Debt Ninjas

‘Good evening. This is an extraordinary period for America's economy…’ RING President Bush’s two foot face towered over Fred from its mount on the white stucco wall of his apartment. ‘We've seen triple-digit swings in the stock market. Major financial institutions have teetered on the edge of collapse,’ RING ‘ and some have failed.’
Fred reached over and grabbed the thin white phone cord, pulling it from the wall.

‘As uncertainty has grown, many banks have restricted lending, credit markets have frozen, and families and businesses have found it harder to borrow money.’ He wore his usual TV watching attire, black sweatpants and a navy blue bathrobe. ‘We're in the midst of a serious financial crisis, and the federal government is responding with decisive action.1’

With a Killians in is right hand Fred’s attention set upon the “-$12,348.95 available,” laid out before him and the red “PAST DUE,” stamp at the top right of his credit card bill. He was let go from his small manufacturing job in Mid-Kansas a few weeks back, the week he bought the 62” Plasma TV. ‘…and where people of every background can work hard, develop their talents, and realize their dreams1.’ Corporate decided to hire a kid fresh out of middle school instead, for “Economic reasons.” Bastards.

‘Thank you for listening. May God bless you1.’ Fred tossed the bill aside took another swig of Killians, “Drats,” he sighed, staring into the empty bottle. He rubbed his banged up fingers over his tired blue eyes and forced himself out of the raggedy orange lazy boy he got in college with a groan. His thirty-eight year old knees cracked under his weight. He paused for a moment to catch his balance before placing the TV remote in his pant pocket and shuffled his wool-covered souls down the short white carpet.

The Oxyclean guy was on TV yelling about some new debt consolidation software, yet Fred kept it on to light his way. He took a brief segway to the bathroom where he switched on the light and water fixtures and dove his hand deep within the medicine cabinet, retrieving the bottle labeled Simply Sleep. He shook the bottle upside down for a few minutes until two small blue pills finally fell past their cotton barrier and tossed them into the back of his aching throat along with a handful of water.

He leaned in over the counter with his shoulder stooped. His eyes seemed deeper than they used to be and his skin was freckled with pimples from stress. Small patches of brown hair have developed on his chin. He killed the water and bathroom light before pulling the remote from his pocket and powering down the plasma as he careened into his dark bedroom at the end of the hall. The saliva stained down pillow greeted the brown crescent of hair upon his head with a light puff as he fell upon his cool twin bed. After staring up into the darkness for a while his breathing slowed and the steady pulse of his heart slowed with it, until finally he drifted to sleep.

His stout body flung itself around wildly at around one in the morning and his mouth let out ghastly moans. A person dressed from head to toe in black was chasing him down the metropolitan street, demanding his card payment or else. Their black emotionless eyes glistened in the street lamps as they chased him down the alleyways. His heart was pounding as he raced down a short cut to his old school, he’d be able to find refuge there – hidden beneath the boiler room. The alley warped around him and the sky opened up.

Air brushed against his ears, radios were blaring around him, sound waves bolting from large black speakers. “We’re in the midst of a serious financial crisis,” Fred forced himself over a chain link fence where all he could hear was the rapid pounding of his heart as he gasped for breath. The dark figure’s slender 6’5” body whisked through the air with ease, sirens went off in the distance keep running, just keep running.

For a moment Fred glanced behind him, and to his horror the large dark figure had caught up to him and leered above him like a schoolyard bully. “NO!” he screamed. Just one more corner and he’d be safe – Fred gulped for air and darted to his right but to his horror all he had found was a red brick wall, growing high into the sky. He fell to his knees and begged forgiveness but the Ninja would not hear it and went in for the kill.

Creak… Fred awoke with a start. Sweat pouring from his pores and his heart thumping away madly in his head. His eyes darted nervously around the dark room. “Please, just give me time to get a job! I’ll pay it off! I swear I will! Pleaaaase, just don’t kill me!”
The quietness of the room and ticking of his hooters clock brought him back to reality, his breathing slowed and he chuckled silently to himself as the safety of the room engulfed him. He lay back against his bed shuttering violently, his sweat soaked sheets were cold and damp against his skin. Tick, Tick, Tick A weight pressed upon his chest and when he opened his eyes he saw another set gazing back at him.

Groping for his bedside lamp, a large strong hand wrapped around his wrist and wrangled it behind his back. He opened his mouth to scream but the person, whomever it was, clenched his gut tightly between their legs and his cheeks tightly between their thumb and fingers. The eyes grew larger, the hotness of their salmon flavored breath made his tears water and gut churn.

A deep voice bellowed into his face, “You have two weeks to make payment on your card,” the deep voice bellowed into his face, “after those two weeks, your life is mine. Do you understand?” Fred nodded incessantly and began to whimper, he closed his eyes, wishing it would all go away. The weight lifted from his chest and his sheets swooshed as they slid against the perpetrators garments. Fred kept his eyes held shut and waited one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, “Four one-thousand, five one-thousand…” he whispered to himself. He slowly opened his eyes upon reaching the count of ten. Groping again for his bedside lamp, he switched it on. It was just a dream. It was just a dream…

Tick, Tick, Tick went the Hooters clock - 2am. His eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness of the room. The flaking blue paint on his bedroom wall danced like blades of grass in a summer wind. I didn’t open that window, did I? He swung his legs over the side of his bed and carefully took two steps to the corner of his double hung window frame, easing his back against the wall, like on all the cop shows. He breathed out slowly and peered out of the window into the amber lit parking lot below. A brown and white kitten meandered its way across the parking lot and a dog barked ferociously at it from the apartment above You’re being ridiculous.

Fred grabbed his ever-thumping chest and forced it to slow, breathing deeply in and out and in again. He placed his palm upon the windowsill and braced himself against the wall the cold metal sill helped to calm him. “What’s this?” he said, eyes narrowing and heart quickening, noticing something beneath the pinky of his hand. A black piece of cloth lie snagged between the window and its runner, he picked it out and threw his window shut before throwing himself deep beneath the covers of his bed.

The train blared its horn and rumbled Fred’s bed as it crossed to the train yard next to his apartment complex, jiggling him awake. He yawned and began to wipe the dried drool from his face when he recalled the night before. I’m never taking sleeping pills again. He rolled himself out of bed and crossed the hall to the wooden front door of his apartment. Where he threw on a pair of worn out moccasins with a matching set of holes over his pinky toes and threw open the door to the sun baked world outside.

He bent and grabbed his morning paper and continued down the cedar steps to his Chevy pickup that was parked in front of his bedroom window to retrieve his reading glasses. The Chevy’s silver coat gleamed in the morning sun, as Fred reached for the drivers’ door handle he noticed a small piece of paper clutched between the wiper and windshield of his car.

He snatched it up and held it close to his face. Sweat poured from the top of his head and trickled it’s way around his crescent of hair, down his blood filled face. His face filled with blood and his heart began leaping from his chest. Two Weeks.

Fred ran back up the steps and into his apartment, locked all the doors and closed all of the curtains, head throbbing with blood. “Okay, okay, call the cops? No, no can’t call the cops…” he muttered. He fell to the ground and began to rock. No, no “No, what will I do?” KNOCK, KNOCK!

Fred jumped. No, but it hasn’t even been a day. He cowered into the cusp of his couch and hid from the door. Click the door unlocked and a tall thin man with shoulder length brown hair and beard walked in. His dark blue jeans grazed the tops of his bare ankles and his brown moccasins were covered in mud.

The man rubbed the left ear of the Mickey-Mouse face on his chest, “Yo, Fred - you in here?” He walked toward the couch and peered over at the petrified man. “Dude, you okay? I’ve been trying to call you all night. You look like shit man…Fred?” Fred didn’t move, he couldn’t move, he just laid there and stared at the mans deep green eyes.

“Did you get the note?” Fred shot up from the couch, his face inches from the mans, “The note… What about it, what do you know about the note?” he screamed. “Uh…I put it there dude, you know, two weeks. Two weeks before our big camping trip! Did you forget?” Fred laughed and smacked himself in the forehead, “Of course! The camping trip…of course, of course.”



1 President's Address to the Nation, In Focus: Economy. http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2008/09/20080924-10.html