FicWad

The first thing Sophie happened to do when she walked out of the hotel was to travel across the street to a CVS and grabbed a People’s magazine to leaf through. It was comic how she noticed the picture, along with the little caption; she briefly looked at the page, turned to the next one, then turned back and simply stared. She was unsure of what to do. Did Matt know? Should she call him and let him know? No, don’t. Can’t.

“ ‘Ey,” the clerk of the CVS snapped, breaking her out of her trance. “You gunna buy that or just stare at it?” She looked up at him, a man in his mid 20s. She’s already done more than this person ever dreamed of doing.

Slight recognition dawned on his face like a sunrise. He did not make the connection right away, but he realized he had seen her before. “Do I know you?”

She grabbed another magazine off the counter and held it next to her face. There appeared to be two Sophies, one made of paper and the other of tender flesh. On the magazine it read: “Sophie’s story - from her humble beginning to her charity foundation.”

The clerk’s eyes widened; he had never met a celebrity before, and never imagined he’d talk to one. But here he was, snapping at someone who became famous nearly overnight.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry. Hey, magazine is on the house,” he quickly stuttered out, his cheeks turning red.

She smiled sweetly and stated, “I don’t take charity. I give it.”

She handed him a twenty, told him to keep the change, and then walked out of the store back towards her hotel. She reached the parking lot, got into her rented car, threw the magazine on the passenger seat, and drove off.


An hour later as she sat in a chair awaiting her first interview she received a call on her cell phone. Her first thoughts were instantly about him, that he’s calling her to talk about the picture and end up begging her to come back. Would she tell him no? Could she? They did what she thought was for the best; they ended up doing great things apart. Were they destined for more? What did she feel now? Would she be right again, no matter what she picked? Life, so many choices with rarely a definite yes or no. Like a long stretch of bumpy road with potholes deep enough to break your leg off at the kneecap, with a two foot fog covering the ground. And you can’t take your time, either, because behind you is Time with its scythe named Death, and the road has to end somewhere, right? What’s at the end? Has anyone ever made it?

“Mom?” A young voice asked.

“Veversi?” Sophie responded, suddenly worried. “Is something wrong?”

Every time she spoke that name he came to mind. How would he react if he knew? Veversi was the child they were destined to have, together. She was named after someone he always spoke highly of, someone who was no longer around. Sophie knew that he would have insisted on the name, so when she was presented with the girl entering her life, she named her so.

Oh, how badly she had wanted to call him and have him with her, but she had been so incredibly stubborn at the time, so sure she was doing the right thing by leaving him and so damn positive she could handle it all.

“Nothing wrong, Mommy,” She replied in her sweet little voice. “Lawwy asked if I wanted to call to say hi ‘n’ I told him ya.”

“Ah. How are things, baby? How’s Larry?”

“They’we good. Lawwy is good. He’s real nice.”

“Good,” Sophie responded. Larry was a volunteer helping at their refugee campsite back in Africa. A nice, thoughtful man in his mid thirties, trying to cleanse himself of five years of being an angry alcoholic, as well as trying to win Sophie’s affection. Poor soul just does not realize no one can manage that feat these days.

Someone opened the door at the end of the hallway and motioned that they’re ready for her. She nodded in response.

“Honey, Mommy has to go now. I love you. Tell Larry that I appreciate his help. I’ll see you in a week. Miss you.”

“Bye Mommy!”

She closed her cell phone and slipped it into her purse, got up, and proceeded through the door.

There was another shorter hallway through the door that ended in a doorway. There was a desk next to the doorway positioned against the wall where someone was typing away at a computer, the same woman who had motioned her in.

“Go right inside,” the lady mumbled, not bothering to look up from her computer.

“Right, thanks,”

Sophie opened the door and stepped into the small study room. To the left and right were bookshelves full of who knows what while in front of her was a chair, desk, and another chair. In the farther chair, across from the desk, sat the business executive who agreed to meet her.

She took the open seat and shook the interviewer’s hand, a man in his early thirties, as he extended his over the desk.

“Glad you could schedule time! We’ve all wanted to get to know you a little better before we agreed to any donations.”

She smiled and nodded in response. “I understand that completely. I would not have it any other way.”

The man smiled and leaned back in his chair, his well-ironed suit moving with his larger-than-average frame. He believed he had the power in these negotiations. He seemed, upon first glance, to be the type of a man who loved such ideas. She’ll play ball, for awhile, at least. She required help.

“So, tell me, what makes your charity so different from everyone else’s?”

“We do not treat it like a business; volunteers do not get under-the-counter pay, we do not use the money to buy anything for ourselves, we provide jobs for locals, cloth them, feed them, keep them safe, give them shelter. We have two refugee camps built, and are currently paying locals to help construct a third.”

“Everything is a business, Ms Browning,” he said tartly. She knew she was already not liking this man or where this conversation might head. “I like the general idea of what you’re doing, but, you have to look at it from both a business and stand point as well as from a charity angle. You said you give them jobs, I assume its just local jobs, without any possibilities for anything to be exported. How about you decide to put them to true work and allow them the privilege to create something worth exporting?”

“To prepare them for operating on their own and stabilize their economy. Brilliant,” Sophie responded, hiding everything. Humoring him.

The business exec smiled. “Exactly! Teach them how to live for themselves without our help, eventually. And we earn a new market.”

And there it was, out in the open like a festering corpse; the stink and decay of imperialism. Sophie new she needed a new major supporter; her last had to back out after it buckled in upon itself. Could she put her trust in a man like this? Why must greed destroy everything one works for? Humanity slips slowly into the abyss of self-destruction, the edge much too close for comfort.

“It is much too soon to even think of a market for anything, Mr. Ludi. We are proud of our progress so far, but we will need more time and money before any long range plans are made.”

There was no hope. There were dollar signs in the man’s eyes. He was listening but no longer caring. He thought profit, and his humanity disappeared.

“Right, right, of course, I don’t expect miracles. With my company publicly backing your charity, we may even earn a bonus of customers for doing our civic duty of helping out others. I like the idea. . . And, hey, could we ask a favor? If we agree to donate, we need a new location for a factory. We could support the locals with a large amount of new jobs.”

And there we go, folks, he crossed the line drawn in the dirt. He attempted to wipe it away with the tip of his shoe, but the line is there in principle, no matter what. It did not seem to matter to this man, however. Apparently the line doesn’t matter to the business executives of America. Exploitation. Whether or not she needed this, she could no longer stand this man, or the idea of his money supporting her charity.

“This is a nonprofit charity organization. If you’re entertaining any ideas of earning money off these people, we have nothing to discuss,” Sophie spoke plainly, hiding her disgust. Her pride shone through the carefully crafted mask like a lighthouse through a storm, however.

“I’m sorry but I think you misunderstand, Ms Browning. That’s not what we’re attempting to do here -”

“Save it. I’ve heard enough. And to think I was afraid of being rejected. . . Never thought I’d be the one rejecting you.”

“I know you need this money, you need to reconsider. We’re not asking for much. Think of what you could do with us backing you. The lives you could change.”

Sophie got up and stared at the man. How he was attempting to use her own intentions against her. He made her sick. “I’m going. There are plenty of other companies that would be more than willing to help out - without expecting anything in return.”

She turned around and opened the door, ignoring everything the man said. She stormed out of the room and marched her way out of the company, holding back every word that popped into her head. Once outside she called her daughter back at the camp.

“Hun? Put Larry on the phone.”

Her little girl could hear the certain tone Sophie’s voice seems to create whenever something does not go as planned. She was worried about her mommy, but did not want to upset her so she did as she was asked and handed the phone to Larry.

“My first pick was a bust. Greedy bastard tried to sneak a factory deal into the charity plea. Why is that all people are about anymore?”

“Ah, heck, Fie. Where you going next?”

“I think I know. I have a few days left, but, damn, that was depressing. How are things over there?”

“Things are doing well, I s’pose. Some locals actually appear happy. Praisin’ us. One told us how happy he was tah ‘see someone still preformin’ the Lord’s work these days.’ We’re all missin’ you pretty bad, too. Vev likes to ask when you’ll be home every few hours, haha.”

Sophie knew about Larry’s feelings for her and how he believed he hid them well in his voice, but she could read it. Vev’s name made her heart skip a beat. If only she could be calling Him and be able to tell her troubles, have him listen, make her feel better. What has she done? The right thing? The questions remain until you can’t take it anymore. What is her limit?

Six days until her limit is tested.

“Tell Vev mommy will be home in a few days and that I miss and love her. I’m so glad the camp is working. As for now, I have to go.”

“Take care, Fie. Stay safe.”

“You too, Larry.”

She closed her cell phone and closed her eyes, standing outside in the cold and massaged her temples. So much is wrong with the world, damn it. I’m trying, sis, I swear I’m trying to make everything better. Are you proud? I hope. I hope. I hope.



Life has a way of hitting you right where it hurts. It’s how we deal with it that makes us who we are. You never have to go looking for trouble, because it’ll always find you.

Matt had found himself in a convenience store when he saw the magazine with her picture on it. His heart skipped a beat while his hand reached out. His fingers brushed her picture on the ‘zine and he felt like crying.

Opening the magazine and flipping through the pages, he finally stumbled upon her interview. He walked the isles of the store so he would appear to be searching for something as he scanned her article. It felt like he was a part of her life again. He was smiling without realizing it; usually it took effort.

And then, the smile faded once he reached a certain paragraph that contained a horrible truth. He stopped walking and just stood in place, oblivious to the world. Evertyhing seemed to fade from existance except for the words on the paper. He felt as if he was about to die all over again.

On top of it all, Sophie Browning is the single mother of three year old Veversi Browning, whose unique name was chosen to 'always keep a special someone close to her heart.' While not having the chance to meet the bundle of joy personally, Sophie had plenty of her pictures to share. Born on the tenth of August during a time Browning would only refer to as a 'troubled time', the little girl helped her though so much...

He lost track of how many times he read the passage. There was a supplied picture, as well, that Matt kept glancing at over and over again. Blonde hair, just like Sophie. Similar, so similar, but he could not see himself. Nothing he could even fool himself into thinking was a part of him. August tenth, that put her about three months after the break-up. She was five months pregnant the last five he spent with her, but he never noticed a thing. She never mentioned it, either. Why? Was she afraid? Why?

The voice of treason and reason, of truth and deciet, whispered into his fragile core: Why? You're a smart man. I believe you know, you'd just rather not think it, and that's why I'm here; to tell the truth, nothing but the truth, so help me . . . well, God's not in the building, so there's no point in finishing that delightful little sentence. Long story short, Matt: Veversi was hidden from you, Veversi looks nothing like you, sooooo, Mommy. . . cheated.

Matt was sure he was about to faint, the black crows swimming around his outter vision, and he welcomed them. He welcomed their numbing, unfeeling embrace; he needed it. He didn't think he could go on, not now. Fuck everything he lived for at this point. It was all a lie. That's all life is: you're lied to repeatedly, and then you die. If you're waiting for the happy ending, you wont find it, ol' buddy ol' pal. So sorry, thanks for playing. The magazined slipped from his hands and the room started to spin. He felt like he was going to be sick. How could she do this to him? How could she? Crows! Take me away! I can't feel anymore! Take this empty shell! The emotional tormet, so much worse than pyhsical pain. Relief me! Where are you, God, you coward?!

"Hey," a voice broke through his thoughts. He dimly wondered how long this person had been trying to reach him. "Are you alright? You're pale as a ghost."

He moved his head and attempted to focus on the owner of the voice with little success. The crows disappeared, leaving him alive and breathing. Blasted birds. "Just. . . Just some bad news is all, no big."

"Are you going to be alright?" The voice rang through his head, a note of concern within it. A stranger concerned for another? Is he awake? Did the crows really take him?

"I'll be fine. Just need some. ... some sleep." His eyes focused ever so slightly. He made out her general shape. Female, about a head shorter. Slim, with blonde hair that appeared to end at her neck, but everything was a blur. He wasn't quite sure.

"You're in no condition to drive," she told him. "Where do you live?"

"Not too far. I'll be fine," he repeated. His head would not stop spinning. The world was crashing down, damn it all. Watch for falling sky. There wont be any angels.

"You drive here? I took the bus. I think I should be the one to drive you home tonight."

Who is this stranger, and why does she care? Can't she see he'll be fine?"

So, a familiar voice that wasn't his whispered into his head. It was Sophie's voice. Planning to wrap your car around the first pole you see is 'being fine?' Don't kid yourself, babe. You need help. Accept it.

He slowly reached into his pocket as if he was swimming through wet cement. He brought his car keys out and dangled them in front of the girl. "The blue car parked outside. My name's Matt." He spoke slow, as if he were carefully thinking his words out, like trying to pick the very best fruit at a farmer's market.

She took the keys from his hand and his eyes focused even further. He could tell she was smiling. "I know your name. Mine is Mary."

"How do you know mine, exactly, Mary?" He questioned. He was so out of it, he wasn't even sure where he was.

"I love your book, that's how. Now, c'mon, let's go."

She led him outside and they got into his car. It was the first time in the passanger seat of his own car that he could recall. He told her where to go, then just sat there, staring down at his hands, only looking up every once in awhile, straight out at the road. His eyes were blank slates.

"Talk," she said. "What just happened in there to destroy you like that?"

He was still silent for a few moments, weighing his options. He never liked to trust strangers - even during the early stages of any relationship he's ever had, he was alwways afraid of being hurt. Terrified. And what he just read only furthered his paranoia. In the end, however, he decided to speak.

"you said you read my book," he started as they drove.

She was quiet, waiting for him to continue.

"One of my analogies. I talked about a dieing tree named Trust, and standing on one of the dead limbs that I could hear cracking under my weight. Someone just took a saw and cut the limb off, letting me fall, screaming. No help. No support. Falling."

There was a silence within the car that seemed to span for years.

"when I first read your book, I was turning every page praying for a happy ending. After the first time, I reread it two more. I paid attention to everything. I thought you were brilliant.

"Not me, no, not even close to brilliant. Everyone who read my book and managed to make sense of what I wrote, they're the brilliant ones."

"How about we settle on both of us being brilliant?"

"Nope. I'm not. I just recently discovered how I've been lied to three long years ago."

"That's the past."

"It casts a really long shadow."

A few minutes of silence grew between the two, broken by a simple, "take a left here. I live at the house with the porch light still on."

They turn down a street and she drove him to his home, an extremely modest two story house. Mary had never expected to meet this man, and therefor never entertainined the idea of what his house would have looked like, and although she would have imagined something more fancy, the humble two story seemed to fit Matt perfectly.

Matt unbuckled his seat belt and looked over at Mary. He felt so cold inside. So bitter, so alone, so used. She looked at him and smiled.

"Come inside," he offered. "You can call a taxi service from my home phone."

She nodded, a smile on her lips. "That'd be lovely, thanks."

They got out of the car. Matt reached the front door first, gently slipped the key ring from Mary, unlocked his home and held the door open for her. He walked in afterwords and closed the door.

He let her explore the rooms as he made a beeline for the kitchen, grabbing his stash of alcohol that was still illegal for him to comsume. He got out everything he had, as well as two glasses. He filled his own and called her over.


"I have a large selection of heavy alcohol, if you're interested."


He downed the first and poured himself another glass before she even walked to the kitchen.

Blackout. Unfeeling. Blackout. Numbness. Blackout. The crows finally came back and took him away to a land where he couldn't be hurt anymore.