SEVEN, 2.0

Franny had plans for days, for weeks, because the voices knew everything she had to do, and when, and she had written it all down.

One could never see Franny without her little notebook full of plans, sketches, outlines, and notes related to plans upcoming, words hastily written to keep up, no doubt, with the calculations constantly running through her mind.

Whenever she’d finish a task, she’d tear out the page and eat the paper, forever consuming and finishing the plans she’d set forth to complete.

Her life was a constant stream of calculation and completion, down to the smallest detail of riding a certain bus, at a certain time, and eating a very mathematically accurate bag of peanuts from the peanut vendor on whatever corner she’d worked out as the best corner, at the best time, for the best nut, on any given day.

On this particular day, she was to meet “Cary” at the cafe on the corner of 7th and Mustang, by the park, so  Franny set out on the path she’d chosen, which included an alley behind a neighborhood bar, skirting along the outside of Evergreen Park, and hopping the number 74 bus line for one-quarter mile only to pull the emergency stop lever, forcing the bus to halt between usual stops 6 and 7.

Cary was already waiting inside the cafe, box in hand, and Franny simply handed over the cash for a smooth exchange.

She then went to the cemetery and tore off the next page of her notebook, chewed the paper casually and swallowed, at which point she pulled the gun from the box and eliminated the voices in her head that constantly shouted at her what to do, leaving behind a notebook of empty pages.

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