M. Banner - Stone Age

He dreaded those days, which he knew were as inevitable as each day’s sunrise and sunset. What would he and his friends become when he/they took lives to protect their own? Would they become the cold-blooded murderers he reviled? Would they eventually forget their humanity and their love for others, being only concerned for their survival at all costs?

He believed that these concerns separated him from the extreme survivalist, who desires the apocalypse, drawn by a longing for a license to murder with impunity and embracing the accompanying loneliness that would follow civilization’s downfall. Like most preppers, Max prepared so that he and those whom he cared for could survive.

He wanted no part of the coming apocalypse. Nevertheless, whether he wanted it or not, he was ready for it.

“Done,” he said out loud.

Max would have loved to sleep now. He desperately needed it, having only had a few hours of sleep the last few days of long driving and lots of physical exertion. He was exhausted, but the Kings’ party was minutes away, and as exhausted as he felt, he made a promise. Much more, living with so many worries, he needed the mental diversion and to be with his friends.

He exited from the front door to keep up appearances, just in case someone might be watching. After locking up the beach warehouse , he stopped and stood on the street, looking with admiration at his years of work and some of his finest preparations. He was sure no one could tell that this home was any different from any of the others on this block. He had a lot pride in the planning, its design, and the workmanship that went into this house. However, worries always filled his mind with doubt, and an overriding need to be careful. So, even though he had conducted this exercise what seemed like a thousand times, he once again scrutinized the house objectively, making sure there were no breaches in his security and that no one could see the secrets within. No, he was sure. It looked damned good .

He started walking toward his beach home, but then another sensation stopped him cold. He felt as if someone was watching him. He hesitated and then turned around, facing the beach warehouse once more. His prideful smile now erased, he started to look around the street and then to other houses. He was probably just being paranoid and was just second-guessing himself, but his life and the life of the Kings depended on his being careful. He searched for something out of place, or someone who didn’t belong. There were two different trucks he didn’t recognized parked near the beginning of their block, but that was not uncommon with so many visitors to this place and a couple of houses being rented to people he didn’t know. Out the corner of his eye, he sensed some movement at Feinstein’s bedroom window, but immediately dismissed this as well. There was no one there. He was tired. The movement was in his mind.

He turned and walked through his beach house gates and into his home to clean up and relax a little. It was time to celebrate his preparedness. After this, he believed they might never again have reason to celebrate. He was right.

Judas Feinstein was always leering at his neighbors. Plying either his binoculars or his telescope, he searched for hours each day, often feeding his fat jowls, but never removing his eyes from his prey. This was his Internet. Like surfing the web, he never knew what he was searching for, until he found it, or them. But like any skill, exercised over the years, he was expert in knowing his neighbors’ windows, terraces, and pools better than they did. He relished invading their private lives unknowingly with his prying eyes. His rewards were abundant, as he often found a neighbor or two without clothes or in the middle of an argument. Occasionally, he would catch others who believed they were hidden on the beach, or in their driveways, or in their cars, doing things they shouldn’t. His eyes searched everywhere and anywhere, hoping for some action.

Judas also had his favorites, those whose routines he had memorized. He pointed his prying eyes towards his two favorite dykes, Eve and Alice, who lived full-time in RP, three doors down at 20. They often loved to sun in the nude on their terrace, feeling safe, while he would stare at their bodies. Of the two, the youngest — he called her Eve even though she could have been Alice — was his most desired. Judas knew every curve and blemish of Eve’s beautiful body, often glistening in the sun from sweat and tanning oil. If he were really lucky, he would catch them in their love making.

A noise below interrupted his interlude. He looked down and to his left and recognized his strangest neighbor, Maxwell Thompson. He met him a couple of times and hated him from the beginning, mostly because he never told Judas what he did, and his curtains were always drawn so that he could never see in. Like his business is more important than everyone else’s . He also hated Thompson because his large inland house, next door to him, had the highest terrace on their block. Not only did it obstruct his seeing summer sunrises, it also restricted him from seeing the terrace and most of the house of Max’s next-door neighbor, Clydeston. Judas often wondered what kind of erotic show he was missing, especially since Clydeston always had some sort of hottie for a girlfriend. One night last year, Clydeston bought two hotties home. He could see them get out of Clydeston’s Ferrari convertible, but he couldn’t see anything else because of his damned neighbor Thompson.

Thompson’s inland house next door to him at 27 was even stranger than Thompson was, or was it even a real house. Thompson already had his beach side home at 28, so it made no sense that he maintained an inland house that no one ever stayed in and was never rented. So, what’s the deal ? Its lights would go on and off like clockwork to appear as if someone was occupying it. Nevertheless, any idiot could tell he used timers. Then there were the giant loads of supplies and strange hours. Thompson would sometimes show up at odd times with one of his two vehicles. He would park in the extra-large garage, and then disappear for hours, before reemerging out the front door and walking to this beach house across the street. Sometimes, he would never appear to come out of his front door and then magically appear outside his beachside home hours later, as if he made himself invisible to get across the street.

Last night, he came in with his trailer full and canopied, which prevented Judas from seeing its cargo. All evening and today, he was there. Then, just now, right after sunset, he opened up his front door, walked to the street, turned and stared at his house, and smiled like some idiot for what seemed like five minutes. Before going home, his whole demeanor changed, and he started looking around, and then right at Judas. As if Thompson knew, Judas was spying on him. But, Thompson couldn’t see him, he was sure of it, as he put a special reflective film on his windows to enable his daylight peeping. Before sunset, Judas always made sure he wasn’t backlit, using The Clapper, so he didn’t have to move his large frame to turn off the lights. That way, someone like Thompson couldn’t see him. Yet, there was Thompson staring right at him, through his window, as if saying, “I see you asshole,” through his binoculars.

Then Thompson shook his head, turned his back to Judas and left.

Judas put his binoculars down on the table in front of him and grabbed his Mexican cell phone. He held the number 2 key down until it was ringing.

“¿Qué huele carajo?” yelled out of his earpiece, which he promptly muffled by putting his oversized head against it.