THE LAST

NICE DAY

A Short Fiction

In Celebration

Of

The Fall Season

By

David A. Archer

02/15/1968

10/19/2006

"What a nice day!" She noticed as the public transportation released her onto the street with the standard and not even noticed swoosh of hydrolic doors.

She didn't even need to hear the guy say it. It was just that nice.

She was glad to be heading for the beach just after her audition. If things went well she would be out of there in under two hours, either way.

Sure she hoped to get the part, even though it was a bit part in some unknown and longshot pilot that hadn't even been pitched yet. But the day was so nice and she had gotten so used to it being like that all of the time.

She couldn't have been farther away in any meaning of the word from her former hellish misery back where she was from. The thought occurred to her just then that the last time she was there, summer had been on a Thursday that year.

She couldn't have been more happy that she set out on her own, "make it big or not." Besides, there was always Vegas.

She had even gotten over all of the nerves about stories you hear concerning casting couches and other seedy forms of bribery just to get your name said in this town. She got past all of that stuff which seemed only there to thwart anyone with a little ingenuity and a dream.

She was so lost in the mundane aspects of her now normal life, that she didn't even recognize the man that had issued the greeting to her..... again. This time miles away from where he had managed a glimpse of her attentions previously.

She was definitely not going to let sitting in an office waiting room for who knows how long, ruin the rest of her day at the beach.

She noted in her daily diary, as it was found some months later, that the auditions went as usual which meant that again she must have been over looked. It paled against the description of what was to be the rest of the day for her and even a note concerning writing home just to stay in touch.

When her moment in the office was up that day, she hurriedly made her way to the same old bus stop with great distraction as the cell phone bounced and the handbag filled with her beach gear continued to slide off of her shoulder.

It must have been someone she had recognized to some degree. Someone, as typically common in these instances, that she trusted to some degree as she didn't get to the bus stop.

In fact, no one found her for some months. Nearly a year even, though the evidence of long term abuses were still present on her remains, probably being a source of pride for her assailant.

He was good at this and had many connections as was evident in being able to achieve his goal in abducting her so easily. He must have even planted the individual that she had grown somewhat trusting of, as none of her other frequents recognized the vague descriptions.

It could have been any of several scams meant to lure her with the patients most doctors would envy, but chances are it was the good old "sure thing" for an inside on something opening up as for entertainment work. Usually a false front as a talent agency and the sort... but it could have been the more recently popular "secret agent" bit that seemed to be "working like a charm."

As most of them go... once they are found out... she probably spent the last of her days in a dark basement. Imprisoned in some way without even the common decency of intending to brainwash her. Just torture and power plays. Empty and useless sobs. Most likely she was kept nude and deprived of any sustenance unless she managed to comply with the every whim of her "last connection to the bigtime" so to speak. Her last "sure thing."

It is hard to say why or where they come from. Either of them. Beyond the allure of what people consider to be fame and fortune. One thinking they will find it and the other knowing they will find those seeking it.

The empty heads that seek it are nearly a pitiable lot. Someone might as well save everyone the trouble and just pick 'em off as they get off the bus, or plane.. or however else they manage to drag the same old visions and supposed dreams now nothing more than cerebral reruns, into what amounts to a tired, old town. A tired old town so callous and racked with decades of indescribable inhumane activities, that the movie industry itself can't begin to hold a candle to it.

Fact and fiction are very much only different punchlines to the same old joke in this hole. Most often ending in the same ways with different means of getting there. And all the more sad, is that no one seems to mind. It is as if there are far too many people on the planet, and everyone knows it somewhere in the back of their mind.

Most of the time no one even bothers to look for them... either of them. And most often such occurrences pass with the smallest of notice or comment even within their own circles.

The psycho-weirdo's really only do it just to hear someone submit to them in any way they can manage. No other real reason exists except of course, that they too are an example of just too many people. Too many people in too small a space, wanting the same old crap.

She spent her last few months locked away with one of these sort. More than likely not even remembering who she was by the time the gift of death was issued, or just set in as her physical body gave up under whatever strains and abuses it was put to.

Just for a laugh more than likely. The unimaginable entertainment of hearing the same old pleas in a different accent maybe. This time, just to hear a little southern twang.... that time, just to listen to some deep inflections of Eastern Europe, perhaps. Always beginning with the same confusion and empty threats along the lines of "someone will be looking for me" and of course the efforts to hold on to hope as long as possible. Which is very much a known entertaining aspect to those "flip side" infections that accompany the over population of anything, in any species.

The human versions are just a bit more twisted and grotesque given that animals hunting overgrown populations, never do it just for fun.

Humans do anything "for fun." As long as they have an excuse, especially.

It was a rather nice day, I had to admit myself.

I remember it pretty clearly as I stood there and watched her exit the bus with the faint and promising scent of her perfume magically in tow.

What a nice day.