and hit the button.

Jackson hated his job.

He hated this minute more than the last. this minute seemed to be

longer than the last. Mesmerized he stared at the counter: 51...50...49

Jackson couldn't take it anymore! His mind raced as his eyes darted

about the crowded kitchen. Bodies everywere bustling and racing -

racing for what? So his fat-cat manager could make a couple bucks? This

is not what he had in mind for making some money over the summer.

Jackson had a thought "Maybe I should quit!"

Beeping came from the frothing bath of lard before him.

He hit the button and lifted the fries.

He dumped the fries and sprinkled them with salt.

He took the hot basked and filled it with more fries.

He lowered the fries into the vat and hit the button.

Jackson hated his job.

page 4 - setting the stage

"The music in the second act was a bit campy" the words slid off his tongue with little regard for how callous they sounded. He knew that she had poured all her efforts into this one production over the last three years.

She choked on her breath, holding back the venomous retort she had practiced in the mirror only hours before. She wanted to let it all out, to tell him once and for all what she really thought of him and lash out - but now that the moment of opportunity had presented itself, she was too tired.

He normally wouldn't have seen the whole thing - most critics don't bore themselves with staying through till the end. But he had endured for the sake of his daughter so he felt the need to take a few shots.

She always was seeking his approval and though he wouldn't dare say it out loud he was proud of her earlier achievements, and her latest works had him breathless. She had kept her mother's name and that was a sore spot with him, yet the largest advantage. He would critique her work and write it up and she would use her mother's moniker and the connection wouldn't be visible except to the handful of people who knew the relation.

Families seem to drift apart.

He always felt closest to his daughter when he watched her productions. The scores for the stage plays had always had a catchy ring he never found anywhere else.

Page 3 - Grain fields and good times

The sun had begun it's decent into the west several hours before and the shadows were growing longer, but Chester fought the urge to retreat to the safety of his home. The mosquitoes were hovering above him in a rapidly growing cloud of thirsty followers.

Curiosity had led them to the oak tree ridge at the top of the hill, and they spend the rest of the summer exploring the paths between the trees.

He cycled on to the top of the hill by the dusty gravel road. The climb was tiring and not too steep - but the trip had been made many times. The timing of this trip was a bit unnerving - Chester may not make it back before nightfall.

Darkness came quickly once the sun hit dusk. There were no warnings, just a 4 second delay from dusk till complete night darkness. It was one of the idiosyncrasies of living in a small town on the prairies.

Reaching the tree line and the point of near exhaustion, Chester paused to catch his breath. The hiding spot was only 30 yards into the brush, but as he always did he looked back at the sprawling fields that stretched out to the horizon. The green immature wheat swayed and swelled just like the ocean. Hypnotic.

Growing up on the west coast he yearned to get back to the humid coastline where he would sit on the same cliff every evening before the sun would slowly sink behind him. His grandmother had a house overlooking the ocean and every day he wanted to move back. Two years. Two long years.

Page 2 - Cargo

The condensation from his breath fogged his view, he used his tattered sleeve to wipe the small portall. He let out another sigh, his mission had been a success, just a few logistics to work out before the hyperslip to the outer ring.

The Montugac nebula never looked more beautiful and Tagnr for the first time ever thought he would miss it. He hunched back down between the crates of supplies and shed a quiet tear as he recalled the past four weeks of body wrenching space sickness as a stowaway in the belly of this space freighter.

Four weeks down eight days left till the big jump, eight more days of dodging the lone guard who was assigned cargo detail - more of a check twice daily to ensure none of the crew were dipping into the assets than an actual assignment. Before the last "warm up" hyperslip the guard had actually ventured in past the first four rows of crates, but Tagnr had remained unseen and undetected back in the dark recesses of the immense freighter cargo hold.

Tagnr had "liberated" several rations each day and was careful to dispose of all waste after consuming every crumb of food. The empty ration packs could be found neatly stacked on top of row 43 isle B.

Life as a stowaway was wearing down his mind, slowly.

To get through the sensors he didn't risk bringing anything with him, four weeks down eight days left. No books to read, no light, no sounds but the groaning of the hull as the gravity generators shifted, the only portal in the entire hull was row 1 isle a, within 10 meters of the door the guards used twice a day.

The guards only came in one at a time and the taller one would just open the door, sit down on the first crate he saw and smoke a cigarette. Yesterday he had smoked two and was mumbling to himself the whole time. Tagnr usually waited these visits out lying still on top of the crates in the back - there was one crate that was emmense the size of a cottage - this was his favorite. 43 B was the towering shadow he now called home.

Day 12 he swore he was spotted, the stout guard had stared right at him for over half a minute without moving before shaking it off and quickly heading back up to the rest of the crew above. Tagnr panicked and didn't sleep for a whole day then couldn't help but fell asleep, lying flat on his back in the mild comfort of 57 D just in case they came looking for him.

Four weeks down eight days left.

Page 1 - A Mystery Solved

The breeze played with the curtain as the dry air stirred in the room, the rotten stench attacked the detective's nostrils as he scanned the room again.

This was the fourth hour that Tyler had been meticulusly combing over the crime scene for any shred of a clue.

"just 20 more minutes" he told himself as he did a final sweep of the entry and moved into the livingroom eyes scanning like a hawk, "there has to be something here!"

This was a standard appartment in an old neighbourhood and though the building was showing it's age it was still structurally sound. The walls were a drab colour and the furnishings were original.

"where are you?" he asked the room aloud. there was no reply. he quadrouple checked the magazines and couch cusions. Nothing. He moved to the tv with rabbit ears on it, nothing.

Spinning on his heels he viewed the room from the perspective of the Television, and it was then that it caught his eye, there was a dried out fern in the corner - it had been recently disturbed, he rushed over. Poking with his pen in the dry dirt beneath the brittle foliage - he felt something, "there you are!" he squeeled with delight. "I knew I would find you!"

Moving to the sunlight he balanced it on his pen, "I will catch you now..."