Issue 1 - 16th June 2006

Just a starting note; I'd like to thank those that helped this project along it's way... But if i told you who that was - I'd have to kill you.   In all serious-ness... Thanks to my editors both those that have been there to provide another view on a little line, or spotting out how bad my typing and spelling can get sometimes.

A special mention to both Lt. Tintin and Mrs. Liz Vogan for the calm moods under the barrage of "quickly have a look at this for me!!!" during many an online conversation.

Any questions that you have may be sent direct to my email... If you don't know it - either find out or sodd off.

Those fans of the previous KRA characters including certain wildlife experts with a certain animals printed on t-shirts, do not be alarmed - They will be back...

And now for the SHOW! 

KRA 

The rain saturated my coat as I walked back home. The wind howled with a roar, trees stressing to creaking. I shuddered and threw my coat around me, swearing as I noticed the tails heavy with rain from above. Boots thudded as I jumped over a puddle in my path. Above the soft beat of droplets landing on the metropolis, the city was silent; Sirens or the dull drone of helicopter blades cut the air, only lone vehicles hounded unseen enterprises.  No people could be seen wandering the slowly flooding streets.

A slight smile breached my lips, as I passed a formerly red letter box which had been un-willingly turned into a child’s crayon box, with the help of various graffiti artists. Turning into my apartment block, I began to reach into my deep pockets to find my keys. After much effort I finally grappled my metallic saviours from this horrid rain, the door opened with a satisfying click.

The boots heralded deep booming echoes as I bounded up the stairwell, wet boots sliding and squeaking. I wrestled with the broken lock to my apartment, using all manners of jiggling and jousting until it finally gave way.  Grumbling in the most un-respectable tones, I swung my now severely drenched trench onto the closest object.  

After turning the old gas heater as far as it would go, I poured myself a glass of port. Taking a few sips, I then threw it down the hatch and went back for another. Two glasses later I slumped into my office, spinning on the swivel chair like a child.

I looked at the letter.  It glared backed at me from the desk, stark white paper, covered by writing so elegant it could please gods. In places the blue ink had blotched as tears had wet the fragile paper; Nor was it just a piece of scrap, flowers filled its corners and it was like a softer form of card. The lingering smell of her wafted around my mind as it brought back images; Flowery little notes she would write to me as I wandered off to work. I glanced away, but there is no use temping fate some say.    

Slowly and hesitantly my fingers reached down and held the sheet. My eyes began to scan the words, although they didn’t need to. For that moment she was alone again. Laughing, Cheerful, the one I loved. For that moment it was all beautiful. I swallowed hard, the apple of my throat bobbing. I closed my eyes, trying relentlessly to hold it back, the fall, burning inside me. I sighed. My very soul ripped itself apart and reformed in one moment. I swayed, loosing my grip on the chair, I span again.

All the pain and relentless torment swept over me like a cloud of pure misery. Tears flooded my subconscious. The low feeling in my stomach began to rise.  I was standing by the grave, a crowd of black suits and lace dresses; All sobbed but no one lent me their shoulder, they were her people, not mine. Watching, as one by one her things were moved away from me. Days flittered by my eyes: when I would just cry myself to sleep, due only to seeing mail for her arriving at my door.  

People thought it was my fault, that I drove her away. That somehow I had forced my will upon a creature so heavily that she should have walked among giants and gods, not me. Even the police drew me into their line of questioning, asking questions that I couldn’t answer in my state. Did she know anybody suspicious, Did she display any angry tendencies, Did she take drugs, Did she... They only gave the letter back because I begged them, through a translator.     

I wanted it compete with the rain outside, let it pour from my soul and out my eyes. I had sobbed too much, sobbed alone; above all the apologetic whispers. Cried a river a long time ago. But this time I wouldn’t sob, my last tear had been shed long ago. I slowly drew my hand through my hair and glanced outside, greeted by the constant rain. I reached into my top desk draw, hands meeting metal.

The gun shone in the dull light. I slowly clicked open the chamber, fully loaded. I span the revolver chamber, snapping it back like I had seen so many times in films and TV. I placed the gun on the desk with a loud clunk, and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper.  Straining to make my handwriting legible, slowly the pen scrawled across the page. The words could never have said on paper what was running through my head.

“Yours Always in Love, Life and Death.

                                                                        See you soon…”

Again I lifted her letter to me, words upon the page sparking memories. Utmost Joy and the lowest forms of Sorrow filtered into one emotion. Don’t care what they think, in heaven or hell I will be with her.  Or if a realm of the spirit does not exist, I shall just cease to be, as I did when I knew she had gone.

The dull metallic barrel stopped shining as I lifted it into my mouth.

I will be with her.

The door knocked.

I shivered, who it could be was a mystery – all my friends had faded away from me. Putting the pistol down, I breathed in to release my fears. In opening the door I was greeted by a warm face.  The genuine smile shed all my fears.

*

Glancing at the clock I began to type faster, lines of code streaming out of my fingers onto the monitor to my right. The dull green lines shone as my only light. Head phones poured out a dull drone of early Jazz, my head drummed to the old blues and the smooth chills ran down neck when the trumpets ran into a crescendo.

Typing off my last few lines, I swivelled my chair a 360 before logging off the network and shutting down my machine. Yawning I stood up from my desk, draping my scarf around my neck, arm then other arm through my trench coat, finally my head slowly warmed with the welcoming introduction of a pure wool beanie.

I said my goodbyes to the rest of the team – drones in their own cubicle lands – simple nods and half hearted glances substituted for praise, salutations and bear hugs.  I looked outside through the grainy window and shuddered. Rain...A nice change of pace, better than a bloody Russian blizzard.  

I leant over the final desk in our small cramped office – signing off while I nodded to the Russian Solider on guard duty outside our door. Kicking the old can along the hallway, I fished out my ID card, methodically flashing it at the next guard in the line. Glancing at his watch, he began scribbling the intricacies of my departure.  My core temp lowered so much that I began to shiver – only one step outside the door. 

Breathing a deep breath of the non-air conditioned air, my throat chilled. I love winter. I hate summer for some reason, easier to get warm than cold. The walk home from the office was, or is, - still haven’t figured that one out – pretty bloody annoying. A few blocks of the secure green zone, propaganda covering the walls, army and security detachments baring boomsticks and eyeing down everybody that walks past.

Hell, the only reason they don’t just about turn me to stone, is ‘cause I was one of the first on the project – been walking home this way for about eight months now.  Life is always shit – I just choose the lesser of two evils.  I pulled my coat closer to my face and walked on. The public transport is horrible, somehow worse than what we had before, the only use for most of the train lines has been for those arrogant and dim-witted resistance fighters to ferry their men and supplies into the battlegrounds.

I rounded the final stretch of the ‘Green Zone’, slowly the perfect slice of the old world slid into the mess of a war ridden city.  Bullet holes shared space with propaganda posters or rebelling spray painted murals all the while, paint flaked off the walls.  I passed a somewhat random chair on the side walk, old and rotten like the city around it. Quickly unlocking the outer apartment door, I would have normally bounded up the stairs at full speed, but something caught my eye. The letter box of the tenant across the hallway from me was crammed with old mail – letters from the state, junk mail advertising the very latest moonshine and no doubt a couple of bills from the landlord – not that he ever cared about getting paid.

Strange. I’ve never talked to the guy – no once. Bugger it, I need a drink anyway…It’s been a hard week at work.  I walked over to his door, knocked three times and then waited for a reply.  I heard metal drop against wood and a chair quickly screech back along the floorboards.

The door opened and I was greeted with the warm smile. His jacket was stained with heavy liquor; I could smell it from only two feet away. Tears had been rolling down his cheeks and his eyes seemed heavy with years of lost sleep. His brown hair had long lost any semblance or tidiness, or a comb. He was like many of us, lost and jumbled in this new time.  God, grog costs too much nowadays anyway…and he looks pretty down, may as well. So I guess I just asked.

“How ‘bout a drink?”