no answer

You're not there.
I'm affraid for you because your not.
Thats funny, in a not so funny kind of way.
I'm usually not affraid for people. I know they can take care of themselves.
I know you can take care of yourself.
But this feels different, some how.
I feel like I should be there for you. I want to know that you are OK.
Can't help but feel affraid for you.
I try again.
No answer.

stealth mode and under the radar

The sound of the engine.
A red light bathes the cockpit.
Pilots breathing through oxygen masks, faces further covered by helmets and visors.
Its a dark sky in front of them.
The radio crackles to life.
"Alpha Bravo this is HQ, over."
"HQ, Alpha Bravo hears you loud and clear."
"Bravo, please confirm the status and what's with your last transmission, over?"
"We've engaged hostile fire, HQ. Switching to stealth mode."
"Going under the radar, over?"
"Roger. Going under the radar. Will re-engage in said mission when environment becomes more hospitaable."
"Roger that, Bravo. Please be advised that excessive implementation of said tactic could drain fuel cells. Keep in mind your power guage when in active stealth mode. Keep in mind your mission."
"Roger that, HQ. Everything should go fine. Just need to be forgotten about for a spell."
"Roger that."
"See you on the flip side, over."
"See you then."
"Roger. Radio silence in T-minus, 10. All systems strong. Power good. Flight plan corrected. Weapons systems powered down. Stealth mode on in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1."
Radio static.
No more blip on the radar.
Silence.

wishing to float on

"I hate him, I hate everything about him. EVERYTHING. I can't stand him. Are you listening to me? Good. Do you understand what I mean? Do you like him? No, you don't. Because of the same reasons I don't like him. Get me? And its never over with him, he always wants the same stuff. Do you understand? He's always touching my breast or rubbing up on my leg, or its one thing or another, hour after hour, always the same. You get me? Yeah?"
I've actually tuned out and I'm leaning against the side of the table with my drink in my hand and watching the crowd. I wish I was somewhere else, I think to myself, away from this meloncholy town of fake love or whatever the hell she's taking about.
A waitress passes and I say, "Another White Russian," tapping on my glass.
"I really can't stand him," she continues. "Ahrggg, what should I do? I know what I should do, call him and make clear that we're not the same as we used to be. Right? That will work, right?"
I down the remaining contents of my drink and look at her.
"If you hate him so much why are you going out with him again? Wasn't one break-up enough?"
Women confuse the hell out of me. I'm wondering to myself if every single one of them is like this...then remember that some arn't and am happy with that thought.
A good song comes on over the speakers,
She looks at me and smiles. "You want to dance?" She asks.
"No." I say.
And the waitress brings out another drink and I'm wishing that I could be floating away from this place, in a wooden boat, down a black rushing river. I think to myself that I like that thought as I start my new drink.
"You're right," she says. "I love him."
And I look at her, half chuckle, half snarl and feel like slamming my head against the table.
I drink instead and wish my cell phone would ring and I could be called away from this place.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I say, realizing for the tenth time tonight that the girl next to me is a complete idiot.
"I don't even know anymore."
"I don't either. You want another drink?"
"Yeah."
I order up.