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Ripfolds I: Open Wounds in Time
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Ripfolds, Open Wounds in Time
Chapter One, Part II
Here I am bouncing along about three feet from the ground, nose up, trotting, all four legs in
motion. All four feet pounding forward. I feel hungry but think I am always hungry. Lucky she is
not within sniffing distance, Jules, that is. Her left leg would be toast, soaked by now. She and
Jimmy are probably having a field day over this Ripfold journey. I can hear them laughing. Oh,
wait got a sniff, got a smell large rock and pole, off we go, likely that Great Dane down the way.
Curtis is thinking the one with all the fur. Check it out, yep, that’s her, lift my leg, leave a bit
behind and off we go. I can pee at will, one of my many talents,
me and Curtis, Curtis the dog.
Curtis is a large white dog with black spots, a few black spots along the torso. looks like my head is mostly brown, my ears black, face like a retriever. We can see our reflection in the neighbors’ windows as we trot past, making our morning rounds. Have now passed three vehicles with Texas plates, one labeled temporary TX April 21, 2017, all right at eye level, hard to miss but me with a front row seat, how cool is that I am in Texas.
The only surprise in Anna’s belongings, the package Dan sent to Jules this week containing Anna’s box of stuff; a few torn pages or ripped fragments of letters between Dan and Anna, a handful of books, classic novels really, a picture or two and a Ripfold. Yes, a Ripfold. I doubt he knew it but went along for the ride. This is how I know Jules is enjoying my doggy daycare romp. As is typical, she jumped first.
Life as a dog, large dog, probably go 110 lb., bad ass to some, friendly to most. Only five minutes, but I’m already getting used to it. I am wearing a collar but have not seen a reflected tag. Another smell and off we go again.
Thought or communication between myself and Curtis is delayed, like watching a basketball game on two screens, one clearly a split second in front of the other. Not sure why or where we are headed, lots of distractions all around us, at this rate our journey together could take a while. I take that back, off we go, seemingly this time with purpose. Off to the left more of a hurried pace down a short hill. Now along a worn trail leading to a large creek bed, dry creek bed, bone dry creek bed, clearly the junction point for two flood plains coming together. Receded for now, a perfectly silent roaring white-water intersection. Washed rock and crevices everywhere large and small, scrub trees and sage all around guessing lizards, snakes, scorpions, and other varmints are patiently waiting out the sun. It’s late morning and the sun is high but not hot, not for Texas. We are cruising along the riverbed to the starboard side when suddenly Curtis stops, pivots left, jumps down into hole, a rock outcropping probably three feet of drop. It’s deep enough to feel brief coolness as we hit bottom shelf like rock. He knows what he is doing and where we are, he has been here before. I can sense this.
Now I see it, see something off to the right, kind of looks like a person, a girl, a young woman I believe. She is stuffed or rolled into the rock shelf covered in dead leaves and detritus, blood and not much else. One dangling tennis shoe that I can see. Curtis goes right up to her as we are now sniffing. I believe she is still alive, but I can’t see or sense anything moving, nothing at all. My mind is blazing, crazed, holy shit, holy shit I keep screaming to only myself. Instinctively, I reach out to touch her, to feel for a pulse. Damn, that got nowhere like being in a sealed glass box. Curtis is now taking over as he is down on his haunches next to her, licking the wounds and gashes to her lower abdomen just above her navel, multiple wounds. I am trapped, seeing only through Curtis, his eyes doing only what Curtis can do. Now watching what he has been doing, he is licking, he has been licking and it is working. At least there is no blood coming from her, just around her. Her face appears beaten badly, her head awkwardly twisted to inside of outcropping, her legs are also mangled. I can’t really see much else, seeing her face not a priority for Curtis.
Get it together, Brandon, I say to myself. You are here for a reason, why are you here, I am screaming to myself, think, think what Curtis can do. As my mind starts to come around, I start to focus. He is licking, that is good, but I don’t think he knows what to do next, what else, what else can a dog do, I think to myself. What can he do that I cannot. He can smell, I say loudly to only me, He can smell? She was likely dragged here and rolled up inside to rot. She left a trail. We can find and follow a trail. He can follow a scent, so we need that sneaker, we need to focus on the sneaker. There is no other clothing remnant in site, nothing that I can see. my urge is to grab him by his ears, shake his head, and force him toward the sneaker. Instead, I have another idea. Dogs do a couple of things better than us, one of them much better than me. I take my right hand, place my index finger and thumb partly inside my mouth, roll back my tongue a bit and create a small space between my lips and fingers, then blow. A whistle my dad taught me many years ago. Curtis’s ears go up immediately. He jumps to all fours. Dogs can hear, Curtis can hear. I am staring at the shoe. I can’t do much else. I keep staring, but he looks away. I whistle again, now he is back at attention. Like morning roll call at West Point, Curtis is now marching forward toward the shoe. He is getting it, our thinking starting to synch. This is one smart dog. He loosens the strings with his mouth, lightly tugs at the front part of the shoe. We have it in our mouth then when he pulls off the shoe, I hear it, low, very low less than a stifle more than a breath. My heart pounds, my inside explodes. Did I just hear that or was it bird, branch, or wind? Again, lighter now, there it is again. The dog hears it too, his head down still holding the shoe in his mouth. Curtis turns toward the girl but when he does, the shoe drops to the ground. Bottoms up, crap, we then take one step forward toward her, toward the girl. When we take the step our right front paw, leg, and weight inadvertently settle on the shoe, pushing it deep into the surrounding grime, sludge, blood, and dirt.
Sometimes it’s good to be lucky rather than right. This is one of those times. The top of the shoe is pushed into the ground, shoestrings soaking it up like a straw. The blood; a dark red, dirty maroon, now my favorite color. We need us both to focus, so fingers now back to my mouth, we need to keep moving. Only God knows how long we have. I blow hard to whistle again. Curtis, immediately at full attention, starts to back up. Move on and move out, but I blow hard again. He hesitates, appears to understand, moves forward, and clamps the rubber bottom of the shoe in his powerful jaws. We are off and quickly out of the crevice, two long easy jumps. I wish I had these legs on the court, I am thinking. Not much of a leaper myself, off we go with four-legged abandon. At first, we follow the same line we did in-coming. Then, without warning, we deviate to the left up the ravine and out of the gulch. Now climbing in brush, thicket, and steep slope very narrow path, every plant in Texas meant to poke, cut, stick, or slice. I don’t know where we are headed, but I like our chances. He knows what he is doing, following a scent is my guess. We stop a little past halfway. Curtis, head down, smells something strong with the shoe still in tow. We are sniffing around large exposed oak roots, stretched to breaking, but not yet ready to give way. The trees resolve a testament to the clash and force of the raging creek. We are twenty feet above the ravine. There it is wedged between two large roots, a small brown grocery bag, barely visible, partially torn, spilling clothing and other personals.
I whistle again. I don’t want to get too distracted. I don’t think the bag is going anywhere. Off we go again without warning. In minutes we are at the side yard of where we started, his house, his home. Now around to the back and through the double netted door opening to the TV room as we burst through the magnets settle the two sides of the loose net back together again, closing behind us. Now the part I am dreading, as this will not be easy, I am thinking.
“Hey big guy where you been?” I hear coming from the man in the lounge chair facing the TV monitor. “Did you take off running again,” he says, addressing Curtis and now turning to look at us. Curtis slowly approaches him, shoe still in tac. “What you got there?” he asks. “Another one of mom’s tennis shoes?” Then, “what the heck,” I hear him say as he gets a closer look. Curtis is now almost within reaching distance. The man’s arm lunges out to grab the shoe and Curtis pulls his head and the shoe back to the right, just in time, just out of his reach. Now the man is at attention, no whistle needed he wouldn’t hear it anyway, as he stands up and starts to come towards us.
“What you got there boy?” he says as he kneels next to the dog I whistle once again and hopefully for the last time. Curtis hears it and moves away, walking quickly down long straight hallway. I see where he is going, the front door. We walk up and stand, our nose inches from the door waiting, the man following just behind and now down on one knee next to the dog.
“What on God’s green earth...” his voice trails as he now has the shoestring gently looping the fingers of his right hand. “This does not look good, pray it’s not what I think it is,” he says out loud. The man stands up, quickly moves toward the table in an adjoining room, leans over, picks up a leash, a set of keys, and his cell phone. Back to Curtis, leash attached, and front door cracked open, cell phone slipped into his back pocket. Curtis squeezes out, pushes the door wide, leaps proudly onto the porch and Bang, I am gone.
Curtis is a large white dog with black spots, a few black spots along the torso. looks like my head is mostly brown, my ears black, face like a retriever. We can see our reflection in the neighbors’ windows as we trot past, making our morning rounds. Have now passed three vehicles with Texas plates, one labeled temporary TX April 21, 2017, all right at eye level, hard to miss but me with a front row seat, how cool is that I am in Texas.
The only surprise in Anna’s belongings, the package Dan sent to Jules this week containing Anna’s box of stuff; a few torn pages or ripped fragments of letters between Dan and Anna, a handful of books, classic novels really, a picture or two and a Ripfold. Yes, a Ripfold. I doubt he knew it but went along for the ride. This is how I know Jules is enjoying my doggy daycare romp. As is typical, she jumped first.
Life as a dog, large dog, probably go 110 lb., bad ass to some, friendly to most. Only five minutes, but I’m already getting used to it. I am wearing a collar but have not seen a reflected tag. Another smell and off we go again.
Thought or communication between myself and Curtis is delayed, like watching a basketball game on two screens, one clearly a split second in front of the other. Not sure why or where we are headed, lots of distractions all around us, at this rate our journey together could take a while. I take that back, off we go, seemingly this time with purpose. Off to the left more of a hurried pace down a short hill. Now along a worn trail leading to a large creek bed, dry creek bed, bone dry creek bed, clearly the junction point for two flood plains coming together. Receded for now, a perfectly silent roaring white-water intersection. Washed rock and crevices everywhere large and small, scrub trees and sage all around guessing lizards, snakes, scorpions, and other varmints are patiently waiting out the sun. It’s late morning and the sun is high but not hot, not for Texas. We are cruising along the riverbed to the starboard side when suddenly Curtis stops, pivots left, jumps down into hole, a rock outcropping probably three feet of drop. It’s deep enough to feel brief coolness as we hit bottom shelf like rock. He knows what he is doing and where we are, he has been here before. I can sense this.
Now I see it, see something off to the right, kind of looks like a person, a girl, a young woman I believe. She is stuffed or rolled into the rock shelf covered in dead leaves and detritus, blood and not much else. One dangling tennis shoe that I can see. Curtis goes right up to her as we are now sniffing. I believe she is still alive, but I can’t see or sense anything moving, nothing at all. My mind is blazing, crazed, holy shit, holy shit I keep screaming to only myself. Instinctively, I reach out to touch her, to feel for a pulse. Damn, that got nowhere like being in a sealed glass box. Curtis is now taking over as he is down on his haunches next to her, licking the wounds and gashes to her lower abdomen just above her navel, multiple wounds. I am trapped, seeing only through Curtis, his eyes doing only what Curtis can do. Now watching what he has been doing, he is licking, he has been licking and it is working. At least there is no blood coming from her, just around her. Her face appears beaten badly, her head awkwardly twisted to inside of outcropping, her legs are also mangled. I can’t really see much else, seeing her face not a priority for Curtis.
Get it together, Brandon, I say to myself. You are here for a reason, why are you here, I am screaming to myself, think, think what Curtis can do. As my mind starts to come around, I start to focus. He is licking, that is good, but I don’t think he knows what to do next, what else, what else can a dog do, I think to myself. What can he do that I cannot. He can smell, I say loudly to only me, He can smell? She was likely dragged here and rolled up inside to rot. She left a trail. We can find and follow a trail. He can follow a scent, so we need that sneaker, we need to focus on the sneaker. There is no other clothing remnant in site, nothing that I can see. my urge is to grab him by his ears, shake his head, and force him toward the sneaker. Instead, I have another idea. Dogs do a couple of things better than us, one of them much better than me. I take my right hand, place my index finger and thumb partly inside my mouth, roll back my tongue a bit and create a small space between my lips and fingers, then blow. A whistle my dad taught me many years ago. Curtis’s ears go up immediately. He jumps to all fours. Dogs can hear, Curtis can hear. I am staring at the shoe. I can’t do much else. I keep staring, but he looks away. I whistle again, now he is back at attention. Like morning roll call at West Point, Curtis is now marching forward toward the shoe. He is getting it, our thinking starting to synch. This is one smart dog. He loosens the strings with his mouth, lightly tugs at the front part of the shoe. We have it in our mouth then when he pulls off the shoe, I hear it, low, very low less than a stifle more than a breath. My heart pounds, my inside explodes. Did I just hear that or was it bird, branch, or wind? Again, lighter now, there it is again. The dog hears it too, his head down still holding the shoe in his mouth. Curtis turns toward the girl but when he does, the shoe drops to the ground. Bottoms up, crap, we then take one step forward toward her, toward the girl. When we take the step our right front paw, leg, and weight inadvertently settle on the shoe, pushing it deep into the surrounding grime, sludge, blood, and dirt.
Sometimes it’s good to be lucky rather than right. This is one of those times. The top of the shoe is pushed into the ground, shoestrings soaking it up like a straw. The blood; a dark red, dirty maroon, now my favorite color. We need us both to focus, so fingers now back to my mouth, we need to keep moving. Only God knows how long we have. I blow hard to whistle again. Curtis, immediately at full attention, starts to back up. Move on and move out, but I blow hard again. He hesitates, appears to understand, moves forward, and clamps the rubber bottom of the shoe in his powerful jaws. We are off and quickly out of the crevice, two long easy jumps. I wish I had these legs on the court, I am thinking. Not much of a leaper myself, off we go with four-legged abandon. At first, we follow the same line we did in-coming. Then, without warning, we deviate to the left up the ravine and out of the gulch. Now climbing in brush, thicket, and steep slope very narrow path, every plant in Texas meant to poke, cut, stick, or slice. I don’t know where we are headed, but I like our chances. He knows what he is doing, following a scent is my guess. We stop a little past halfway. Curtis, head down, smells something strong with the shoe still in tow. We are sniffing around large exposed oak roots, stretched to breaking, but not yet ready to give way. The trees resolve a testament to the clash and force of the raging creek. We are twenty feet above the ravine. There it is wedged between two large roots, a small brown grocery bag, barely visible, partially torn, spilling clothing and other personals.
I whistle again. I don’t want to get too distracted. I don’t think the bag is going anywhere. Off we go again without warning. In minutes we are at the side yard of where we started, his house, his home. Now around to the back and through the double netted door opening to the TV room as we burst through the magnets settle the two sides of the loose net back together again, closing behind us. Now the part I am dreading, as this will not be easy, I am thinking.
“Hey big guy where you been?” I hear coming from the man in the lounge chair facing the TV monitor. “Did you take off running again,” he says, addressing Curtis and now turning to look at us. Curtis slowly approaches him, shoe still in tac. “What you got there?” he asks. “Another one of mom’s tennis shoes?” Then, “what the heck,” I hear him say as he gets a closer look. Curtis is now almost within reaching distance. The man’s arm lunges out to grab the shoe and Curtis pulls his head and the shoe back to the right, just in time, just out of his reach. Now the man is at attention, no whistle needed he wouldn’t hear it anyway, as he stands up and starts to come towards us.
“What you got there boy?” he says as he kneels next to the dog I whistle once again and hopefully for the last time. Curtis hears it and moves away, walking quickly down long straight hallway. I see where he is going, the front door. We walk up and stand, our nose inches from the door waiting, the man following just behind and now down on one knee next to the dog.
“What on God’s green earth...” his voice trails as he now has the shoestring gently looping the fingers of his right hand. “This does not look good, pray it’s not what I think it is,” he says out loud. The man stands up, quickly moves toward the table in an adjoining room, leans over, picks up a leash, a set of keys, and his cell phone. Back to Curtis, leash attached, and front door cracked open, cell phone slipped into his back pocket. Curtis squeezes out, pushes the door wide, leaps proudly onto the porch and Bang, I am gone.
Ripfolds II, Magical Summer
Chapter Seven, Part I
...Mings starring wide eyed. Knows now what Nikola Tesla must have felt when the first ball of
lighting warmed his lab over a hundred years ago. In nature ball lightning has been reported to
float through buildings, across land and in and around airplanes. Much like a lightning ball the
Ripfold just hanging there. Suspended in mid-air once again visible because of the strobe. As
before there is a glow and energy about it. Mings now verbally expressing his thoughts to Brandon
and Jimmy. “The USAF Academy in Colorado recently created a ball of lighting. The sphere had
a glow, a discharge and consisted of a plasma gas suspended
above an electrolyte solution. KYs Ripfold seems very
similar. In the Air Force study, the ball is described as a
“plasmoid.” Scientist believed the plasmoid emerged from an
electric arc. They could vary how long the sphere existed
by altering the chemical makeup of the electrolyte solution. As Mings says this to the boys he is
circling Brandon who is sitting on a short stool in between a couple of tables. Jimmy sitting on one
table the strobe occupying the other. Jimmy first to see the “arc”. “Guys,” he says “appears Mings
is spot on. From this angle I can see what could be described as an arc. It appears to flow from
Brandon’s head to Rippy Van Wrinkle here,” As Jimmy says this, he is nodding toward the KY
Ripfold. Mings now up close and inspecting the area just above Brandons left ear. The shuttering
light from the strobe combined with illumination from the Ripfold distracting him and making
examination difficult. Mings gloved hand passing right through the arc having followed it up the
curve to the ball or orifice. Now gently touching the Ripfold with a non-metallic lab probe.
Touching not really the right term as the probe finds no substance and passes right through. The
plasmoid does not move or react in any way as Mings examines it.
“The arc appears to flow from Brandons temporal area.” Mings begins, “probably the petrous bone. The petrous bone protects our inner ear and one of the densest bones in the body. Because of its density and hardness DNA is well preserved even more so than teeth. Bonobos also have a temporal bone. Anthropologist have studied the morphology of this bone for evolutionary evidence. More importantly for us it likely a roadmap Binky utilized to create her work,” Mings concludes. Mings now reaching into his lab coat pocket pulls out the lock of Brandons hair. As he passes his hand in front the Ripfold it appears to follow shifting to the right and then to the left continuing its now focused gaze as Mings brings the strand back around. Jimmy and Brandon both fascinated. Brandon quick to ask him to do it again shifting himself on the stool to get a better look. Once again, the Ripfold follows Mings hand holding the hair.
Mings now backed off walks over to turn off the strobe and gathering his thoughts. “Well guys,” he says but begins looking directly at Brandon, “after examining the plasmoid I think best course of action will be to use a sudden shock to break KYs bond with you. Then seed an electrolyte solution with as much DNA as you are willing to part with Brandon and see if an arc forms. To do this I believe we need three things; mechanism to create a sudden jolt to break the connection but not expose you to any danger, an iron or steel shield to deflect your electromagnetic presence from the Ripfold and finally a DNA laden electrolyte solution that triggers formation of an arc to KY and KY to it. So, we will need all the hair and fingernails you want to spare. With Brandon properly shielded the moment we break the connection the plasmoid should be attracted to the solution. Hopefully a permanent bonding arc forms and KYs Ripfold is captured inside our warehouse walls.” Mings concludes. Brandon and Jimmy just nodding their heads seemingly in full agreement.
The three young men are preoccupied inside the warehouse. They don’t notice or sense the change around the building. What the team now believes represent the floating essence of past Ripfolders. The shadows constantly circling the warehouse rooftop. They are clearly agitated. The school of devil ray shaped contours now moving with intent, darting, wildly crisscrossing and in attack mode, no longer flowing or orderly. Like a large hammer head has just arrived on the scene and now hovering nearby.
Brandon and Jimmy getting ready to leave the warehouse and head back to school. Light practice tonight, more of a walk through and to meet some of the new players. Team needs a new point guard last year’s play maker having graduated and moved on to university. Mings having indicated he will need some time to come up with everything he needs. So, everyone now thinking next weekend for the big “disconnect” between Brandon and KYs Ripfold. Plus, Jules will want to be here and Brandon already missing her. Text her twice no answer. Hoping to himself she is not in one of those moods. They come and go like the wind and can hit just as hard. The boys up to the exit now shouting to Mings they are headed out. Jimmy in front pushing the exit bar and leaning right shoulder against the door. There is real resistance coming from the outside totally unexpected and he is caught off guard. Brandon leans over him and now helping push forward with his long arms. Both looking at each other in amazement. “What the hell” Jimmys says, the two of them have barely managed an inch or two and a crack-forms between the door and the outside. Then it happens. The shadows, the essence, the devil rays pounding against the outside now fly bat like, dipped winged and with fierce abandon through what little space is available. This action simultaneously releasing the pressure on the door causing it to fly open, both boys falling forward toppling into each other, collide, trip, and then face plant into the ground. It all happens so fast they see nothing now sitting up and laughing at each other. “What the heck was that all about,” Branded manages to say. “What a couple of dorks,” Jimmy follows. Mings now standing in the doorway wondering why the door is thrown open and the two boys are sprawled on the ground in front of the entrance to team warehouse. “You guys roughhousing again” he asks. Both Brandon and Jimmy up, brushing themselves off and adjusting hair and clothes. Brandon facing Mings about to respond when he sees something move behind him. Something unusual catches his attention. Walks few steps closer to Mings to take a closer look. “Wow” is all he can say. Now walking into the warehouse Mings having stepped aside. His mouth wide open eyes peeled overhead and now looking around. The two boys follow him in. “Oh my God” he says out loud, Brandon captivated, mesmerized, “holy crap,” he says breaking the silence, “they are all in here, all of them. I know you can’t see them, but they are all in here. They are canvassing the warehouse ceiling. They are all overhead; the shadows, the essence inside the building, but they are moving with wild intent, super aggressive, look like they are prowling or hunting for something. I think they might be pissed.” He screams.
“The arc appears to flow from Brandons temporal area.” Mings begins, “probably the petrous bone. The petrous bone protects our inner ear and one of the densest bones in the body. Because of its density and hardness DNA is well preserved even more so than teeth. Bonobos also have a temporal bone. Anthropologist have studied the morphology of this bone for evolutionary evidence. More importantly for us it likely a roadmap Binky utilized to create her work,” Mings concludes. Mings now reaching into his lab coat pocket pulls out the lock of Brandons hair. As he passes his hand in front the Ripfold it appears to follow shifting to the right and then to the left continuing its now focused gaze as Mings brings the strand back around. Jimmy and Brandon both fascinated. Brandon quick to ask him to do it again shifting himself on the stool to get a better look. Once again, the Ripfold follows Mings hand holding the hair.
Mings now backed off walks over to turn off the strobe and gathering his thoughts. “Well guys,” he says but begins looking directly at Brandon, “after examining the plasmoid I think best course of action will be to use a sudden shock to break KYs bond with you. Then seed an electrolyte solution with as much DNA as you are willing to part with Brandon and see if an arc forms. To do this I believe we need three things; mechanism to create a sudden jolt to break the connection but not expose you to any danger, an iron or steel shield to deflect your electromagnetic presence from the Ripfold and finally a DNA laden electrolyte solution that triggers formation of an arc to KY and KY to it. So, we will need all the hair and fingernails you want to spare. With Brandon properly shielded the moment we break the connection the plasmoid should be attracted to the solution. Hopefully a permanent bonding arc forms and KYs Ripfold is captured inside our warehouse walls.” Mings concludes. Brandon and Jimmy just nodding their heads seemingly in full agreement.
The three young men are preoccupied inside the warehouse. They don’t notice or sense the change around the building. What the team now believes represent the floating essence of past Ripfolders. The shadows constantly circling the warehouse rooftop. They are clearly agitated. The school of devil ray shaped contours now moving with intent, darting, wildly crisscrossing and in attack mode, no longer flowing or orderly. Like a large hammer head has just arrived on the scene and now hovering nearby.
Brandon and Jimmy getting ready to leave the warehouse and head back to school. Light practice tonight, more of a walk through and to meet some of the new players. Team needs a new point guard last year’s play maker having graduated and moved on to university. Mings having indicated he will need some time to come up with everything he needs. So, everyone now thinking next weekend for the big “disconnect” between Brandon and KYs Ripfold. Plus, Jules will want to be here and Brandon already missing her. Text her twice no answer. Hoping to himself she is not in one of those moods. They come and go like the wind and can hit just as hard. The boys up to the exit now shouting to Mings they are headed out. Jimmy in front pushing the exit bar and leaning right shoulder against the door. There is real resistance coming from the outside totally unexpected and he is caught off guard. Brandon leans over him and now helping push forward with his long arms. Both looking at each other in amazement. “What the hell” Jimmys says, the two of them have barely managed an inch or two and a crack-forms between the door and the outside. Then it happens. The shadows, the essence, the devil rays pounding against the outside now fly bat like, dipped winged and with fierce abandon through what little space is available. This action simultaneously releasing the pressure on the door causing it to fly open, both boys falling forward toppling into each other, collide, trip, and then face plant into the ground. It all happens so fast they see nothing now sitting up and laughing at each other. “What the heck was that all about,” Branded manages to say. “What a couple of dorks,” Jimmy follows. Mings now standing in the doorway wondering why the door is thrown open and the two boys are sprawled on the ground in front of the entrance to team warehouse. “You guys roughhousing again” he asks. Both Brandon and Jimmy up, brushing themselves off and adjusting hair and clothes. Brandon facing Mings about to respond when he sees something move behind him. Something unusual catches his attention. Walks few steps closer to Mings to take a closer look. “Wow” is all he can say. Now walking into the warehouse Mings having stepped aside. His mouth wide open eyes peeled overhead and now looking around. The two boys follow him in. “Oh my God” he says out loud, Brandon captivated, mesmerized, “holy crap,” he says breaking the silence, “they are all in here, all of them. I know you can’t see them, but they are all in here. They are canvassing the warehouse ceiling. They are all overhead; the shadows, the essence inside the building, but they are moving with wild intent, super aggressive, look like they are prowling or hunting for something. I think they might be pissed.” He screams.
Ripfolds III, In The Beginning
Chapter One, Part I
They are waiting for the truck to pull up. Loading today the three young Bonobos and Anna riding
with the chimps to their new home. “These, last three are very special to me,” she says to Binky.
“I raised them from infants.” Binky acknowledges by shaking her head and a smile; she knows
Anna “Banana” treats these animals like her children.
“Anna you know as well as I do each one of these
offspring apes carry the virus infected by their parents”
They both just sit silent for a while watching the river
flow past no response from Anna. Finally, she hears a
large truck pulling into the pub’s parking field. She
stands and waives letting the driver know to pull all the way back to the old, dilapidated barns.
The animals inside already loaded in wheeled cage’s, so it does not take long for the man to load
the cargo and lock each down to the bed flooring.
Binky and Anna are now hugging. They know this marks the end of an era. Girta is shutting down Project Battle Fatigue. The government agency decided it’s too volatile to continue and funding has ended. “Ignoring the virus won’t make it go away” Binky says as she and Anna now holding hands and looking right at each other, “what virus,” Anna responds smiling. “Doesn’t matter,” she says. “We don’t need them. We have what we need to continue your research. Binky you are changing the world. Don’t you forget that don’t ever forget that” she repeats squeezing her hands now even harder. Moments later, “we are changing the world” Binky yells back just as Anna swings her backpack into the cab and steps up to the running board, scoots sideways into the passenger side of the truck. Now leaning way out to grab the door handle, “see you soon.” She winks looking right at Binky as she signals a thumbs up with her other hand. Binky standing there watching as the truck back-ups, straightens and pulls away. Now over the curb takes a right and up the incline onto the bridge. “What is she up to, Annie knows those apes must be euthanized” Binky outwardly wondering and watching the truck fade into the distance.
Soon thereafter Anna and the driver are cruising in silence along the blue highway. Many of the amusement rides from Kings Island suddenly appear in the foreground and off to the right as they are heading for Interstate-71. “Juan Carlos,” Anna says trying to get his attention. She is pointing a Baretta 85 FS Cheetah, a 380 Italian pocket gun right at his face. Holding it with both shaking hands overlapping trigger fingers loosely held in the right place. “Juan Carlos,” she says again. The truck and roadway are making for a loud, bumpy ride as Juan turns to stare right into the barrel of the bouncing gun. “Shit” is all he says. Then a horn, a loud horn as the truck has understandably veered into the on-coming lane. “Shit” he says again this time much louder and faster. Then he throws the steering wheel hard to the right and this sends Anna and the Baretta still at the end of her outstretched arms within a couple of feet of Juan Carlos. Growing up in Juarez, Mexico he didn’t learn much about guns but learned a lot about survival. On pure instinct his left hand instantly comes across and karate chops the crazy woman’s wrist. This causes her to half drop the gun, it dangles from the trigger point. Juan Carlos having released the steering wheel to allow the truck to straighten into its proper lane now punches the pistol with his cocked arm and free right hand. The gun goes flying into the floorboard area of the truck cab.
Juan now looking nervously between the lady, gun, and road. He is not sure what to do next. Not seeing anywhere to pull over and can’t really stop her from attempting to retrieve the weapon. The woman however is shaking her gun hand with vigor and rubbing her writs at the same time bending over and straightening up. Clearly in pain. Then out of nowhere, “It’s not loaded,” Anna confesses. “It’s not loaded,” she says again. Seconds pass, Juan’s face grows redder and redder. “Lady” he yells with his left hand balled into a tight fist,” “you damn lucky I don’t smash la fachada.” About half an hour later the truck pulls up to King Island large public parking field close to the bus stop. Juan Carlos jumps out of the passenger seat of the cargo truck with his hands straight up over his head. “You a crazy bitch,” he yells “you a nutso crazy lady” as he reaches up and slams the door shut. The vehicle then without hesitation moves on. Juan stands there for a bit then begins to walk over to the wait station. Big smile on his face but shaking his head. He has four hundred dollars in his front pocket two hundred more than he was paid to drive the truck. “Afortunado, he screams both arms extended hands in the air. “Afortundo, American citizens lesson, con suerte 2005, con suerte 2005!” His outstretched arms and hands now forming a V as he looks skyward.
Anna driving down the highway having paid off and dumped Juan Carlos at the bus stop. Her little body kind of floating up and down. “I like this old truck kind of has its own little groove” she somewhat musically whispers now bobbing and weaving with the flow. Using the front seat as her own little bouncy bounce and enjoying the ride. The unloaded gun now safely stowed in the club box of the pickup. She keeps looking back to check on the three bonobos through the little window cut in the center of the back wall panel. They seemed to have settled down for now. Not much choice. Sam and Elliott both typical male apes seduced by the hum of the road, wrapped in a nest of leaves and twigs and napping, Dep, the female and nervous motherly type not only awake but starring right at Anna. Won’t take her eyes away smallish hard butt to the ground and long arms and hands extended and wrapped around the steel bars of the cage. Bonobos have strong hands, short thumbs but extremely long fingers. The four of them are headed to the old warehouse that Girta Company owns next to the river near downtown Cincinnati. Anna haven stole the keys to the building months ago and has been getting it ready for Binky to continue her work. “The company doesn’t really know it’s there,” she screams with a quick look back at her passengers. “They haven’t used it for years. The door was stuck so bad Dep,” she hollers back speaking to her young friend the chimp. “It threw me on my ass first time I tried to open it” she says laughing as the ape, seems to catch the riff smiles, as they continue this uneasy journey down the road together.
“Dep you and me like Thelma and Louise, just two girls on the lam,” she says loud enough for her passengers in the back to hear. Elliott stirs barely lifts his head finds nothing of interest and its quickly back to the earthen twiggy heap. Dep still holding on to the cage and eyeballing Anna “Yep we are both just wanted woman now. Which means I am going to have to ditch this truck once I get you and the boys inside.” As she says this, the truck pulls into the parking field leading back to the warehouse and now circling around to the far-left side of the building. “Still haven’t told Binky but once I get you guys settled we can invite her over for tea,” Anna indicates nervously laughing but she has no idea how Binky is going to react.
Binky walks back to the old warehouse to lock up steps inside and begins to wander about the mostly dirt covered floor and four struggling walls. “Just trying to keep it all from collapsing aren’t you.” she says with a failing smile. “All that pressure from the outside, well hang in there,” she encourages, “the key,” the scientist in her teaches, “don’t let the pressure from the outside overcome the push from the inside.” Inside of course still looks and smells of old barn; animals, straw, and dung, but standing there she can feel a slight breeze on her face and blowing through to the river. “That’s good that’s important,” she says, “equilibrium between two opposing forces is important.” As she steps outside closes and locks the door she mutters aloud, “just because Girta funding is cut doesn’t mean I have to stop my research.” Then as if a sign from above she sees it right next to the old porch light. A Fold, bright and big as can be.
Binky and Anna are now hugging. They know this marks the end of an era. Girta is shutting down Project Battle Fatigue. The government agency decided it’s too volatile to continue and funding has ended. “Ignoring the virus won’t make it go away” Binky says as she and Anna now holding hands and looking right at each other, “what virus,” Anna responds smiling. “Doesn’t matter,” she says. “We don’t need them. We have what we need to continue your research. Binky you are changing the world. Don’t you forget that don’t ever forget that” she repeats squeezing her hands now even harder. Moments later, “we are changing the world” Binky yells back just as Anna swings her backpack into the cab and steps up to the running board, scoots sideways into the passenger side of the truck. Now leaning way out to grab the door handle, “see you soon.” She winks looking right at Binky as she signals a thumbs up with her other hand. Binky standing there watching as the truck back-ups, straightens and pulls away. Now over the curb takes a right and up the incline onto the bridge. “What is she up to, Annie knows those apes must be euthanized” Binky outwardly wondering and watching the truck fade into the distance.
Soon thereafter Anna and the driver are cruising in silence along the blue highway. Many of the amusement rides from Kings Island suddenly appear in the foreground and off to the right as they are heading for Interstate-71. “Juan Carlos,” Anna says trying to get his attention. She is pointing a Baretta 85 FS Cheetah, a 380 Italian pocket gun right at his face. Holding it with both shaking hands overlapping trigger fingers loosely held in the right place. “Juan Carlos,” she says again. The truck and roadway are making for a loud, bumpy ride as Juan turns to stare right into the barrel of the bouncing gun. “Shit” is all he says. Then a horn, a loud horn as the truck has understandably veered into the on-coming lane. “Shit” he says again this time much louder and faster. Then he throws the steering wheel hard to the right and this sends Anna and the Baretta still at the end of her outstretched arms within a couple of feet of Juan Carlos. Growing up in Juarez, Mexico he didn’t learn much about guns but learned a lot about survival. On pure instinct his left hand instantly comes across and karate chops the crazy woman’s wrist. This causes her to half drop the gun, it dangles from the trigger point. Juan Carlos having released the steering wheel to allow the truck to straighten into its proper lane now punches the pistol with his cocked arm and free right hand. The gun goes flying into the floorboard area of the truck cab.
Juan now looking nervously between the lady, gun, and road. He is not sure what to do next. Not seeing anywhere to pull over and can’t really stop her from attempting to retrieve the weapon. The woman however is shaking her gun hand with vigor and rubbing her writs at the same time bending over and straightening up. Clearly in pain. Then out of nowhere, “It’s not loaded,” Anna confesses. “It’s not loaded,” she says again. Seconds pass, Juan’s face grows redder and redder. “Lady” he yells with his left hand balled into a tight fist,” “you damn lucky I don’t smash la fachada.” About half an hour later the truck pulls up to King Island large public parking field close to the bus stop. Juan Carlos jumps out of the passenger seat of the cargo truck with his hands straight up over his head. “You a crazy bitch,” he yells “you a nutso crazy lady” as he reaches up and slams the door shut. The vehicle then without hesitation moves on. Juan stands there for a bit then begins to walk over to the wait station. Big smile on his face but shaking his head. He has four hundred dollars in his front pocket two hundred more than he was paid to drive the truck. “Afortunado, he screams both arms extended hands in the air. “Afortundo, American citizens lesson, con suerte 2005, con suerte 2005!” His outstretched arms and hands now forming a V as he looks skyward.
Anna driving down the highway having paid off and dumped Juan Carlos at the bus stop. Her little body kind of floating up and down. “I like this old truck kind of has its own little groove” she somewhat musically whispers now bobbing and weaving with the flow. Using the front seat as her own little bouncy bounce and enjoying the ride. The unloaded gun now safely stowed in the club box of the pickup. She keeps looking back to check on the three bonobos through the little window cut in the center of the back wall panel. They seemed to have settled down for now. Not much choice. Sam and Elliott both typical male apes seduced by the hum of the road, wrapped in a nest of leaves and twigs and napping, Dep, the female and nervous motherly type not only awake but starring right at Anna. Won’t take her eyes away smallish hard butt to the ground and long arms and hands extended and wrapped around the steel bars of the cage. Bonobos have strong hands, short thumbs but extremely long fingers. The four of them are headed to the old warehouse that Girta Company owns next to the river near downtown Cincinnati. Anna haven stole the keys to the building months ago and has been getting it ready for Binky to continue her work. “The company doesn’t really know it’s there,” she screams with a quick look back at her passengers. “They haven’t used it for years. The door was stuck so bad Dep,” she hollers back speaking to her young friend the chimp. “It threw me on my ass first time I tried to open it” she says laughing as the ape, seems to catch the riff smiles, as they continue this uneasy journey down the road together.
“Dep you and me like Thelma and Louise, just two girls on the lam,” she says loud enough for her passengers in the back to hear. Elliott stirs barely lifts his head finds nothing of interest and its quickly back to the earthen twiggy heap. Dep still holding on to the cage and eyeballing Anna “Yep we are both just wanted woman now. Which means I am going to have to ditch this truck once I get you and the boys inside.” As she says this, the truck pulls into the parking field leading back to the warehouse and now circling around to the far-left side of the building. “Still haven’t told Binky but once I get you guys settled we can invite her over for tea,” Anna indicates nervously laughing but she has no idea how Binky is going to react.
Binky walks back to the old warehouse to lock up steps inside and begins to wander about the mostly dirt covered floor and four struggling walls. “Just trying to keep it all from collapsing aren’t you.” she says with a failing smile. “All that pressure from the outside, well hang in there,” she encourages, “the key,” the scientist in her teaches, “don’t let the pressure from the outside overcome the push from the inside.” Inside of course still looks and smells of old barn; animals, straw, and dung, but standing there she can feel a slight breeze on her face and blowing through to the river. “That’s good that’s important,” she says, “equilibrium between two opposing forces is important.” As she steps outside closes and locks the door she mutters aloud, “just because Girta funding is cut doesn’t mean I have to stop my research.” Then as if a sign from above she sees it right next to the old porch light. A Fold, bright and big as can be.
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