By: Peter J. Crisanto-Croox

Chapter One.

She loved him. She really loved him. So much so - she washed his rectum every time they showered together... which was quite often. And it was not only from the standpoint that the anus was the most hygienically neglected orifice of the human body. She loved him. She loved him so much.

And he really loved her.

He knew it every second of every day. He knew it every time he turned to her and said the fateful words, "No problem," "Everything will be all right," and "I'll be right back," just before going out to get her something in the middle of the night and in response to her asking, "Are you sure you don't mind?" Oh Damn, how he knew it!

He really loved her. He did. He knew it from the very instant of their chance meeting.

His heart tinged, tingled, and burned with apprehension any and every time he left her side - for even the slightest of moments. But he loved her, so he did things for her; emotionally, physically.

Looking back, he probably should not have been so cavalier. It was, after all, a dangerous and unpredictable world.

He did not know how much,... he loved her, until that first bullet shattered his spinal column leaving him paralyzed and bleeding on the floor. He felt her then slipping away - forever out of reach of his touch. All of this (the pain and what not) came as a relative surprise to him since going to the Rebel Mart at 2:47 in the morning had never cost him his life before.

Having never thought that a show of affection could be so expensive who was he to refuse her. She wanted a pack of Marlboro Reds and she being his princess, queen, and sex kitten all in one; how could he ever? And besides, he liked the night.

He really did not know how much... he loved her... until a second caught him just below the heart and a third tore thru his aorta. And out his back. He was beginning to hold second thoughts on that night thing.

"At least it didn't hit a bone and ricochet," he paused to give thanks. "If only I...," he stopped abruptly.

Now, every day was like traveling alone after a fight with your girlfriend, your parents, your boss; in an air conditioned car with the windows up, no radio playing, and only the questionable comfort of solitude in which to seek solace. The wind noises adding teasers and whispers, sneers, and side comments to your already unrequited thoughts...;... the queer silence, numbing your body, of the tires rotating against the concrete vibrates you into submissive isolation. The isolation! You fool yourself into thinking it is welcome, at first. Alone with your thoughts and anguishes. You hear yourself. Every thought. Every doubt. Every fear. And you are trapped because you are alone. All you want to do is stop at some roadside attraction for the diversion but you can't because this is the only life you got and so many things seemed to have already passed you by. All you want is some flesh to involve yourself in. All you really want...

You stop yourself again because someone somewhere once said "Be careful of what you wish for kid...," the voice trails into a muddled but barely audible "... you might just get what you wish for." And you do not, under any circumstances, want to end up in a private and personal episode of the Twilight Zone regardless of whether or not Rod Serling is actually dead, deceased, on permanent R&R, countin' worms, recycling, six feet under,... dead.

"Dead?," you ask? Why does that word bother you so much? However,...

You can't stop... you keep on going hoping to recover... to work things out. But you never do, never will. And the more you try, the more difficult it becomes.

But things are different, now, so all he can do is recall faint traces of such emotions.

Thomas never understood why he was allowed to watch her. He did not know the purpose of the portable view screen attached to his wrist. He already remembered everything about Maria: the way she smiled laughingly, the way she cried, the way she...

Now, he had a complete visual record of her life strapped to his arm, on call, on line, all the time. Every second of every day of her life - before him, after him, without him. He knew now only pain and the pain of heartbreak.

At times, he reflected that once such a situation would have made him cry. But, as were, the emotions escaped him, being lifeless and all.

The guy next door felt quite differently about the whole situation.

The ape joined the legions of the undead and for the first time felt free of all the restrictions placed upon him due to his station in life. As a living gorilla, he could not speak, he could not truly appreciate a waltz, he could not discuss the finer points of quantum physics, at least, and be taken seriously amongst his friends.

Gunter liked his new form. He stood more erect and lumbered not as he had when alive. He relished his viewfinder and savored every second he could of watching his family in the wilderness of the jungle. He liked being an enjoyable fellow even if, as of yet, he had no one to be polite and amiable to.