Free Expiration Date by Eric Wilson Page B

He felt safer here, out of the headlamp’s line of vision. All around, the park was hushed and motionless, as though the trees had become spectators at a gladiator event.
    Don’t hesitate. Take advantage of this moment!
    Asgoth threw himself onto the bars, gripped the metal with desperate fingers. He slithered up and over, oblivious to any physical danger. Within a breath he was inside the fence.
    Engine 418 sat high upon a pair of displayed railroad tracks, glistening. Asgoth hated that an old man like Mr. Coates had been able to coat this beast lovingly in fresh paint; he despised those who touched her in wide-eyed ignorance and curiosity. And Summer Svenson had been no better than the other violators.
    Of course, those who knew of the train’s contents became susceptible to the curse’s scourge.
    Misfortune and grief …
    Asgoth planted his foot on the engine car. He was nearly on board.
    Before him, fiery sentinels of dark orange and blue seemed to spring into position. Heat raced through rivets and metal to engulf his trespassing limb. Pain blossomed around him. Blinding. Disorienting.
    It’s only superstition
, he tried to convince himself.
Nothing more
.
    An explosion of light lofted him through the air so that he found himself skidding across grass and gravel outside the fence’s perimeter. Flames whipped through the bars, crackled at his feet. He scrambled upright and dashed to the refuge of his apartment across the street.
    Why had he thought this night would be different from any other?
    Asgoth sputtered in rage. He felt like a child. He barely knew his own father, and as one of a number of illegitimate offspring, he’d always felt driven to validate himself. To gain respect. And honor.
    The Consortium had become his surrogate parent.
    He vowed that at any cost he would win back their approval.

8
A Basic Slab
    “Baby, you ’bout done in there?”
    Mylisha downed a pill with a glass of water. “Don’t you ever sleep, Shanique? You been up all night.”
    “It’s mornin’. Best start hoppin’, or you’ll be late for work.”
    Mylisha had forty minutes to be at Safeway. After another late night here at her sister’s, she could find little to inspire her in the bathroom mirror. Her hair needed another perm; her bright brown eyes had turned dark and brooding; her full lips were dry, devoid of sensual appeal.
    As a woman of faith, was she wrong to rely on antidepressants?
    Summer Svenson’s death had shaken her to the core. She was still trying to wrap her thoughts around this new reality. Soon, very soon, Summer would call or ring the doorbell or visit during a lunch break, and things would return to normal.
    Where was God’s hand in the accident that had killed her friend of thirteen years? Mylisha had heard the pat answers, the clichés: “At least she felt no pain.” “Must’ve been her time to go.” “She’s in a better place.” Yet none of them eased her loss. Summer, at the age of twenty-seven, was gone for good.
    Even worse, Mylisha had no assurance her friend would be waiting inside heaven’s gates. Not that Mylisha deserved any better; her only hope was in the Bible’s promises. She believed that faith, not good works, would lead her through that narrow gate. Jesus was the door, the only way to God.
    What about my friend then?
    The Friday newspaper scudded beneath the bathroom door. “You gotta read dis,” Shanique urged. “For real. You see it? Your horoscope, there in da middle.”
    Wonderful. Some head-wrapped floozy telling me how to live my life
.
    “Says to expand your boundaries. If you don’t, dey become your barriers.”
    Mylisha snatched up the paper, rolled her eyes, found herself matching her birth date with the zodiac signs. She was a Pisces? This tidbit piqued her interest. Shanique always said if God was the maker of the moon and stars, then he surely could guide his children in this manner. Maybe the girl had a point. Despite her years of shaky decision making,