Night of the Living Debt Part III

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Ambrose was not happy. He was also tired, confused, a little thirsty, and felt an overwhelming need to scratch his genitals. This made him more unhappy still because he couldn't seem to move at all. Not intentionally anyway. He felt as if he were floating in sludge. He was breathing, the thick nothingness filling his lungs. He felt as if he were moving slowly, but constantly; Spinning in place like a planet revolving in orbit. He tried to look around, but all he could see was pure darkness. Everything was black.

He was about to give up straining his eyes against the all encompassing nothingness he lay in when a speck of color appeared off in the distance. Straining anew, he managed to force a stop to his unintentional revolutions in the air and focused his eyes on the speck, concentrating on it harder than he could remember concentrating on anything since his fascination with Jillian Earl's ass in 9th grade. The main difference here, he thought to himself, was that the speck was coming rapidly closer, instead of making every effort to get as far away as possible.

Itchy genitals forgotten, Ambrose concentrated still harder. He pushed his feet down hard, willing them to find something vaguely solid to support him. After a moment of kicking and stumbling through the unsupportive thickness of the void, he steadied himself and began walking, one step at a time towards the speck. He felt that it was like learning to walk all over again, with each and every movement carefully considered and specifically ordered by his conscious mind. Left. Right. Left. Right. The next left caught itself in the darkness. He imagined it was like an old horror movie and some hideous sea creature was yanking on his ankle. Quickly forgetting the thought- more a result of his attention span than any intentional effort to calm his nerves, Ambrose stuck his arms straight out to the sides like a tight rope walker and continued plodding slowly towards the speck.

And Ambrose walked. And he walked. Then he ran. Then he paused to catch his breath. Then he walked some more. And after the almost unendurable two and a half minutes during which he trekked towards the speck, he stopped again and suddenly he knew that the incredible torture he'd been put through for such a great length of time meant that he must be home free, his debts paid in full, paradise awaiting him, as represented by the speck. The speck, he realized, while catching his breath, wasn't so much a speck as it was an unearthly beautiful woman, dressed only in a flowing silken robe that shone in almost the same manner she did, and consequently gave her an appearance of near nakedness despite the fact that she was carefully covered with two layers. In one hand, the woman held a stick, which she kept stuck out low to the darkness in front of her. In the other hand, she held a leash. A leash for the glowing, heavenly dog Ambrose could now see with her.

Ambrose didn't realize how close to him she was until she stopped short. "Ambrose D'Agosto?" She asked him, giving the distinct impression she knew the answer would be affirmative. "Justice. Charmed, I'm sure." Ambrose wasn't sure if she was charmed to meet him, or if she was simply stating that she was sure he was charmed by her. He felt the latter more likely. His suspicions on the subject were certainly confirmed when she added "Please don't come any closer. I may be blind, but I can smell perfectly well and my lunch is happy where it is.” Ambrose had to admit that he preferred his anthropomorphic personifications of ephemeral ideals feisty. “I’ve come to deliver the message you deserve to hear."

Ambrose stared at her hungrily looking her up and down, but being an instinctive creature that he was focused on something he could more reasonably obtain than a Goddess. "What did you eat?"

"What?" Justice's lips quivered, as if trying to remember how to frown after an eternity of never seeing it done.

"For lunch? What did you eat? Personally, I'm starving."

"If you must know, I had a Rueben, Sour Cream and Onion potato chips and an iced green tea. Thirteen dollars. Can you believe it? Let me tell you, there's no justice in Manhattan. It's such bullshit."

"Life is." Ambrose agreed, nodding sagely. Mostly he was just looking for an excuse to examine the woman before him from as many angles as possible.