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Fiction: The Concoction
The sky was a smoky haze when Holland was escorted off the premises with her box of meager office belongings. On her way to the bus stop, she paused for the fifth time, put the box on the ground, looked around, sighed and wondered again why she didn't stick around to fight for her job. She reminded herself she was a good person. Leaving a corrupted workplace was the right thing to do. She smiled, picked up the box and was struck by a shopping cart. She went tumbling to the ground.
The owner of the shopping cart was a man wearing many layers of coats with a straw hat over his mop of long, tangled hair that hid most of his bearded face. Holland got up and apologized but the man shook his head and said, "No, no, no, my apology, madam, it is I who caused you distress. Please forgive my rudeness with this remedy." The man placed a glass bottle with neon-green liquid into Holland's box and strolled off. A breeze whipped Holland's scarf over her face but after she lowered it, the man was gone. She shrugged it off and continued on.
After a while, Holland became thirsty. Her eye caught on the bottle with the neon-green liquid. She put the box down on the ground, picked up the bottle and read the label: Liquid Muscle - contained a concoction of rice, lime juice, water and 1% alcohol. Made by a genuine yogi master. Holland smiled.
In her thirty years, she had never touched alcohol since she didn't want to be like her alcoholic father. But she was thirsty and when she twisted the cap off and sniffed, it gave off a strawberry scent so enticing that she took a sip. A sweetness filled her mouth and then it turned a bit spicy but she liked it. She finished off the whole bottle and resumed walking.
When she was near the bus stop, she passed by a group of men but didn't stop until she heard screams for help. She dropped the box and ran back. Two of the men were holding one lady upside down with her under garment showing while the other lady's arms were restrained.
In seconds Holland was throwing the thugs about like dolls. Her punches sent them flying to the ground and one even landed on top of a tree. The rest ran off. The ladies applauded and thanked her. Holland picked up her box and rushed away, ducking her head from prying eyes.
All her life, Holland had been been physically weak because of malnourishment but she was always a fast runner when she wasn't too hungry. As an adult, running had made her stronger but not this throw-a-man-onto-a-tree strong.
By night, Holland was riding the bus when it slowed down and stopped. The driver announced there was an accident ahead and they had to wait. Riders started to get off. Holland followed them out.
Everywhere Holland looked, there were injured people and vehicles blocking every space with some cars smashed against each other. She lended her scarf for a tourniquet and her handkerchief to clean someone's wound. Most eyes were on the truck that had turned sideways and stacked on top of a car. Several men were trying to shift the truck while a woman was standing nearby and crying. Holland couldn't help staring at the sobbing child trapped inside the car.
A man with a cart walked past and Holland had to look again. It was the man who had given her the bottle with the Liquid Muscle drink. He grinned and waved at Holland. She tried to catch him but a few people blocked her and when it was clear, the man was gone.
A cheer behind Holland made her turned around. They had shifted the truck but it landed back onto the car and dented the top of the car. The child inside now had her eyes closed.
Was it Holland's fate to be here now? She released a breath and ran toward the truck, pushing aside the policeman that tried to stop her. In a few seconds, she uprighted the truck and steadied it while the people who was moving the truck stepped back. With an unusual speed, she ripped off the roof of the car, lifted the child out and handed her to someone and she then rushed off. She didn't look back as she ran and didn't stop until she was inside her apartment. Only when she was washing grease from her hands did she realize she was shaking. All she wanted was to be left alone to live her boring life. But she wanted to help the child.
When she checked her mail, there was a notice of a rent increase. She put the notice aside. Living with four walls and a roof was a luxury to Holland since she grew up sleeping in parks and other people's yards. She and her father often could not pay rent and got kicked out of various places.
As she started on her dinner consisting of a toasted cheese sandwich and a glass of milk, her door bell rang. It was the ladies from this afternoon. They brought pies as thanks for Holland's help. A pair of widows, Mrs. Little and Mrs. Brittle, lived one floor down from Holland. She took the pies, wished them a goodnight and closed the door. Holland would have refused their offer but they made good pies.
Half way through one pie, she remembered she had left her box on the bus. Though it didn't have anything important, she would have liked the photo of her with her father.
The next morning, when her alarm clock rang, she tried to turn it off but smashed it to pieces. Yawning, she stretched her arms and punched a hole in the wall. She added both to the growing to-do-list she started last night.
Still half asleep, she went to the fridge and got out a bottle and downed almost all of it before she realized what she was drinking. The little liquid that was left in the bottle was neon-pink and its name was Liquid Echo. She laughed and then sighed and returned to bed. Whatever it was going to do to her, she was going to deal with it when she had enough sleep.
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"To practice any art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow. So do it."
- Kurt Vonnegut