***
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| Aisha Williams. Is she the queen? |
I forget sometimes that not everybody knows who I am.
They've mostly forgotten now, so much has happened since then, that no one even
looks twice now. Well, sometimes they do. They look at me sadly and shake their
heads, or look away, or glance over their shoulder at a loved one. Poor thing. Not that I'm ugly, rather
the opposite, I'd say. It's just, I figure, they think the stripe is cosmetic, a
vanity; or they think it's a backroom genetic blunder. "Oops, we're so sorry,
Mr. Customer. No charge for you today. Here, you can leave out the back."
I think it is the one blue eye that messes them up. The white stripe on the
black skin, they can deal with that, but the one blue eye is too spooky. Go
figure. But hey, I've got ten fingers and ten toes, total, not on each hand, so
it's all good. You can call me Mort, Mortimer Creole. My real name? The people
who need to know me, already know me, and they know where to find me.
I live in a private building. You can't get in there. Very
few people can. Not my choice, but hey, it's free and I have a beautiful
apartment. It's one long room with my bed at the front of the building, the
kitchen in the middle, and my living room at the back. From the back, I have a
wonderful view of the Charlotte skyline: the Bank of American building, the
Hearst Towers, Gentech Palace, I mean Gentech Place. Nice digs. I dress nice too, and since it was almost
midnight and time to have my breakfast, I pulled on my dual shoulder holster,
slipped on a nice jacket and headed out.
***
I hope you're getting that hard boiled Sci-Fi feel. It's certainly fun to write. Snarky. Jaded. Intriguing. Anyway, if it stays fun for awhile, I'll keep with it. If you want to know more, let me know over at FaceBook.
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