An agnostic prayer of desperation

On a summer night, just like all the other days,

The rain falls and splashes.

Rolling down the windows – it dances, it plays

With light and colors and things seen outside

While nourishing and eroding and obscuring and distorting

It claims a life all its own,

Yet as I try to focus,

I hear its constant drone

Of tip tip tip tip tap tip tap tip

In a constant, steady, unforgiving drip.

Allegory for life – no constant rhythm or meter,

Yet despite the incessant noise

My focus does not peter

Out to an uncaring oblivion,

Instead I gather myself – to nature I refuse to give in!

And so I sit, in darkness deep despite the fluorescent light

Discovering that only within myself are there demons left to fight.

And so, with this machine, with these fingers, with this mind,

I struggle, perhaps vainly, for motivation to find.

It is Motivation I seek – indeed with a capital “M”

For it is something I am sorely lacking in

And something I need to prove to “them” –

The detractors, the doubters, the haters – the ones who cry “Just pack it in!”

Yet still, I will fight,

I will resist in my own way

For no other reason
If not just to see another day.

2014-04-10

Having stumbled down the hallway to class, it took the last of Stephen’s energy to drag himself to his seat. He flopped into his chair with a sigh. He was almost asleep instantly when he felt a hand shoving him.
“Yo. Dude,” came Rusty’s familiar voice. “You still recovering from last nights game? Those were some wicked hits you took.”
Stephen could only grunt in reply, face still smooshed against the desk.
“I wasn’t sure if you were gonna get up from that last hit,” Rusty said, “But I guess that the price you pay for being star quarterback, huh?”
“Fuughh  . . .  eeww,” Stephen tried to reply.
“Easy now, tiger.” Rusty said with a laugh. “You know us running backs get banged up pretty bad as well.”
He was cut off as the last bell rang.
On cue the teacher, Mr. Shauk, came into the class.
“Sit down,” said Shauk, “I’ve got a treat for you kids today.”
A collective groan was the class’ mutual response.
“We’ll be watching a film on the history of inter-planetary disease transmission,” said Shauk, “Then tonight you will write a short thousand-word essay summarizing the main points of the feature.”
Another collective moan was the only response.
Shauk started the movie and hit the lights. Even in the darkness he could see heads going down.
“The essay will be worth ten percent of your final grades for the quarter,” said Shauk.
About half the heads came back up.
But Stephen wasn’t one of them.
Rusty tried shaking him again, but to no avail.
The last thing he recalled was the narrator’s droll voice announcing the film’s title.

“Hey! Wake up!”
Stephen blinked as he sat up.
Rusty had been shaking him again, only this time the room was oddly lit.
“What’s going on?” Stephen asked rubbing his eyes.
As he looked around again he realized that the film was no longer going, but it was still mostly dark except for the emergency back-up lights.
“Right after you crashed the lights went out, came one, then went out again,” said Rusty, “They’ve been out about five minutes now.”
The room was almost loud with the sounds of students murmuring while Shauk vainly tried to maintain order. As if sensing his distress, the announcement speaker chimed. It was the alert that the principal was going to make a critical statement.
“Attention students and faculty of Starside School,” came the wizened voice. “We are currently experiencing power supply issues throughout the entire southwest colony sector. If everyone would just remain in their seats, the mechanics and their helper bots  are already working diligently to restore power. We need—excuse me, Ms. Piper. I’m trying to make—what are you doing? No! Stop! I—ARRRGH!”
There was only stunned silence.
“Now I’m sure everything is fine,” said Shauk weakly.
As if to answer, the automatic sealing shutters dropped in front of the door and windows, completely sealing off the classroom. The noise level began to rise as students were quickly becoming excited.
Then something slammed outside the door.
“No, Gabby stop—” came the voice of security guard Sue. She was cut off without even a scream. It was followed by the sound of something being dragged away from the door.
Instantly class erupted into a full blown panic.
Stephen was just taking it all in when Rusty turned to him and smiled.
“Good thing you’re dreaming, huh pal?” he said.

Stephen woke with a start just in time to see the ending credits rolling.

2014-04-09

Each day Forrest would eagerly scan the flower beds in front of his home. Standing a broad six-foot-seven, it was hard to miss his extra large frame.

            Despite his size, he possessed an unusual kindness and dexterity, especially when it came to living things. He had several cats, two dogs, goldfish galore, and even owned a pair of parakeet.

            Most of all though, he loved plants. Trees, shrubs, house plants, wild plants, annuals, perennials—Forrest loved them all.

            If ever a person had been appropriately named, it was him.

            He strolled to the beds at the end of the driveway. Using his large hands he proceeded to clear aside accumulated piles of snow plow cinders. This gave the rounded, waxy tips of daffodil shoots an added boost to be the first of his children to bloom. Being at the edge of the curb put their yellow blooms in the front row of his property.

            Leo couldn’t stand it anymore.

            His girlfriends had dumped him after finding out he'd been fired for the fourth time. Worst of all, he still had all sorts of his things still at her house.

            As he pulled out of her driveway, Leo felt growing unease about what he should do next. He hadn’t talked to his parents in three years and his sister now lived halfway across the country.

            Leo suddenly remembered that his old pal, Skip, had offered him a place to crash if he was ever put out.

            Without a second thought, he pulled out his phone to shoot him a text.

            Only glancing downward, Leo never saw the giant of a man crouching by the curb side, nor did he see anything else ever again.

            Leo in his rush, on top of forgetting most of his stuff, had also forgotten his seatbelt.

            That day he learned—almost immediately after taking the large man's life— in the harshest way possible, how instant karma can really be.

2014-04-08

The water cascaded over the cliff and struck the rocks below as long, thin daggers. Despite this relentless assault, the exposed bedrock did not relent.

            Welch just stood back and took in the pitiful view, more than fully aware what it truly meant.

            Up until a few years ago, the very spot where he stood watching would have been under almost two feet of water. The place there the waterfall struck should have been a frothing pool marking the spot where the two streams merged.

            Instead, both locations lay bare, exposed to the sun and all but devoid of life. The small rivulet that wound its way between the rocks barely increased despite the added volume.

            Welch realized that it had been all those damn subdivisions up stream tapping into the water supply. In a way, change was inevitable he supposed.

            It was that very change that put Welch in his current predicament. By his recollection, he had been gone nine years, six months, and four days. In all that time, his own life had changed little. When the opportunity for change presented itself, he had embraced it heartily.

            With no real planning, sans some vague daydreams, Welch had decided to go for it. He was sure that things would work out, although it would likely not be in the way he initially envisioned.

            As he stood there pondering not only his past and current situations, faintly hearing the first sounds of approaching bloodhounds, Welch could feel his own will subside as he started to capitulate to the approaching inevitability.

            As the sounds of men started coming into focus, he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer either stream would persist.

            When the marshals finally caught up to Welch, they were thrown off by his non-resistance.

            When asked why he had stop running, Welch only answered that the place he had planned on going to was no longer there.

2014-04-06

The heavy rains from before dawn had left small rivers and lakes in the gutters as Mai made her way to school. Despite being less than half a mile, she enjoyed taking a leisurely, twisting path through various back alleys and side streets.

            On the last stretch, just across from an all but forgotten graveyard, an old man sat on the corner. Crouched a small stool, next to him slept the most ragged, pitiful dog Mai had ever seen. She couldn’t’ even begin to guess it’s breed.

            In his hand he held three balloons tied to short lengths of silvery ribbon.

            “Could I offer you a balloon?” he asked as she approached.

            She stopped, still a good ten feet from him and looked him up and down. She had the feeling he might be homeless, but wasn’t sure.

            Without speaking, Mai just shook her head.

            “Please?” he pleaded, proffering a balloon again.

            “No,” said Mai flatly. “I do not want one.”

            As she said this, the silvery ribbon slipped from his fingers, releasing the balloon into the sky.

            “That is a shame,” he replied as he turned, grabbed his stool, and shuffled away.

            When she looked again she noticed the dog was no longer there.

            Mai told herself the poor thing probably went off to a dumpster somewhere looking for food.

            The next day was a windy one, the kind that ripped the heat from the flesh regardless of how many layers were worn.

            Unlike her usual habit, Mai made a beeline for school.

            Once again, however, she encountered the same old man in the same spot. He got up from his stool at her approach.

            “Could I offer you a balloon?” he asked.

            Mai noticed he only had two balloons this times.

            She shook her head without slowing her pace.

            “That is a shame,” he said.

            Mai looked back just in time to see the silvery thread of the balloon slip through his fingers. She stopped and watched him shuffle away.

            Mai wasn’t sure why, but she couldn’t help but notice he didn’t have his stool with him. Brushing it off, she hurried on to school.

            The following day turned out to be unusually muggy, leaving a thick fog obscuring distant views.

            Nervous about the past two days, Mai left early and took a roundabout way to school, being careful to avoid the intersection where she had encountered the strange old man twice before.

            The school day came and went uneventfully, the heavy fog persisting into the afternoon.

            Distracted by thoughts of an assignment, she headed straight for home.

            “Could I offer you a balloon?” came a voice from the fog.

            Mai let out a small scream and jumped back.

            It was the old man again, holding out a solitary balloon.

            “No!” she screamed. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

            “That is a shame,” he said.

            Once again, Mai watched as the silvery string slipped from his hands. She quickly lost sight of the balloon in the fog.

            When she looked back down he was gone.

            Unnerved, she ran home as fast as she could.

           

            Despite telling her initially she was overreacting, Mai was able to convince her older brother to walk with her to school before he left for work.

            This day was clear and bright, if not almost unseasonably warm.

            As they rounded the intersection, there was no sign of the old man.

            Instead, a woman who appeared in her thirties crouched in the spot where the old man had been. She had in her hands three balloons.

            As they approached, she realized that the woman was praying.

            “Is that your ‘old man’?” her brother chided.

            “No,” Mai said as she punched him in the arm. “Wait here a sec, kay?”

            “Look, I gotta be at work—” her brother started.

            “Thirty seconds,” she pleaded.

            “Fine, fine,” he relented.

            Mai walked up to the woman who seemed to not notice her.

            “Excuse me, miss . . .” Mai said

            “Oh I’m sorry,” said the woman as she stood. “Am I in your way?”

            “No,” said Mai, “I was just wondering . . .”

            For some reason, she suddenly felt foolish and compelled not to ask further. Shaking it off, Mai continued.

            “I was wondering what you were doing . . .” Mai said as the balloons waved in a gust of wind, “With those balloons. What are they for?”

            The woman smiled the saddest smile Mai had ever seen, then answered.

            “My grandfather used to sit on this corner and offer balloons to children as they came by. He never took any money, nor asked for any. He used to tell me that there was enough sadness in the world and a small thing like a balloon could go a long way to brighten someone’s day.”

            Feeling her fear wanting to swallow her, Mai had to work up the courage to ask the question that was suddenly screaming in her mind.

            “What,” Mai said, “What do you mean ‘used to’?”

            “Someone started spreading rumors that he was secretly up to no good and meant to harm children. Eventually, some parent decided to take things into their own hands. When he went to give out balloons one morning, they were here waiting for him.”

            The woman turned away and looked towards the sky.

            “It was a good thing for dental records,” the woman said, “Because even his own daughter, my mother, wasn’t able to identify the body. There was this old hand-made stool he used to carry around. They used it on him until only splinters were left. Even his old mutt that followed him around wasn’t spared from their wrath.”

            Mai felt herself grow weak as she dropped to her knees, tears already streaming down her face.

2014-04-05

“Hilda!” came a voice for the hallway.

            “Almost ready Euric!” Hilda yelled back in reply.

            She had been preparing for the demonstration for weeks, and tonight it would finally bear fruit.

            Hilda was determined to knock those stuffy old sods in the historic society right off the pampered posteriors.

            The presentation she had arranged for tonight’s event was three-fold.

            First there was a dramatic reading of her historically inspired poetry. She had done her research not only on the local history, but Hilda had also scouted out what sort of preferences these old goats had.

            Adjusting the corset of her traditional attire, she was certain she would blow them away on al levels.

            “You are going to be cutting it close!” yelled Euric again.

            “Fashionably late!” came a sardonic reply.

            Hilda looked at herself again in the mirror, triple checking that everything was in place. For her second element, she planned on giving an account of the historical significance of various practices which were still upheld today. And for her coup de grâce, she planned to segue that into baked samples based off of her own Grandmother’s recipes.

            Nothing could go wrong.

            “Hey Hilda—” Euric started.

            “Almost I said!” Hilda interjected. “Unless Thor himself is in the kitchen, I don’t really care! Unless it’s a catastrophe, don’t bother me until I come down!”

            “Well I didn’t find any thunder gods,” said Euric from just outside the bathroom.

            “Then what—” Hilda started then froze.

            In Euric’s hands was a baking dish full of a raw ooze.

            “Does finding out that the breaker for the oven tripped count as a catastrophe?”

2014-04-04

The top of the small hill offered quite the view, but it still wasn’t enough. Miguel looked around in all directions, but still couldn’t find any familiar landmarks.
As he watched the sun start to dip below the horizon he could already feel the temperature doing the same. Having grown up in the hustle and bustle of urban life, he was ill prepared for the scrublands at night.
Randomly choosing a direction, he pressed on forward.
Miguel had at least been fortunate enough to become lost on a night with an almost full moon.
Feeling his lips tingle and his sweat lessen, he thought perhaps he would be alright if only he could find some water, or maybe some fruit. His ignorance kept him from realizing not only how dehydrated he already was, but also how very dire his situation really was.
Miguel looked up again at the moon. This time,  a large shadow crossed it, causing him to cower at first. As he sat hunched in fear, he relaxed as the large moth fluttered closely overhead.
He gave quick thanks that it had not been a bat. He truly and deeply hated those flying rats.
Miguel trekked on, feeling the cold less and less. Thinking, once again mistakenly, that this was a good sign he picked up his pace, or so he thought.
Any onlooker would have just shook their head at the man lurching half delirious. He was in the midst of his blissful ignorance when he all but tripped over the shrub of berries.
Having thought him self saved, Miguel made his final poor choice, and started consuming the berries voraciously.

Several days later some farmers found Miguel’s desiccated corpse. His mouth had a wide grin, covered in the juice of the poison berries he had so joyfully consumed.

2014-04-03

“You’re on in five minutes Mr. Petrarkis,” said an anxious production assistant.
“Thank you, Peter,” said Josef Petrakis, “But I’m ready anytime.”
“I’m sure you are,” responded Peter.
As the door clicked shut, the elder statesman let out a sigh of relief. He had been in the game a long time, yet he still didn’t quite feel comfortable with all of this new tech. Sure he had been on camera, hundreds, if not thousands of times, and Q & A sessions were familiar grounds for him, but despite this he still felt a sort of disconnect when computers were involved.
Josef’s campaign manager had insisted that a live streaming broadcast would help him garner the younger vote. He wasn’t totally certain, there was a lot he didn’t’ know, but polls were not one of them. And according to the most recent ones, his opponent would overtake him, mostly thanks to securing the votes of the youngest voter demographic by a wide margin.
Absentmindedly, Josef grabbed a small handful of sunflower seeds from the bowl on his desk. Using his waste basket as a spittoon for the discarded shells. As much as he enjoyed the snack, he also found it to be a sort of meditative release. He closed his eyes as he went over the practiced speech again in his head.
As Josef went to spit out the last seed, a knock at the door startled him. Instead of spitting, he swallowed the seed as he inhaled.
Instantly he shot up choking and cough until the stray shell fell limply from his lips. After a few more hefty coughs, he wiped his face and sat back down.
“This blasted new technology crap—who needs it anyway?” Josef started ranting. “I mean, why do I need a machine with bells and whistles just to tell my constitutes, to tell the voters how it is? All I want to do is serve my people to the best of my ability by representing them and their wills fairly. That’s it. No games, no bullshit. IF I could just say that to everyone, I’d be happy as pie.”
Josef Petrarkis sat in silence, lost in his own frustration. He had completely forgotten about the knock at the door until it came again.
“Oh, right. C’mon in,” he said.
It was Peter again.
“Um, Mr. Petrarkis?” Peter started nervously.
“What is it?” Josef asked. And why are you staring at your phone for. That’s kinda rude.”
“Well um two things.”
“Hit me.”
“Well first is . . . the camera feed actually started right before I came to get you before.”
Josef just stared up at the tripod mounted camera in his office. A small red light blinked silently.
“And the second,” Peter continued without waiting for a reply, “Is that the audience loves your fresh and honest approach.”
As the reality sunk in, the edges of Josef’s face went from a slack jaw to a wide grin.
“Are you ready now? We can—” Peter started, but was cut off  as Josef raised his hand.
“No,” he replied, still grinning. “I’ve said all that I need to.”
With that he grabbed a fresh handful of sunflower seeds.
“I do love these things,” Josef said.

2014-04-02

Despite having been at his new post for almost six months, Phillip just couldn’t stand the last part of his rounds. The research facility was vast, and staffed several hundred workers during the day, but it was a different story at half-past midnight.
The corridors and labs that bustled with activity all day long now lay mostly dormant and still. Throughout the complex, there was an absence of life.
Except in one section.
Phillip had never given animal testing any thought one way or another, but after having to do nightly patrols of the facility, he came to abhor it for reasons most would never even begin to consider.
Even the fact that there were three other guards on duty didn’t help assuage his nervousness. Robert was at the central monitoring station, Jackson was patrolling outside, and old man Mikhail stayed in the gate booth out front.
The sounds of Phillip’s own foot steps echoed coldly off the spartan surfaces. Occasionally, animals would stir in their cages as he probed the shadows with his flashlight. Despite how many times he made these rounds, he was always expecting something to pop up and surprise him.
He turned the corner down the last corridor and froze. At the far end of the hallway, about eighty paces away, one of the labs was still lit up. Normally, if there was working being done outside of regular hours, there would be a completed PHR-06 form at the central monitoring station.
Realizing he had not seen one today, his hand instinctively reached up and released the clips of his taser holster.
Not hearing any noises, Phillip approached slowly towards the lit workspace with his flashlight raised, his other hand ready to draw his weapon at a moment’s notice. As he neared, he noticed that the pass-locked door was still shut and to room seemed empty.
Phillip chuckled to himself. One of the researchers or cleaning staff must have left the light on. He was about to re-clip his sidearm when a noise made him reconsider.
It sounded like it came from within the lab, but at the same time not.
Preferring to err on the side of caution, Phillip drew his taser and undid the safety. He moved along the observation window in the hallway while scanning the interior of the lab. There were several rows of felines in cages. Some were sleeping, while others were grooming. One was even biting it’s own tail. He almost breathed a sigh of relief until his light shone on the last of the cages.
One of them was open, and empty. If he recalled correctly, these animals were here for pathogen research.
Before Phillip could ponder this further, a furry ball of black and white leapt up at him from below the inner window ledge. He almost lost his balance as he backed up in surprise.
Again, the cat leapt futilely against the glass where he had been standing. This time he just chuckled.
“Hey Phil—” a female voice started as a hand touched him on the shoulder, but Phillip heard no more.

“I think he’s waking up,” said a familiar voice. “How ya doing rookie?”
Phillip opened his eyes. More painful than the light piercing his eyes or throbbing in the back of his skull was the burning in his chest. He looked down to see his shirt open and a large bruise at the source of the burning. He looked over to see one of the lab techs standing next to Jackson and Robert.
“Did the big bad putty tat attack you?” chided Jackson as he offered a hand up.
Phillip tried to stand, but felt his knees go weak despite Jackson’s aid. He settled for sitting.
“Easy now,” said Robert. “Just sit up for now.”
“What . . . happened?” Phillip said as he winced.
Each syllable made his head throb and his chest sting.
“Well, apparently, Suzy here tapped you on the shoulder . . . you wanna fill him in, hon?” said Robert turning to the lab tech.
“Well, I was going to apologize for not filling out a PHR-06 form. I was coming back from the bathroom when I saw you staring at the glass,” said Suzy. “But as soon as I touched your shoulder you fired of your taser. It ricocheted off the glass and got you right in the chest.”
Phillip went to look down at his chest, but grabbed the back of his head as it throbbed again.
“So what about this head ache?” asked Phillip. “And why was I on the ground?”
Jackson just chuckled as Robert turned his face away coughing.
“Um,” started Suzy, “I guess you sort of, I dunno, tripped over your own feet?”
Phillip just sighed. He had been surprised indeed, just not the way he would have ever expected.

2014-04-01

As Carson watched the sun slip below the horizon he could feel the last of his frustration go with it. The day had been long and unproductive and its ending was a welcomed relief.
Being only little more than a hired hand, he had little room for making his own decisions. With this in mind, he once again gave the giant oak a once over. He had been given the task of felling the daunting deciduous, and despite his best efforts it had vexed him completely.
Chain saws, axes, and even an old-fashioned two-man saw had been halted in their attempts to topple the towering tree. He had one final card to play, but had to wait for the cover of night to do so.
Carson had come up with the idea in the middle of the afternoon and had just finished up preparations a few minutes ago.
Near the base, at about waist level on a person, he had managed to drill four holes at about waist level. He had wanted to make at least six, but had run out of drill bits. Into each hole he placed a quarter stick of dynamite. He had remembered the farmer using them to help with stump removal and thought he might be able to do the same.
He tied all four fuses together with some electrical tape. Looking around to make  sure there were no prying eyes, Carson smiled at his own ingenuity. He pulled out his Zippo, lit the longest fuse, then jogged back a few dozen paces. The fuses crackled and sparkled in the deepening dusk ,then one of them appeared to go out.
The next instant a deafening bang made his ears ring and filled the area around the tree with smoke.
Carson stood motionless for a moment, waiting for the smoke to clear, but it never did.
He could feel his own jaw go slack as he watched the smoke swirl and coalesce into recognizable shapes. He blinked repeatedly and rubbed his eyes, but still the mysterious moments continued.
The smoke took the shape of people who seemed to be fighting with other people. Some of them had hand axes while others had rifles. Then the smoke semi-dispersed only to reform into new shapes.
These were again human shapes, but only two of them. They approached each other hesitantly at first, then embraced. Then once again the shapes faded only to reform into the form of large cattle standing around grazing.
This cycle continued several times. Each time the form was different, and none lasted more than mere seconds.
Finally, the smoke formed into a solitary figure. The figure reached down, and seemed to use a chainsaw on the tree. It put that down, and then seemed to swing at the tree with an axe.
A cold understanding crept up Carson’s spine as this scene unfolded, a foreshadowing of events he didn’t want confirmed.
The figure then crouched down and seemed to be doing something at about waist-level to the trunk of the tree. A quick glimmer came and went, followed by the figure jogging backwards.
Backwards, to the place where Carson now stood.
He looked down to see his own body lying on the ground, a large circular bruise on his own forehead.
He went to scream but nothing came out. He tried again and again but still only silence persisted. He dropped to the ground and started crying, no sound accompanying his tears as they fell.
Then he felt a throbbing in his chest. Then again.
Carson looked up to see himself, his body, now surrounded by EMT’s and the other farm residents. His chest throbbed once more and his world went dark.
“Carson . . .” came a faint voice.
“Carson!” shouted the farmer.
With a gasp Carson went to sit upright but was stopped by those hovering over him. Through blurry eyes he saw half a dozen people leaning over him.
“Easy now, son,” came the farmer’s familiar tone.
“Sorry . . . boss,” was all he could manage.
“Well, just thank your stars things turned out this well ya big galoot. If that first quarter stick hadn’t knocked out the other three, you and I might not be here for me to yell at.”
Carson, neck now immobilized, only whimpered in agreement.

2013-10-11

Elias stood on the balcony, propping himself up on the stone-carved handrail. With his wan constitution, it wasn’t often that he was able to enjoy such days.

            Far below, in the surrounding town, he could hear the sounds of children running around and playing. The sounds grew louder as the children rounded the corner, approaching the loft where he dwelt.

            Part of him was filled with a sad sort of jealousy, part of him with warm inspiration. While deprived of experiencing such revelry himself, it honestly did his heart good to see others enjoying a day such as this. In Elias’ own world of doctors and nurses and lawyers and councilors and tutors and advisors and countless other adults in all manner of uncomfortable formal attire, this scene was like gazing through a telescope at some distant celestial body.

            One of the children had a bubble pipe and produce small ephemeral sphere for the others to chase and scamper around. By chance, an errant orb drifted away from the rest, weaving and meandering its  way upwards only to settle itself on the railing next to where Elias stood.

            He gazed at it, admiring the swirling myriad of purples and yellows and greens and blues—and then it was gone. Pretty and elegant in it’s delicate, fleeting existence, it reminded him of himself.

            As if on cue, his nursemaid had returned, yelling that ‘a young master with a constitution such as his would catch a death of cold being outside like that’ or some other admonishment he had heard dozen of times before.

            If she only knew how dead he already was inside.

            With slightly less that his average apathy, he returned to his world of doctors and nurses and lawyers and councilors and tutors and advisors and countless other adults in all manner of uncomfortable formal attire.

2013-10-10

After so many hours awake, even the most potent pot of Joe doesn’t do the deed anymore. Abigail found herself quickly reaching that point. She had been poring over several small idols which had been brought in recently. They appeared to have vague connections to the Rapa Nui, Maori, or some other Polynesian group. Her examinations so far had proved inconclusive.

            As the weariness wore on, Abigail went to reach for her mug. In her tired state, her coordination failed her and she caught her hand on a spear one of the small figures was holding. Made from carved obsidian, the point easily tore both her gloves and her flesh. A fresh surge of adrenaline brought her awake.

            Before she could react further, the idol, covered in her fresh blood, glowed brightly. An instant later her entire world whirled, a myriad of colors and textures.

            Except, for a dark spot far off in front of her, slightly to her left. As if compelled by some force, Abigail made her way there, her world still motley and indistinct. As she approached the figure, she saw it was humanoid, lying down in the fetal position. As she crouched down to touch it, the colors left.

            She was somehow in a janitorial closet, a dead homeless person lying in front of her.

2013-10-09

Situated in a vast sand ocean many thousands of leagues from either the farm girl or the princess, it seemed blasphemously angular and dark amid the flowing, pale sand. Rising up several hundred feet, it was as menacing as it was impregnable. Composed of a bizarre cyclopean construction from an odd, dark-colored stone, it might as well have been a conjuration of fairy magic or a construction of demonic forces. The tower bore no visible entrance nor any identifying insignia. Only seemingly random small windows gave any indication that the structure might be inhabited by beings of this world. Even more surprising was that the beings were actually humans.

A piece of moldy bread and some gruel—more than a feast for the plump rat skulking nearby—was the latest in a long line of neglected prison meals. The guards still had no idea how “it” was still alive. The lump of degenerated humanity dressed only in filthy, waist-length hair mats never moved under its own volition. It never resisted, nor made a noise—even during weekly inquisitor lashings. The leaky bucket-cum-chamber pot was as empty on this day as it was the first day. This was the constant state of the cell.

Except on the nights of the full moon.

On those nights it would stand and stare up at the lone cell window. It would focus on that lone silvery glowing spot. When the moon finished its voyage across the dark gulf of the sky and sank below the horizon the prisoner would once again become a lump of flesh on the floor.

Most of the guards had no idea how long things had been this way nor were they curious to find out. When an entire prison consisted of over two hundred guards and only one prisoner even a fool should have known there were special circumstances. Anyone who asked questions or chatted idly about the prisoner was wordlessly executed by one of the warden’s dozen elite guards. The regulars’ only standing order was to report immediately to the warden if the prisoner spoke. That would turn out to be a dire mistake for the warden

Perhaps it was due to the lack of light in the cell. Perhaps it was due to inattentiveness of the guards. Perhaps it was due to a face half covered in dirty, matted hair. Perhaps it was even the lack of information they received concerning their charge. Whatever the reason, none of the guards noticed the change in the prisoner. While she did not speak, nor make any other sound, she instead did something the warden would be equally interested about. It had only been briefly, it had only been slightly, but for a few moments the prisoner had been smiling.

2013-10-08

***Trigger warning: Before you read this, know that this story was partly inspired by 

Edwin Emmanuel Bradford The basis for my stories is randomly generated, so they aren't always pleasant.

Emile felt the sweat still soaking his entire shirt. The dream had come to him again, and again, it left him exhausted.

            For what seemed like countless nights, his sleep was interrupted by the same horrific, nightmare. He had had these same dreams, once long ago, but they had gone away. For some reason, they now returned.

            He lay there in bed, resting comfortable on his clean linens, when it came.

            It didn’t have a face, it barely had a shape. It was human, Emile suspected, or at least close enough to one.

            The thing would come for him, and do . . . things.

            Tears welled up as the torturous memories came flooding to him, of recalling the utter revulsion the thing produced within him. It was an instinctual, something seeded deep within himself.

            It couldn’t be human—nothing could do such things and still call itself human. Emile could feel his own heart racing, his chest heaving. Mustering what strength he could, he made his way out of the bunk room, through the large antique doors, and finally outside.

            Fresh wetness from a passing squall covered the ground, leaving small puddles to reflect the moon.

            Emile looked up at the large, glowing orb. Small clouds from his own breath came and went as fast as they were formed.

            It relaxed him though, made him feel at ease. It was quite the opposite of how the thing made him felt. Staring upwards, he lost himself, and his surroundings.

            He never heard the approaching footsteps behind him.

            A familiar hand placed itself on his shoulder.

            “Welcome back, my child,” the owner of the voice said to Emile. “I’m glad you decided to return to study here after being away for so many years.”

            As the instinctual revulsion welled up inside of him, Emile dropped to his knees, crying in that abhorrent moment of clarity that was now upon him.

2013-10-07

The cries of seagulls roused Sylvia awake. Despite being pasted almost shut, she forced her eyelids open, tearing at eyelashes as she did so, regretting instantly her decision to do so. Despite its lower angle in the sky, the sun still beat down harshly on the open sea. Additional shorebird cries roused her further.

            A sudden epiphany roused her fully—birds meant land.

             Mustering what little strength she had left in her dehydrated and starved state, Sylvia rolled over in the life boat. Despite the blisters covering her hands and sunburn on the rest of her flesh, she managed to pull herself up onto the edge of the large inflatable life raft. As she had concluded, she was drifting towards a small island.

            Somewhere, deep down inside, she managed to draw upon a yet unknown reserve of strength and will. With this, she managed to reach down into the water, meekly propelling herself towards the shoreline.

            After a torturous infinity, she managed to make it to the shoreline. Looking back, she saw the sun was quite low in the sky. Realizing how little daylight she had left, Sylvia forced herself out of the boat and onto the sandy beach.

            Lacking the strength to stand fully upright, she managed to slowly crawl her way to the edge far edge of the beach where the vegetation started. Bunking her head against a palm tree, she half-flopped, half-rolled over into a sitting position up against it.

            Sylvia, despite all her fatigue, all her pains, couldn’t help but feel anything but gratitude for finally finding land. As far as she knew, she had been the only survivor of the plane crash. All of the passengers, including the pilot of the small sea plane, had been researchers traveling to the mid-Atlantic in search of a reportedly new species of aeonium.

            A group of Portuguese sailors had brought back a single plant and several harvested samples, claiming that it had medicinal properties. Initial testing had indicated that certain essential oils it contained could have drastic effects in the restoration damaged ocular cells, but the only living sample had unfortunately been lost due to a lab accident.

            Too tired to keep her head up, Sylvia let it fall to the side, the rest of her torso following.

            And then she started laughing uncontrollably.

            There, a mere few inches from her face, growing on the cusp of the vegetation line, was aeonium she had been seeking.

2013-10-06

Joseph had always considered himself a good soldier. Not a great one, mind you, but the kind of soldier who always met expectations and never disappointed—reliable to a fault. Fraternization, therefore, was something completely alien to him, both in concept and in practice. He understood the word in the dictionary sense, and he most definitely understood the repercussions of committing such an offense, but it would have never even occurred to him to commit such a seditious act willfully.

            Then again, when Joseph had enlisted in the army five years ago, he would have never thought himself to be in the situation he now found himself in.

            This small café, in the southwestern part of France, in the storied region called Aquitaine, was like nowhere he ever expected to be. Despite the war having been over for several months, there was still a strong military presence throughout most of the country. Having traveled through several regions, Joseph had seen towns in various degrees of destruction and degradation. Some were no more than piles of rubble, while others had received only minimal damage.

            The small village where Joseph now found himself was not quite unique, but it was most definitely a rare exception. The war had left the entire municipality untouched. According to some locals, the Germans had never even once set foot there. By his own estimation, Joseph got the distinct impression that his platoon had been the first visitors to the villages in a very long time.

            The café, across the street from the only inn in town, also happened to be the only eatery. After several days, they G.I.’s had quickly acclimated to this rural hamlet’s way of life.

            Joseph suspected that Sophia had played no small part in this adjustment. Although he had never asked, he had assumed that she was in her early twenty’s like himself.

            He had thought, several times now, that spending the rest of his days with a girl like Sophia could be quite the idyllic dream.

            And then, before they knew it, their tenure was up. Word had arrived that they were expected in another hamlet.

            That brought him to where he stood that day.

            It was mid afternoon, the time right after lunch yet still well before supper. The café was empty except just the tow of them. Joseph started and stopped several times, trying each to find the exact words to confess how he felt, but the words eluded his best efforts to hunt for them.

            Finally, she walked up to him, placing a single, slender finger on his lips. While he stood there, dazed, she turned away and went into the back where the kitchen was. A moment later she returned, a small leather-bound tome in her right hand, a peach in her left. She approached him, holding out both for him to accept.

            Unsure, he took the peach and put it into the cargo pocket of his pants. Joseph then took the book and opened it. Seeing the series of dates and short passages, he quickly realized that it was a journal. Still silent, she motioned for him to sit.

            After watching him take a place at one of the handful of tables, Sophia quickly disappeared once again, this time to return with a pen and inkwell. He immediately understood. Without a word, he took both, bowing in gratitude. Faster than he thought possible, he jotted down the overflowing emotions that now filled him. Relief couldn’t begin to describe the feeling of releasing the flood of emotions on to the rough paper.

            Once he had finished, he looked finally looked up, but she was nowhere to be seen.

            Joseph sat for what seemed like an eternity. He was about to inspect the back room for her, when suddenly his squad leader called form outside.

            There was no more time. He thought it might be better this way.

            Within a few minutes, the small troop of soldiers was assembled and making their way out of town. They exited via the road heading east out of town. Just as the were cresting the small hill just outside of town, Joseph suddenly remembered the peach in his pocket. He fished it out and looked at it. It looked almost flawless. He stopped suddenly in the middle of the road, half his squad mates almost running into him. Amidst their yelling he glanced back to look at the village. What he saw immediately broke him into a cold sweat and made him weak in the knees. As the other soldiers turned to look, he thought he heard one whisper ‘mother of God’ or something like that.

            The only thing he could focus on was the cluster of bombed-out buildings which occupied the same space where the village had been. No one spoke nor made any further sounds.

            Unconsciously, Joseph’s arms went limp and he dropped the peach. Without thinking further, he immediately broke into a sprint, heading for where the café had been.

             Initially, he thought it still remained untouched. As he crossed the threshold, the light pouring through the large hole in the ceiling showed him otherwise. Nervously, he made his way towards the backroom. Pushing past the remnants of the beaded curtain that separated the room from the rest of the café, he instinctively held his breath. The sigh he immediately let out was long and deep.

            There, lying on a small bed in the corner, was the desiccated remains of what was once a young girl. Likely close to his own age, he was sure. Clutched against her chest was a small leather bound tome.

            Joseph went to reach for it, then stopped. Something told him he was better off not opening that tome.

            Just outside of town, about half way up the hill on the eastern side, a perfect peach sat just off the road from the place it been dropped.

2013-10-05

Giovanni had reached a point of audacious desperation. He didn’t merely want his latest effort to succeed, he needed successful results. Failure could, quite literately, mean the end of him. Saying he was willing to try anything wasn’t sufficient—he was willing to try everything.
His venture as a farm worker was short lived. How was he supposed to know which fields the livestock were and were not allowed to graze in?
Giovanni’s attempt at construction faired little better. Did it really matter if he used the metric or standard side of the tape measure?
When he had tried to integrate himself into the ‘white collar’ world, the results weren’t much different. He understood the IRS, but he couldn’t understand why the bank manager seemed so upset about Giovanni’s actions having ‘possible repercussions with both the FTC and SEC.’
He didn’t even want to think about what happened to that poor model in his one and only attempt being a photographer. He wondered how well those skin grafts had worked out.
This time, he knew it would be different. Of all the things he had tried in his life, nothing had excited him, nor engaged him, as much as the culinary arts, and more specifically baking. He truly felt this was his calling.
Having recently acquired his grandmothers collection of recipes, he improved and honed them to a razor’s edge. Giovanni had been especially proud of his latest creation. He had taken his nona’s classic amaretti cookies and, in his opinion, greatly improved upon them. He had even found a business partner willing to help him market them. Even this morning he had made a last minute adjustment, deciding to make as much as he could from scratch.

It was until several days later, alerted by complaints of the smell by neighbors, that the bodies of Giovanni and his partner were found. According to the autopsy, the amaretti the men had ingested had cyanide levels high enough to kill a bull elephant. Further investigation revealed the source to be a failed attempt at creating homemade almond extract.

The return

In short: I'm at it again.

I'm hoping this time I make it AT least past Thanksgiving. I think if I can keep the stories going that long, maybe I'll make it to Christmas, and then . . .

That's a long way off though, and who knows how long I'll be able to keep pumping out stories this time. Regardless, my mind is made up, so here we go again.

2013-01-13

A faint crackle of distant thunder came from somewhere in the northwestern Wilderness. TG (pronounced teej) leaned against the dorm seemingly not to notice. Taking one last drag off of his hand-rolled Bugler cigarette, he pushed himself away from the building. Fixing his gold-plated sunglasses with one hand, a pair said to have been given to him by “the King” himself, he pinched out the tiny cherry with his other hand. Without turning around, he threw the butt behind him, and popped his collar just as it swished cleanly into a nearby garbage can. The roller party later tonight actually had him kind of excited, something that was rare for him anymore, but that was still a long way away. Right now he had much more important business. If his source was right, and she always was, the most interesting “fresh meat” he was ever going to meet would be showing up nearby soon.

            TG’s mind wandered to his time as a freshman, recalling the acne, the glasses, and the girls . . . he shivered recalling his deep, dark, unfortunate past. That was many, many moons ago and he had buried that green boy a long time ago. The man in the red velour suit had quite literately all the confidence in the world. Maybe it was his overly long tenure in Professor Brewenstein’s oenology class, maybe it was his short stint as a roadie for Jefferson Aeroplane, maybe it was the girls . . . not that it mattered. As he stood facing the woods in the direction of the thunder, a bewildered young man stumbled out of the woods. Wearing overly tight jeans (no flair, hmm), strange kicks, and slight tendrils of smoke coming from his hair, TG knew in an instant this was his “fresh meat.”

            “Where am I?” the newcomer asked. Then drooped to all fours, puking violently.

            “That’s right buddy, better out than in” TG comforted him. “Release the evil. ‘Beer before liquor, never sicker.’ Didn’t you learn that as an undergrad?” As he heaved, yet half nodded, TG knew then that this “meat” was definitely going to be different.