A man is murdered in a railroad-building crew at their work camp in an evergreen forest. I tag along behind the detective. He doesn't like any of the suspects--in fact, he hates ALL these people. He's a persuasive, convincing guy--so he uses the compelling power of his words and voice to convince them all that there's no hope--they might as well all hang themselves--it's painless!

And a lot of them do, though they use a method that may not be fatal: standing up, noose anchored sideways, leaning into it. I suspect they'll only stifle themselves to unconsciousness, and when they collapse the noose will slacken. That's what the detective wants--he can't fight them all, and every unconscious tracklayer is one less potential killer to deal with. But I object--there's risk of brain damage, and some of them may really die. A cynical voice inside wonders if I really care about them as people, or is it that at least a third of the crew are women, and I see it as a waste--girls I could date are stifling themselves!

Now I'm alone among the forest crew. They look rougher now. All men. Angry men. Big angry men.

They surround me, grinning. A huge truck backs up and the circle parts just enough to let it in. They planned this! The truck bed tilts up and a thick, stinking mass of fermented wood pulp floods from it, thick as honey. Heavy and full of pitch, it traps me, mounting, thigh deep, waist deep... And they stand around with nasty grins and don't offer to help--it was planned! They're trying to kill me! An "unfortunate accident." They're holding crowbars--if the pulp flood doesn't drown me, it'll at least pin me down so they can comfortably beat me to death.

I'm in trouble. Big trouble.

Pulp trouble.

NOTES

• Railroad = our building was sold; our new landlords are out to evict us, using deceit and intimidation. Railroading us, in old American slang.
• Many women = the rental agency we tried.
• Detective's persuasive powers = me on rental application's coverletter.
• Misusing my power to persuade = Our city's had a wave of eviction scams lately. Most of the victims have been poor men in slummy hotels; at the free legal clinic, I felt ashamed, seeing the other victims so much worse off. I acted like them, so I wouldn't stand out as better off. Yet we are in fact victims of the same thing.
• suicides = the Heaven's Gate cult suicides. The powers of persuasion misused!
• Girls choking themselves to unconsciousness = my practical side's so busy hunting a home she suppresses dreaming, dating, sex, play...
• The pulp flood = legal papers! But also, my housemate's taking Chinese herbs that must be boiled, creating a pulpy mess that stank like the dream-pulp.
• Buried in pulp = the legal harassment and paperwork of eviction is eating up precious time and energy needed to find a new place.
• Angry men = eviction victims in the legal clinic. Or... my own anger about all the living I've set aside because "no time for it now."

Oops. I mean 'big time'...

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