Escaping Thorns

"Hello and welcome back to the Nathan Ricky show. Everyone please make some noise for the critically acclaimed author, Frank Burchem."

The crowd screams as the author walks nervously down the platform toward the center stage. He sits down beside Nathan.

"Thank you so much for the awful nice introduction. I think you gave me a little too much credit though."

Everyone starts to laugh at the author's modest remark.

"Now, now, Mr. Burchem. You deserve all the praise you can get for this masterpiece you wrote."

Nathan pulls out a copy of the author's newest bestseller, Where The Thorns lie.

"This book, ladies and gentlemen is arguably one of the best books I've ever read. And despite what people like to say about your endings, I think they really show the realism of life."

The author just sits intently, methodically thinking of how to thank the host.

"I really appreciate it, this was one of the most challenging novels I've ever written."

"Why's that, Mr. Burchem?"

"Well, I didn't want to finish it because-"

The television flickers off with an audible force of the cracked remote. Cigarette smoke filled the dingy, green room of the living room.

"Bullshit. Every single thing that comes out of that motherfucker's mouth is horse shit," Michael hisses. His greasy, brown hair breaths in the smoke and pushes it back out around his face.

"How many times you gonna talk about Burchem?"

"As many times as I damn well please. I told you that that dirty snake-"

"Stole your work. Yes, honey, I get it."

"Well if you fucking 'get me,' why the hell ain't you trying to help me," he spits at her from the living room.

"Well, what the hell you expect me to do about him?"

Michael gets up. His grease-stained collared shirt rustles around his body like fat on a pig.

"Narrisa, we gone make this motherfucker pay for stealing my work and taking credit for it. That should be ME on the damn TV with all those fancy cameras around my face...not him."

"How do you know he stole your work? I know yall worked for that newspaper some months back, but how do yo-"

Her sentence is cut off by an open-handed palm to the side of her fair-skinned face. Her long, curly blonde hair slowly falls across her face.

"Don't you ever question me, woman. If I say that snake stole my shit...you damn well better believe he stole it," Michael says while aiming his finger at her like a stiletto.

She grabs her face as it swells up like a ripe tomato from her garden.

He walks past her, into the kitchen.

"The fucker knows me all too well, but I know him too, see. I know he fancies that coffee shop in the middle of town. You're gonna get close to em and bring him back home to me."

She slowly rises from the floor.

"And what are you gonna do with him?"

"Just do what I told you woman." His stomach begins to groan.

"You gonna just stand there and look pretty or get dinner prepared," Michael asks while walking back to his sunken brown couch.

Narrisa walks over to the stove, contemplating on how she got there. She was tall, blonde, and beautiful.

She could have been a model.

She could have been a teacher.

She could have been a doctor, like her father.

Those were daydreams that flooded her mind now, as she turned the dial on the stove.

Some way somehow her path led her to Michael Cohen. A once well established editor for the town's newspaper. Their town was small, but plenty of money was to be made for anyone willing to put in the time. She met him on a stormy night outside his newspaper warehouse. He offered her a ride home as rain shot bullets from the sky on the soggy newspaper over her head. His smile was so warm then. In that very moment as they looked at one another she forgot the rain was even there.

One thing was for sure though, she realized that her parents weren't the sins of her Bible story.

That sin was Michael.

As the butter and olive oil sizzled in the pan, she could see her better future melting away in the heat of the moment...washing away like everything else in her life.

The next morning chirped like 3 song birds singing a song to the sun about the moon and stars.

Narrisa stood in the bathroom preparing herself for the day ahead of her. She would walk down the street in her favorite heels that Michael bought years ago. Her blonde hair would be let down so that the wind would pick it up just right. Her red lipstick would shine in the sun as she would enter the cafe. She would look over to the very far end of the room and see Burchem, sipping his coffee and writing.

She would stand in front of him, making no noise until he would look up in confusion. Then she had to say, "excuse me, is this seat taken?"

Burchem took in her entire landscape like a painting. He had never in his life seen someone so beautiful. His eyes began to glaze over with astonishment. Her, realizing his surprise, smiled and sat down.

"W-well, hello," he says to her hesitantly.

"Hello, I just see you over here everyday minding your own and I figured I would give you company today."

"Well I really appreciate it. My name is Frank," he says extending a hand towards her.

Frank started as an editor in the small town, but quickly rose to fame, outgrowing his counterparts. He was only back in town momentarily to see family. Otherwise, he'd be on the road, traveling from town to town and gaining inspiration for future works.

She grabs his hand and locks eyes with him.

"Narrisa," she says with a smirk.

The two sat and spoke for hours. They spent hours laughing like they were old friends from school catching up for the first time in years. The sun fell out of the sky and the moon swam up to take its place.

"Oh, my would you look at the time," he says checking his watch. I am really sorry for keeping you so long. Did you need a ride back home," he asks her.

She thought about Michael's plan, but she could not bare to go through with it. Not now anyway. He was such a nice man. Narrisa knew this. So, she did what she could to make her way back home without him alongside her this time.

He waved at her as she exited the cafe. She hailed a cab back home up the road.

Back to Michael's nest.

She slowly enters the house in the wee hours of the night and turned on the light to the living room. She's startled by Michael sitting in the crease of the couch with a gun nestled in his left hand. It nearly made her jump from her skin.

"Where. Is. Burchem," Michael growled at her.

"I-"

Before she could form a sentence, Michael's gun was marrying itself to her right jaw. She hit the floor with a thud.

"You had one fucking job and you fuck that up somehow?"

The pain from the gun bit at her face, causing a stinging sensation.

"I-I couldn't get him to come with me because he wanted to go back to his house. He said that his brother is coming to town to stay with him for a bit, so I couldn't get him to leave with me."

Michael towered over her, planting his foot directly on her chest.

"You have until tomorrow to bring his ass here. If you wanna fuck around with this then I'll just handle it myself. I'm sure I could get any whore on the streets to do the easy shit I told you to do for free," he says while lighting his cigarette.

This was another one of those nights that made Narrisa want to run in the back room and grab everything that she could ever need to survive on her own. Michael may have been a slob that never left the house, but all those years of working for the newspaper afforded him in more ways than one. He used to promise her that he would move her to some place nicer than there. A fancy place like Paris would nice. She had only seen it on TV and seen pictures. She never got to travel because she could only go within eye's view of Michael. The thought of leaving grew each and every night, but she felt that that was futile at this point.

The next day was almost clock work like the last, but this time, she intended on bringing him home with her. His gentle eyes and soft voice didn't deserve what awaited him, but Narrisa felt trapped.

"Narrisa, come join me will you?"

As he finished his sentence he noticed the small blemish on her right jaw. He thought about asking her about it, but figured he wouldn't overstep.

Time wilted away like dying flowers. Yet again, they had hit it off. They spoke for hours like they did before, but it was getting late.

"Narrisa, I would love to stay and chat, but I told my brother that I would be home to meet hi-"

Narrisa placed a finger on his lips. He paused, looking up at her.

"That can wait," Narrisa says, as her curly hair waves on each shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"I know this is sudden, Frank, but I want you to come over. Only for a little while."

Frank had seen her around before and had only just met her, but it was something about her voice that clung onto him. Maybe a few minutes would be nice for him. She was the most beautiful woman he had seen in fact. And he loved her company.

What the hell, he thought. His brother would understand, right?

The two drove back to her place. Frank exited his car and quickly opened up her door for her before she could lift a finger. She opened the door to her place and turned on the light.

No one was in the living room.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Oh, I'll just have some water, thanks."

"Certainly," she says.

She walks into the kitchen and grabs a glass and is about to turn on the faucet when she sees Michael standing in the corner with a gun in his left hand and a briefcase in his right. He places his finger over his mouth.

"You know, Narrisa. This may sound forward, but when I first laid my eyes on you, you captivated me."

She began to hold back regret as it crept upon her.

She turned the faucet on and water began pouring into the glass.

"I-I felt the same for you, Frank."

Michael starts to steam at the idea of Narrisa complimenting someone like Frank. Someone whom he thought a snake and a plagiarizing fool.

She walks over to him, handing him the glass. They both lock eyes and in that moment, she forgets that she put his life in mortal danger.

She forgot that she was in danger as well.

Until a bullet thrusted its way through his face.

Her vision tunneled.

Her ears rang.

Her breathing became irractic.

Blood covered her eyes.

His body slumped over and then her hearing returned to her, she heard the sound of Michael shouting at her.

"Hurry and clean this shit up, so we can get out of here. All our savings are in this here case. We can finally kick rocks somewhere else like I promised ya," he says with a sinister smile.

She scrubs the floors as clean as she can get them while Michael looks around for any loose ammo. He sits the case down with all the cash inside right next to her. Michael never trusted banks. Every check he ever received found it's way into that case. It was probably hundreds of thousands of dollars in there.

"Goddammit, that was loud. Did you not hear that sound outside? There's a fucking car out there.

Narrisa stands up, looking through the blinds and sees a gray car pulling out of their driveway. It was a Chevy Nova.

"Who was that," Michael asks her quickly.

"It was just some car flying past the house is all."

Michael sighed in relief as he sat the gun down on the table across from the TV.

"We can get out of here then. I'm gonna piss real quick. Meet me outside, so we can dump this motherfucker somewhere."

She nods as he goes into the bedroom. Their bedroom is dingy and smells of smoke and ash. Old pictures of them lie around the walls from years ago. They looked happier then. Whether it was fake or not. The bathroom echoed with the sound of urine slamming into the rim of the toilet and occasionally hitting the water. Michael flushes and walks back out into the kitchen.

"Now...hold on a minute," he says looking at her shaking body.

The case is in her left hand and the gun is in her right, pointing right at him. He raises his hands.

"Every single night you have treated me like your play thing."

"No, hold on-"

"Shut the fuck up right now, I am talking, okay?"

Michael nods.

"I have done everything for you with nothing in return." Her hand shakes like the chain levers on the ceiling fan.

"You have used me like a fucking toy. Made me feel like I was less than a human being."

Tears fell down her face, as she began gripping the gun tighter than before.

"If you wanted me dead you would have already pulled that trigger. If you're gonna do it than get it o-"

"Don't you ever shut the fuck up, Michael?"

"The world does not spin because you tell it to."

Her finger begins to build pressure on the trigger.

"I should put a bullet in your fucking brain."

"But you won-"

The gun goes off and Michael slides down the kitchen wall.

She runs out of the door, into the night.

Michael grabs his body all over to check for any holes, but he can't find any. He only feels blood running down his left cheek. The bullet wifted, leaving him alive. The only issue was that his money was gone and he had no means of protecting himself. He collected himself and grabbed the body. He sloppily drug it a few meters from the house and dug a hole for him. He dug for hours.

He was exhausted and covered in dirt.

He knew he couldn't stay there, so he just walked down the road rolling his thumb for any passers-bys. His feet drug through the grass as car after car drove past him. Finally, a nice gentleman decided to stop for him.

A gray Chevy that would save his life, he thought.

He entered the car and closed the door behind him.

"Hello friend, where are you headed," the man asks in a lower tone.

"Anywhere but here, I honestly don't give a shit."

The man snickered.

"Rough night, friend?"

"You don't know the half of it."

"Oh, I can imagine, the man said."

He wore a black hat with a dark trenchcoat. His hand rests on the stick shift.

"So, when was the last time you sat down and read a good book, friend," the man suddenly asked Michael.

"Shit, that's a good question there. I guess it's been awhile. I guess I just can't seemed to jump into one."

"I was recently talking to my brother, he's a writer mind you, and he was telling me that people think that stories should have an ending. Something nice. Something tightly wrapped like a present. But stories are like life, ya know?"

"How so," Michael asks the man.

"Well, sometimes things end before you know it.They end like a broken light switch. Abrupt darkness. No credits in black ink. No acknowledgements for the process that led you there."

The car flew through the road and Michael could see the trees rustle in the wind as they past by.

"You know, I thought a real long time about why endings exist," the man continues.

"Why do we read so far into things when the beginning may not satisfy the end? But I suppose that's like asking why do we live our lives, right?"

As the man continues to ramble on and on, Michael feels more and more uneasy.

"Why do we begin if we are so uncertain of how things will end?"

Michael nervously laughs.

"That's just the journey of life."

"But who is the judge of that though," the man asks him.

"I'm uh, I'm not sure."

"The real answer is that we are a mere audience to the puppet show that is our lives."

His hand slightly raises from the stick shift and Michael spots a gun behind it.

"You can actually let me out right here, this is go-"

The man cocks the gun and holds it firmly.

"I am no author, but, tonight, I will write your ending for you," the man says as his finger rides the trigger back.


The crowd claps and wildly whistles.

"Good morning everyone, my name is Nathan Ricky and as you know we have a special guest for you today. She has been through so much, God bless her soul. This book, ladies and gentlemen is arguably one of the best books I've ever read.