Mardi Gras

Mardi Gras

While it may seem like this would be an easy topic, it proved more difficult than expected.  All I knew when this topic was chosen was that it had to be about a virgin nerd.  Initially I had planned on the main character being a female, but with the ending I had in mind it would have proven to be too dark, and I wanted to lighten the mood after my previous entry.

“I can’t believe I didn’t want to come here!” Mark says as he leans over the shoulder of one of his friends. “Thank you for convincing me to come, best birthday ever!”

Not amused at Mark interrupting his conversation with a girl, his friend tells Mark “Go hit on some girls.”

Not needing any further prompts, Mark shouts to a nearby girl, “Show me your tits!” with no beads in hand.  Following a look of disgust the girl unsurprisingly walks away. “Fucking prude, go back to Idaho.”  Mark uses the same line on the next five girls he sees; three of which oblige.

Finding his best friend, Hank, at a bar two doors away, Mark runs up to him.  While standing between Hank and the girl he was talking to, he exclaims “I’ve seen thirty five tits today! How great is New Orleans, man? Why are you just standing here alone?”

Looking over Mark’s shoulder, Hank sees that the girl has walked away. “Have you talked to any girls Mark? We’ve been here for nearly a week and all of us have gotten laid.”

Feeling his buzz slowly die down, Mark sheepishly answers, “Come one Hank, you know I can’t talk to girls like that, I’m too shy.”

“Back home maybe, but you also wouldn’t tell a girl to show you her tits back home; you wouldn’t even drink back home.”  Waiting for his comments to sink in, Hank then continues “This is Mardi Gras, you don’t have to be the Mark who puked from non-alcoholic beer.  You can be the Mark who loses his virginity.”  Seeing that Mark is catching on, Hank enthusiastically adds, “You don’t even have to be Mark, you can be Pilot Dan, Firefighter Bill, or Tom ‘fuckin’ Cruise, but that might not help anymore.  This is Mardi Gras and you can be anyone, so why the fuck are you talking to me?”

As if he was just prepped for war, Mark screams a primal yell then turns and runs… right into a six foot three bouncer built like a tank.

In a deep yet nonthreatening voice the bouncer warns, “Easy there killer.”

Unphased by the ebony mountain of man, Mark defiantly shouts, “This is my birthday, this is now my bar, I don’t have to take it easy!”

Seeing the exchange, it is now Hank’s turn to step in between, “I’m sorry sir, he doesn’t usually drink. I’ll go lock him in his room for the rest of the trip.”

Pulling Mark away from the bouncer by the collar of his shirt, “Dude, you clearly got the wrong message.  When I said you can be anyone, I didn’t mean you’re suddenly a seven foot tall black belt who can take on the black Hercules guarding this place. I meant you can lie to girls to get laid.”

Defeated Mark acknowledges Hank’s reasoning and exits the bar through a door the bouncer is far away from. “I need to get laid.” Walking on the famed Bourbon St he’s quickly distracted by the novelty of legally walking in public while holding a drink. “The whole world should be like this.”

Paying more attention to his diminishing drink then where he’s going, Mark ventures off of Bourbon St., something his friends warned him about.  Content in his stupor Mark travels away from the festive lights and sounds.  The further he walks the sparser the people on the street get, until he comes to a group of youths walking in the middle of the street.

No paying them any mind, Mark continues walking undeterred when the silence is broken. “Hey cracker, you a long way from the party, eh?”

***

Mark wakes up the following afternoon by the jostling of his friend, “Hey man, wake up! What happened to you?”

Wiping the sleep out of his eyes, Mark replies with a condescending tone, “Obviously I had a great time, I don’t remember a thing.”

“Listen douche, something’s wrong.  You’re bleeding, looks like you got the shit kicked out of you.” Hank practically carries Mark to the mirror to reveal the many lacerations on his face and upper body. “Someone beat the beat your ass but didn’t take your wallet or money, so you must have pissed them off.”

With concern in his voice Mark barely manages to utter, “I don’t know what happened. Last I remember, we were eating dinner.”

“Shit man that was 10 o’clock, fourteen hours ago.  I didn’t think someone could black out for that long.”

Panicked, Mark exclaims, “We need to go to the police.”

“And say what?” Hank rationalizes the situation, “You got beat up for reasons unknown, by a person or group of people you can’t identify somewhere in the city.  Your injuries aren’t that bad, and nothing was stolen.”

“Where are my glasses?”

Hank squeezes the bridge of his nose, “Probably in a pool of your blood.” We leave tomorrow afternoon, just survive today and you’ll be fine.”  Pulling a shirt from a shopping bag, he tosses it to Mark, “One of the guys hot you this, thinks it’ll help you get laid.”

Mark holds up the white t-shirt and reads aloud, “Still a virgin, Please help.” Crumpling it up he scoffs, “That’s so gay.”

“Wear it or not either way just be careful today. I’ve got a date with a bartender so I won’t be able to babysit you.”

***

Three bottles of electrolyte filled sports drinks and a half hour shower later Mark has just begun to regain his bearings.  Even knowing Hank was right about being more careful tonight, he took exception to the way he said it.  “I’m twenty-one now, I haven’t needed a babysitter since I was sixteen.”

Deciding he was going to teach his friend a lesson in respecting the new Mark, he drinks the remaining four beers and half bottle of orange flavored vodka in the hotel room.  Reinvigorated by the hair of the dog, Mark tries to map out his plans for his final night in Paradise.  He knows his only goal has to be to finally get laid.

Emerging from his room at ten Mark joins most of the friends for dinner ad is already more drunk than any of them would like.  Not wanting to have to care for him they all promptly finish their dinner and head out on their own, leaving Mark to pay the bill.

An hour later Mark is walking along Bourbon St still complaining about dinner, ignoring the many flashers along his way.  That is until he collides with a large woman with even larger breasts. Amazed at the size of the tits he just accidentally touched, Mark isn’t even aware that he split his drink.  Either too drunk or too happy, the woman wasn’t upset at all. “Don’t worry about it cutie, just look where you’re going.” The woman jovially says with a pat on Mark’s butt.

Happy with the compliment and semi-sexual touch, the anger leaves Mark, the alcohol does not.  Ignoring the advice he enters the closest bar without looking where he was going.  The alcohol renders Mark unable to identify the multicolored flag that’s all over the door and interior of the bar on the corner of Bourbon St. and St. Pete St.

Although the bar had more guys than Mark would have liked, they were all friendly and the girls their seemed to be having a god time.  He figures it’s worth staying for a couple of drinks.

Befriending a group of guys and explains he needs to lose his virginity hoping they could be of more use than his friends.

***

***

Mark will wake up the following morning to discover that his new friends did in fact help pop his cherry, however perhaps not in the way he intended.

“I can’t believe I didn’t want to come here!” Mark says as he leans over the shoulder of one of his friends. “Thank you for convincing me to come, best birthday ever!”

Not amused at Mark interrupting his conversation with a girl, his friend tells Mark “Go hit on some girls.”

Not needing any further prompts, Mark shouts to a nearby girl, “Show me your tits!” with no beads in hand.  Following a look of disgust the girl unsurprisingly walks away. “Fucking prude, go back to Idaho.”  Mark uses the same line on the next five girls he sees; three of which oblige.

Finding his best friend, Hank, at a bar two doors away, Mark runs up to him.  While standing between Hank and the girl he was talking to, he exclaims “I’ve seen thirty five tits today! How great is New Orleans, man? Why are you just standing here alone?”

Looking over Mark’s shoulder, Hank sees that the girl has walked away. “Have you talked to any girls Mark? We’ve been here for nearly a week and all of us have gotten laid.”

Feeling his buzz slowly die down, Mark sheepishly answers, “Come one Hank, you know I can’t talk to girls like that, I’m too shy.”

“Back home maybe, but you also wouldn’t tell a girl to show you her tits back home; you wouldn’t even drink back home.”  Waiting for his comments to sink in, Hank then continues “This is Mardi Gras, you don’t have to be the Mark who puked from non-alcoholic beer.  You can be the Mark who loses his virginity.”  Seeing that Mark is catching on, Hank enthusiastically adds, “You don’t even have to be Mark, you can be Pilot Dan, Firefighter Bill, or Tom ‘fuckin’ Cruise, but that might not help anymore.  This is Mardi Gras and you can be anyone, so why the fuck are you talking to me?”

As if he was just prepped for war, Mark screams a primal yell then turns and runs… right into a six foot three bouncer built like a tank.

In a deep yet nonthreatening voice the bouncer warns, “Easy there killer.”

Unphased by the ebony mountain of man, Mark defiantly shouts, “This is my birthday, this is now my bar, I don’t have to take it easy!”

Seeing the exchange, it is now Hank’s turn to step in between, “I’m sorry sir, he doesn’t usually drink. I’ll go lock him in his room for the rest of the trip.”

Pulling Mark away from the bouncer by the collar of his shirt, “Dude, you clearly got the wrong message.  When I said you can be anyone, I didn’t mean you’re suddenly a seven foot tall black belt who can take on the black Hercules guarding this place. I meant you can lie to girls to get laid.”

Defeated Mark acknowledges Hank’s reasoning and exits the bar through a door the bouncer is far away from. “I need to get laid.” Walking on the famed Bourbon St he’s quickly distracted by the novelty of legally walking in public while holding a drink. “The whole world should be like this.”

Paying more attention to his diminishing drink then where he’s going, Mark ventures off of Bourbon St., something his friends warned him about.  Content in his stupor Mark travels away from the festive lights and sounds.  The further he walks the sparser the people on the street get, until he comes to a group of youths walking in the middle of the street.

No paying them any mind, Mark continues walking undeterred when the silence is broken. “Hey cracker, you a long way from the party, eh?”

***

Mark wakes up the following afternoon by the jostling of his friend, “Hey man, wake up! What happened to you?”

Wiping the sleep out of his eyes, Mark replies with a condescending tone, “Obviously I had a great time, I don’t remember a thing.”

“Listen douche, something’s wrong.  You’re bleeding, looks like you got the shit kicked out of you.” Hank practically carries Mark to the mirror to reveal the many lacerations on his face and upper body. “Someone beat the beat your ass but didn’t take your wallet or money, so you must have pissed them off.”

With concern in his voice Mark barely manages to utter, “I don’t know what happened. Last I remember, we were eating dinner.”

“Shit man that was 10 o’clock, fourteen hours ago.  I didn’t think someone could black out for that long.”

Panicked, Mark exclaims, “We need to go to the police.”

“And say what?” Hank rationalizes the situation, “You got beat up for reasons unknown, by a person or group of people you can’t identify somewhere in the city.  Your injuries aren’t that bad, and nothing was stolen.”

“Where are my glasses?”

Hank squeezes the bridge of his nose, “Probably in a pool of your blood.” We leave tomorrow afternoon, just survive today and you’ll be fine.”  Pulling a shirt from a shopping bag, he tosses it to Mark, “One of the guys hot you this, thinks it’ll help you get laid.”

Mark holds up the white t-shirt and reads aloud, “Still a virgin, Please help.” Crumpling it up he scoffs, “That’s so gay.”

“Wear it or not either way just be careful today. I’ve got a date with a bartender so I won’t be able to babysit you.”

***

Three bottles of electrolyte filled sports drinks and a half hour shower later Mark has just begun to regain his bearings.  Even knowing Hank was right about being more careful tonight, he took exception to the way he said it.  “I’m twenty-one now, I haven’t needed a babysitter since I was sixteen.”

Deciding he was going to teach his friend a lesson in respecting the new Mark, he drinks the remaining four beers and half bottle of orange flavored vodka in the hotel room.  Reinvigorated by the hair of the dog, Mark tries to map out his plans for his final night in Paradise.  He knows his only goal has to be to finally get laid.

Emerging from his room at ten Mark joins most of the friends for dinner ad is already more drunk than any of them would like.  Not wanting to have to care for him they all promptly finish their dinner and head out on their own, leaving Mark to pay the bill.

An hour later Mark is walking along Bourbon St still complaining about dinner, ignoring the many flashers along his way.  That is until he collides with a large woman with even larger breasts. Amazed at the size of the tits he just accidentally touched, Mark isn’t even aware that he split his drink.  Either too drunk or too happy, the woman wasn’t upset at all. “Don’t worry about it cutie, just look where you’re going.” The woman jovially says with a pat on Mark’s butt.

Happy with the compliment and semi-sexual touch, the anger leaves Mark, the alcohol does not.  Ignoring the advice he enters the closest bar without looking where he was going.  The alcohol renders Mark unable to identify the multicolored flag that’s all over the door and interior of the bar on the corner of Bourbon St. and St. Pete St.

Although the bar had more guys than Mark would have liked, they were all friendly and the girls their seemed to be having a god time.  He figures it’s worth staying for a couple of drinks.

Befriending a group of guys and explains he needs to lose his virginity hoping they could be of more use than his friends.

***

***

Mark will wake up the following morning to discover that his new friends did in fact help pop his cherry, however perhaps not in the way he intended.

New Book Available

The anthology Cobwebs and Antiquities by Static Movement has been published and now available.  It contains my short story "The Statue Garden" about a young girl's nightmare coming to haunt her as an adult.
You can purchase it at the below link, or from The Azarrising Mobile Bookstore (the trunk of my car) at a discounted price.
Cobwebs and Antiquities @ Amazon.com

Another story has been accepted!

Hello all, it's been a while since I've had this kind of good news, but the wait is over.  I've just signed a contract for another story to be published.  "Best Birthday Ever!?" has been accepted into the anthology Spring Fever, an anthology I already had a story accepted into.  This will mark my first time having two stories in a single antho.

The story is a departure from my other writings, it has no horror or thriller elements.  It's a tale of the best birthday celebration ever, or is it?

Stay tuned for more info on where and when you can purchase this book.

Hypothermia

Hypothermia

Alex Azar

Winter is over. It’s this belief that damned Sophie Ting. She’s not used to the difference in seasons from Japan to Jersey. Growing up in Japan the passing of winter was immediately followed by the sprouting of new flowers, and blooming of trees. She didn’t know that in New Jersey you can still wear a t-shirt through November, and that April showers sometimes turn into snowfall.

That very same snow caused Sophie to lose track of the path in the woods that led to her awaiting friends. Thinking she’s headed in the right direction, Sophie quickens her pace, but the realization she was heading the wrong way sets in when she comes to a brook, rapid with fresh melted snow, a brook that she didn’t cross when heading into the woods to go to relieve herself.

Turning to return in the direction she came, she sees a figure move behind a tree. A figure much too large to be any of her girlfriends who have more than likely stopped smoking up just long enough to ask if Sophie returned from taking a piss. She calls to the wind and the mystery figure she’s no longer sure she even saw, but there’s no response. Deciding it best to not to find out, she begins to follow the bank of the brook assuming she’ll eventually come to some landmark of significance.

After half an hour of following the river, Sophie's jeans and hoodie sweatshirt no longer suffice in fighting off the cold. Again she can swear she sees a shadow move behind a tree to her left. Already scared of the impending nightfall this is enough to push Sophie as she breaks into a run as fast as her cold bones allow her to move.

Five minutes of this brings Sophie to a patch of grass devoid of any snow. Figuring she's put enough distance between her and the shadow, Sophie takes a seat on a relatively dry stone. Just as she gets in a comfortable position, she hears a branch break. Without a second thought Sophie's in another full sprint yelling for help. Scared beyond all reason, Sophie decides to cross the brook at a point she feels is thin enough to jump across. On any other day if her legs were working up to par, Sophie may have made the jump; unfortunately, her jump is just short and she lands near the opposite bank and slips on a stone beneath the water.

No longer able to run, Sophie goes to hide within the trees. Rounding a tree she trips over a root that in a week’s time would surely have been visible, but as it stands today is mostly covered with snow. She lands head first into a tree bending her neck at an awkward position, not hard enough to break her neck, but it's guaranteed to be sore if she regains consciousness. During her fall a low hanging branch catches on the hood of her thin sweatshirt, ripping it down the back in jagged fashion.

Revealed on the back of her limp body, is the upper portion of an elaborate tiger tattoo. A tattoo that suggests more of her past than any of her stoned friends know about. A tattoo that may hold clues as to Sophie's paranoia and fear of being followed, or simply a tattoo that will entice the possible stranger in the shadows.

I owe the origin to this story entirely on my trip to Florida in the summer of 2010.  While there, I attended a tattoo/comic convention that was mediocre at best.  However, my friend’s tattoo booth was next to an old Asian man who had a lot of ‘tattoo art’ on display.  They were mostly Asian girls with elaborate tattoos.

One painting in particular caught my eye, of a girl crouched on one knee in the middle of a snow covered field, with dead trees and rocks around her.  She was only barely covered by a blanket, and revealed on her back was the majority of a large tiger tattoo. 

But what struck out the most were the streaks of mascara running down her face from tears as she stared at the ground.  I couldn’t help but wonder how she came to this situation, but even more so what happened next.

Admittedly, I altered some of the aspects of the painting to fit the story.  I submitted this in for a seasonal anthology calling for stories set in spring.  Ultimately, the story was rejected, but I’m happy with how it turned out.

Landslides

I started this story while at the airport waiting to fly to Tampa. This piece was a long time in the making in that I took a several month hiatus after “Kinetic Art”.  At the airport I decided to continue the project by completing another entry by the time I landed back in Jersey.  As it turns out the story was completed mere minutes after the plane took off; essentially the piece was completed less than two hours and really invigorated me on finishing the Alphabet Project. 

Landslides

by Alex Azar

“Don’t worry baby, you heard the lady from Off*Moon. We have about an hour of air and they know where we are.  She’s sending rescue people now.” Lauren tries to comforting her five year old son, Lester.

The truth of the matter is that she’s just as scared as her son, if not more.  Still not sure what happened, all she remembers is driving along the coast and suddenly her car being surrounded by mud blacking out her windows.

Lester was in his ‘big boys’ seat playing with his action figures and didn’t notice what was happening until it was over.  This helped delay his reaction, but siting in the buried car for fifteen minutes has pushed him to the limit. “But mom, we’re going to be late and miss dad at the airport.  Can’t you just drive?”

“Baby, the car is surrounded right now.”  Wanting to save what air they do have, Lauren doesn’t want to talk too much.  “Go to sleep and I’ll wake you up when the get here to help us out.”

Lester quiets down, but she can tell that he’s not comforted at all, “Daddy will wait for us, I promise. Come sit up here with me, we’ll nap together.

Fifteen minutes later Lauren is woken up by Lester shifting in his seat. “Baby what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry mommy, I have to make pee-pee.” Squirming some more Lester explains, “I don’t want to mess your new car.”

Laughing Lauren is surprised she’s able to find any humor in this situation. “Baby, I don’t think we have to worry about that anymore.” Reaching into the back seat she asks, “Did you finish your sippy-cup?”

“No, there’s still some.”

Finding the cup, Lauren can tell it’s just less than half filled, “Why don’t you drink what you can, then go pee-pee in it.”

Shaking his head violently, Lester nearly shouts, “I can’t mommy.”

Seeing the pain on his face, she bites the bullet and drinks the juice even though she has to go herself. “Go in the back and be sure to hold the cup steady.”

After doing his business, Lester hands his mother the cup, nearly filled to the brim, but spills most of it after he steps on one of his action figures. “I’m sorry mommy.” Crying before Lauren can even react, he throws his face into the cushion of the back seat.

“Baby, Lester, it’s okay. I’m going to have to get a new car anyway.” Reaching back with both arms, “Come back to the front.”

Picking up her son, Lauren exclaims “Wow, you’re a big boy now, huh? Soon you’ll be able to sit up front with me, and we’ll make daddy sit in the back.” As soon as the words left her mouth she knew it was a mistake.

“Daddy is at the airport now, isn’t he?” Lester barely whispers as he nuzzles his head into his mom’s bosom.

Finding no other options but to tell the truth, “Yes he is already waiting for us, and don’t you think he’s going to be surprised at the story we tell him when we get there?”

Petting Lester’s head Lauren is able to lull him back to sleep, but the panic of the situation is weighing too heavily on her to sleep again.

Its been half an hour since she spoke to the Off*Moon representative, and Lauren has figured there’s other cars trapped as well; after all she wasn’t the only one on the road. She thinks to herself, ‘What if there’s a car with a toddler also trapped, or more than one baby?  They’d have to save them first.’ Panic sets in, and although she doesn’t want to wake Lester, she’s compelled to call Off*Moon and check on the status of Lester’s rescue.

As a lifelong career woman, Lauren never wanted kids, but due to a reversal in her husband’s vasectomy, Lester, most definitely a mistake, was brought into this world and she’s been thankful every day since.  It’s these events from five short years ago that has caused Lauren to care more for Lester’s survival than she thought was possible.

Connecting the line with Off*Moon Lauren can’t  take her eyes off of Lester. With tears running down her cheeks, she asks “Are you going to be able to save us?”

Without any pause for thought the faceless voice replies, “Ma’am, rescue workers are on scene and we have every confidence you’ll be safe long before air runs out.  Off*Moon has reports of three other cars in your immediate area, and you are each a priority.”

Scared of the situation, Lauren takes out her frustration on the monotone voice, “You say we’re all priorities, but have any of the other cars been rescued yet?”

“Ma’am, I understand the situation you’re in, but…”

Once again cutting her off, Lauren screams “No you don’t! I don’t know where you are, but I know you’re not trapped in your car with your five year old son!”

The exchange wakes Lester, but his young instincts tell him to keep quiet while his mom vents. Instead he silently shifts from the driver’s seat to the passenger seat.

Lauren sees that Lester is trying to be brave but her yelling didn’t help the situation. She looks in his eyes, but can’t find any words to comfort him.

Lester breaks the silence by asking “Why do you and the lady keep talking about the air?”

Unable to answer his question without further frightening her son, instead Lauren deflects and suggests “Why don’t w play twenty questions? You think of something or someone and I’ll ask questions.”

Already thinking of someone, Lester just nods his head, so Lauren asks, “Are you a person?”

“Yes, 19.”

“Are you famous?”

“No, 18.”

Knowing who her son picked, Lauren draws the game out for his benefit as well as hers “Are you someone in this car?”

“No, 17.”

“Are you someone I spoke to today?”

“Yes, 16.”

“Do you work for Off*Moon?”

“Mom, I said I’m not someone in the car.”

“Okay, okay. She’s not really someone in the car anyway. Are you flying on an airplane today?”

“Yes, 14.”

“Are you dad?”

Excited he thought of someone that took his mother so many questions to answer, Lester exclaims, “Yes, your turn.”

Seeing the smile on her son’s face Lauren can’t help but take a moment to wonder how she brought something so precious into the world.  She questions how she ever thought about not having children.  Then she sees the time, and notices there’s only ten minutes until she was told she’d run out of air.  “OK one more game, then let’s take another nap.”

“Are you a person?”

“No, 19.”

“Are you something famous?”

“More like infamous, but no, 18.”

“Are you something hard?”

“No, 17.”

“Do you smell?”

“Yes, 16.”

“Do you smell bad?”

“Definitely, 15.”

“Are you a kind of water?”

“You mean a liquid? Yes, 14.”

“Are you pee-pee?”

“Be more specific.”

“Mom you can’t be my pee-pee in the car. I said I was sorry.”

Laughing together, “You’re very smart to get that so quickly.” Patting Lester’s head, she continues, “Now let’s get some sleep.”  The smile and mirth leaves her face when she sees that the game ate up five more minutes, and there’s still no sign of rescue.”

Watching Lester slowly drift back to sleep, Lauren whispers nearly inaudibly, “There’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

Lester’s sleepy response is little more than a mumble before the silence is disturbed by the Off*Moon chime. “Mrs. Lancaster, are you still with me?”

Not wanting to get her hopes up Lauren calmly responds, “Yes, we’re here.”

“Good, I’ve been informed that responders have reached the block your car is trapped on. I have notified them of your current air situation and they will be there momentarily.”

Lauren whispers a “thank you” that belies her joy. Lester has fallen asleep and she would like the next sounds he hears be his rescue.

After drifting in and out of sleep Lauren notices that it’s now one minute until they run out of air.  She confirms the time on her watch and anxiously presses the Off*Moon button.

The limited air has made it difficult for Lester to breath.  What begins as a low whine builds to a full blown cry.  Lauren can only shed tears of her own as she hears the whirring machines of the nearby rescue workers.  As the air dissipates so does Lester’s energy, as well as his cry.

Understanding the urgency of the situation the voice on the other end begins explaining immediately, “I’m sorry I can’t be certain, however responders are currently digging a car out now with a child screaming. I believe they have found your car, can you confirm this?”  with no response the voice questions, “Mrs. Lancaster are you there?... Mrs. Lancaster?”

Sorry for the delay, but I plan on continuing this project until it's completion and to avoid needing to take another lengthy hiatus, I aim to post the next story in a month, and hopefully continue every month until 'Z' has been completed and posted.  Thank you for sticking with it, and you can expect 'M' in a month.