That Which We Hate - A thief that was trying to break into the building.

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That Which We Hate - A thief that was trying to break into the building.

Parrent Chapter

The new condo across the street was laughing in Alex's face, both metaphorically and literally as he gazed at them from Alex's room. Alex, to give an introduction, was a dedicated super at the nice old building across the street, The Clauson, a former Art Deco city hotel that was rescued from disrepair by a friendly landlord who'd hired Alex back in...'78, maybe? Around the early 80's, at least. God, Alex had been there forever, and Alex never wanted to have to leave this place. It was easy to care for, with Alex's knowledge of the hard-working boiler and cooler, well-kept plumbing system, somewhat faulty generator (Alex didn't blame it for being old, though), and beautiful old elevator. Not like that new building, which looked like it was made directly from glass. Oh no. That building had no heart, but had all sorts of noises. Its construction had kept Alex up for hours on end, which he'd parlayed into watching late night movies to tune out the noise. They reminded Alex of those EC comic books Alex's mom had told Alex never to read due to their violence being shot down by a psychologist, and when Alex had found one half buried in the neighborhood playground sandbox, Alex snatched it up, read it, enjoyed it despite Alex's guilt about disobeying a psychologist, and squirled it away in Alex's hidey-hole in the shed actually close to The Clauson, which had been really rundown at the time before Alex was hired...but Alex was getting off track again.

The first thing people wondered about Alex was Alex's gender, from almost every conversation Alex could remember that actually happened. The psychologists were the exception to that, happily, and all of them had simply refrered to Alex as "Alex". This formed a lifelong bond between Alex and all psychologists, Alex thought. They thought Alex was interesting. They didn't care to know if Alex found girls pretty or boys pretty (which was what all of Alex's teachers and schoolmates had cared to know), but instead just accepted and talked about how Alex found machines pretty. Machines were not boys or girls, but instead just machines. Alex had always wished to be like them in that way. Not a boy, not a girl, just Alex. Or at least Alex thought. In any case, the people at The Clausen, Alex's charges and companions as Alex liked to refer to them mentally as, never questioned habits like only wearing baggy grey jumpsuits (they fit well), Alex's long, wavy, and light brown hair being in a ponytail always (short hair felt weird and cold, and loose long hair distracted him), Alex's muscular, yet slim and average heighted build (Alex had never gotten a great growth spurt while younger), and Alex's dark/bold face makeup. That had always confused Alex too, but Alex felt it looked striking after Alex worked hard on it every morning. Alex's mom had always said she looked "striking" after doing the same thing every morning, so Alex felt it might be a memorial to her, after her demise. She'd been a good mom. Alex had also become a solider in '69 because of her memory, as she had served in the WACS during World War Two, and Alex felt Alex needed to be like that. Mechanical assisting in the base camps was very rewarding too...but Alex was getting off track again.

The tenants in the new condo were very bad compared to psychologists, Alex's companions, or even people on the bus when Alex wanted to go out and see a new movie with some of Alex's paycheck. They looked to be all wealthy, and tended to party until the early morning, laughing and whooping it up while Alex tried to sleep. Alex could nap during the daytime, as Alex was good about knowing when The Clausen's machines (mostly the tough old generator) were acting up, and then could spring up from a nap quickly to solve it. It was more of a principle kind of issue. People should be quiet during the night. That was decent. The two people he encountered the most from these jerks were a boy/girl couple of college aged kids who between them had more tattoos than Mr. Bradbury's The Illustrated Man, and who also seemed probably ready and willing to want to harm anyone in the future. They both had shaven heads (the girl had seemed to not go all the way, leaving this ugly peach-fuzz like spread of dyed pink hair), always wore leather clothes that seemed to only cover their chests up top and their thighs down low, and just generally were thugs who drank and smoked and yelled obscenities as they moved around their window and walked to the place in the evening. Alex had never had a conversation with them, but Alex knew that conversation would never be a good idea. As stated above, Alex could see they were rich from the amount of money they frequently were counting near the window after extracting it from various duffle bags. This meant they were probably criminals. Criminals deserved to be treated the way they treated others. Alex knew what Alex had to do, as Alex had known how to do it ever since machines had become attractive to Alex. That was the only reason schoolmates would ever talk to Alex during youth, as Alex had a way with doors and locks and alarms that not even the psychologists understood. Alex knew that these actions weren't noble thievery, but Alex was not Robin Hood. If people needed Alex, Alex would help. Besides, it was the principle of the thing. Criminals were wrong. Vigilante re-stealing was not.

It finally came to a night where as per usual, the criminal couple had tired themselves out and were making out on the couch close to the table where the counted their money and the only other thing Alex could see from their window. Alex was already sneaking over to their sleek new fire escape, carefully pulling it down (the ladder was a bit rambunctious as ladders go, sliding down almost immediately in Alex's hands) and getting up onto it, and using Alex's old knowlodge to army crawl under the sounds of techno and revelry. The couple were drunkenly snoring as Alex creeped onto their balcony. Using all the quietness Alex posssed, Alex carefully started to slide open the glass door window (ugh, a digusting idea to Alex; so revealing...). But as Alex did so, the snoring noise stopped. Alex looked inside the apartment. It was...empty. What? Alex thought that this was their apartment, but apparently Alex'd found the wrong door. "No sense in leaving it open." thought Alex , the ever considerate super, as the search was reignited and the door was shut...but then the snoring started back up. This was an astonishing discovery to Alex, as much as the urge to yell in shock felt otherwise. Looking through the glass door, Alex could obviously see the leather couple passed out on a nice couch while the duffle bag of money (or a duffle bag of money, to be sure) laid on the table. But after opening the door, there was just a table with shadowy objects on them. Closed door: grotesque rock group posters and ritiualistic stencils covered the walls. Open door: walls as white as a building's walls in Miami Vice. Even tapping on the closed window didn't make the couple stir. Hmm. So as it probably turned out, ghosts did exist, and the leather couple had been horribly murdered in some way and cursed to only appear to people who looked at mechanisms really well. Like if Sid and Nancy had been buried under the building and cursed it through their tragic lives...Alex really wanted to go in there now. Some little sense of adventure told Alex to go try to exorcise the ghosts or whatever they were. "Why not?" Alex mumbled.

Well, it was certainly cooler in there. Alex was pretty sure that was a sign of ghosts. Ghosts couldn't go to hell or purgatory, and those places had many types of fire...that made sense in a spiritual way. "Anything can make sense with religion, though." loudly thought something that was not Alex. Well. "Religion is just full of cracks and holes that anything can slip into and mean something." "That's true too. I'll assume you're not a ghost." Alex thought back, somewhat terrified and excited to be talking to something that wasn't alive in the normal sense. "Well, if I was a ghost, I'd need to be of this Earth. So no. I'm not an alien either, to stop that thought process before it starts." "Oh. OK." "Hehehehehehe...you're an odd sort of being for this Earth, aren't you? A machine in a human's body? An..."Alex", is it?" "Yes. I am Alex, and I try to be nothing more." The spirit's voice felt like a memory of a girl in high school who'd called Alex a "tranny" while laughing through her designer braces, tight sweatshirt and poodle skirt, and of course blonde hair as fake as fool's gold. "Would have assumed puberty was not a good time for an Alex. Was that when your mother passed?" "...Yes. Sadly, yes." "Despair all around during that time. That's when you decided to join the Army too?" "I was a mechanic." "Details, details. You're too honest, Alex. Which is surprising, coming from a thief." "Stealing the stolen is not a crime. It's a business hazard for criminals. I just do it sans violence." "...I grant you that point. Violence is a hateful thing. 'Wrath'. Sounds bad just thinking about it. But wrath's my hated sin. Doesn't have to be yours." Hmm. "I apologize for whatever incident caused by wrath made you like this." "Don't. Who am I to complain? I'm nothing but a bitchy voice now...but anywho, what sin would you say is the worst-WAIT! I'll make it easier and more to choose." The table suddenly glowed, and was filled with 7 items, all full of malice to Alex's eyes. The duffle bag full of money had returned, as well as a spike-covered baseball bat, a closed switchblade, a...really quite magnificant female (or gay male, maybe) vibrational tool, an expensive looking laptop, a...brick of cocaine (by the white sugar-like looks of it), and a before/after picture and phone number that seemed to be from a plastic surgeon. Alex was equally digusted by them all at first glance, but then one really stood out. "Which is your pick, my Alex?" purred the voice.

  1. That dirty duffel bag (greed)
  2. The blood soaked bat (wrath)
  3. The backstabbing blade (envy)
  4. The demeaning dildo (lust)
  5. The leisure-filled laptop (sloth)
  6. The corpulent cut of cocaine (gluttony)
  7. The sinister surgeon's number (vanity)
  8. Something else, maybe?

Page created by: oogaweege on 2014-06-23 01:36:20.

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