She sucked back her smoke, recycled it from her mouth into her nostrils in such a way that not even natural born fire breathing dragons could muster. Ash fell lightly into her coffee cup. “Damn” she said, “why do I always do that?” Her voice a low growl. Pushing the coffee cup aside, she collapsed her head into her palm and greedily took up space on the dining table with her elbow. The tip of a swatch of her hair made its way into the corner of her mouth, and obligingly she chewed. Mornings always made her nervous.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a ginger-haired white man walk onto the page of a notebook that sat on the table in front of her. He looked confused, not noticing her. Her eyes sparkled as she surveyed his blurry form, amused by his ignorance of her watchful eye. She coughed lightly, announcing herself, making him jump in alarm. His soft-focus eyes shifted wearily from side to side.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” her voice thundered across the page.
“What the…” his eyed darted from one corner to the other, “…fuck.”
Lips curving into a devious smile, she repeated her question. His eyes sharpened and wandered up towards her. “I have no idea,” he replied timidly after a time. “Am I not supposed to be here?”
“Well, I guess I can’t stop you now; now can I?” she said wryly.
The man thought for a moment. His hand gravitating up to his chin, fingers brushing the bristles of a five-day growth which caused surprise to register on his face. He glanced up curiously at her and said: “I’m not quite sure what you can and cannot do.”
“What is it that you’d like to do?” she entreated him.
“I’ve never really thought about it before.” His dark brows furrowed. After a long pause, he shifted his weight and asked “Could you give me a minute to think about this?”
“Take all the time you need.” She got up from the table and poured herself a clean cup of coffee. As she slumped back down into her chair, a gurgled burp escaped her throat. She brought the cup up to her nose and took a deep whiff of the coffee steam curling its way to freedom. Setting the cup down, she took a drag from her cigarette and laid the scorched filter in an ashtray on the table. After a while, her fingers started beating a rhythm on the table top. The beat grew more insistent as the minutes passed.
“Okay, this is quickly becoming ridiculous. Have you come up with anything yet?”
“Yes, yes I have,” He answered emphatically. “I decided that I wanna be from a rich family, perhaps even some blue blood in me. I’d like to be a warrior, however, but not a natural born one. Scrawny from a preemie birth, I had a tough childhood, always getting beat up at school, and such. Then, my father dies and I’ve gotta take the reigns of the family. I go into intense hardcore training and become barrel chested with abs of steel, and a nice square jaw, but not too square, because I’m no idiot – and you can tell that just by looking at me. I work my way up and gain the respect of my people. The men in power kill my sister in a horrific raid on my village, making me want to take revenge, and to avenge my people. I gather a small contingent of guerrilla fighters who, through sweat, blood and a strong sense of brotherhood, overthrow the tyranny of the established regime. We depose them and take their place; but rule with wisdom, justice and fairness for all. The people rejoice, having been freed from the yoke of tyranny. And in gratitude, they build me a beautiful palace even though they don’t have to. They give me a live-in cook, a butler and a jacuzzi in the back.. which happens to be in a man-made cave that has a grotto. Oh yeah, they also give me a harem… and I always treat my women with utmost respect, because I love and respect them all.”
She stared at him with one eyebrow raised. “yeah, that’s definitely not going to happen.”
Pausing to light another cigarette, she tilted her head to a lit match before continuing, “I’ll tell you what: your mother will die during childbirth, (god bless her soul, for she was a strong, intelligent and beautiful woman) and you will be raised by your grief-stricken father. He will do his best to raise you, but will always seem a bit cold and distant because he sees your mother in your eyes, and will secretly resent you for the rest of his life for having inadvertently caused her death. From time to time, he catches himself being harder on you than he should, for which he castigates himself because he consciously recognizes your innocence. He is a moral man, and as such, he does his best to ensure that you never suffer unjustly. In that sense, you will be of noble birth but will never enjoy the false glory of riches.
“He scrimps and saves to send you to a good university in Alberta, Canada. Upon your graduation, he will drive there from your hometown in rural Ontario to witness you receive your degree in Political Economy. He will then triumphantly drive you home. Halfway through the return trip, you will insist on driving part of the way back. Your car is suddenly hit by the exploding wheel of a cargo truck on the highway. You and your father are taken to the nearest hospital by rescue personnel. You are placed in intensive care, but unfortunately, your father will not make it to the hospital alive. You will be devastated. You will also be placed in a wheelchair for the next ten years of your life while you recover, and learn to walk once again. Then, you will-”
“Dear god! that’s just cruel! Why would you do that to me? I’ve done you no harm, have I?”
“Well, the grammar you employed in your rendition of the story of your life was quite offensive to the English language. In any case, you shouldn’t interrupt. It’s rude. Now let me continue. I was just about to-”
“No fucking way, man! Your rendition of the story of my life is cruel and unusual; and not even- (he carefully drew out the next word, as if rubbing it on his tongue)‘ -‘satisfactorily’ sensationalistic or even heart-warmingly sympathetic. Now that’s just uncalled for!” The red-headed man was very obviously outraged, barely stopping shy of positively hopping mad. He was about to start up again, but when he opened his mouth again, he found himself struck mute.
She shook her head, muttering, “oh, so very rude…. Anywho, I will now continue with your story: So then you will meet a sweet, and marvelously mediocre woman who you will slowly and painstakingly convince to marry you. She will bear you one child. A little girl. An endearingly average little girl, except for the fact that she will be born with a deformed limb because of those horrible toxins running wild- nay! – emanating (yes, that’s the right word) emanating from the plundered Albertan oil fields. I’m really quite sorry for this bit, but I have no choice in the matter. Your beloved daughter will not make it to your death bed because her congenital deformity will deny her a driver’s license, and the staff of the city transit authority will be on strike during the self-same week that you are fated to perish from a sudden stroke; which will kill you the day before your scheduled retirement from the plumbing company you will have worked for the last 20 years of your life.” At this point, she sighed and leaned back in her chair. “You may now speak.” she concluded.
The man’s bewildered lips un-sewed. “Not only is god not dead,” he breathed, “but he turns out to be a bloody deranged woman. Fuck. I never saw this coming.”
“It may or may not be true that god is not dead. However, subtlety was buried quite a while ago, and the world you know is still reeling in its absence.”
Before the man could say another word, she leaned forward and closed the notebook, trapping him forever between its pages.
Thinking in type 
