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Crazed Fanboy Presents.....
a very personal work from Vin Blesi. We hope there's more to come. ---Nolan B. Canova

Willim and Molls by Vin Blesi ©2003

Willim felt like he would never know the answer. Is he headed for death or towards the beginning of the loop of life all over again? Will he ever know the touch of the waitress, Molls, and her pure silky skin that still looked newborn although she was a survivor of many rough years. Those tiny hands that seemed to come from a special place, or the sexy curve along the line of her arm. Could he afford to wait safely behind the counter slinging his hash and making inane small talk about the politics of the day? She cared less for politics, and he could only regurgitate what he had seen in the daily news.. Willim stumbles, and starts to lose his vision. His plans and dreams became even more intangible as the day wore thin. He returned home once again, alone, his black and white TV and dime detective novel his only companions; eventually sleep visited him.

The following morning Willim's head was full of thoughts of Molls as he rode on the long bus ride back to the factory, his daydreams dominated by her long straight red hair and perfect white on white skin.

When a chipper Willim punched in for work, he immediately noticed a somber mood around the morning coffee break area. Willim surmised the situation for a few minutes, then got up the courage to ask a young fellow he had once trained,"Why does everyone seem so down today, production quotas have been up all week." The young fellow he asked was tall and skinny, and had one of those sunken faces that resembled a skull like you might see in a science lab. The boy spoke up quietly, "Haven't you heard? There was an accident yesterday; one of the girls in the cafeteria got hit by some boys on motorcycles as she was leaving work. I am afraid she didn't pull through." Adrenaline immediately coursed through Willim's body, he developed beads of sweat on his forehead, and he was having trouble catching his breath. "Please kind sir, did you know the name of the waitress killed?" "Oh yea, her name was Molly, but everyone called her Molls. Did you know her?" Willim would still never know the answer. He turned to the young gentleman and said, " No, nope, didn't know her at all." Willim turned and wandered off, thinking it might be a good time to buy a new pair of shoes.

Willim couldn't scrub himself enough to wash off the confused emotions he was feeling. He exhausted half a bottle of antibacterial soap, and let the water rush over him, tears of God.

Was she an apparition? Was there really a Molls, or just a remnant of some past broken relationship. Serving hundreds of nameless faceless workers daily in the basement cafeteria, it could have been any woman, or it could have been Molls.

From his first failed kiss as a child, to his first and only failed marriage, he imagined it would be different this time, a storybook ending, or at least a faery tale beginning.

He soon quit his job at the factory, finding he could no longer face the faceless. For a week he sat at a greasy spoon around the corner from his small flat, drinking their bitter black coffee, occasionally eating jellied toast or some overcooked french fries. His appetite became secondary to his port mortem thoughts.

The greasy spoon was called Consuela's (even though it was own by Pakistani's) and soon had a job opening for a short order cook. Willim, realizing that the rent was due, and that he was dangerously low on smokes, took the job. The hissing sound of the hot grease in the fryer soothed Willim, like a cool afternoon rain. And he did love to flip those burgers.

When Willim was bored in the evenings he would walk the downtown streets, counting cracks in the sidewalk. His 13 inch black and white TV had had a broken antenna for as long as Willim could remember, pieced together with aluminum foil and a coat hangar. The images, unwatchable, he would listen to the nightly news and then begin his walks among mankind.

Every night he passed the public library but had never entered it. Other than the mystery magazines he bought at the news and cigar stand Willim had never read a proper book. One brisk fall evening, with the leaves blowing at his feet, a mysterious feeling compelled Willim to enter the Daisy S. MacDonald Public Library that he had so casually passed numerous times.

As he entered the library, Willim was met by the musky smell of ancient prose and the clean air of new literacy. He saw the rows and rows of books, waiting for someone to give them a reason for their existence. He saw homeless people lined up in the reading chairs like the rows of books in the sociology section of the library.

Willim went to the part of the library where the periodicals were displayed, and leafed through a Popular Mechanic, before he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He went back to reading the latest in aircraft technology, when he noticed it again. He turned suddenly to see a fair redhead woman checking out a book at the front desk. It couldn't be he said to himself. He studied her slim yet desirable figure, and it was her, Molly, the phantom waitress, Molls his fair apparition.

By this time she was done at the checkout desk and was headed out the door. Willim threw the magazine to the floor and rushed towards the front of the library. Out of breath he stopped on the steps outside the Daisy S. Macdonald Public Library, but his fair apparition was nowhere in sight.

Epilogue: Willim no longer goes for his walks through the streets that bristle with life. He sits in front of his 13-inch black and white TV, with the makeshift antenna of foil and wires, watching the snowy ghosts on channel 9, drinking cheap beer bought at Maria's grocery (which is owned by Koreans) and eating cheese sandwiches. Occasionally she appears and speaks with him, a fair-skinned apparition, a gift from heaven. And he is thankful for every ghostly visit.

(p) © Vincent Blesi

All persons, events and places in this story are fictional, any resemblance to actual things is coincidence.

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