Life of a Twenty
The average life expectancy of a twenty-dollar bill is approximately twenty-two months before it wears. Once a twenty is too worn out to be returned to circulation it will be shredded and sent to a landfill.
The dull worn machine made a loud humming noise. Sheets of paper wearing a colorful pattern flowed like water out of a thin slot. Another machine cut them up into little rectangles. These pieces of paper have a picture of a man named Jackson on them, but they are called Bills and according to the United States Government, each one has a value of 20 dollars. They are part of a system called currency, in which they are passed around in exchange for goods and services. Each one gets a different owner for a period of time before they are given to another person and the cycle repeats. The bills outnumber people in the country but are distributed unequally so that some people have more than they should and some have less than they should. Since there are so many, people don’t really think about a 20-dollar bill’s life, and what sort of owners it has had. This does not change the fact they have amazing stories.
One twenty in particular found itself wedged in a stack of others after it was brought to life. It could feel rumbling and its journey began in an armored truck that was headed to a bank. The bank was at the bottom floor of a very large building. At the top floor of the very large building was a wealthy man named Seymore F. Green. He had a lot of 20-dollar bills. He was freshening up for the morning, and getting ready to make his appearance downstairs. An elderly man in a suit walked into the room and greeted him giving Seymore Green the morning paper on a silver plate. Seymore took it and shunned him away; meanwhile downstairs the bank was getting a delivery. The stacks of money where unloaded and carried into the vault. One small metal box though, that had our twenty in it was put aside. When Seymore arrived downstairs various people greeted him and a young woman brought him the metal box. As she held it up to him a middle-aged man named Robert Wagner approached Seymore. “Excuse me sir, but I was wonder when that raise was going to be added to my salary. It’s been weeks since you said I was going to get it.” Seymore looked at him disgusted. “Have you no patience! A Company is built on trust and I expect you to trust me when I say you will get a raise.” Robert was embarrassed and quickly walked back to his desk. Seymore opened the metal box and pulled out a slim stack of about 20, 20-dollar bills. Our twenty was amongst them, on the bottom. Seymore shoved them in his wallet, which had been cleaned out the day before, as he headed out the spinning doors into the streets of the massive city.
It was a cool brisk day outside. Autumn was approaching this Northern U.S. City. Mr. Green made like the wind traveling around in his Bentley. It’s common sense to any city dweller that a Bentley is an expensive car and therefore belongs to an expensive man, so it’s best to keep at bay when he’s around. Seymore emptied his wallet once again. Where did that money go? That is not of concern, because we can only follow one story at a time. Our twenty was the last to be spent. It was all alone and snug inside the old leather wallet, when Mr. Green pulled it out. He was on his way back to the tall building with the bank on the first floor. “That’ll be 15 bucks,” the gruff voice said to Seymore. Mr. Green handed over our twenty and was replaced by a stolen Rolex wristwatch, and a 5-dollar-bill. Seymore took his watch and put it in felt box with a bow around it then left the dirty man on the street corner. Later that evening while Seymore Green was giving his wife her birthday present; Robert Wagner was being escorted out of the bank with his belongings in a cardboard box.
Jack B. Husslerson trudged his way down the dark sidewalk. Feeling his usual depressed self he dipped his hand into today’s earnings. Our twenty felt a sweaty hand rub against it. Jack passed many people like he did everyday. He was very tired and just wanted to rest so he kept his eyes lowered to the ground. Time seemed to hold no meaning to him because he was in a daze as he walked. He arrived at the doorsteps to the small apartment complex he lived in. The building looked as if it should be condemned; yet every home was inhabited. Jack walked up the wooden stairs till he reached the top and walked into his cozy home. He took off his trench coat, boots and pants and plopped down on his bed. A battery-powered alarm clock read 12:08. Jack Husslerson was unconscious in 20 minutes. The twenty, which this story is about, is crumbled with many other bills sitting inside the pocket of the trench coat.
Jack was a woken by a severe banging to his apartment door. “Mista Hussrason, you still haven’t paid this months rent! I want that money!” and old Asian-sounding voice could be heard through the door. Jack rolled out of his bed moaning. He was still clothed from the night before. Across his room some unsold Rolexes sat on a dresser. The old man at the door continued to bang until he heard Jack start unlocking it. Jack looked down into the eyes of his landlord. He was of Asian decent obviously and his right eye was glass. It did not inhibit the intimidating stare of his other good eye. “Mista Husslason I’m very disappointed. You is late again on yer pay. This is your name on my list, Jack Hussrason.” Jacks squinty eyes widened to full ones and appeared very surprised. “Well jeez sir if I had known I was late again I would have made sure to tell you so as not to cause problems.” The old man looked at him confused and a little shocked. “I am in the middle of a very important deal you know and if it goes over well I will be more than happy to give you a little bit more than what I owe you.” Jack said with a very untrusting grin. “Aww you is a very generous man, I wish my other people were more like you.” He replied sounding very agreeable. “Listen sir I feel bad for being late again so here I’d like to offer you a present and I hope you forgive me.” The landlord looked down at the brand new Rolex that fell into his hands. He couldn’t believe what he held was real. He had wanted a Rolex ever since he started his own business of renting out the apartment complex. “You are most kind mista Husslason, in fact I will take your present as payment for this month and the next.” “Thanks a bunch sir.” Jack said shutting the door in his face. He muttered something to himself about suckers as he threw his trench coat on his back. He was getting ready to climb down the fire escape, as he liked to do from time, when he realized he forgot to get the money out of his pocket. Jack pulled it out and stuffed it into a coffee can, which had about 570 dollars in it. Our twenty was looking to spend several days here. Each day it would see Jack climb down the fire escape or down the regular steps of the complex. If it was the fire escape it could hear the clanking metal, or the plopping of wood if he took the stairs. Jack would normally walk to his favorite street corner. It was his spot, just 8 blocks from home. He did his dishonest, but humble business there. Selling stolen goods to anyone whom was looking to get a cheap buy. Twice a week he would take a cab to the docks. He knew some men who lived in the area. They were his source of products. These men kept deals with each other, that was how they survived.
It was a Monday morning when they came for Jack. Sometimes deals aren’t always kept. Bad things happen when they aren’t and somebody is always held responsible. Jack was asleep in his bed, fully clothed like always, when a cracking of a fist smacking his door jolted him awake. “Open the door Jack and this will all be over fast, and you won’t get hurt.” Jack recognized the Irish accent immediately. Something was wrong but he couldn’t think of what he did. Jack rolled out of bed confused and in panic. He landed on his knees at his bedside and looked up at his clock, it read 9:01. More banging broke his dazed state. The heavy volume of the bangs sent chills up his back. “Open this door you lazy shit head!” Jack wasn’t planning on opening the door. Instead he made haste right towards his coffee can full of money and slid out the fire escape window. He was panicking now because he realized what he had done and he knew he wasn’t getting a slap on the wrist. When he made it outside he let the window fall down into place. Bad idea, the men outside his room heard this sound and removed their guns from the holsters they wore under their trench coats. Jack was now bolting down the fire escape steps as fast as he could. He made it down to the second story steps when bullets began to get fired in his direction. “You’re dead Jack!” The Irish man yelled down at Jack as he fired. “Give me a break, you guys are fucking assholes!” Jack yelled back defending himself, however it did him no good. After his feet landed on the asphalt, he began running for his life. He made it out into the busy crowds of 10th street, right by his place. A bullet hit him in the back and as a guilty man he fell into the guilty streets of the city. He had no time to repent. The coffee can of money flew out of his hands and hit a car. It popped open. The imprisoned bills inside where once again freed and danced in the wind, each one awaiting a new owner to snatch it. Our twenty rested at the feet of a homeless man. The man with no name eyed the piece of paper. To him that thing meant the world and he saw it in a way that no one else could. The dirty man leaned forward and reached out to pick up his saving grace. Another hand grabbed it instead though. Someone who didn’t deserve it walked away with it never to be seen again by the homeless man. The man with no name said nothing, but leaned back against the brick wall and rubbed a tear off his wrinkled cheek.
Barry C. Glazey was a bum. He had been all his life. He never got any opportunities in life, but he never looked for any either. It was only a short walk to the park where he spent everyday of his life. He had a bench picked out where he sat and sat. All he did was set up a begging sign and wait for free money. He’d talk to people if they walked by. When his cup had enough money in it he would go to the closest diner, right across the street. He bought the cheap deli sandwich everyday. That was all his routine consisted of. He would sleep in a friend’s basement at night, behind the heater.
Today he had come into some luck finding the twenty-dollar bill on the sidewalk. Instead of going straight to the park he saw no need to since he already had money to spend on food, and it was more than he normally got from pedestrians anyway. He got to the street with the park across it. As Barry rounded the corner a young boy, barely noticeable because of his small size, tugged Barry’s sleeve and handed him a flier when he looked down. Barry took it graciously and continued walking. He glanced over it as he walked and saw that it was for a free concert that was being held downtown tomorrow at the Runeston Mall. He looked up and stared at the big neon sign as he passed under it. He couldn’t read it from where he was but he already knew that it spelled out “Marge’s Diner”. Despite being 20 years old the neon sign still worked; its letters still glowed. They were dimmer now, but still stood out any time of day. Barry crumbled the flier up into a ball and threw it into a trashcan that sat next to the door. A large “Help Needed” sign was also tapped to the window next to the door. Barry ignored the sign and walked in, he also ignored the fact that his paper ball had missed the trashcan. He sat at the counter, in his favorite seat. The diner had a fair amount of people in it, but it was not busy. The waitress behind the counter took Barry’s order and in 10 minutes he was eating flapjacks, eggs, and bacon. His breakfast was topped off with an orange juice and a coffee. Barry always ate real slowly. He liked to savor the food, at least that’s what he told people when they commented on his eating habits. 2 hours 40 minutes later Barry had picked his plate clean. “That’ll be $8.50” Barry handed our twenty over the counter to the waitress looking back at him. It was taken and slid into the cash register. The older woman was dressed in a stereotypical diner waitress’s outfit. The colors of it were orange and white, same as the menu. She handed Barry his change back. “What gives buddy? Normally you pay with mostly dollars, quarters and dimes.” The waitress said, intruding on Barry. “Well I got lucky today ma’am” was all he replied as he rose to his feet. “Did you ever think about getting a job buddy. I see you sitting in the park all day. You don’t have to do that you know.” The waitress interred. He just stretched a friendly smile to her and walked home to his friend’s house. Later that night as Barry lay, trying to get to sleep he herd lots of talking and commotion upstairs. Since himself, and his friend and his friend’s wife were the only people living in the house he figured there had to be a feud going on with a neighbor or something. Barry shut his eyes, but they were forced open again by the sounds of gunshots he heard above him. He was frightened. The basement had a cellar door that lead to the outside but he was unsure if he should get up and run or just stay put. He decided to lay there and not move. Maybe whoever was shooting would leave him alone. Later that night the police were investigating the house and its victims. They listed the crime as a breaking and entering and a triple homicide.
Pat F. Bass visited Marge’s diner about an hour after Mr. Barry Glazey had left. She sat in a booth in a corner at the back end of the diner. She spent about the same amount of time as Barry had spent in there, only she ordered more on the menu, way more. Pat was a pretty grouchy woman at times. It was a part of her insecurity. She was quite a hefty woman. Weight loss booklets, videotapes, and pills cluttered her home. The booklets were half read, the videos were unwatched and the pills unfinished. The booth table was loaded with food. There was a classic style burger with everything on it, a cheese steak, a BLT sandwich, a bowl of potato soup and a large diet coke. She was lucky her husband still loved her. People stared at her and made fun of her behind her back. She believed it wasn’t her fault she was overweight. She had tried everything to lose it, but failed. Pat was finishing her cheese steak when the waitress brought her tab over. It was $26.93. The waitress had nothing to do; the diner had nearly emptied during the time Mrs. Bass had come in. Pat finished her cheese steak and slid out of the booth. The wooden floor creaked as she walked up to the counter. She fished around inside her purse for a minute or so and then retrieved a hundred-dollar bill. She handed it over to the waitress who had a dismayed look on her face. The cash drawer popped open with the stroke of some buttons, and the change was picked out of it. Our twenty was once again on its way; it sat with a bunch of bills being handed over to Mrs. Bass. Her change was $73.07. Pat left a $3.00 tip. She headed out the door feeling satisfied. The drive home for her was always the same. It was filled with regret and guilt, and she worried if it would upset her husband that she had gorged herself today. It never did.
When she got home things where different though. Her husband wasn’t at home sitting in his normal recliner. His car wasn’t in the driveway so she figured he must not be home. This was unusual because Mr. Bass worked the night shift at a construction site on the outskirts of the city. He was normally sleeping during the day, or spending it with his wife. He had no time to be out on his own. She assumed he would be back soon wherever he was so she went on ahead and put a TV dinner in the microwave and sat down on the couch to watch Lifetime. A few minutes went by and then the phone rang. It took her 7 rings to get to it. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?” She asked. “Hi hun it’s me.” Her husband’s voice on the other end was easily recognizable. “Hey, where are you?” Pat interred. “We had some problems down here at the site, I had to be called in to work 2 shifts.” “Well what’s the matter? What could have been so serious that they needed to call in their senior employee to work on his off time?” Pat was very persistent and a bit ticked off. This was not the first occasion her time with her husband had been separated by his work. “Well, some unauthorized guy was caught sneaking around the supply room. My buddy was the one that walked in on him and took a shovel to the knee for doing so. I had to come fill in for him.” Pat’s expression of anger changed to concern. “Well did they catch the guy that did this?” “No, he got away. They think he may have made off with some left over explosives. Nothing to worry about though. You need a special fuse kit to detonate them and he didn’t grab any of those. They are basically duds.” Pat watched a commercial for a new sandwich at McDonald’s as she listened to him. “Are you going to be home soon?” She asked. “Doesn’t look like it hun. They are gonna need me to work the rest of the day, I will have tonight off though so I’ll see you then around 11.” “Ok.” The phone conversation ended with some good-byes and Pat’s TV dinner was finished just in time.
The next morning, as Pat was getting ready to go out and her husband was getting ready for work, he asked her to take it easy today on the fast food. “Pat, I love you, but your weight is dangerously over. I’m worried about you having a heart attack or something.” Pat acted like she ignored him and said nothing. The words spoken to her though burned through her like a hot iron. It was most painful to hear that coming from her husband, but she knew he was right. He only said it because he loved her. Pat left the house first, parting with a “good-bye.” She was driving down to Main Street to do some birthday shopping; many birthdays in her family were coming up. All the walking and standing she had done this morning caused her to work up quite an appetite. She unloaded about 9 bags worth of potential presents back into her car. Her credit cards hadn’t exactly gotten as much of a workout as she had. Her heart was racing and she searched for the closest fast food place in sight. She saw a McDonald’s about 4 stores down from the end of Main Street. It was on the other side of the road. Pat put 2 more quarters in the meter she was parked in front of, and headed towards the giant yellow ‘M’. Cars zipped by as she waited to cross; she could almost taste the sensation of the new sandwich hitting her mouth. Time to go she thought and quickly raced down the sidewalk to it. Pat pulled open the big glass door and stepped in. A few people were already in line at the counter. She looked up at the menu to decide what she wanted while she waits. “Next please.” A voice from behind the counter said to her. She walked up to the young black girl at the register. “I’ll have a number 5, super sized, with a diet coke.” Pat said with skill. The cashier rang her up and told her the cost of the meal. Pat handed over our twenty, which she thought was a fifty-dollar-bill at the time. When she saw the change she got she became confused and enthralled with anger. “Excuse me, but you didn’t give me the right change. You short changed me thirty dollars!” The young girl’s face became embarrassed and nervous. “I’m sorry ma’am.” She collected herself and thought a minute. “You paid for your meal with a twenty.” It was now Pat’s face that shifted to embarrassment. “I gave you a fifty!” She was persistent. Within seconds all attention was focused on the huge scene Pat was making. Emotions were flared and she did not want to lose this argument, because she was so certain she was right. As for our twenty, it was retrieved and used as evidence in the case and was pulled back and forth between Pat and the manager. Amongst all the confusion our twenty went unnoticed and slipped away. With the wave of a hand knocking it off the counter and a gust of wind to carry it, our twenty found itself on the lap of a handicapped man, stricken to a wheelchair for life.
Victor A. Prowder felt the crisp twenty in his fingertips as he lifted it up. It had already been folded and used several times. He was on his way out the door when the twenty landed on his right knee. Victor folded the bill in half and slid it in his left shirt pocket. The wheels on his chair squeaked as he wheeled himself over to the heavy glass exit door. It was too much for him to push through so he turned his chair sideways and pushed on the door with both hands. It flung open all the way and Victor quickly turned himself and pushed his way through. He didn’t make it in time though, as the door was closing it caught the back of his wheels wedging him in the doorway. A lady outside who was on her way in saw Victor struggling with the door and she quickened her pace to help him. He looked up to see her lean across him and grab the door with her hand. “That’s not necessary ma’am, I got it.” He said politely, but she ignored him. “Don’t be silly sir its no problem.” She replied kindly. Victor rolled his eyes; an annoyed look crossed his face. “Back off lady! I said I don’t need your help.” Victor’s words made the woman jump back in shock. She said not a word to him, but simply stared as he freed himself and continued on his way past her. Struck with humiliation, she turned to look through the glass door at another disturbing sight. As an argument raged on inside she watched a heavy set woman slowly collapse onto the floor. Without hesitation her cell phone was in her hand dialing 9, and she paused a moment remembering her wish too never have to do this. Her thoughts ended quickly and entered in the remaining 11.
Victor hardly noticed the ambulance, flaring its sirens, fly past him as he wheeled himself along the city sidewalk. He rarely changed his gaze as he rode; never looking in any direction except forward. An expressionless face sat on top of his shoulders. To his right, rows of tall apartment complexes sat. His life was a simple one. Victor was a free lance artist. He did occasional murals for day care centers or restaurants. His true passion was his portraits though; he worked on them all day. Not having much use for his legs, he exercised and tamed his arms, hands and fingers to create inspiration. He was proud that he could give back to the world something special. Depression was an enemy he faced a lot though. Any failure in his work was devastating. He would not accept failure at any time so he would lock himself in his studio and not leave until he had created a better, more successful masterpiece or die trying. It was at this moment, as he wheeled down the sidewalk that his latest creation sat in the studio awaiting the next brush strokes. He had stopped all mural work for this one and was running short of cash. The starving artist motto never really applied to him. He was poor, but could get by with ease. That routine had bored him by now and he decided to go out on a limb and create a once in a life time masterpiece. It would be a huge success and he would finally achieve the recognition he knew he deserved. Victor had already gotten some needed paint supplies from the local arts and crafts store before getting lunch. Rarely did he go outside and leave his studio apartment unless it was for food or supplies. When the elevator reached the top floor, he swung open the gate and wheeled himself onto the wooden floor or his home. He rode past his kitchen and living room over to his studio. His cupboards were nearly bare and trash was piling up. Victor hadn’t shaved in a while either. The wheel chair stopped at a supplies desk, everything was laid out neatly. Victor emptied his newly store bought items and began fixing everything to begin work. Across the room sat his new masterpiece. It was the 20th painting he had done, and was nearly complete. Finishing touches still had to be added to the corner images. It would still take him quite a while to do. Victor just needed time, but time was one thing he lacked. He would not leave his home again until time was up. He barely noticed how many days had gone by but he realized when he got a buzz on his speaker.
“Vic it’s me, let me up.” Victor was not working, but just in a daze staring at his completed masterpiece. Even his inspirations brought him new inspiration. Victor turned away from the painting and rode into his kitchen. He pressed a button next to a speaker to buzz his visitor in. An empty coffee mug was sitting upside down next to the kitchen sink. Victor filled it up with water from the sink and took one long huge chug of it, and then filled it up again, this time only sipping at it as he wheeled himself over to his front door. A knock came right before he got to it. He undid the dead bolt and opened the door. His agent stood out in the hall staring back at him with a sly grin. “How ya doing Vic?” Victor took a sip from his mug, “yeah pretty good, you?” Victor wheeled backwards so he could let the man in. He was dressed in a fine suit, clean-shaven and vibrant with excitement. Victor’s agent walked in past him and turned around to face the man sitting in the only chair he ever saw him in. The man he saw had several days of facial hair growing, and looked very pale. “Today’s the day Vic, the unveiling at the Monterrey’s 8 year art exhibition. This is the biggest day in your career as an artist. It only comes a long once every 8 years and all the biggest artists in the world will be there.” Victor said nothing. “You may be unknown now but I reserved a great spot for your piece. You’ll be famous tonight.” Victor finally smiled back at him. “Thank you friend, for helping my dreams come true.” He wheeled his way back into the kitchen and stopped in front of a large painting on the wall. It was Vincent Van Gogh’s A Starry Night. Van Gogh was Victor’s favorite artist. He honored him and tried to imitate him as much as possible. “Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery” Victor repeatedly told himself. “Wow it looks great Vic.” His agent was standing next to him admiring the painting on the wall. “That’s not it. Mine is over in the studio.” “Oh.” His agent walked into the studio to take the very first glance at the painting aside from its creator. “Wow Vic yours is much better than that picture in your kitchen. I mean that one is good but it looks like a kid colored it. Yours looks so real to life.” Victor sighed and took another sip of water and headed into the studio. “Is it all ready to go Vic, because I was gonna take it with me now and get it over there to the exhibit.” His agent asked as he started lifting it. “Yeah hold on!” Vic said as he wheeled himself over in a fast pace. “Oh I got it Vic don’t worry.” Victor grabbed the painting from him. “No you don’t I don’t need your assistance getting it wrapped up.” His agent backed off. “Ok Vic well you have 4 hours to get ready, so I’ll see you there.” Victor prepared his painting for transport and handed it over to the man who took it and left him alone in his home.
Victor prepared himself with a shower and a shave. He retrieved his finest suit that was hanging in the closet. He searched through boxes on the floor of the closet for his belts and ties. He came across the box containing his revolver and box of bullets, his box of family photos, and his box of art books including The Bible. Victor got to the box with his belts and ties and finished his outfit.
The art exhibit was swarming with flashy people and foreign people. Victor found his agent talking to a crowd. He was immediately swarmed himself getting into introductions with many people and chatting away. The night was too much for him. He got away from the crowds after about 40 minutes of trying to escape. The only good thing that happened to Victor that night was meeting an ecstatic female artist. She was 30 years old but looked still very youthful for her age. She was an aspiring artist who currently worked as an apprentice. “Your work is amazing Mr. Prowder. I would do anything to have your talent. You have so much talent, you make me jealous.” Victor bowed his head in appreciation. “Thank you very much, you can call me Victor. You are?” “Elizabeth. Elizabeth Spiteman” “Nice to meet you Elizabeth.” Victor and Elizabeth exchanged smiles and hit it off that night. It seemed like their bonding talk of art would never end, but it did. 2 hours and 10 minutes later and the time to unveil Victor’s painting came.
Around midnight when Victor returned home any human who saw his face would have no trouble being certain his soul was crushed. He had just had the worst night of his life. The unexpected had come and Victor’s painting was a failure. He could not take it. He said not a word but simply left the exhibit saying goodbye to no one. For the first time he felt uncontrollable madness. Victor was the only person proud of himself it seemed. He decided that night that he had too much pride to face the world again. He sat in front of Van Gogh’s painting as he stuffed a blank envelope with a note and a wad of money. Our twenty was there. He sealed it and wrote Elizabeth Spiteman on the outside of it. She would later get the letter wishing her luck and explaining that the money was to help her get started on becoming her own artist.
Elizabeth A. Spiteman was directing movers in her new studio when her husband called her on her cell phone. He wanted to know how much longer she would be. He sounded very eager. She told him she’d be working all day to get everything unloaded and set up in her new studio. She wanted to begin painting as soon as possible. Victor had left her a very generous amount of money. He requested that some of it be used to burn all of his artwork so that no one would have a chance to ever make a bad comment on it again. Of the money he left her she has spent about $398 dollars buying new equipment and cleaning up her studio, which she had recently purchased on her own. She held true to her word and was at work nearly all day. She felt very satisfied in the end. The only thing she didn’t have was great talent like Victor’s. A misfortune of events was in store for her this evening.
An early autumn breeze greeted her as she stepped out onto the night streets. Our twenty was one she had not spent and remained in her pocket book. Elizabeth had made friends with a cab driver. She did not have a car of her own so she frequently called a cab company to take her places. One diver had served her on more occasions than one. Their first meeting was like any other cab conversation that graced the streets. After that, they became good friends. “How’s the studio coming Beth?” He asked her when she climbed in. “Pretty good, I got a gracious donation from a friend.” The cab eased its way through the streets of the big city. “Oh, that reminds me, I did your shopping and got your wife the best anniversary present, not to expensive, not to cheap, but from the heart. Well in this case, from a friend’s heart.” Elizabeth joked with him and she handed him a box containing a woman’s Rolex. “Jeez Beth, where did you get this? It must have come from the streets.” Elizabeth smiled at him in the rearview mirror. “Yea apparently it’s one of the new products in the underground market these days. It only cost me 15 bucks.” The driver smiled as he neared his destination; Elizabeth’s home. “You’re one in a million Beth, I’d do anything for you if you ever needed it. Your total is about 5 but I’ll let it go. No charge until I pay you back in taxi service.” “Deal.” Elizabeth said as she popped open the door and hopped out onto the sidewalk in front of her house. Her entrance was casual. She did not anticipate that her husband was upstairs having an affair with some other man’s wife. She thought the eager tone he had in the phone conversation earlier that day was for her. It was not. The event that took place in Elizabeth’s home was not a quiet one. She was enraged with jealousy. She could not understand why he chose this woman over herself. There was a great deal of yelling by everyone in that house. The woman who went by the name Mary Passions was the first to leave. Elizabeth slapped our twenty in her hand and told her to grab a cab and get the hell out of her house.
Mary R. Passions sat in the back of the cab not feeling the least bit of remorse. Nothing bothered her. She did whatever she wanted and had any man she wanted. Mary slipped the twenty, our twenty that was given to her, into her pocketbook. She had plenty of 1s and 5s in her bag already. They were from her on the side night job. The driver was following the directions she gave him to get her home. A metal buckle with the initials ‘m p’ was used to clip her bag shut. Since she was on her way home she flipped the buckle upside down; to its normal position, so it read d w. Mary didn’t say a word the whole ride home. It was getting late. She checked her watch; it was 8:01. It’s not like he’ll care that I’m late again, Mary thought. The cab glided through the dark damp streets. It had rained earlier that day while she was shopping. Damn, she remembered she had left her bag of new clothes back at that house. Mary rested her head against the back seat window and watched the world pass by. The cab had to drive through the market area, past the city park, past the construction yard and over a bridge that lead to the suburbs bordering the city. Hmm I’ll just go back to the house tomorrow in the afternoon. She’ll probably be gone and he can let me in for my stuff. Mary pondered getting her stuff back. She had plummeted her husbands credit cards into thousands of dollars of dept over the past couple months. Ever since he got that job, the money has been pouring in. I wonder why it stopped a couple weeks ago? Mary didn’t worry about their money situations, nor did she bother to ever check up on their bank account. When the cab stopped in front of her house she gave the driver a 5 and told him to keep the change.
The house was quiet like it always had been. Mary knew were to find her husband, in the basement working on his project. She headed down and stopped halfway on the steps and called down to her husband. No answer; she tried again. “What!” a voice yelled from down below. “It’s late Bob, why don’t you come to bed I’m bored.” Mary fussed on the steps. There was a long moment of silence. “Yea I’m almost done. I’ll be up in a bit.” The voice calmly answered. Mary rolled her eyes and stomped back up the steps knowing full well what that meant. She’d be sleeping alone tonight and that was the one thing she hated. Mary took our twenty out of the bag and stuck a post-it to it. She wrote on it For lunch tomorrow, there is no food in the fridge. After that she went to bed and slept alone.
The next day Mary was making the cab industry work. Taking her all over the city. One of her first stops was to a strip club to pick up a paycheck. The name on the paycheck read Donna Wagner. She still had time to stop at the house before Elizabeth got home. She had known Elizabeth from before; they used to work together before Elizabeth became an artist. The cab dropped her off out front and she paid her small fee. Mary rang the doorbell and he answered. “Back for more?” he asked her. “No, I left my cloths here, that I bought yesterday.” Mary said as she stepped in past him. “She was crushed you know, I ended it with her because I thought I could be with you.” Mary turned to the man and smirked.
For the second day in a row Mary was leaving that house at 8’oclock at night. She had called a cab and stepped outside to wait for it. As Mary waited she noticed a taxi round the corner up the street. It slowed down as it neared her house and she figured it was hers so she started walking to the street. With out warning the cab sped up and flew past her leaving a trail of gray exhaust. “What the hell?” Mary sighed and she watched the cab go to the end of the street and make a left. She turned around and went to sit on the houses front steps as she waited. Finally, 12 minutes later, the cab arrived and pulled up to the curb. Mary hopped in and gave the directions back to her house. This time she had all her bags with her. A few minutes into the drive Mary quickly noticed the driver had ignored her directions. “Hey buddy! Are you deaf?” she called up. There was a long pause, and then a feminine voice answered her. “He broke my heart because of you Donna. I have nothing now.” Mary’s outburst quickly faded to shock, as she listened to the voice in front speak. “I always envied you for taking the better man. It’s time I stand up. If I can’t have him, neither can you.” Mary was shocked and confused at the driver’s words. She stared at the floor of the cab and got her bearings to talk. “Elizabeth where are we going.” Elizabeth paused to find the right words. “The docks…It’s a nice place, I bought a cheap Rolex there a few days ago. The water is pretty deep there too.”
Robert L. Wagner awoke the next day on his living room couch. He did not notice his wife hadn’t returned last night. Robert started his day with an amazing breakfast everything was cooked to perfection. Pancakes, sausages, bacon, an omelet, and even a side bowl of oatmeal flooded the table. A carton of orange juice sat next to a tall clear glass. Robert gorged himself that morning for the first time since he had gone on a diet. Afterwards he gathered his stuff and left the house for the day. He took notice of our twenty with the post-it attached. It was stuffed in his pocket as he headed out the door. Robert’s drive into the city that morning was a quiet one. He kept the windows rolled up and didn’t turn on the radio. He sat in total silence focused on the road. As he drove many thoughts passed through his mind. He thought for a while about his wife who, he discovered, had done more than cheat on him. He thought about the friends he didn’t have because he was a loser. He remembered hearing stories on the news the past couple of weeks about people dying. There was too much sin in this city, he thought. I hate this place. Robert repeated in his head as he witnessed all the evil acts that take place in his world. He smiled though because he remembered that he was going to help himself out. He was going to stop these plagues. Robert had a plan.
Robert checked his watch. He was right on schedule. Today’s date was lit up digitally on his watch. It read 10/02/08. This day will be saved, Robert thought. The sky was very cloudy and gray. Autumn was his favorite season of the year. Robert parked his car in a parking garage when he got in the city. It was the same place he used to park in everyday. He got out of his sedan and when no one was around he popped his trunk, and retrieved the contents.
The streets were full of people. He blended in like anyone else who was also wearing a heavy sweatshirt. Robert didn’t think much at this point. In fact he stopped thinking all together, the only thing fueling him was anger, and it was directed at the one man who single handedly destroyed his life a couple weeks ago.
Inside the bank people were going about their daily business. The tellers were keeping busy like usual. The owner of the bank was returning from his morning breakfast. He walked to the elevator, but was stopped by one of his women employees who handed him a folder with important papers in it. He stood there glancing over them. In the background behind him he heard his closest teller speaking. “Hi, how can I help you today?” “Hello, I would like to have 200 dollars in 10s please. I never like to carry the big bills.” The elderly customer said. Another sound caught the owner’s attention after that though. It was faint over the sound of the crowd, but very distinguishable. It was the metal detector’s alarm. After that he heard sounds of panic and shrieking. The owner turned around to see a man standing in the middle of the bank, right on top of the “S. G.” marble emblem. He was taking off his sweatshirt. Underneath it was a vest full of what looked like trash and wires stuck to it. Robert reached into his pocket and removed a cheap handgun from his pocket. Our twenty stuck to it momentarily and was pulled out. It let go and fluttered to the floor. Robert raised his pistol in the air and fired his first shot. “Everybody out!” He yelled and everyone obeyed. Running and screaming out of the doors. Robert aimed his second shot at the owner, who was trying to sneak out with the crowd. The bullet pierced him in the knee, and he fell on the ground grunting in pain. “Except you.” Robert said as he looked down at the incapacitated man. When everyone was out of the bank Robert pulled a switch on his vest. The explosion rocked the bank and brought it to ruins. It did not collapse, but had to be safely imploded a few days later, due to its risk as a hazard. After the explosion the banks lobby was full of broken concrete and burning desks. Our 20 fluttered in the air. Its edges were glowing with embers. It came to rest on another 20, which was also burning. The pair of twenties burned together into ash.
“Of the souls who possessed our twenty, only one was saved from purgatory.”
…Who?
good luck all who participate!
and i still have to figure out the story one as well 
