Mandy would probably be home soon. For the last few months, she had picked up some work on an overnight office-cleaning crew. Since she started the job, she and Fish only saw each other for an hour each morning, before Fish hit the streets to look for odd jobs. Mandy took care of the bills, Fish's only responsibility was earning enough to send out 10 crisp resumes and cover letters each day. It had been 19 months now, but he could FEEL his break coming. His Jos. A. Bank Executive Wool 3-Button suit hung pressed and ready for action in the corner. "Soon.." he thought, though he was beginning to lose hope.

He walked over to peruse the contents of the mini-fridge on the counter. An apple, a jar of peanut butter, and small carton of milk. He stood in front of the fridge for a moment to enjoy the chill air wafting across his face. He snatched the carton of milk and lifted it to his mouth to take a long, slow pull until the carton was empty. Mandy will be pissed. It had been months since either of them had had anything to drink besides water, so when Mandy returned home the day before from the charity food bank with the tiny carton, they both greedily drank it down, saving the last bit for another time. Fish wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and chucked the carton onto the steadily growing pile of garbage next to the hot plate.

"Why is it so fucking hot in here?" he complained to the empty room.

He walked over to the window and smacked the side of the sputtering air conditioning unit, which whimpered and coughed and cut off with a loud metallic clank. "Fuckin' thing," he muttered under his breath. He opened the other window in hopes that a lost and sympathetic breeze might deign to wander through and provide some relief from the oppressive heat. He stuck his head through the window and was met with a blast of scorching, humid air. "Fuckin' thing," he grimaced as a splinter from the cracked wooden window frame broke off in his palm. He slumped down on the pullout couch, the only piece of furniture in the room besides the nightstand and the dresser on the opposite wall. He reached for his laptop - perhaps the only luxury item that he and Mandy permitted themselves to enjoy - and hopped onto XO using the neighbor's unsecured wifi. He scanned through the first page of threads. Nothing but bullshit. R-threads, spam, and another faggoty attidood thread. "Worthless," he snarled, snapping the laptop shut and setting it aside. Just then, the lock on the door clicked and Mandy stepped through.

"Hey Fish" she rasped weakly as she dead-bolted the door. She was not cut out for this kind of work. She slumped down next to him on the pullout and let out a sigh. "Uggh it is SO hot in here!" she complained as she stripped off her work uniform and pushed it onto the floor. "Can you put on the tv?" she asked, "it helps me sleep."

Fish got up and walked over to the 13 inch TV/VCR on the dresser and clicked it on. It began playing the old Coming To America VHS that Fish had rescued from a dumpster behind the pizzeria two blocks away. Seconds later, a loud pop and flash came from behind the tv, and it clicked off. "Fuckin' thing!" Fish shouted angrily. "The fucking outlet is acting up again." He walked over to the wall, grabbing a screwdriver from the shelf.

"I wish you wouldn't mess with that thing, Fish" Mandy whined, half asleep already.

Fish moved the dresser away from the wall, revealing the faulty outlet. He began jabbing at the casing clumsily trying to pry it loose, venting his frustration on the irritatingly competent enclosure. "Fuckin' thing!" he growled, the speed of his onslaught ramping up noticeably. After a flurry of ill-conceived jabs, the casing popped off, exposing the copper wiring within. Already seething with impotent rage, Fish's unsteady hand caused the screwdriver to drift towards one of the stray wires.

It made contact.

In an instant, Fish could feel an army of angry electrons screaming up his arm towards his brain, popping and crackling and fizzling, clawing fiercely at his mind and ripping his consciousness to jagged and fearful shreds. After what seemed like hours of painful sizzling agony, he let out a stifled scream and collapsed to the floor.

As he drifted away from consciousness, the last thing he heard was Mandy's terrified voice, reaching out to him. "FISH!!! NOOOO!!! FISH!!!! FISH!!!!"

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"FISH!!!"

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"FISH!"

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"FISH!"

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"MR. FISH!"

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"Mr. Fish?"

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Mr. Fish?

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"'allo, Mr. Fish? Mr. Fish? Time to get up, eet eez morning!"

Fish awoke with a start. Confused, his blurry eyes slowly focused on his chambermaid, Eliza. He spun around in bed, dazed, drinking in his surroundings. He looked back at Eliza.

"Eliza?" Fish gasped. "Is that you?"

"But of courze, Mr. Fish. Who elze would it be?" she laughed pleasantly.

It all came rushing back to him. He was in the master suite. The country villa. Vacation. Downtime.

He'd had another nightmare.

He let out a sigh and slumped back in bed. Eliza walked over to the bedside and placed a silver tray with the Wall Street Journal, a spinach and feta omelet, and a mug of steaming coffee on his lap.

"I am zorry, Mr. Fish, but zis iz ze best I can do for breakfast for you today. Ze chef and ze staff 'as all gone ahead wiz Mandy back to ze city, you will fly z'ere and meet up wiz zem later, ya?"

The memories came flooding back, replacing the hazy fog of sleep. He and Mandy had decided to take some time off after Fish's dreadful showdown with the board of directors of his firm. He'd spent the last 5 years assembling an all-star team, hungrily importing superstar associates from many of his "rival" firms. His practice group was humming. Deal after deal after deal. True grinders. Earners. Rival firms were running scared while he gleefully drained their coffers, poaching clients and associates alike. He was taking over. He was the man. This was his baby.

It took a good deal of effort to convince the board of directors to see it this way. Fish demanded a hefty bonus - far heftier than any of the board members had received - given his group's almost unfathomable mountain of billable hours over the past year. After it became clear that they would not be persuaded, Fish dropped the atomic bomb on them.

He threatened to leave.

Once Fish threw down the gauntlet, they knew they had no leverage. They were painted into a corner. They would be crazy to let Fish leave. They knew full well that he would take his clients and the river of money that he benevolently directed towards their firm with him. The firm would dry up, wither, and die, like so many firms and practice groups that Fish had left in his wake over the years. Fish held all the cards. They all knew it.

So, they eventually gave in, and pulled together a respectable bonus/retention package that Fish felt he had earned 100 times over. Victorious, he and Mandy fled to the country villa to bask in the spoils of war. They threw a decadent party, which was delightfully well-attended. Hedge fund managers and V5 partners rubbed elbows with senators, CEO's, and foreign dignitaries. Fish even managed to land a new client, a Japanese mogul with several lucrative projects in southeast Asia. He had heard good things about Fish. Everyone had.

Even a few of the managing partners from Fish's firm showed up, sheepishly complimenting him on his home and slinking away to talk amongst themselves. They all knew things would be different once Fish returned to the office. He had called their bluff and come out the better man. He owned them.

The weeks that followed at the villa were wonderfully relaxing, aside from the occasional nightmares that plagued him. They were always the same. Crippling poverty. Unemployment. Desperation. Squalor. What did they mean? An endless stream of cramped, hot apartments, empty refrigerators, and old broken appliances. Fish recalled a few lean years early in his career when he was "between firms" - a euphemism that Fish did not see the humor in at the time - but things had never gotten *that* bad...... had they?

"Now eat up and get drezzed. Wilson, 'e will drive you to ze airport. 'e is outside with ze Azton Martin, waiting for you" Eliza said, snapping Fish back to the present.

"The Aston Martin?" Fish was confused. He hadn't used the Aston Martin in ages, he rarely managed to find time to take it out to the track and certainly never dared to take it out on public streets. He was far too fond of the vehicle to risk having her sumptuous body ravaged by some careless mouthbreather careening recklessly about in the latest prole-wagon. Mandy had asked him several times to just sell the damn thing, though her obvious ambivalence rendered her requests unpersuasive. She knew full well that they didn't need the money, so she kindly dropped the issue when it became clear that Fish was rather attached to the silly thing.

Still, it wasn't his day-to-day vehicle. "Why aren't we taking the Bentley?" Fish asked.

"Zir, you don't remember? She iz being fixed today. 'er air conditioning, she is broken, ya?"

"Oh, right," Fish recalled. "Of course," he chuckled as he sipped his coffee and opened the newspaper, "Fuckin' thing..."

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"Fuckin' thing...."

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"Fuckin' thing..."

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"Fuckin' thing...."

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"Fuckin thing," Fish muttered weakly.

He became aware of a shooting pain in his right arm. He opened his eyes. He was on his back, staring up at the cracked ceiling, Mandy looking down at him with panic in her eyes. He glanced down at his arm. His hand and forearm were blackened and painful. There were burns on the sleeve of his shirt. He still held the charred screwdriver in his hand.

"Are you ok!?!?" Mandy shrieked. "Fish! Are you OK!?!?"

Fish closed his eyes tightly. His mind was screaming out in utter disgust, disbelief, and hatred. He could feel pressure behind his eyes, the blood pumping faster and faster, it felt like he had poisonous sewage coursing through his veins. He clenched his jaw tightly, screaming out in agony, his cursed and rotten soul crying out for release.

He rolled over onto his side and began convulsing violently, the sheer cruelty of it all was too much for his body to handle. Seconds later, the tremors stopped. His body refused to fight it any longer. His muscles went limp.

"Fish!?! Are you alright??? Say something!"

He began to weep quietly.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=1547159&forum_id=2#17151949)

Mandy would probably be home soon. For the last few months, she had picked up some work on an overnight office-cleaning crew. Since she started the job, she and Fish only saw each other for an hour each morning, before Fish hit the streets to look for odd jobs. Mandy took care of the bills, Fish's only responsibility was earning enough to send out 10 crisp resumes and cover letters each day. It had been 19 months now, but he could FEEL his break coming. His Jos. A. Bank Executive Wool 3-Button suit hung pressed and ready for action in the corner. "Soon.." he thought, though he was beginning to lose hope.

He walked over to peruse the contents of the mini-fridge on the counter. An apple, a jar of peanut butter, and small carton of milk. He stood in front of the fridge for a moment to enjoy the chill air wafting across his face. He snatched the carton of milk and lifted it to his mouth to take a long, slow pull until the carton was empty. Mandy will be pissed. It had been months since either of them had had anything to drink besides water, so when Mandy returned home the day before from the charity food bank with the tiny carton, they both greedily drank it down, saving the last bit for another time. Fish wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and chucked the carton onto the steadily growing pile of garbage next to the hot plate.

"Why is it so fucking hot in here?" he complained to the empty room.

He walked over to the window and smacked the side of the sputtering air conditioning unit, which whimpered and coughed and cut off with a loud metallic clank. "Fuckin' thing," he muttered under his breath. He opened the other window in hopes that a lost and sympathetic breeze might deign to wander through and provide some relief from the oppressive heat. He stuck his head through the window and was met with a blast of scorching, humid air. "Fuckin' thing," he grimaced as a splinter from the cracked wooden window frame broke off in his palm. He slumped down on the pullout couch, the only piece of furniture in the room besides the nightstand and the dresser on the opposite wall. He reached for his laptop - perhaps the only luxury item that he and Mandy permitted themselves to enjoy - and hopped onto XO using the neighbor's unsecured wifi. He scanned through the first page of threads. Nothing but bullshit. R-threads, spam, and another faggoty attidood thread. "Worthless," he snarled, snapping the laptop shut and setting it aside. Just then, the lock on the door clicked and Mandy stepped through.

"Hey Fish" she rasped weakly as she dead-bolted the door. She was not cut out for this kind of work. She slumped down next to him on the pullout and let out a sigh. "Uggh it is SO hot in here!" she complained as she stripped off her work uniform and pushed it onto the floor. "Can you put on the tv?" she asked, "it helps me sleep."

Fish got up and walked over to the 13 inch TV/VCR on the dresser and clicked it on. It began playing the old Coming To America VHS that Fish had rescued from a dumpster behind the pizzeria two blocks away. Seconds later, a loud pop and flash came from behind the tv, and it clicked off. "Fuckin' thing!" Fish shouted angrily. "The fucking outlet is acting up again." He walked over to the wall, grabbing a screwdriver from the shelf.

"I wish you wouldn't mess with that thing, Fish" Mandy whined, half asleep already.

Fish moved the dresser away from the wall, revealing the faulty outlet. He began jabbing at the casing clumsily trying to pry it loose, venting his frustration on the irritatingly competent enclosure. "Fuckin' thing!" he growled, the speed of his onslaught ramping up noticeably. After a flurry of ill-conceived jabs, the casing popped off, exposing the copper wiring within. Already seething with impotent rage, Fish's unsteady hand caused the screwdriver to drift towards one of the stray wires.

It made contact.

In an instant, Fish could feel an army of angry electrons screaming up his arm towards his brain, popping and crackling and fizzling, clawing fiercely at his mind and ripping his consciousness to jagged and fearful shreds. After what seemed like hours of painful sizzling agony, he let out a stifled scream and collapsed to the floor.

As he drifted away from consciousness, the last thing he heard was Mandy's terrified voice, reaching out to him. "FISH!!! NOOOO!!! FISH!!!! FISH!!!!"

.

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"FISH!!!"

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"FISH!"

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"FISH!"

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"MR. FISH!"

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"Mr. Fish?"

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Mr. Fish?

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"'allo, Mr. Fish? Mr. Fish? Time to get up, eet eez morning!"

Fish awoke with a start. Confused, his blurry eyes slowly focused on his chambermaid, Eliza. He spun around in bed, dazed, drinking in his surroundings. He looked back at Eliza.

"Eliza?" Fish gasped. "Is that you?"

"But of courze, Mr. Fish. Who elze would it be?" she laughed pleasantly.

It all came rushing back to him. He was in the master suite. The country villa. Vacation. Downtime.

He'd had another nightmare.

He let out a sigh and slumped back in bed. Eliza walked over to the bedside and placed a silver tray with the Wall Street Journal, a spinach and feta omelet, and a mug of steaming coffee on his lap.

"I am zorry, Mr. Fish, but zis iz ze best I can do for breakfast for you today. Ze chef and ze staff 'as all gone ahead wiz Mandy back to ze city, you will fly z'ere and meet up wiz zem later, ya?"

The memories came flooding back, replacing the hazy fog of sleep. He and Mandy had decided to take some time off after Fish's dreadful showdown with the board of directors of his firm. He'd spent the last 5 years assembling an all-star team, hungrily importing superstar associates from many of his "rival" firms. His practice group was humming. Deal after deal after deal. True grinders. Earners. Rival firms were running scared while he gleefully drained their coffers, poaching clients and associates alike. He was taking over. He was the man. This was his baby.

It took a good deal of effort to convince the board of directors to see it this way. Fish demanded a hefty bonus - far heftier than any of the board members had received - given his group's almost unfathomable mountain of billable hours over the past year. After it became clear that they would not be persuaded, Fish dropped the atomic bomb on them.

He threatened to leave.

Once Fish threw down the gauntlet, they knew they had no leverage. They were painted into a corner. They would be crazy to let Fish leave. They knew full well that he would take his clients and the river of money that he benevolently directed towards their firm with him. The firm would dry up, wither, and die, like so many firms and practice groups that Fish had left in his wake over the years. Fish held all the cards. They all knew it.

So, they eventually gave in, and pulled together a respectable bonus/retention package that Fish felt he had earned 100 times over. Victorious, he and Mandy fled to the country villa to bask in the spoils of war. They threw a decadent party, which was delightfully well-attended. Hedge fund managers and V5 partners rubbed elbows with senators, CEO's, and foreign dignitaries. Fish even managed to land a new client, a Japanese mogul with several lucrative projects in southeast Asia. He had heard good things about Fish. Everyone had.

Even a few of the managing partners from Fish's firm showed up, sheepishly complimenting him on his home and slinking away to talk amongst themselves. They all knew things would be different once Fish returned to the office. He had called their bluff and come out the better man. He owned them.

The weeks that followed at the villa were wonderfully relaxing, aside from the occasional nightmares that plagued him. They were always the same. Crippling poverty. Unemployment. Desperation. Squalor. What did they mean? An endless stream of cramped, hot apartments, empty refrigerators, and old broken appliances. Fish recalled a few lean years early in his career when he was "between firms" - a euphemism that Fish did not see the humor in at the time - but things had never gotten *that* bad...... had they?

"Now eat up and get drezzed. Wilson, 'e will drive you to ze airport. 'e is outside with ze Azton Martin, waiting for you" Eliza said, snapping Fish back to the present.

"The Aston Martin?" Fish was confused. He hadn't used the Aston Martin in ages, he rarely managed to find time to take it out the track and certainly never dared to take it out on public streets. He was far too fond of the vehicle to risk having her sumptuous body ravaged by some careless mouthbreather careening recklessly about in the latest prole-wagon. Mandy had asked him several times to just sell the damn thing, though her obvious ambivalence rendered her requests unpersuasive. She knew full well that they didn't need the money, so she kindly dropped the issue when it became clear that Fish was rather attached to the silly thing.

Still, it wasn't his day-to-day vehicle. "Why aren't we taking the Bentley?" Fish asked.

"Zir, you don't remember? She iz being fixed today. 'er air conditioning, she is broken, ya?"

"Oh, right," Fish recalled. "Of course," he chuckled as he sipped his coffee and opened the newspaper, "Fuckin' thing..."

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"Fuckin' thing...."

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"Fuckin' thing..."

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"Fuckin' thing...."

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"Fuckin thing," Fish muttered weakly.

He became aware of a shooting pain in his right arm. He opened his eyes. He was on his back, staring up at the cracked ceiling, Mandy looking down at him with panic in her eyes. He glanced down at his arm. His hand and forearm were blackened and painful. There were burns on the sleeve of his shirt. He still held the charred screwdriver in his hand.

"Are you ok!?!?" Mandy shrieked. "Fish! Are you OK!?!?"

Fish closed his eyes tightly. His mind was screaming out in utter disgust, disbelief, and hatred. He could feel pressure behind his eyes, the blood pumping faster and faster, it felt like he had poisonous sewage coursing through his veins. He clenched his jaw tightly, screaming out in agony, his cursed and rotten soul crying out for release.

He rolled over onto his side and began convulsing violently, the sheer cruelty of it all was too much for his body to handle. Seconds later, the tremors stopped. His body refused to fight it any longer. His muscles went limp.

"Fish!?! Are you alright??? Say something!"

He began to weep quietly.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=1547159&forum_id=2#17152614)

truly inspirational

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=1547159&forum_id=2#17156844)

that such talent is wasted here

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=1547159&forum_id=2#17276685)

189

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=1547159&forum_id=2#18943944)