Jeff narrowed his eyes and caught sight of it; far away, at first. Its shape was amorphous yet instantly recognizable. Just as he expected, it was coming for him and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do. The behemoth lumbered toward him at an even, slow pace; a predator coursing its prey, a thoughtless, uncaring beast driven by…

Instinct

…made Jeff stiffen slightly. Alertness washed over him like a fever chill. Did he have what it takes to make it? Or, perhaps, the leviathan would blindly pass him over, leaving him for another time. Quickly, he plunged his right hand into the pocket of his khakis. It was there, the reassuring touch of cold metal. He was ready. The waiting was all that was left.

The hulking mass closed in, its approach now joined by a low, guttural growl that sent pinpricks of heat rash cascading across the nape of Jeff’s neck. He could now make out the stripes along its flank and its wide face with its dark and seemingly vacant openings set within.

Yards away now, Jeff stepped toward his fate. A higher, more desperate roar replaced its plaintive howl, as it bore down on the man. Jeff slowly raised his left hand over his head. In an act of… Friendship? Surrender?

Defiance.

Jeff’s hidden right hand grasped his trusty metal. He smirked knowingly as the beast pulled its lurching bulk to a stop with a long slow hiss. Its gaping maw slid open, revealing a dim and fowl-smelling emptiness. From inside the creature belched a gravel-choked voice:

“Yo! Buddy! You getting on? I ain’t got all day.”

Withdrawing his bus token, Jeff steeled his nose against the smell and entered the belly of the beast.

Monday Morning…….the alarm clock rudely awakens me with a horrible buzzing sound. I vaguely wonder how 100 or so cicadas managed to make their nests in my clock radio.
I switch it off and clamber out of bed with an effort.
No time for breakfast, never on Monday mornings. I have a quick shower and it is almost time to head out the door. I really can’t be late this morning….I have an important meeting.

On cold mornings like this it always take longer to warm up. I pace up and down while I wait. I check to see if it needs a top up of water. Nearly 15 years I’ve had this old pile of metal. It is starting to rust and still has the same powder blue exterior it had when I bought it in the late 1980’s. It is reliable though and has never let me down. Finally after what seems like hours it is warmed up and ready.
I travel up and down the same route I take every morning. Over slight bumps and crevices that slow me down a little.
I bop along to the Dave Matthews Band as I glide along one arm of my trip, effortlessly rounding corners…..it may be old and a little rusty but the ride is for the most part, as smooth as ever.
It is almost complete. A few more small hills to conquer and I come to a complete stop resting in the same spot as every other morning. I make good time today and am pleased with myself.
Click …..I flick the switch and hear the faint ticks and pings as it cools down.

My shirt is ironed. I have just enough time to get dressed before I grab my keys and purse and head out the door to catch the bus.

Moments like this turn over in my head like the tick of a clock that never hits the hour. Time can be so cruel in the random distribution of everyday ironies. The twitch in my right hand has developed a regular interval, and is quickly becoming a steady tremble. A fraction of a millimeter either way and all is lost. Again? I can’t bear another minute of this futility. My eyes strain to focus. A dull throb in the back of my skull is a persistent reminder my glasses will never correct what the years have worn away. If my hands would steady, if I could relax; but I cannot, and there is too much at stake to fail. A bead of sweat slowly trickles down my nose and begins to tickle my upper lip. So close, so nearly successful. I realize I need better light as my eyes start to blur into a vacant gaze. I can’t quit, but this is too precise, surly it is impossible. Dammit, I can do this!

These are the moments I miss her. I feel the familiar sharp pain in my chest start to expand. Slowly it moves as if to consume me. At first I thought this to be the end, but it was only a beginning. I know well this feeling now. In my youth it was the butterflies of a young man in love. Now it is a deep pain surfacing like a hidden scar; every time I remember her face, her laughter, even the little unimportant moments we faced together.

My right hand is growing tired. How much longer can I continue with only pure stubbornness keeping me going? I feel the muscle start to seize, contracting violently, all the way up my arm to behind my elbow. I need to concentrate on the task at hand, but my mind is drifting through hallways I cannot touch. A fraction of a millimeter is the measure of my failure, but memories are my torment. Pausing, I breathe deep. I feel the corner of my mouth curl into a smile. I imagine her now, distracting me momentarily from the pain. If she were here she would be laughing at me, teasing me. These are the moments I miss her so. Here I sit, a tired old man, straining as if the fate of the world hangs in the balance. Yes, surly she would have thought this priceless. If only I could have saved her, or gone first. Closing my eyes, I can almost hear her. She would have laughed with that twinkle in her eyes. All of this, over threading a needle, on account of an errant button.

"Are you nuts? Don't do it!" his brain screamed. He knew that his mind was right. He had everything to lose. The darkness of the night blanketed him, giving no clue to what lay around him. No sound penetrated the thick cloak of black that clothed the chamber. Deprived of sight and sound, he had only his instincts to rely on, and they told him to stay put. Yet, an urge whithin him rebelled, crying out, threatening to drown out every vestige of sanity that remained. He had to know. He lay still and half-heartedly argued the bliss of ignorance, but he knew that it was a fool's fight. Sooner or later he would have to act. The unknown evils awaiting him paled in comparison to the demons inside his head. He felt his will slipping, fingernails tearing, grasping the last strands of resistance as it dangled over the abyss. Finally, he could stay still no longer, and rolled over, dragging the sheets with him to contain what little warmth remained in his body. He reached out, and pressed the button that he knew could dash his dreams or let them live.

"4:28 am", he sighed with relief. "Ninety minutes early". And so he closed his eyes, and let the night cover him again.

Snick!

Something whizzed past my face. I flinched involuntarily.
That was close. Much too close for comfort.
Sweat was trickling down my forehead and slowly saturating my eyebrows. I readjusted the grip on the stainless steel instrument in my right hand, relaxing the tense muscles.
This was getting really tricky. I tried to apply just the right amount of pressure at the exact angle. Okay, now, steady, steady....

Snip!

Argh, that one almost hit me in the eye!
Relax, I thought, you’re almost done. Just one more…

Plink!

Yes, I thought, nodding appreciatively in the knowledge of a job well done. Elation spread throughout my body.
Not bad.

A quick tally showed that only two toenail clippings were unaccounted for.

It seemed as if he had been waiting for hours. People he barely knew, cops, firefighters, lawyers, all came by to let him in on the news. First he heard of the fire, of how smoke billowed out of the third floor window, and of how the young mother was forced to toss her six month old out to a stranger. Then, just as he lifted his tired head out of his hands, he witnessed an act so terrifying that he swore he wouldn’t let his 13-year-old daughter out of his sight, for a long time. He saw a man in a black coat jump out of a 80s model truck and drag a young, struggling girl into the front seat. He screamed as he heard the thud of the door, but it was too late. He got lost in the commotion. All the events were shuffling together. And, while he tried to keep his composure, his pleas for help just got lost in the noise of the crowd.
The tragedies and death were ignored by the salesmen, the salesmen that were standing by, urging him to by a new Ford, to try a new cereal. He couldn’t understand how they were blind to what was going on around them. How could they be peddling things to him while he was surrounded by so much stress, senseless pain, so much anxiety?
He yelled out once more. “All it will take is a little of your time,” he said. “I’m not asking for much. I just need to know what is going on over there. Please, help me.”
After hearing a loud whimper and then a huff, he turned his head and listened. “Dad, if you really wanted to watch Sports Center then you could have gotten the remote yourself.”

MMMmmmmm. I love peanut butter. MMMMmmmm. Sometimes I take the knife and scoop it out of the jar and lick the peanut butter right off the knife. I can’t even wait to make a sandwich. I have to have that peanutty good taste in my mouth.

Turn the lid and enjoy the aroma. Some people like Skippy, but I like JIF. The smooth texture taunting my tastebuds. My mouth is watering just thinking about Extra Crunchy right now. OHHHhhhhh. I love the way it feels.

Sometimes, I swirl my finger in it’s creamy delight. I start slowly, very slowly and enjoy the moment. Soon I can’t help myself. I start swirling faster and faster and faster. Ohh.
OHhhh.. FASTER. FASTER!!!. OOhhhhhhhh. MMMmmmm. I love my peanut butter.

I gently open the bag of bead and slowly part the plastic. With heated anticipation I gingerly slip my hand in and remove the bread. Tenderly, I expose the slices of bread in their wantonness of my creamy spread. I toy with them. I bring the knife full of PB close to them, but not quite touching them. I tease them and lick the PB off the knife. Over and over, I do this.

The bread yearns for my peanut butter. Those two slices lay there passively awaiting. No amount of butter or jelly or mayo can satisfy them. Only my peanut butter can fulfill them. I look at them knowingly. I know what they what and I give it to them. Over and over again. MMmmmmm. Peanut butter.

But now they must pay. I slap them together and my peanut butter joins them in ecstatic union. They quiver in my hands. I’m shaking too. The crescendo of our passion climaxes as I jam the sandwich in my mouth. MMMMMmmmmmm. Peanut Butter.

She reached down, fingers searching in the darkness, feeling blindly for the small metal tag. She was agitated; sweat began to form beads on her forehead. Feverishly, she darted her hand around, until she found her goal.

This was no time for subtleties, undoing the fastening with the vigour of a woman possessed, she thrust her hand inside and after a few moments of frantic fumbling, she pulled it out.

Her body was still tensed like a steel trap as she jabbed at the hole.

"Come on, come on!" She screamed, dancing on the spot like a cat on hot bricks. Feeling ready to explode, she finally hit the target.

She wasted no time, ramming it home and twisting so hard, it nearly snapped.

She flung the door open, dropped her bags on the floor and ran full speed to the bathroom, making a mental note to change the bulb in the porch light.

Jase pulled it slowly from his pants and held it gently. He couldn’t help but admire it as it sat placidly in his hand. It was a thing of beauty, its shapely curves accentuated by the crevices of his palm while the finger shadows played teasingly with it’s color.

He gripped it firmly between his fingers, and with a slow but deliberate move pushed it into the tiny hole. A smile crept across his face as he felt it slide all the way in and the memory of his first time erupted in his mind.

He paused momentarily, allowing the happiness brought on by the memory to spread throughout his soul. That was one of the best memories he had, and it always warmed him up when he thought about it.

Slowly he worked his magic, moving in perfect harmony. A feeling of worry permeated through him, as the thought that it may not work this time overtook his thoughts.

The worry was quickly overtaken with a sense of relief as it hit home and the engine roared to life. The car was started, and Jase was off to work.

Muscles tighten. Activity seems impossible. The body stops listening, and the mind must will it to act. Mark was paralytic. His finger hovered over the mouse button, unwilling to make the decision on its own. Why won’t it listen, he wondered. I’m afraid, he admitted. And I am talking to my finger.

This is not me, Mark thought. I’m not like this. I don’t do things like this. I wouldn’t …

Yes I would.

The tip of his finger pounced on the left mouse button and slammed it into its ergonomic plastic frame as though shot from a cannon. Before the thought had entered Mark’s own consciousness, his right index finger had answered Mark’s call. This is you, Mark. This is you. And beginning today, you are like this. Your life changes today.

The rectangular mouse button responded. Without hesitation, it slipped smoothly into its housing, its smooth copper underside slapping the broad copper terminal below. A mere five milliamps, transferred between terminals in microseconds, sent Mark’s finger’s decision through the motherboard. The computer light flickered in accompaniment to the chatter of his hard drive; two green modem indicator lights shouted confirmation that Mark’s finger’s decision was instantly being relayed across four time zones, across the breadth of the continent. And before Mark could comprehend that he and his index finger had conspired to make a decision that might well change him forever, he had his answer. Back again, returning from the other side of the continent where his thoughts had been transmitted mere seconds ago, the tiny packet of energy that was the result of Mark’s finger’s decision manifested itself on his computer screen:

“Congratulations! You have taken the first step towards the most reliable, painless, and completely natural penis enlargement program ever developed!”