Immortal

“Hello and welcome to world nightly news, I am your host Chris Barker.“ The same old shit he always did. “Today we have a special interest story, the woman who was immune to the cure for aging. Here is Rebecca Nielson.”

“Thanks for having me Chris.” It was a lie of course. I’m not immune. I just didn’t want it, but it surprised me I was alone in this decision.

“How does it feel knowing you will die?” he brazenly said to me, like it was something he was so unfamiliar with anymore. It is the same thing everywhere I go now.

“Chris the looming shadow of death is a very human thing to have. You think just because you never age and won’t die because of it, means you can’t die?” I said calmly making the truth known, the cure only made you stop aging.  “Everyone here in the audience can still die. It sounds horrible to say this, it makes me sound so depressing, but the reality is you can still be hurt.” I say and reach over and pinch him.

“Ow! Why did you do that?” he says retracting from me scared like I am some inhuman monster, unlike anything he has ever seen. They are scared of me, scared of the truth.

“To prove a point, pain is still a very real thing. Bullets, knives, anything can still hurt you and kill you. Murder and suicide are the only answers to wanting to leave this world. “ The words fell from my mouth but they only were received by deaf ears. “What happens when you get tired of living? A 100 years from now you will be alive and I will be dead, yes but what will you do with the eons you have left?” I ask the hard questions that they don’t think about. I stared at the camera recording every word flowing from my mouth.

“What do you mean by that?” he says, like he didn’t even put a second of thought into it. No one considered the repercussions of  such a decision.

“There are consequences for everything, they are not always evident from the start but they are there. What happens when you get tired of your life? What happens when you get tired of your wife?” I ask the questions they didn’t.  “Everything will become mundane.  You will search and search for new experiences until there isn’t anymore. Soon enough we are going to have to figure out a way to start life over again with out the Cycle of Life and death. We are going to need to erase your memories if you don’t want take your own life. Don’t worry about me, I will continue being human and will live a full happy life and die naturally at peace. Worry about yourselves.” For a moment I thought It was sinking in for everyone, there was horror crossing their faces.

            Chris laughed to dissipate the tension. “You are pretty young so you still have a long life ahead of you, maybe medicine will figure out a way to fix your immunity to the aging cure. Do you think you will take it then?” he asked imploringly hoping for the answer to put him and everyone else at ease.

            The answer wasn’t going to do that. “No, I am happy the way I am. The human condition will live on through me until I die, you will become something else. I am the only human who can reproduce technically so maybe we will see a diverging of species. One where evolution still acts and another where they are static living forever.” I could see the producer behind  the camera make the slitting the through movement to get me to stop.

            “Well thank you Rebecca for that, and glad to have you on the show. With that we will be back right after this commercial break.”

Fingerprints

Sorry for the delay, I began writing this story yesterday but as I kept on writing it I knew 500 words was too short and I just continued writing until it naturally ended. It was as if the story took a life of its own with each word on the page.

           My leg itched beneath the plaster immobilizer known as a cast. I wanted to scratch it, to end the feeling of a thousand ants climbing up my leg, hair by hair, to end. But I left my scratcher back at home, only a five minute drive from here, an easy stop to make if I were on patrol. Oh how I wish I was on patrol, driving around in my cruiser with my black shirt and sunglasses, the sunlight glistening off the gold on my badge as I walked around, observing the city that I decided to protect. Instead my injury restrained me to a desk job until my shin finally mended itself together. And worst of all they put me at finger printing.

I couldn’t have asked for a worse job, even janitor was easier than this. The people were the worst. From the dead eyed bureaucrats coming in for their security clearances, to teens arrested for marijuana or alcohol possession who had no respect for authority, and the foreigners with their awkwardness of me touching their hands as I rolled each digit across the black ink and then repeated the same motion across the legal documents. Nobody wanted to be there, neither did I until I met her.

            She walked in to the office with an aura of confidence, her lips curled into a smile, making her the first person in the world the ever smile when walking into a police office. Her eyes green as grass in the spring, her hair a deep maroon like autumn leaves, maybe she wouldn’t be so bad. I wondered if she was the kind of person who actually smiled in their drivers license.

            I told her the usual: please sit down and fill out the proper forms. She handed them to me, already filled out. I told her I was surprised, nobody fills out the paperwork before they get here. She smiled and told me that she likes to be efficient.

            I hobbled around the corner on my crutches. She looked at me with large eyes of concern, and asked if I was alright. I told her how I was doing fine but the itching was unbearable. She laughed a small laugh, I was confused. She explained that she too had been in cast before, actually twice on the same arm, and explained in a light hearted tone how she knew all too well how unbearable the itching was. How it was worse than the injury itself.

I laughed and told her I agreed. She stuck out her hand to me, and told me she was ready.

I forgot I was at my job and hesitated. I didn’t want her to leave, the only good spirited person to ever walk through those doors stood in front of me, and within a count to ten she will be gone from my life forever.

Of course I told her I was ready.

I grasped her hand firmly, her hands looked small and frail compared to mine. Their texture was soft like silk. With her hand in mine I joked about how although my legs might be broken my arms are still working fine and I might accidently throw her up into the air.

She laughed.

I placed her finger down on the onyx pad and rolled them across making sure the ink obstructed the entire print. My mental processes went back into action as I entered autopilot and began rolling her ink stained finger tips across the paper. I didn’t know what to say so I decided to wait for her.

Right thumb.

Silence.

Right index finger.

Silence. Give it a moment….

Right middle finger.

Silence. This is getting unbearable, here I am a train cop and I can’t even get the confidence to talk to a woman.

Right ring finger. She must have been suffering as well because she talked.

She asked me how I broke my leg. I told her that it was during a police pursuit when two young men robbed a 7-Eleven with an air soft gun on the north side of town. I climbed over a fence in pursuit but lost my footing at the top and fell, shattering my ankle and parts of my shin. I left out the part about it being only my fourth day on the job.

As I rolled her right pinky on the white piece of paper she told me how cool she thought it was that I was willing to risk my life for those around me. She was something, I never met anybody who actually had respect for cops. Even I didn’t just a few years ago when I was in high school.

Short pause. I tell her to give me her left hand, I look at it inspecting for rings. She wore two on it: a silver band on her pinkie, a sapphire on her middle finger. Her ring finger was barren. I tell her to take off her rings unless she wanted them coated in ink. She obeyed.

Left thumb. I ask her why she’s getting her finger prints done.

She begins by telling me it’s a personal decision of hers, something she’s been considering for a while.

I tell her it’s alright; she doesn’t have to tell me if it’s personal.

Left index finger.

She’s silent, but her face is contemplative.

I stall for a moment, purposely fumbling around with her hand.

Silence.

Left middle finger.

She breaks the silence again. Beginning with the fact that she respects me and my desire to protect and help others, and that her reason is similar. In a teasing voice she asks me to guess what it is, but assures me I won’t be able to.

I ask her if she’s joining the police force.

Nope.

Next guess: The military.

Colder.

The CIA?

Not even close.

The fire department or the paramedics?

No, but she will be doing something medical.

A hospital then!

Closer, but not close enough.

I tell her I give up.

Peace Corps she says, well technically a Doctors Without Borders and Peace Corps partnership.

My voice doesn’t hide my surprise as I tell her that I totally knew that, I was just messing with her. I don’t press the next finger down onto the blank square, my moment with her was only two fingers away from over.

She giggled and went on to tell me that helping people was her primary purpose in life. That she went to med school and discovered the Doctors Without Borders program and made it her goal to join the movement and save those in need, but her parents and friends disagreed and she because of that she was reluctant to tell me at first. Afraid of the embarrassment.

 She asked me if I was going to continue the finger prints.

Reluctantly I resumed, letting her know that I think her choice is very noble and she shouldn’t feel embarrassed to tell me.

Left ring finger.

One away, I ask her where she’s going and what she’ll do.

Mongolia she said, and commented on the fact that she has never left America but that hasn’t phased her on moving so far away. She’ll be serving in a newly constructed hospital in the rural parts of the country as a general practitioner.

I remark on how I never left the country, well except Canada but that doesn’t really count.

Another giggle, and I never even considered myself funny. She joked about how exotic that was and how daring I am to cross international boarders into Canada.

I laughed and joked about how big of a culture shock it was that adapting to the slightly cooler temperatures was the most challenging aspect there.

Left pinkie.

Damn habits! Why did I just do that?

I let he know we’re done, that she’s free to go. I sign the form and hand it to her.

You forgot something, she tells me.

What’s that? I ask.

You forgot to ask when I’m leaving.

I tell her that that’s none of my business.

She tells me that it is.

I ask why.

Because, she says writing something down, that’s how long you’ll have to spend with me.

She passes me a piece of paper with a phone number on it, the outer edges stained black from her fingers.

My immediate reaction was not to react, I just stood there dumbfounded. How did this happen?

Seven months, she tells me.

My mouth remained motionless.

I’ll give you time to recover, she says, but my time is short. So how does coffee after work sound? Just give me a call.

Like a child learning to speak all over again the word sure comes out of my mouth.

See you then, she says and walks through the door.

Maybe fingerprinting isn’t do bad after all.

Spytastic

                  It had to be Richard “The Mole” Burrows didn’t it? I am stuck in a closet because of that Dick hole. “Oh, I hid the USB in the closet down the hall, could you go get it yourself?”  I said mocking his betrayal . God, how did I fall for the oldest trick in the book? He isn’t even that good of a spy! Do you know how easy it is to impersonate the janitor; all you have to do is clean and steal information while you do it. You already have most of the keys to the place, how hard can it be. It’s not like he has to go in all stealthy making sure no one sees you, no just get a freaking job. Easy as pie.

                  That is when I heard whistling, the same stupid tune he always whistles.  I knocked to bring him closer. I needed that two-bit punk to let me out of here and do his job correctly and give me the missile plans or else this Dictator will blow up something he will regret. Hearing his footsteps grow closer, I could tell he was still trying to pass off a limp for pity. God he annoys the shit out of me. Always thinking he is better than me, I’m twice the spy he is. Then how did he trap me in this closet? But I was about to get out and he was going to do it for me. “Hey, Mole. You want to let me out of here so I can continue the mission? Let bygones be bygones?” I whisper through the bars of the closet door that acted like a window.

                  “Ha, very funny Fox. I’m not going to do that until you apologize for that time in Syria.” He replied back still working on mopping the floor.

                  “What? Admit that I saved your ass from those terrorists? Sure, I apologize for being awesome. Not my fault you are suicidal.” I say.

                  “No, I’m talking about how you shot me in the fucking leg, you ass hole! I am still limping around because of it.” He said rage building.

                  “It’s not my fault you blew your cover and I had to keep playing the part so we wouldn’t all die. Look why don’t you just let me out and I can finish the mission so we can get out of here. Now, where is the real USB?” I ask imploringly.

                  “Find it yourself Mr. I-am-the-best-spy-in-the-world. I am not helping you. Good luck you are going to need it.” He said starting to leave.

                  I panic a bit. “Oh no you don’t!” I reach through the bars with one arm and pull him into a headlock. “Look if you don’t start telling me what I need to know to finish this mission I will blow your brains out.” I say pulling out my silenced pistol.

                  “You wouldn’t dare…” he said nervously.

                  “Would I? I already shot you once. Don’t test my patience. I’ll just tell command that you blew your cover and got killed in action.” I say clicking the hammer back.

                  “Okay okay. The USB  is in the locker to your right under the porno magazines. If you want out take the air duct It will lead you to your second objective.” He says panicking.

                  “Now was that so hard?” I say releasing him.

                  “Dick.” I could hear him say under his breath. But I didn’t care the mission was the only thing on my mind.  

How to Be a Conartist #1: Small favors lead to big rewards

 Disclaimer: I know nothing about conartistry, nor do I condone it. However, I am reading a really good book called Influence by Robert Cialdin, it's about the psychology of influencing people. It has changed the way I see advertising, and I think is a must read for anyone who is interested in psychology. This entry is based off the first chapter about reciprocation. I chose conartist for my topic because it's just a lot more fun to write about than business men. 

            So you want to be a con-artist? You’ve seen them on the TV, you’re favorite movies are about amazing con jobs, so you think you know everything about them. All you need is good looks, and an ability to maintain a conversation, and if all else fails you can rely on your handsome smile. Wrong. A con is an art, if it were all about being attractive and your smooth talking then nobody would be trustworthy, since we would know everyone is out to get you. Reckon good looks do help, but they can be easily defeated. What you need is a firm grasp on the human mind, to dig deep into their thoughts and bend them to your will just buy using a few key words, and I’m here to show you how.

            The human brain is stupid, it takes shortcuts at every given moment, as a means to save energy. Only occasionally does one actually use their brain to think, and your goal as a con-artist is to make sure they don’t think. You are the one who does the thinking. So how do you show someone you’re capable of thinking for them? The answer is simple, you do them a favor. That’s it. May it be something as simple as buying their lunch to rushing into a burning building to save someone, you always have to do them a favor. We humans, that include you and I, have an innate desire to return favors of equal or greater value to someone who helps us. You will know this rule as the rule of small favors.

            Now how do you pull such a favor on somebody? Just follow these steps below:

            Step 1: Pick your target. I suggest for somebody new like you to pick some random person on the street, and then you can work your way up to the people you really want to con.

            Step 2: Do them a favor. This ranges from handing out free gifts, to offering to pay for lunch, and even to the elaborate partnered hoax where you stage something bad happening to them (e.g. a robbery) and then you come in to save the day. Remember, the size of payment they give you in return is only as large as the favor you give them. The point is to prime them to want to help you in return.

            Step 3: Befriend them. This step can happen before or after step 2, but I find it more effective after step 2. You want to activate something known as the halo effect, the feeling of trust between the two of you.

            You don’t know what the halo effect is? What are they teaching you kids these days? The halo effect is simple; it’s what they use in the movies, the good looks and the smooth talks. Of course it can be something different like smart intellect, but looks are the easiest to notice. It’s all about making them think that if you’re good at one thing, say being nice, they assume you’re good at many other things. Here let me pull up the definition on my phone. According to Wikipedia, “The halo effect is a cognitive bias in which an observer's overall impression of a person influences the observer's feelings and thoughts about that person's character.” So you want to make them think you’re a good guy all around.

            Alright, back to the next step, which one did I leave off on? Befriend them, that’s right.

            Step 4: Negotiate. Or in simple terms, ask for a favor in return. But remember it has to be equal or lesser than the favor you gave them. You can’t buy somebody a meal and then ask for two hundred bucks in return. You can ask somebody for a meal and ask for a car ride in return. You can’t fake a robbery then ask for twenty bucks as payment, that’s just stupid. You can fake a robbery and ask for a job at their company, and then use that as a means to get closer to your target and eventually con your way to the top and then drive that company to the ground while you run off with all their money.

Always use favors as a means to a greater goal, well once you’re more experienced. Until then, just test the waters and see what happens. Of course favors are not everything needed for a con, but they’re a great way to begin one. Come back to me after some practice and I’ll tell you some more tricks of the trade.