The Manehattan Project

The Manehattan Project

Ch.1

*^* “I Don’t Want Love” by The Antlers.

“Damn, 5 years”...

Here sits a young woman lounging on a strangely vacant subway trailing through the underground speedway of the vast and not-so-vacant Manehattan. A woman who was once  a naive, carefree soul now seeing life for what it is rather than what I can make out of it. Well, I may still be naive, and carefree at times, but I was much more optimistic several years ago. It’s not like I’m depressed, but after half a decade of home truths (no pun intended) and hefty servings of humble pie, I’ve been able to see my world more realistically. I’ve done much more than just grow 5 years older.

About that pun...

I think I’ll talk about it later. For now I have a purpose. Oh, how can I be so dense? You don’t know who I am. Or why I’m in Manehattan. Or what 5 years have to do with anything. Well, to start, My name is Pinkamena but my friends used to call me Pinkie. Probably because of my iconic hairstyle and my simple taste in fashion, but I digress. 5 years ago my best friends all got together and made the executive decision to move here together in hopes of finding a fresh outlook or pathway in life. I was beyond stoked for this idea. Back then I was notorious for being quite a party animal and Manehattan is pretty generous to anyone looking for an invigorating nightlife. I wanted more than parties though. I used to work at a small bakery back in my old town that focused mostly on cupcakes and muffins and all sorts of sweet and sugary delicates. Before moving I pondered about making a shop here for myself and getting recognized as a world class confectionist. Yeah, not very realistic or practical. I understand.

I’ve not the slightest idea how to find my past comrades. I’m sure that in a few decades I’ll bump into one of them in a coffee shop, have a quick “catching up” chat and then carry on never making an effort to keep in touch. Although finding someone would be splendid. Why wouldn’t it?

Not to be inconsiderate but they’re not the issue right now. I have some money saved up for finding a hotel, or maybe a super cheap apartment. The latter of the two being better in the long run. I though about one you see in most Manehattan-based TV shows with the cheap but somewhat elegant brick wall interior along with faulty appliances, showers that were never warm, and at least one noisy neighbor. Perhaps two would be interesting. Oh! Here’s something! The front of this slightly dilapidated building stated

“One Bedroom Apts. Available. 450/m utilities included.”

Now I wasn’t expecting a complete and utter slum, but I understood that the place wasn’t going to be a real joy to own. That must be my newly honed sense of reality kicking in. But think about it! I’ve only been in Manehatten for a couple hours and here is a place I can afford to rest my head in for a good 4 months or so thanks to my personal savings. Surely I wouldn’t pass up a steal like this.

*^* “Other People” by Beach House

“So you would like the room?” the landlady asked redundantly.

“Yes, very much. May I ask what room and floor this apartment is? Just curious.” I replied with a semi-confident tone in my inflection.

“Well kid, you’re lucky and not so lucky”

“What do you mean”

“You’re lucky because it’s not on the first floor!” The lady followed that statement with a healthy chuckle before killing the mood with the bad news. “Unfortunately the renters before you and the renters before the renters before you have all moved out due to an unfitting atmosphere.”

She seemed almost too nonchalant in that confession. She said something that would possibly turn off a client without any hesitation and probably still expected me to agree to a room that I’ll probably end up regretting after the first month. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll have the place!”

“Oh, you’re such a doll”! Giving me a pinch on the cheek while praising my decision. “Follow me I’ll help you get all set up.

The apartment was pretty much what I was looking for at the least. To my delight the walls were decorated in the elegant brick design I’ve explained before. That was the only delightful aspect of it though. As expected the showers ran too cold, the appliances were as old as the city itself, the floors creaked, the roof was cracked and bedroom was painted in a revolting shade of purple that felt more intrusive than inviting. The only con that didn’t reveal itself immediately was the neighbor problem.

I was just about to get lost in my sleep. Considering I just moved into a very sketchy apartment in an equally sketchy part of an overall sketchy city, I was ready to sleep like a baby. That is until some obnoxious racket interrupted my inaugural housewarming beauty rest. It was hard to make out the noise in the beginning, but the noise was followed up by some yelling. Ok, there was way too much yelling going on but I could make out some of it. And it wasn’t pretty.

“I heard you’ve been trying to export in my building. Anything you got to say about this Missy?”

It seemed like something was about to go down. Then there was another voice that I assume was the one being called “Missy”.

“This is my building, I’ll sell what I want, for however much I want, to whomever I want, whenever the fuck I want to!” Ya got that Jerkoff?”

Hmm. Not sure why but “Missy” had such a recognizable tone to her voice. The action was starting to get real serious and I could not possibly ignore the progression of such juicy drama. I was regarded as the curious one back in the day and that characteristic hasn’t changed one bit. I decided to go check out what was going on from a bit of a closer perspective. As I paced down the stairs, the conversation continued on with intentions growing more and more sinister.

*^* “Flange Face” by The Gaslamp Killer

“ I swear to God, if you don’t open this door to have a nice civil conversation and stop upsetting our lovely neighbors, I’ll be more than happy to shoot the door open.” exclaimed the one known as Jerkoff.

The action was getting too tense. Here I was peeping on the dispute first hand with this big, haggard looking man about to give a very violent disposition to this young, “whatever she was”. I’m not exactly educated on the colloquial expression of “exporting”. As he pulled out his gun and aimed right at the lock, The figure I only recognized as “Missy” walked up to the door ready to deal with the issue in a more “personal” style.

“Finally going to open up?” he snickered. “It’s not like I would actually shoo...”

Bang! A shot rang from what I thought was a double barrel behind the door of “Missy”. Thankfully she didn’t intend to shoot or kill Jerkoff. She just fired a warning shot at his feet which may or may not have sent shrapnel into his ankle. Jerkoff was freaked out of his mind. With all of his remaining adrenaline he rushed down the hall limping from his shrapnel wound.

But Missy wasn’t finished. Swiftly pacing down the hall with a hood up and her trusty means of self-defence in her hands she began to reload her weapon in hot pursuit of her verbal assailant. Surely this was all in an attempt to scare him right? Please let that be the case. Even if that was her intent, Jerkoff was already in the elevator descending to safety. That didn’t stop Missy from threatening him with another warning shot.

“And if I see your sorry ass in this place once more, I swear to God, I will blow your fucking brains out!”

Wait a minute! That tone, that attitude, It all seemed too familiar now. I needed to know the true identity of this crazy lady. I walked up to her steadily in order to not give her the wrong idea which would result in me getting shot at. I said the only thing I could think of to get her attention without coming off as hostile.

“Umm... excuse me...”

That caught Missy’s attention. It’s almost as if she had the same sort of epiphany as I did a short time ago. She didn’t say anything. All she did was turn around and stare me down with her hood up over her head. I couldn’t make her out, but her gasp led me on to her knowing who I was. For that moment I was frozen in time. No words or expressions could have came to me then. I was just there staring at some psycho-looking bitch with a double barrel shotgun who may or may not be in deep trouble. After a long stare down, she finally decided to let down the hood and reveal her true self to me.

Words were not spoken, neither were they necessary. It seemed as though our hair was enough, as strange as that sounds.