Wet Methods

Fight Scene

2010-09-05T13:36:00.000-07:00

I was watching a pretty good action movie, "Chocolate," about an autistic girl who can learn precision martial arts simply by watching it. I wondered how well action scenes can really translate to prose, but I wanted to give it a shot. So, this is speed test to see how easily I could do it. Don't expect anything deep.:

Update: Yeah... this writing is too busy. Oh well. I need to think about it.

Matsuo felt the barrel pushing into the back of his head. He could taste the blood collecting between his lips.

“You’ve given me quite a bit of trouble, boy.” Serzen paced across the balcony.

Matsuo looked at the street and groaned. “Let them go.” He watched the gunman behind him reflecting in a puddle of grime near the curb. The man seemed caught up in his boss' gloating. Good.

Serzen laughed and placed his hands along the rail. “Interesting choice of words.” He looked up where Matsuo’s wife and daughter stood, crying and whimpering through their gags. “Well you heard the man.” He made a motion. “Let them go.”

Beast placed his boot squarely into the back of Matsuo's wife, shoving her forward. She tipped and her face whitened with terror as she lost her balance. The rope tightened around her neck as she pitched forward. She closed her eyes. This would be it.

In those short moments, Matsuo rolled forward, lowering his right shoulder into the ground, spinning to pull at the gunman, arm. He pivoted onto his back and fired his foot vertically into the man’s jaw, crushing it like a soda can. Continuing the motion, he tore the gun from his opponent, dislocating the man's finger and replacing his own into the trigger. The first two shots burst from the gun instinctively, exploding into Beast’s knee and thigh, and he tumbled to the side, tangling himself in the pile of rope that was now uncoiling. No! He could feel the scream in his head as he watched his wife launch forward from the rooftop.

But she did not fall quickly. Beast’s weight held the rope, unwittingly slowing Matsuo’s wife, and while her neck was not broken, she was twitching on the end of her rope, suffocating quickly. She reached and clawed desperately at her noose, but was unable to loosen it. Matsuo fired another round into the face of the man to his left, who had yet to respond, and pulled his would-be killer on top of himself as a shield against the first few rounds of the right man, who was quicker on the draw than his dead partner. Two bullets from Matsuo cured the problem, tumbling through the next man’s eye sockets. Matsuo reached along his legs. His blades were free.

Serzen turned to watch the gunfire, only now able to react. He waved to the men below in warning, who, absorbed with the execution, finally registered Beast’s injuries and were now casting about for his assailant. “Look out!” Screamed Serzan, trying to warn one of his employees before Matsuo’s first knife sliced the man’s jugular. Matsuo spun and launched his second knife into the throat of his next victim, and carrying forward with his momentum, tumbled behind the van that brought him here.

Matsuo’s daughter panicked and leaped towards Beast, trying desperately to push him off the roof, but he grabbed her small body and flung her easily. Had she not so securely held onto his collar, he might have prevented himself from following her. But she did hold on, and he did follow her. Matsuo's wife had used her foot to pull herself to a balcony and, while she was no longer falling, was rapt, clawing desperately to loosen her noose. She felt the rope go slack and looked up to see Beast clinging precariously to the side of the roof, her daughter hanging desperately from his collar. Good girl. She had worked her arm up underneath the caller to her elbow. Beast felt fear. He could not dislodge the little girl.

Serzen was now barking orders at the men inside the building as he disappeared through the door. One of the men searching for Matsuo was shooting blindly around the van. He didn’t see the legs reach from under the van, but when they seized him and pulled back, he did feel the pavement. He did feel the scrapes as he was pulled underneath. He did feel a large knife carve up through his genitals into his abdomen. His partner could not respond quick enough, and a bullet shattered his ankle before he too fell. The second bullet removed him from play altogether.

Two men emerged from the door above. One looked out at the dead on the ground while the other looked up to where Beast was clinging. He fired a shot at Matsuo’s wife, trying to hit her throw the gratings. He called to his partner to assist him, but his partner had already been pulled from the balcony, having been neatly lassoed by an ascending Matsuo. He lowered his weapon and watched those last moments as Matsuo plunged his knives into his eyes.

Matsuo’s wife saw that Beast was slipping, and began coiling as much of the slack rope around the bannister as possible. She saw his body travel past her, and their eyes met. She watched him submit to his fate as he watched her coil that rope furiously intent on evading hers. Beast grabbed the rope, but was unable to hold on. As the line went taught, the rope coiled around his armed burned into his skin, carving into it, but holding tight. Beasts arm was dislocated in an instant, and he was suspended only a few feet above the ground. Her daughter’s fall had been broken, but she slipped from Beast and grunted as she contacted the ground. Matsuo’s wife screamed and used her leg to push against the grate, holding tight. She saw a knife flash in front of her, and felt the dragging rope loosen as Matsuo cut her free from her noose. He threw himself over the balcony and, using the rope anchored to the railing, lowered himself quickly to his daughter’s side.

His daughter looked at him, shaken and crying. He removed her gag and cradled her.

“Is she alright?” His wife called down, loosening her own gag.

“You should take her to get check out. But, “ He could feel his daughter squeeze him. “Yes. I think she’s alright.”

“Baby?” His wife called to him.

“Yes?”

“Is it over?

“It will be.” He looked at his blades. "Soon."

Crumbs

2010-08-19T18:02:00.000-07:00

A lone black bird has left today

He found no crumbs so flew away.

Another three left yesterday

And the day before six more had played.

One crow said that it’s been a week

Since crumbs had filled its little beak

The woman who would never speak

Had left to seek that old antique

With whom she came here every morn’

Upon whose hands her hands adorned

They sang to us, their passion born

Aloft on dried handfuls of corn.

They sang like birds I swear! It’s true!

From far and wide we young birds flew

For every morning we all knew

That crumbs would flow from both those two.

But no more crumbs have come our way

We waited hopefully for days

I am the last who chose to stay

But hungry, I now fly away.

Angels in the Basement

2010-08-05T06:49:00.000-07:00

Demonstrating how just a few lines can really change a mood.

TAKE 1
--------------------------------
He clambered up onto one of the boxes, looking into the fire. He pulled his knees in close to his body and hugged them.

"Why do you stay down here in this place?" He looked around the small cave. "Papa says you can't come up. But I think you just won't." The child sneezed. "You could sleep in my room, I wouldn't mind." He scratched, "but papa doesn't let me have company, so I'd have to sneak you in real quiet."

The boys eyes grew wild and wide. "Your wings are really pretty." He couldn't take his eyes off of her. "Mama said you were an angel, put here long ago to stay, but papa says there ain't no thing as angels, no how." He timidly held forth one of his biscuits. "I don't know what you are," After she took it from him, he bit down on his own. "but you sing real nice." He smiled. "I like when you sing. It's like when mama was still alive, she would sing me to sleep. I sort of like how you sing to me now." He laughed, "but ain't heard no one sing as high and pretty as you."

He stepped off the box and went to walk up the path back to the mouth of the cave. He turned back and peeked at her through his tangles. "Maybe mama was right. Maybe you are an angel." He smiled, "But no matter, you can still stay in my room. We can share biscuits."

TAKE 2
--------------------------------
He clambered up onto one of the boxes, looking into the fire. He pulled his knees in close to his body and hugged them.

"Why do you stay down here in this place?" He looked around the small cave. "Papa says you can't come up. But I think you just won't." The child sneezed. "You could sleep in my room, I wouldn't mind." He scratched, "but papa doesn't let me have company, so I'd have to sneak you in real quiet."

A slender hand reached up through the dim light, and opened slightly, letting a little bell fall from a bracelet loosely fastened around its owner's wrist. Her nails were long, each coming to a point, perfectly formed like creamy scalpels. She twisted her wrist back and forth repeatedly, letting the small charm ring.

The boys eyes grew wild and wide. "Your wings are really pretty." He couldn't take his eyes off of her. "Mama said you were an angel, put here long ago to stay, but papa says there ain't no thing as angels, no how." He timidly held forth one of his biscuits. "I don't know what you are," After she took it from him, he bit down on his own. "but you sing real nice." He smiled. "I like when you sing. It's like when mama was still alive, she would sing me to sleep. I sort of like how you sing to me now." He laughed, "but ain't heard no one sing as high and pretty as you."

The creature pulled her hand back into the darkness and waited.

He stepped off the box and went to walk up the path back to the mouth of the cave. He turned back and peeked at her through his tangles. "Maybe mama was right. Maybe you are an angel." He smiled, "But no matter, you can still stay in my room. We can share biscuits."

No. Not an angel. She closed her hand around the trinket, feeling it bite into her. Not an angel at all.

Lucretia in Eden

2010-08-05T06:02:00.000-07:00

Part of Backstory for Lucretia - Lament - Book 2

Lucretia walked between the trees, cataloging the species as she saw them. Adam permitted her these small luxuries, but knew from the Source that she was treading dangerously close to places where he could not protect her.

It was growing late when Lucretia finally entered the compound. Adam was in her private room next to her shelves.

“What are all of these?”

“Books, Adam. “

“I can see that. Where did you get them?”

“I record what I see. I record what the others tell me.” She ran her fingers along the bindings.

Adam pulled a book from the shelf and flipped it open. Drawings of creatures littered its pages with scrawl along the margins. It was intricate, and Adam could not decipher the strange twists and turns of the ink.

“You wrote all of these?”

“Almost all of them. Some of them were—“

“Where did you get the materials?”

“Uziel provided me with the parchment,” she smiled. “I’ve been over to—“

“Uziel?” Adam interrupted her. “That filthy thing shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“Adam!” She protested. “His fate is sealed. We shouldn’t add insult.”

“The source of everything despises them.” Adam spat.

“But they are harmless! We can learn so much from—“

“No!” He reached out for another book Lucretia had retrieved. “I forbid you–“

Lucretia turned away from Adam, denying him the book.

“Hand me the book.”

“No! “ She pulled away from his grasp. “Adam!” She twisted “Adam, these are mine!”

“Obey me!”

Adam grabbed her wrist firmly and smiled as he bent it cruelly. Lucretia cried out. She held the book in her free hand.

“Please, Adam. You’re hurting me.”

Adam released her and she fell. Adam grabbed the shelf and pulled it back. “You disobedient wretch.”

Lucretia shrieked and raised her hand to block the shelf that spilled over onto her. She sobbed as she pulled herself out from under the mess of books.

Adam stormed out of the room.

Lucretia pulled herself into a corner of the room and pulled her legs in close to her body. Why was he so angry? She would teach him to read if that was it. He hadn’t even ventured beyond the compound, sending his creatures into town in his place.

Adam walked out of the home and across the garden into the temple.

“You should burn the books. They aren’t safe.”

Adam was alone in the antechamber, but the Source found him and spoke through the stones.

“What do they say?”

“They are filled with lies. Lucretia has found the outer world too tempting.”

Adam stroked the stubble on his chin. “She doesn’t listen to me.”

“She listens. But the pestilence has emboldened her against you. She has her own mind about things.”

Adam smiled, but looked concerned. “She is more clever than I.”

“She simply possesses knowledge you do not have.”

Adam looked into the air. “Why can’t I learn these things? Maybe then I could reason with her.”

“Oh, my beloved Adam. “ The room brightened. “You have a purpose here. You think that you must desire what they have, but the opposite is true. Those fallen seek to prevent a glorious event from transpiring.” Adam could not catch his breath. “This I cannot allow to happen. My will be done.” Adam felt pressure in his brain and around his throat. “Those who have left me want something that you andLucretia hold within you.” Adam’s mouth opened as he gasped for oxygen. “A special gift.” Adam reached for his throat and fell to the ground kicking. “It will germinate until the end of days.”

Adam stopped moving.

The light grew dim again. Blood trickled from Adam’s nose as his eyes stared into space.

Adam’s back arched painfully and he rasped as he inhaled.

“You hold my first breath.”

Adam breathed out and then contorted as he breathed in painfully again.

“You will bring peace to this conflict.”

Lucretia had replaced the books onto the shelf when Adam stumbled into the room.

“Adam!” Lucretia rushed to him and caught him, preventing his fall. “Adam, what’s happened?”

“You.”

She helped him over to the bed, but he brushed her help aside.

“Lucretia, my wife.” Adam looked down on her with burning eyes.

Lucretia shrank back. “Adam, I’m sorry, I—“

“Lucretia.” Adam raised his palm to her and motioned for her silence. “You are never again to engage with these creatures.”

“But, Adam.”

“Silence!” Adam stood squarely in between her and her books.

Lucretia looked at her books, and up at Adam. She could almost feel what he would say next.

“Lucretia, you are never again to consort with these creatures.” Adam pointed to the shelf. “These books will be destroyed and you are never to raise ink to parchment again.”

Lucretia’s heart sank as Adam continued.

“You are to join me in the prayer room every morning and every evening and any other time I call for you.” Adam touched his finger to her chest. “I command the creatures here. I command the winds and the waters. I am the authority here. Not those --” Adam pointed beyond the garden. “Not those things.”

Lucretia knew that Adam was not bluffing. He had been granted dominion over all living things, to steward them here in the garden.

“You are here to serve as my companion.” He pushed hard into her chest. “Nothing more.”

Lucretia could feel herself biting her lip. What was sadness became anger, knotting up in her stomach. But she looked up submissively. “Of course, Adam.” She pushed a smile to her lips, “I love you, husband.”

“Good. Do not disobey me. The source of all we have can be kind to us, but we have to obey.”

“Yes, husband.” Lucretia could feel the hairs stand on her neck as she forced herself into this role.

“Good.” Adam turned to leave and walked to the door, but then stopped.

“What is it, my husband.”

Adam smiled. “You first.”

Lucretia looked at her books, then back at Adam who was motioning her out of the room. She looked at the books again and then again at Adam. That bastard was smiling. He was enjoying this! She maintained a stoic visage and walked past him out of the room. He locked the door behind himself and marshaled her from the home.

Lucretia had no intention of staying. She could feel nothing but hate and betrayal coming from her husband. She turned to walk the path out of the garden, but Adam stopped her, “Where do you think you are off to?”

Her eyes watered, and she bit her lip. “To gather food, of course, my husband.”

“No.”

She grew flustered, “No?”

“No, I am confining you to the temple for the day.”

Lucretia spun around. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do not disobey. Move.”

Lucretia backed away waving her hands and shaking her head. “Adam, you know I can’t be in there.”

“An exception has been made.”

“No! Adam. I’m not going in there.”

Adam clenched an unclenched his fists. “Woman! You will go in there right now. You won’t argue.”

Lucretia shook her head vigorous, “No, no, no.” She backed away further.

“Lucretia!” Adam’s voice was savage and wind poured in from behind her. Adam’s voice boomed through the trees around the garden. The trees dipped until each was touching the one next to it. Lucretia could hear growling from the forest.

“So, I’m a prisoner?”

“You are my wife.” His voice boomed. The sky darkened and Adam’s face twisted and contorted like black wisps of smoke had made its way into his skin.

Lucretia knew that something had changed. She felt very afraid and with the next step backwards, her husband roared, “Kneel!”

Lucretia felt the wind knocked from her lungs, and she feel to one knee, her head lowering before her master. The wind and thunder did not cease. The temple door opened on its own. Adam was channeling the source, and she could feel its power. She had seen Adam use his position before on the outsiders who unwittingly found their way here. There would be no compromise.

“Yes, Adam.” She sobbed as she was allowed to her feet. She walked towards the temple, but not of her own volition. Adam had her now. She wouldn’t be able to stop moving had she wanted. The wind buffeted her forward, through the arch, and she could barely turn to see her master before the door slammed shut behind her, leaving Lucretia in darkness.

Trauma drama

2010-08-05T05:59:00.000-07:00

This was writtin for SoulPancake. http://www.soulpancake.com/post/914/step-into-my-shoes.html

The question was: Forget that Fiction 101 writing exercise crap about putting yourself into "another person's shoes"—today's all about ditching the third-person and focusing on Numero Uno. In other words, turn that exercise inside out and tell us about the one person who you wish could live a day in your shoes.

Think about those times when no one really understood how hard/confusing/frustrating/overwhelming it was to be you. Who do you wish could spend a day dealing with the hand you'd been dealt? What would they realize?
Write someone else into your shoes. (Poem it or prose it, just bang it out in 300 words or less.) Post their experience below.

So here goes...

"Pump the gas, retard."

You step out of the car. The bruise still ached.

"What did you say?"

"N-nothing!" You slam the door. Big mistake. As you slide the gas nozzle into the tank, you feel his hands around your throat. You don't even feel the first strike as your face is slammed into the gas pump. You do notice that gas prices aren't yet a dollar. Why do people pay so much more for premium?

The second impact makes you go limp. "Slam my fucking car door will you?" His grip releases, and you have your moment. His swing comes, but he barely clips you as you run into the store. "Please!"

Two people are waiting in line and the clerk is looking at you. Did they see anything? "Call the police. I need help!" No one moves. A hand grabs the back of your neck. "I need to talk to my son." He stands you outside the store and crosses his arms. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I-I.." You stutter. You feel warmth release into your pants. Great.

"You pissed yourself! Retard." The backhand comes and, not thinking, you raise your hands to block the hit. Hell is gathering behind the devil. You know that look.

"You do not raise your hand to me!" The punch drops you. It's funny. You don't really feel them anymore. You just step back and watch through a tunnel. Little windows. The boy getting pummeled doesn't even register. Instead, you think about how you are going to explain this tomorrow at school. You see that boy being pulled to his feet and you watch him sway. You didn't understand then that the term for his stepfather's condition was halitosis. When he got into his work, it got really bad.

Down you go again. Are you going to get back up? Better not. Then you remember the problem with lying down.

"Weak faggot." You feel the shoe connect. Not solidly, but enough to take the wind out of you.

You think to yourself, "Please god. Take me away from this. Blow up the gas station." Another kick lands. "Kill him. Burn him up." You feel the spit land on your face. How can one person smell that bad?

He walks away. A pickup full of rednecks pulls up. "You ok man?"

You look back at them with hate. You climb to your knees, and then to your feet. You walk back to your life inside the devil’s car.

No one is going to help you.

Poem: Ache

2010-04-14T09:02:00.000-07:00

From a while back. I'm not much of a poet, but wanted to convey hurt. (and no, I'm not the narrator).

Opening up the peanut butter
Smearing it on the bread
I'm sitting in traffic
I don't say a word
I take a bite and force it down
My stomach hurts.
I can't finish this

I walk past the store,
I trace my fingers along the glass
outlining that vase held inside.
Beautiful red glass,
I should just buy it.
My stomach still hurts --
I don't have room anyway.

I open the newspaper and do the crossword
At the table outside the cafe.
I look up and see a couple
Walking hand in hand.
That's so sweet.
God my stomach.
I write an expletive in the squares.

She meets me and I listen
While she talks about her crush.
With experience drawn from dreams
I espouse wisdom and cheer her on.
She smiles and hugs me. I smile back.
My stomach hurts so badly
I drive home alone.

A new experiment

2010-03-14T21:18:00.000-07:00

I've decided to find blogs that speak to me and leave their author's a little something special in the comment section. I don't want to creep anyone out, so I will sign the message with a code I can use to verify myself later, and a link back to my own blog. If they find their way back to me and want to share their blog, they can, but I'm not going to out anyone here, except to post what I wrote in response.

T3JpZ2luYWwgd2Vic2l0ZTogaHR0cDovL2JhYmlvaC53b3JkcHJlc3MuY29tLw==

There is a reason that ink is black.

The words on parchment form'd illuminate more completely than any sunlight. Children fear the dark, for it hides the unknown. But we are no longer children. We are no longer afraid of that blackness. We can still recount pushing our toe out into the void, cringing and squinting, waiting for the bite of monsters. But the bite never came, did it? So we thrust ourselves into the night, breathing in cooler air than we had ever known before. Our eyes adjusted and we found that small bright bedroom painful to look at. Here, in the dark, we accept that we cannot see everything, and what's more, we do not care. The darkness is beautiful. The universe is dark, and there is no end to our exploration.

And so we make our home in the pitch. We crave it -- slaver over it. We recognize each another slipping through the shadows, devouring the unknown as we each grow into gods. We nod and whisper and trade our magics, which occur when, lacking an obvious form anymore, we impress upon it our own. And we do make magic, don't we? Magic for us is born from our intellect.

How then can we respect our neighbors who still fear the dark? I tell you that we cannot. These people are content to see only what the light has shown them. Listen to their friends and parents tell them stories about the monsters -- the same ones we were told. Let them cower from the dark corners of their room, huddling under little bulbs in cells etched by light's border. Perhaps we will patrol their little lamp garden, and at first sight of a small toe, we reach out to snatch at it. If they pull back, they will fear us. But...

..if they reach out. Oh, if they dare reach out to us --

-- we will love them and make them one of us.

There is a reason that ink is black.

(JIFIZNDBMBT:BDOQBZVEOJHMUQT)

Nightmare

2010-01-19T08:54:00.000-08:00

I guess we all have nightmares. This may not be anything special, but it's one I had last night that hurt a lot. Very vivid, very gut wrenching -- strangely nerdy. When I woke up, I immediately wrote down everything I could think of before it vanished. My "show don't tell" approach was abandoned in the name of efficiency.

Scientists have predicted that as the universe expands through space-time, there will be a critical point where reactions will almost instantaneously break down, where the gaps between the particles of space become so large and the energy is not high enough to allow the subatomic particles to move. At the beginning of time when all was a singularity, energy was infinite, but as all things hurtled from all other things, energy levels fell, becoming the slight cosmic background radiation we can still detect. My dream began moments before this critical breakdown, where the cosmic background radiation is approaching zero. When this story is over, the energy will be zero.

My children are staying at my sister Amanda’s the night the final event occurs. This is the last part of my dream.

I am with Krissy and my sister and my brother in-law, Vanessa and Bobby. We are dressing up to go out when all television and radio stations erupt with an emergency broadcast. In my case, this was president Obama speaking, “Be with your families. We have lived dutifully and without shame. If there is a hereafter, then best wishes to you.” He seemed calm and accepting, but the people behind him were wiping their eyes. I looked at Krissy. “I can’t believe that this is real.” Krissy looks back at me, holding her head.

“But don’t worry, if it’s true, and it happens, we won’t even know, we’ll simply disappear.”

Krissy walks over to a window and pulls back a curtain. It isn’t just dark. It’s grey. It’s fuzzy. “I don’t think so.” She says.

But it isn’t that the outside is grey and fuzzy. Everything is grey and fuzzy. I immediately leap to Krissy's side, but it all feels like slow-time. “I love you.” I’m crying, and I just repeat it over and over, not knowing how many seconds are left. I realize though that the feeling of chaos isn’t happening quickly enough. There's still some time left. I suppose in a dream, anything is possible. I capitalize on the situation, and I crawl to the phone. While lying weak on the floor, I make my last phone call to my sister. I don’t know the number. My memory is fading. I just need to talk to my daughters.

Bobby tells me the number, but his voice scrambled when he speaks, and it takes several attempts. He is lying back with Vanessa in his arms, he’s obviously frustrated and is basically shouting at me, but still he repeats the number over and over while I try to dial.

Chuck picks up. “Is Amanda there?” My voice sounds like a tape player slowing down at parts.

“I’m sorry, we are busy praying.” I could barely recognize him, but I can hear crying in the background.

“Please, Chuck, it’s Michael, I need to speak to my girls.”

He pauses, and then acquiesces. “Just a minute, Michael.”

“Hi daddy” I can barely understand her. She sounds subdued, but not scared.

“Hi baby, I love you so much sweetie. I’m your daddy and I love you so much.”

“I love you daddy. Hey, guess what?”

“What is it honey?”

“We’re not going to wake up tomorrow. I get to go to Heaven and see you and mommy tonight.”

I lose it. But I try to squeeze the words out. “I know honey. I can’t wait. I love you and your sister.” Krissy is holding me. “Are you in bed?”

“Daddy I can’t see anything.”

“I love you honey. Let me speak to Ashley.” I can’t see anything, I just squeeze Krissy’s hand as she kisses my arm.

Madison replies, “I love you d—“

And the universe is no more.

Poem: Message in a bottle

2010-01-15T17:24:00.000-08:00

A fun little poem I wrote for my girlfriend long ago when we first met. Cadence and rhyme commence!

Away on the waves of the ocean for days
Floats a note in a bottle filled with words and it says
That a child had once landed and on a beach stranded
From all that he loved, so he grew and commanded
A legion of tiny crustacean soldiers
He beckoned them bear the beach sand on their shoulders
And fashion a throne and a castle of shells
And inside a library and bedroom as well
But when it was done and his head peeked inside
He was saddened to find his bed two sizes too wide.
The young man had always been quick to pretend
That his thralls were enough for loneliness to end.
But there was the evidence, resilient and true
There stood in the courtyard not one throne but two.
His little friends saw what he'd long tried to hide
And he slumped with surrender, eyed the sea, gave a sigh.
He then drew up a letter and described where he'd been
And titled the story, "Please send me a Queen".
He sealed it inside an old bottle he'd found
And sealed it with cork that would keep it quite sound.
With all of his might he hurl'd his small note
At the void out there where that soft prayer could float
So to you who were tempted to uncork the message
Your future is at the far end of this passage.

The Carnival

2010-01-15T17:20:00.000-08:00

This was a short email I left for my girlfriend to celebrate her.

My world is like a carnival. It’s exciting. There is so much to look at, so much to do, so many places to go. I’ve covered so much of this place that it seems like home, and I rarely get lost. But sometimes my world is even more like a carnival than it was just then. This time it is disturbed by loud noises. Louder strangers. People in masks. Out of focus aggression. There is no place to think. I can’t breathe. I’ve spent my whole life in this place and I can count the people I’ve known on my left hand. But today I made it into a particularly noisy place. I stand in the middle of it all, looking around. And then I see you standing in your own crowd. And all of that noise muffles. I reach out my hand. Your finger tips touch my own. I did not expect you to turn back, but you did. You fingers slipped over mine. I place my other hand high behind me and I bow to your curtsey as I kiss your knuckles – for that’s what they do here. We circle each other in a slow dance. All of the noise goes faint and my heart beats in my ears. We both know how to dance, but here we are, resigned to let our bodies move while we contemplate one another. “Hello.” Oh, that was wonderful. Poets be proud. How cordial we are, oh how proud our benefactors would be! I ask, “Do I know you?” But you are already smiling. We snap our feet together and pivot with a little clap, turn, and circle each other in the opposite direction, a little faster this time. “Of course you do.” I beam a familiar smile back to you, “I never get tired of meeting you.” “Nor I,” you respond. “Did you bring something for me?” We pause our dance and bow to one another again. I produce a pair of ears. You reach to take it from me, but I pull it just beyond your reach so that you have to come very near to retrieve it. “These are mine. “ You pout, but not for long. “These are for you.” My other hand produces a separate pair. Without breaking my gaze, you take the gift and slip them on. I put mine on. We smile because we know that we’ve always shared this small accoutrement. We dance despite the chaos around us. When the music stops, you return your ears to me.

“Tomorrow, then?” You ask.

“And every day thereafter” I respond.

We kiss, and leave the courtyard to prepare ourselves for tomorrow’s carnival.

The Doll

2010-01-01T00:00:00.000-08:00

I wrote this on New Years Eve. Took me at least an hour. I've read stories like it that probably influenced me.

Snow was falling into the square. On one side of the street sat the toy store. Jack loved to peek into the windows at night. Mr. Havensham enjoyed creating little scenes with his toys in the window. There was a rocking chair with a beautiful doll seated therein, holding a little brown bear. Around her feet was a train set, and he could barely hear the little electric sound it was making as the tiny engine made its circuit again and again.

Suzette was Mr. Havensham’s daughter. When he was asleep in the back of the store, she would sneak into the toy rooms where her imagination became real. She would race the planes around the corridors. She would carefully unbox the games and play with her stuffed friends throughout the night. This had been a routine for her for as long as she could remember. But tonight she looked through the window at the front of the door and saw a young boy peeking in.

What fun! She thought as she bounded up near the window. Ha! She threw a small soft football at the window. The boy startled and stepped back, and then put his gloves around his eyes and peeked in. She could see his little mouth calling out in excitement. So she stepped gingerly around the toys in the display window and stood against the glass, placing her hands against it.

Jack waved a small hello to Suzette and said something, she knew not what. She spoke back to him, but it was equally futile. She held up a finger to signal him to wait, and disappeared back into the store. Jack tried to follow her with his eyes, but no sooner had she disappeared then she reappeared with a dry erase board in her hand. She wrote on the board, “What’s your name?”

Jack tried to say his name several times but she wasn’t getting it. Then he smiled, leaned forward, and breathed hot air onto the window. He wrote his name, and he could see her lips pronounce it. Then she smiled. She waved and mouthed his name. “Hi Jack.”

He pointed to the front door, but she sadly shook her head. She made a twisting motion with one hand against the other. “Locked.” She said. She then sank to her knees and smiled, writing on the whiteboard. She held it up for him. “Come back tomorrow.” She pointed to the words and then eagerly stabbed her finger in his direction a few times, saying “You.”

Jack found it strange to meet such a pretty girl like this, but he was very excited to see what was in store. He said, “ok” and put his hand against the glass. She did the same as if to touch his.

The following day, Jack came to the same spot. The scene had been changed. Where the little doll sat was now the smiling face of Suzette. She waved to him and then turned away and back again, this time holding a little present. She opened her mouth into a round smile and produced two cupcakes. She sat one in front of him inside the glass. And took a bite from hers. Chocolate stuck to her teeth as she made a ridiculous squinty-eyed smile at him. He pretended to eat through the glass, amused, but a little disappointed. He was looking down on his cupcake, when he saw in the corner of his eye her kneeling. She tapped on the glass. He looked up into her eyes. She was beautiful. Her skin was perfect and white. Her hair was red and done up in a bow. She wore around her neck a red and black choker with a pendent dangling from its center. She wore a dainty dress and her other hand was pulling something from a pocket on the dress.

It was a key! He smiled broadly as he saw now what the surprise was. She got up to race him to the front door. She unlocked it and cracked the door. “I can’t let you in.” She said in a snobbish voice which she betrayed with a giggle.

“Please” he said, elongating the vowel into a small whine.

“Oh, all right. Just don’t break anything.” And with that she threw open the door, “Tada!”

Jack ducked in from the snow and brushed flakes off of his coat before removing it and setting it by the door. “Whoa, this place looks big at night!”

“I’m not really supposed to have visitors, but daddy is sleeping. I suppose you won’t hurt me.”

He laughed, “This is so incredibly, super, awesome, cool!” He looked up at the long aisles of toys. “I’d never get bored of living here.”

She faked a yawn. “Trust me, you would. I’ve been here my whole life. It’s no fun being alone in here. But I do have lots of adventures.” She handed him his cupcake.

“Gee, thanks!” They laughed together and shared cupcakes. She took him through the store, and they would pull out toys and games. He had to teach her most of the rules for the games as she’d only really ever had herself to challenge. Every night from then on, he would come to visit and they would play until they were quite tired. He would help her clean up and leave her alone again. She was always sad to see him leave. She had grown quite fond of him.

“What’s that?” He asked her, pointing at her choker. She instinctively drew up her hand and covered it. “What?”

“Your choker, you are always wearing it.”

“Daddy made it for me.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.” She pulled away, “I’m never never never to take this choker off. Daddy says I’m never to remove it.”

“Jeez, your dad said that? What about when you take a bath.”

She smiled and kicked at him. “Never.”

He let it go, but would occasionally ask to see it, and she would always refuse. He could not even touch it. Winter turned to Spring and soon it would be Summer. They had become very good friends by now, and not a day would pass that they would not meet.

And so their friendship continued for years. Sometimes in the daytime, Jack would peek into the store and see Suzette’s father smiling and helping customers. He would ask for Suzette, but Mr. Havensham would dismiss him saying that she was lying down in the back. She might be getting fit for a dress, or she might simply be resting, but she would never come out during the day.

Jack had never had a particular interest in the girls at his school. Suzette was his best friend, and he found himself terribly in love with her. He did not want to press her father however, who seemed annoyed when Jack would ask about her. “She’s very special, and I don’t want you playing with her.”

But he would be going away to college soon, and he wanted, more than anything, to have Suzette with him.

“What’s this?” She asked one night.

Jack produced a small basket with a sheet over it.
“
It’s a picnic basket. Let’s go across the street to that park.” He flicked his head in the direction of the small park down the street.

“I can’t go outside, silly.”

“Oh come on. It will just be for a little while. I just think you shouldn’t have to spend your entire life locked up in a toy store.”

She peaked over his shoulder at the park. Then she frowned, “I can’t”

“Why not?” He was a bit annoyed that she was so cowed.

“My father does not allow me to leave this store. He says it is important for my safety.”

“Oh come now. I practically live out here. It’s safe! Nothing is going to harm you.”

“My father expressly forbid it. He says something very bad could happen to me.”

“Your dad sure gives you a lot of rules to keep you from having any fun. Don’t you want to meet other kids? Don’t you want to enjoy this with me?”

She seemed frustrated. “Of course. But daddy –“

“Look.” He interrupted. “I like you. I made you this meal. The least you can do is join me.”

“I can’t.”

“Suzette.” He stared at her. “I am in love with you.”

Her face flushed, and she whispered, “I love you Jack.”

“Then come, have this picnic with me.” Jack had spent all week finding a necklace to give Suzette as a present. He felt its weight in the basket, and he couldn’t help but feel annoyed at the control her father seemed to have over her.

Tears were welling up in her eyes. “I can’t.”

Jack delivered his ultimatum. “Ok, well I’ll be right over there in that park eating. “ He started walking off.

“Wait! Jack!”

“Join me if you wish, or stay in there.”

Jack walked across the street and into the park where he sat up a blanket. It was dark, but the coldness was gone. The night was very comfortable. “This will work.” He peeked into the basket at the necklace. “This will work.” He repeated.

He sat there on the blanket for almost half and hour. He was tasting some of the pudding, but he wasn’t really so hungry as he was excited. He smiled when he heard footsteps. He turned to see Suzette.

“Ah, you managed to get over here in one piece.” He joked.

She was trembling, obviously very nervous about defying her father.

“There, there.” He calmed her, “sit down, I have something for you.”

She looked at him and did as she was told. Her breath was short and shallow, but she trusted Jack.

“Are you hungry?” He offered her some bread which she took. She sunk to her knees and put the bread into her mouth.

“Suzette. I want you to be with me.” She looked up at him. Oh this is what she wanted, too.

“I’m scared.”

“Do not worry. I know how to care for you. There is no one in the world I want to share my life with.”

“But father would never allow that.”

“It’s not up to him. You are becoming a woman, and I am becoming a man. Do this with me.”

She tried to relax, and swallowed the bread. She looked for something to drink. He pulled out a little wine. She looked at him, “I’ve never had wine.”

“Oh?” He uncorked it and poured a glass. “I think you are going to be experiencing many firsts from here on out.”

As confidence built within her, she took the wine and took a few sips. She smiled and tried to be polite. She knew Jack had gone through so much, and she didn’t want to rob him of this, “Thank you, Jack.”

His face softened and he smiled, just as he always did. “You are very welcome. Here –“ He pulled out the necklace. “I got you something.”

Suzette’s eyes were getting heavy from the late hour and the wine. She looked at what he was holding and saw the necklace. It was beautiful. But then she realized what this was. Her free hand went to her throat.

“You’ve had that since you were a little girl. Isn’t it time to retire that old choker?”

“Father says I can never remove this.”

“Oh?” This was too much. “Why?”

“He says if I remove it that –“ She choked “it would mean the death of me.”

Jack was livid, “How dare he! What monster would threaten his flesh and blood that way?”

“No, he loves me.”

“Come off it, Suzette. You dad keeps you in that little cage to be his pet until he dies. He isn’t doing this for you.”

“I want to go home.” She said softly.

“But Suzette—“

“I want to go home!” She screamed. He felt bad. How could she not see reason?

“Fine. I’ll take you home.” She was trembling. He walked her back to the toy store.

When they finally settled down inside, she sat on the floor and pulled her legs in. Jack was visibly upset. “Jack” she looked at him pleadingly. “I’m sorry, ok?”

Jack wouldn’t look at her, but couldn’t avoid her for long. He finally surrendered and met her gaze. “Suzette, I don’t mean to push you so hard. But – “ He sat next to her, “I’m leaving. I’m going away.”

She did not seem amused at all, and her mouth frowned tragically.

“But, but—“ He took her hands, “I want you to go with me.”

She looked as if her heart were breaking.

“Suzette?”

She could not form the words, but tears came, and then she cried as if stabbed.

He put his arm around her and rocked her while she cried. What was holding her here?

“My dear Suzette, you do not realize how much I love you.”

“Then stay here. Stay with me!” She cried.

His brow furrowed. “Stay with you?”

“Please, Jack. Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. Stay with me.”

As he rocked her, her sobbing slowed, and he realized that she had cried herself to sleep.

I set her on the floor and went to find her a pillow and blanket from one of the aisles.

He set her up cozily. Then he saw that locket. That damned locket. Her damned father.

He reached down to it and curled his finger around it. “Your father doesn’t own you. I love you Suzette.” And with that, he snapped the choker from her throat.

Suzettes eyes snapped open and she inhaled sharply, but before she could scream, her head fell backwards, and then dropped from her body, rolling a foot or two away. Her body fell limp and lifeless.

Jack was holding the choker in complete shock. He had no breath at all. He shook and felt sickness move through his entire body. He finally found his breath and screamed. He did not stop with the first lungful of air, but continued screaming, pawing over her body. There was no blood, just parts. Her limbs fell from her torso, held close by nothing but the fabric of the dress. She collapsed into pieces. Jack continued screaming.

“What the devil?” Mr. Havensham appeared from the back room. He was slipping his glasses on. “Who are you? Get out of my store.” He lifted jack by his neck. “Jack?”

Jack could not meet his gaze, instead howling with grief, staring at his beautiful Suzette, broken apart like a china doll.

“Jack! Calm down, boy.” He looked down at Suzette. “What are you doing with my Suzette?” He shook Jack. “Jack!”

“Your daughter!” Jack was in shock. He passed out.

When he finally came to, he recognized that he was in the back of the toy store. “What did you do with Suzette?”

Mr. Haversham looked over from his workbench. “You’re up.”

“Where’s Suzette.”

Mr. Haversham pointed over to the shelves. “She’s over there I suppose. Well—“ He motioned to some other shelves. “Over there as well.”

“What?” Jack’s eyes were so filled with tears and stinging that he could barely make out the collection of arms in the bin on one of the shelves. “Where is she?”

“My boy, you are starting to scare me. Suzette was just one of my dolls.”

“What?”

He sighed, “Am I going to have to repeat everything for you, son? She’s just a doll.”

“But I talked with her. We’ve been friends since I was a young boy.”

Mr. Havensham laughed, “Oh my boy, you mustn’t go around announcing your insanity so boldly. They lock you up for that sort of nonsense.”

Jack was sick with grief and disbelief. “This is a nightmare. What’s this then?” He saw the choker on the table.

“That?” Mr. Havensham retrieved the choker. “Some of the dolls use these to hold the stuffing in. Suzette was pretty special. I made her when I was much younger, with a friend of mine. Well, he did most of the work. I remember him telling me about the energy he had placed into the doll, and that the choker was his sign. If his choker was removed, then all of his work would be undone. But look!” Mr. Havensham held up a head. It was Suzette’s. “I know how much she means to you, boy. So, come back tomorrow. I’ll make her as good as new.”

“Really? As good as new?”

“Better in fact. Get some rest and come back tomorrow.”

Jack felt hope return. Suzette would be back. He promised himself he would never try to take her away again. He went home, and though his heart was heavy, he felt his nightmare might be over.

The following day, Jack reappeared. Mr. Havensham was finishing up with an elderly couple. He waved to Jack and thanked his patrons before wiping his hands on his shirt and reaching out to shake Jack’s hand.

“Jack, my boy. I’m sorry I always kept you from Suzette. She was so rare and precious to me that I did not want to be separated from her. Master craftsmanship is written all over her.”

“Is she here?” Jack produced a present. “I have something for her.”

Mr. Havensham looked down at Jack, almost pityingly. “Sure, Jack. She’s in the front.”

Jack looked through the store, but didn’t see her anywhere. Then he spotted her. His heart sank as he stepped towards the front window. There she was, his Suzette. There she was sitting in the rocking chair. She was holding a small bear. A train was racing around her feet. He sat there, watching her, remembering everything. He then stepped into the window with her and opened the present. He put one cupcake in front of her and one in front of him. Though he took a bite, and though he managed a few small chews, he was unable to swallow. He watched here lifeless eyes as they stared past him.

From one writer to another...

2009-12-31T11:34:00.000-08:00

I wrote this for a beautiful, wonderful writer I had met. It was just something playful to help inspire her to not give up on her writing dreams. I had almost lost it in my mountain of email, so I wanted to rescue it.

He gently untied the knot and removed the scarf from her eyes.

“You can look now.”

She blinked and stared around. Her right hand went out to touch the walls of the room. “Where are we?”

“You are in my story. This -- ”, he swept his hand, “is one of my stories. I’m giving it to you.”

“What?” She raised an eyebrow. “You made this?”

“I’m actually making it right now. You are experiencing this place as I write.”

She laughed. She looked at all of the pictures on the walls as she stepped through the room. Her eyes returned to him, her anchor in this strange world. “These are so beautiful. You painted these?”

“In a sense, yes. These pictures are what I am seeing in my mind right now. You are connected body and soul to my mind while you are in this place.”

She marched up to him, and placed her hands on his chest, “That doesn’t make sense. I can feel you. I can feel your heart beat.” She grabbed his hand and placed it against her cheek. His eyes closed. “I’m real, can’t you feel me? I’m not one of your characters in your stories. I’m flesh and blood.”

He breathed slowly. She looked at him, pleadingly and whispered in a small voice, “I’m real.” She reached forward and kissed his lower lip. “Don’t you feel me?”

Confused, he pulled back. “You are real.” He played with his fingers, “ I know this because I’ve spoken with you before. You tell me things I could not possibly have known.” He glanced around the room, “You are real because I’ve held you before.”

He reached out and held her face in his hands. She stepped towards him and placed her own hands over his. He moved his lips to kiss her brow and then whispered into her ear, “You are very real to me. I don’t give into making worlds for phantoms.” He kissed her ear, “but out there, you would never allow me to do this.” He kissed her cheek. Her heart was pounding as he held her securely. His hand went to her shoulders and then he lifted her arms and placed them above her against the wall behind her. “Or this.” He hovered above her lips. Her eyes closed and her mouth hung slightly open.

He let her go. She didn’t move. Her mind would not allow it. Her body ached. It was this place. She thought, “How can this not be real?”

“It’s real because it is in your mind. Right now, there is someone reading this, and you are, for the moment, real in their mind as well.”

“Who’s reading this?”

“Could be any number of people, there is no way of telling. It could be you for all I know. I would hope though, that you would be able to recognize yourself.” He chuckled. “But honestly and truly, it is beyond the things that I can possibly know. The only thing I know for certain is that I was here at its creation.”

He ran his hand up to hers and curled his fingers around hers. Her eyes fluttered open. “I want to show you something.”

The place in which they stood unfolded in front of them. New machines rose from the ground. To one side, tendrils rose from rocks, reaching for each other. Several, then several hundred, then uncountable thousands poured forth into one another, wrapping around each other. What started as a mound of overlapping leathery tentacles became more defined, forming the cushions and armrests of a chair. Stone broke from the floor and formed a desk. Dust trickled from the top until the surface was smoothly polished. He led her to the chair and motioned for her to sit.

“I made this place for you. This desk in front of you is yours. You can come here any time you want.”

She peeked across the desk. It was empty except for a single sheet of paper. It was plain white, but as she watched, black spidery ink poured across its surface, and it read, “How is this happening?” She gasped.

He laughed, “No no, it’s ok. You are here to create. Anything you imagine can be replicated here. That paper simply records your thoughts.”

She turned to him and cocked her head, “My thoughts?”

“Yes. In this place you can create anything. All of the poetry and writing and pictures that you have every imagined or could imagine can be made real when you are here.”

“But I thought that you were writing this story.”

“This story, perhaps.” He pointed at the papers on the desk, for already there was a small stack. “Those, however, are yours.”

She turned to the desk, and leafed through the ream that was so neatly stacked before her. Beautiful pictures. Awful Pictures. Dreams and nightmares from her childhood. "How can these be?" Some of them were all too familiar.

He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You have to write now.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’ll be here whenever you need me to be.” He placed his final kiss atop her head and released her, “You have to write now.”

She turned around, but he had disappeared.

“Wait. I don’t want this to end. Wait! I’m real! I’m real, aren’t I?”

Bertrand's Buffet

2009-12-21T13:45:00.000-08:00

Weeee! Did this in about 20 minutes! I didn't realize it was part of "Tapestry" until I was at the end. I wrote this to show to a certain someone (named 1more) that I didn't have to be dark all the time. But apparently I do. (sigh). But not too much darkness this time.

Adam clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth, “Jesus, how long has that dude been eating?”

“He got here at ten. Goes to the restroom every five minutes, I swear!” Allie was fidgeting with her apron. “Probably purging what with all the food he’s gone through. I would hate to be the one to have to go in there after him.” She scrunched up her face at Adam.

He waved his hands, “Oh no, I’m not playing. That’s just gross.”

“Well, your shift is starting, go do your thing.” Allie turned back to her duties.

Adam approached the man’s table, which was fortunately off in a corner of its own. No, this was not a man, but a behemoth. No, that’s not fair. He was not so much a behemoth as a big slob. He was large, to be sure, but it was the layers of clothing that affected his “look”. He was a slob covered in terrycloth -- stained terrycloth. He was hunched over feverishly devouring a plate heaping with food piled on top of more food. A wide brim hat hid everything but his bearded chin and lips, seeking their next bite. His gloves had the fingers cut off, but they were as covered in sauce as his fingertips, stained black with soot and food.

“Eh—“, Adam stood next to the table, transfixed by all of the plates heaped to the side. He cleared his throat.

The large man did not stop eating, but did turn to the side to stand up from his table. He took the last fistful of potatoes from his plate. He lifted his head enough to see the young man, smiled and pushed the last of the potatoes in his mouth. His words were muffled, “I’ll be back.” And with that, he lumbered off to the restroom.

Adam took several of the plates from the table and walked them back to the kitchen, laughing to himself at the things he had just witnessed. Along the way, he was stopped by a well dressed man and a young, casually attired woman. “Whoa, she’s pretty hot” he thought to himself.

“Looking for a man. Big. Likes to eat.” The man said, looking through a satchel to retrieve a picture.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen him.” He motioned his eyes to the dishes in his hands. Then he flicked his head back in the direction of the restroom, “It’s taken a break, but it will be right back for more, I’m sure.”

The girl looked at the plates and grimaced. “Really? He’s our key?”

The man thanked Adam. “Claire, don’t let Bertrand fool you. He’s quite powerful. Even if he is—“ He looked up as Bertrand exited the restroom and walked up to the buffet for a new helping. “—cheap.”

Bertrand got back to the table with two large plates full of meats and starches. He eyed his two guests, and sat down without an introduction. He began to eat.

“Hey, Bertrand.”

“Geland.” He muttered. He took another mouthful and chewed. “I don’t see food in front of you, so I assume you are in the wrong place.”

Calire sat with disgust. “Really?”

Bertrand stole a glance at Claire. He cleared his throat. “Pretty. Where’d you snatch her from.”

“She found me.” He looked at her, “sort of.”

Bertrand laughed, “I’d warn ye to stay away from this one, li’l girl. Bad karma follows him.”

She wasn’t amused. She just stared at this thing eating. “How can he help anyone but himself.”

Geland tapped his fingers on the table, “Looks can be deceiving. Our friend here –“ He waved to Bertrand, “is a time traveler. One of the few who haven’t gotten themselves killed.”

Bertrand laughed, “I have a system. You need a system to make it work.”

Claire burst out laughing, “Ha! What a load of nonsense.” She scowled, “So as a time god, you sit here and stuff your face? That’s what a time traveler does?”

Bertrand looked at Geland, “When I am in this sanctuary, this is what I do, yes.” He grunted, amused with himself, "A man has to eat sometime."

“You are a slob!” She looked sickened, “You are a disgusting glutton. This is pointless.” She got up to leave.

“No wait.” Geland called to her.

“Let her go.” Bertrand spoke above his chicken wing. “Her home is doomed anyway.”

Claire spun around, “What did you say?” She was fuming, “How dare you. You don’t know me.”

“Maybe I don’t Claire. But I know of you. I know of the town, and of the collapse.”

“Who in the hell are you?”

Bertrand pulled a napkin and wiped his face. He set it on top of his plate and looked at Claire, smoldering. He removed his hat. “I end lives. I save souls. When I am awake, I fight. I scheme against your churches and your institutions. I do not sleep. I have seen the beginning and the end of your world. I have seen the ones who work the threads. I have hated since time began, and I have loved for twice as long." He stood up from the table, “And for five minutes of each day.” He motioned at the table, “I eat. So, enough games, girl.” He turned to his friend, “Tell me Geland. Is this the one you’ve chosen.”

Geland looked at a speechless Claire, “Yes.” He reached for her arm and turned her wrist to show Bertrand. Colored thread was sewn into a strange symbol. “He marked her.”

“Well then, Claire. It seems that while fate may smile fondly on the rest of us, he seems to have taken a more personal interest in you. ” Bertrand retrieved his hat and put it back on his head. “Let us go now.”

Claire, still in shock, red faced with anger and now with embarrassment, she leaned to Geland, “Wait. So he comes to a New England buffet, to the same place, to eat his meals?”

Geland smiled, “I told you he was cheap.”

As the three left the diner, Adam smiled and looked over Allie, who was scrunching up her face in delight to see this saga over. He walked to the table and cleared it of dishes. As he walked back to the kitchen, he did not see Bertrand walk in from the restroom. He didn’t see Bertrand pile food on two new plates. He did not see Bertrand proceed to eat. But he would, soon enough.

The Bad Thing

2009-11-14T09:37:00.000-08:00

Wrote this first back around 1995. It gets edited and updated now and then. It is the opening of my Circle book. This is Benjamin from some of the other stories. Now originally, I told this in first person. Reading over it today, I cannot imagine what I was thinking. I know that originally I identified with Benjamin in some strange childish way, but I've grown since then.

Poor Harry. Get out of the city. Was it really that hard?

He ran his stubby fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to catch his breath. The lights cut through the shadows, but everything seems so hidden, so foreign. He bent over and choked, squeezing and massaging his stomach.

Peeking around and seeing nothing, Harry stepped out from the alley into the street. Some newspaper flipped and blew down the street, but no life. It was dark, and only the soft whistle of wind could be heard. His right hand relaxed, letting the trinket shift in his hand. Color flowed back into his hand as he flexed his fingers. He could smell the water. Almost over. He panted excitedly as he huffed and limped his way towards the city drawbridge.

Far above Harry, tucked neatly out of view, was a dark creature, a bad thing. It watched him with a forced smile, smelling the air. One claw scratching at the other.

Harry’s footsteps echoed as he left the concrete and stepped across the metal grating of the bridge. He lost his footing and tried feebly to grab the railing as a hacking cough shook his body. He put his hands on his knees and spit a small pool of blood between his feet. He wiped the drool from his mouth and looked around again. He whimpered as the adrenaline finally left him, “Too much.” He used the rail and started his final walk to the center of the bridge. A mist began to fall. The moisture beaded up on his clothing. Harry was oblivious to the droplets collecting on his cheeks.

The bad thing dropped its shoulders and crouched forward onto its hands. It began to choke and grunt. With a few final gulps, it stretched its neck and spit up a small object covered in drool. It was a ring. It shot out onto the roof, where it rattled and rolled down the slant and, in a resounding ding, skipped up and over the edge, vanishing into the dark. Moments later it could be heard bouncing far below.

Harry looked back towards the harsh wet lights of the city. A police car was patrolling in the distance, but soon it was gone. What was a calm drizzle was picking up into a light shower.
The bad thing skittered across the roof. With a short leap it pounced into a low crouch and kicked its legs, thrusting itself high into the air, spreading skeletal wings of translucent skin. It did not come back down.

Harry peered over the edge of the bridge and pulled the medallion out of his pocket, holding it in front of his eyes for one final look. He could barely make out the engravings beneath its blemishes. He had no idea what they meant, and he didn't care.

The water was starting to come down quickly now, and Harry lifted his arm, shielding his eyes from the rain. The sounds of the winds were unsettling, like hundreds of children crying out, "hush". Gathering his wits, Harry gritted his teeth, poised to pitch the amulet over the railing. "To hell with you." All of his might went into that throw, and his body continued the momentum, smacking solidly into a force – stopping him abruptly in mid-swing. Harry's heart stopped. Everything was in slow motion. His heart bleated out a slow thump, giving rhythm to the rainfall, allowing Harry the time to count each one colliding with his forehead, welling up in his eyes, and dripping from his nose. His lungs began to expand, pulling in his next breath. He slowly turned around, unsurprised—uninvolved. His eyes started at his shoes, working their way up his body and out along his arm to see that, indeed, something was holding him. His eyes followed the grip to its dark limb and up to its coarse presence, finally resting on its face. At least it should have been a face. "Imagine that." The man casually thought to himself.

Like a rattlesnake, the other claw of his assailant flung out and snatched something from just below his chin. As he fell to his knees, he heard the dull thud of flesh hit the street. As the trunk of his body fell forward, his face smacked the cool cement of the bridge, bouncing once, and then coming to a rest sideways, staring across the bridge. He could see a small river of blood forming somewhere nearby, pouring out in a little stream to a curb, where it met with rainwater, sluicing downstream. His eyes focused on a small mound of blood. "My throat."

He felt his imprisoned arm hit the pavement, no longer holding the amulet. A lullaby from his childhood began playing as he lazily watched through blurry lenses. He felt a pressure on his back, and then motion. The thing hefted him onto his back, his head twisted at an odd angle, not quite pointing up. Euphoria slowly spread through his body, the scene faded from his eyes, the voice of his mother singing him to sleep. "What am I supposed to do now" he thought to himself as his lips convulsed, mouthing for the oxygen they would never receive.

The creature brought its face close to its prey, smelling its work, tracing the man's face with the backs of its hands and knuckles. It caressed his face tenderly with its yellow fingernails, finally resting them just above his forehead. With a sharp exhale of breath, the thing shrieked, raking its nails down Harry's face, tearing the flesh off the skull, leaving behind a surprised grin. The creature stood to leave and looked back across the body, which lay in an irregular, almost comical pose, still alive, wondering what was to become of it. With a growl, the bad thing grabbed the man's chest sharply and heaved it up and over the railing, flinging it into the water far below.

Serial Killer - Lily

2009-11-09T22:14:00.000-08:00

My serial killer story has two serial killers... the emotionless psychopath from the bus, and then this ball of unrealized hatred. The two haven't met yet. I'm not certain that this is Lily's first introduction, or if that's even her name yet. Probably isn't. I just wanted her to be the arm of wrath. She is careless, but she tries to be reasonable. When I think of her, I think of "May", just much more physical. She's into the whole rape with blades thing. I can only imagine why (butter allergies?). Just as before, I can't edit what I have. I just have to produce quickly. For future ref: this took about 30 minutes to write. Edit: Fixing some outrageous grammar issues. :-)

“Fill her up, Doug.” Frank stepped down from the truck and took a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. He smacked out a single smoke for himself and tucked the pack away again. “I’ll be right back.”

Doug was a big, baby-faced lug, but better company than nothing. He lumbered around the semi and began pumping gas. He looked off dumbly into the under lights of the station. Thousands of bugs swarmed in from the night, plastering their little bodies over everything like an insect meet and greet.

Frank was lighting up while walking towards the front door of the deli. He passed by a girl sitting at a small picnic table directly in front of the store, sipping on something from a Styrofoam cup. Her glasses hid her eyes, and a drab hoodie covered her head, but the headlights from his rig betrayed several red scrapes across her cheek. He chuckled, “Trick gone South, eh?” She did not react. He stopped next to her.

“Don’t say nothin’?” He reached out to turn her face towards him, but she lifted her hand and flinched. He laughed again and spit, “You know de customer’s always right? Well,” He sucked a puff from his cigarette and blew smoke in her direction, “It ain’t what’s comin’ outta’ the mouth as impo’tant as what’s comin’ in it, ‘eh sister?”

Typical.

She could hear the bell ding as soon-to-be-not-Frankwalked into the diner. “Well, Hello, Maggie. You alone?”

Poor Maggie. Alone with that piece of shit. The door closed behind ex-Frank, so there was no telling what heartfelt renderings Maggie might behold.

She watched the idling tractor. She watched big, stupid Doug. He squinted and his eyes chased moths while his mouth hung open. Was that maw supposed to be a fucking runway? Lily could feel the bruises as her mouth creased into a semi smile. Oh, Doug, how many hearts must you have launched with those boyish charms? Not one, I’ll bet.

She looked back down at her notebook, scribbling her words. She looked at them and concentrated, mouthing her lips to remember what she had written precisely. She smiled and looked up at Doug again before returning to her meditation.

“Hey, Doug! Doug!” Doug looked around, wondering where the noise was coming from. “Yo, Doug! Over here!” Finally, eye contact. Good job, Doug. “You hungry?”

“I—I want a hot pocket!” Doug called back. Delightful cuisine. Bon Apetite, Doug.

“Doug, now, I told you no more of those!” Wise words, ex-Frank.

“I want a hot pocket!” Doug insisted.

“I ain’t gonna argue with ya, Doug. They ain’t got Hot Pockets. I kin get ya a sandwich or some—“

“Baloney and cheese!” Doug shouted over the motor.

Ex-Frank walked out a little ways to catch Doug’s words. “Doug, I can’t hear ya over the motor.”

Nice pants. Ex-Frank had his belt undone. Lily turned her head slightly to catch a glimpse inside. Maggie’s smock was on the counter, but Maggie wasn’t visible.

“Oh, now you see somethin’ you like? Well, dah’lin’. Let me just squirt my load up in Maggie in there,” He thumbed back at Maggie, “then you can have a fuck.” He grinned wide at her and reached across her to smash out his cigarette in the tin foil tray, “Now how’d that suit you?”

She turned back and shrunk.

As he pulled back from her, he closed his eyes and inhaled her. “Yeah, that’s some natural shit right there. You can earn your twenty in about five.”

He looked over at Doug, who was busy waving hello. He waved back and went back inside. Twenty dollars? What the hell? I’m worth at least a hundred, Lily thought. “A hundred.” She said to no one. She covered her mouth and looked around. No one heard her. I’m worth at least a hundred, you cheap shit.

Lily fetched a cell phone from her jacket pocket. She tapped out a little pattern on the numbers, a practice dial. She looked at her paper and mouthed a few words. She looked at the phone again and at the paper. Finally she pressed the numbers and made the call.

“Hello?”

She paused for a moment. Say something, stupid. “Hello? David? Is this David Messing?”

“Yeah. It’s kinda late, who is this?”

“It’s um. It’s, Erica, David. Hi. It’s Erica.” She looked at her paper again and got her composure back. “You and I have an appointment tomorrow morning to look at some of the new homes in Cherry Bay. I am conform—“, she stuttered, “confirming our appointment and would like to extend my deepest sincerity for your time and consideration of me as a present and potential client.”

“Whoa, “ David chuckled, “Erica, it’s not an interview. We put you on the books and I’ll show you the houses, ok?” He yawned.

“Yes, David, and thank you. May I get directions to the houses in question so as to…”

“Erica, hang on. Hey.” She was trying to stick to the script, but he could sense she was nervous. “Look, meet at the office ok? I will meet you at 8 a.m.. Don’t worry about anything. Think of it as a relaxing ride looking at some houses." David yawned again, "Look, I'll drive you everywhere and take care of everything. Is this your first time?”

“First time?” She was taken by the question. First time at what? What was he implying?

“First time shopping for a house? Exciting isn’t it? So hey look, I’m going to. Wow. It’s late. You should get some sleep, ok? Long day tomorrow.”

“I don’t sleep much.” She said feebly.

“Well, ha ha. Ok, well, I’m going to get a little more sleep and then we’ll meet, ok?”

“Ok, David. I sincerely thank you again for everything.”

“Bye, Erica.” And the phone disconnected.

All in all, “A” for effort, Lily. She smiled, sincerely happy. She did it. David was going to show her houses tomorrow. She stood up with a little bounce. I hope the houses are nice, she thought as she walked across the street to the gas pumps.

David was so nice to spend the whole day with her. She reached under her coat.

Doug had finished and was walking in front of the truck to her, “Frank is getting me the Baloney and.”

“Cheese” She helped him complete his sentence. He wasn’t going to be saying much with that foot long spike slid up underneath his ribs. As he tripped backwards she pushed that serrated screwdriver as far up inside Doug as she could go. She must have punctured something good because Doug was not doing too well catching his fall. She had filed the makeshift blade down far too much, though, as it broke apart inside of Doug when she tried to pull it back out again. She had barely three inches left sticking out of the handle, but more than enough. She threw herself on top of the pile of Doug and hammered down onto his head and neck, decorating his soft parts with holes. Doug let out a tremendous cough of blood which seemed to trigger each hole of his ruptured throat and face to bleed out at once.

She got up to her feet and climbed up into the cab. Oh, she wasn’t going anywhere in this rig. She released the parking brake and slid the gear into first. A cacophonous grind alerted ex-Frank, who was still inside, pulling his pants up and hobbling to the door. But she had found second. Ex-Frank barely got his last obscenity out of his mouth before she drove the gore of Frank’s smashed carcass through Maggie’s screaming bitch face.

The cab made it completely through the diner and was now parked calmly, ignition off. Lily checked the last of her messages while she was climbing out of the cab. Her little yellow Charger was waiting for her. She pulled a long trash bag from under her coat and opened it up. She stripped down to bare skin, laying everything into the plastic bag. When she was done, she tied the bag shut and double bagged it. She thought that she wouldn’t mind having a pool so much, but that she’d love some yard. Maybe a dog. Maybe not a dog.

She pulled some fresh clothes from the trunk, and dressed up. She hopped into the front seat and adjusted the mirror. She laughed when she saw all of the blood in her face. “You are a lousy criminal,” she said matter-of-factly. She wiped her face into some towels and threw them behind her seat.

She drove the car out onto the street, made a left, and travelled on. The sun would be coming up soon. We can’t be late for David.

Benjamin confronts the church

2009-11-04T21:59:00.000-08:00

More from the Circle book. Benjamin is starting down a dark path which will ultimately spell his doom and get him a thousand years of demon crazy.

"I'm afraid that what you are asking is out of the question."

"You do understand that your position will make things… difficult for you in the eyes of the council"

Benjamin stared intently into the eyes of the cardinal.

"Do not dare to threaten me in my own house, I'm well aware that I am in the minority. But last I checked, we were here to do God's work, not the work of some woman we hardly even know."

"Look," cardinal Salisan sighed, "I know where you are coming from, believe me." Running his finger across a tapestry, "and you know I respect you.   You should really have one of the servants clean this-"

"Respect?" Scoffed Benjamin. "You can't hold my gaze.   You refuse my summons to meet with me."

"We're meeting now."

"Are we? Or is this simply your new duty as Lucretia's lapdog?"   Gazing into the far corner of the chamber, Benjamin twisted back to face Salisan, "You haven't even the spine to meet me alone."

Salisan hesitated and looked back into the same corner. A slight guesture with his chin brought motion.   A dark hooded figure moved forward from the shadows. "He's my assistant, that's all. A mute, but a fine—"

"You insult the both of us."

"Fine." Salisan sighed. "Leave us." Salisan waved at the figure.   The visitor nodded and silently exited the room.

"Ok, we are alone now." Salisan returned to Benjamin.   "Please reconsider." A look of worry overcame the cardinal, "You are a good man, and no one doubts your integrity. But things are changing, and if we want to survive, we have to learn to adapt."

Benjamin laughed, "Oh, my old friend, I will be around long after you have departed our fold.   You are intoxicated with the thrill of secrecy, but so bored with the responsibility of loyalty. I am ten years your senior, and I have seen change in the wind.   But this woman is a fleeting element in the equation. Her promise of a new church is nothing more than the segregation of good people. You and I once saw alike on this. The church and I once saw alike."

"Is that why you left?" Salisan dropped his stance, showing real compassion for the first time in a while.

"I never left. I simply could not perform duties so contrary to my beliefs.   Besides, from my position here, I can do more good for the people than I ever could under service of the holy church." Benjamin recognized the change in tone and put his hands on his friends shoulders.   "I love you and yours, Salisan, and if I could do anything for them, you know that I would. But what you are involved with is wrong."

Salisan gave a bleak smile, "I may be in too deep, my friend." But as suddenly as the light shone through his face, it disappeared.   He knocked Benjamin's hands from their position, "You have to realize my position. The council will have heard what has transpired here."

Benjamin walked over to a window and peered out across the town. "Do as you must, but do it of your own will."   He looked back over his shoulder, "You promised to serve these people too."

"I – I'm sorry Benjamin. I wish things could be different."   He bowed low and retreated from the room.

Alone in the chamber, Benjamin relaxed his shoulders, exhaling. He had been speaking against the council for quite some time.   Ever since this woman came into town, though, he felt that he was losing a lot of the support on which he depended. He walked out of the room, taking a moment to blow each candle out.   From far away, he thought he heard children.

"Sire, I believe the last of the ministers has left the hall. Shall I bolt the door?"

Benjamin looked across the Great Hall to see his squire. "Of course, Antonius."   He smiled warmly to his trusting pupil, with whom the last seven years had been a refreshing test of his devotion to instruction. He approached Antonius, who had just put the locks in place, and with a fatherly guesture, put his hand across the boy's shoulders.

"You are growing to be a fine man. Let not the drudgery of politics nor the acumen of religion change that."

"Sire?"

Benjamin rubbed his cheek. "Son, I have a task for you.   Accompany me."

"Yes, Sire."

Benjamin reached into his sleeve and produced a worn parchment, flaked and browned with age.

"Find the rest of this book."

"I – I'm afraid I don't understand sire. How will I know where to look?"

The pair rounded the hall, ascending the stairs.

"You won't have to look far. From the writing on this paper I hold, I gather its owner will divine my theft and soon come to retrieve it.   But she will not find it, will she?"

Antonius stopped and shook his head, confused. "She?"

"When I am discovered, you will know the owner and you will follow her. The library from whence this treasure comes is ancient, and, I am certain, well secluded."

Resting a finger on Antonius, Benjamin spoke in hushed tones, "you will find the nature of this library, and from it retrieve to me this book.   I do not know the reaches to which my one-time peers conspire, but at its heart lies a dangerous deception, one intent on corrupting the minds of the learned and the strong."

They continued walking.

"You fear Salisan's mind has been won over?" Questioned Antonius.

Benjamin closed his eyes and looked upwards as he paced. "I no longer fear that which I have long since known."

"Then why do you permit him access to your solitude, my Liege?"

"I would not, except that I knew he held this." Benjamin cupped the parchment with his hands, and with a slight motion, spread apart his fingers.   The note had disappeared. With a sly grin, Benjamin reproduced the note from the folds of his accoutrements.

Antonius smiled back as he opened a wooden door, "Were you not so good to me, I would turn you in for witchcraft."

"That which frees a man from the power of men is considered witchcraft."

Antonius looked suddenly serious. "You believe Lucretia to be a part of this."

Benjamin grasped Antonius by the back of the neck, "You would be wise not to mention her name aloud.   I fear her spies are everywhere. Her power is great and, I am certain, derives from an authority far beyond that of the church in which she nests."

As the two entered the chamber, Benjamin stopped and began to whisper.

Antonius fell backwards as he saw smoke flow from his master's lips.

"Fear not, Antonius, for I am incorruptible and devoted to the Father." Benjamin traced imaginary figures in the air and spit words in a harsh dialect.   From the air, Benjamin seemed to snatch something. Turning up his palm, he showed Antonius a black stone. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve for this group, this circle."

Around the stone, Benjamin wrapped the parchment. "Do not leave this stone behind, lest you be found and all of my risks amount to nothing."

Antonius was visibly shaking. "Master, have you gone evil?"

Benjamin smiled. "Antonius, it is of great consequence that I studied the scripts of mine enemies, knowing that to destroy them, I had to learn from them.   But in the end, I will not be turned to evil. I simply use the fire of my enemies to burn them."

Tower Race

2009-11-03T20:23:00.000-08:00

Old old old... I think it's still good, but I haven't read it. Posting it here to prevent it from being lost. It's part of "Circle of One" in which Benjamin is a priest from long long ago fused to a demon. Here, our Heroine has learned some secrets and realizes she is in immediate danger. She has been marked as a target for a few nasty demon assassins.

Her hand was burning as she threw open the front doors of Sidhe Towers.

The shadows skittered across the alley on the far side of the street.

Closing the doors, she could see the eyes of three seekers, fixed directly on her now.

She muttered the words and pulled a burin from her boot.

The hooded figures walked slowly, but with purpose towards the citadel.

Sam etched into the glass of the doorway an inscription surrounding an inverted triangle. "You have no passage."

The figures, bone white humans, walked directly up to the door, fixated on the sigil, contemplating it. One of the creatures slapped a hand against the metal frame, shrieking like an angry cat.

Sam stepped backwards, flailing her hand behind her, finally catching the elevator buttons. Her chest was hurting from the adrenaline. The machinery of the elevator engaged, and the whirring sounds competed with the whispers of the three gaunt creatures outside.

The wraiths stopped whispering and, in perfect unison, gazed at the ward on the glass, and then turned, peering through the glass, attempting a glimpse of their quarry.

With a resounding ding, Sam exhaled, and one of the tower elevators slid open. Sam stepped backwards into the elevator, resting against the rear of the car. The door did not close. “Shit.” Sam whispered to herself as she reached forward to stab a random floor.

"Like unto sheep."

Scarecrow man stepped into the open door, and Sam recoiled. His gauze covered hands prevented the doors from closing. Straw fell from the gaps in his bandages.

"Only a second, and your stars will fall."

Scarecrow turned slightly, and made a gesture at the front entrance. The doors begain to discolor as a green taint mottled the glass.

"No!" Sam screamed, pressing her fingers into the golem’s chest. The air shook as concussive wave blew her and scarecrow apart from one another. The doors slid shut and the elevator car rose.

She made it only to the tenth floor when the car jerked and lurched. The lights flickered. She wasted no time, and pulled open the elevator doors. She was caught between floors, but she quickly scrambled to the upper floor, ran out of the foyer. A green taint was overtaking the car behind her and she could see the car plunge downwards. She found the stairwell access and through herself through the doors, adrenaline driving her feet up the stairs. Children could be heard crying from the walls and she knew the dread creatures would be on top of her at any moment.

Six flights later, she could hear a door slam open far below, with a whispering cadence and occasional giggles accompanying the creatures.

The door here was locked. Wasting no time, Sam pulled a 9mm and unloaded into the door. Throwing her body against the door once, and then twice, it gave and she fell to floor releasing the clip from her gun and reloading. Producing a second handgun, she rolled onto her back just in time to see a white seeker leap above her. Unloading with all the speed she could muster, she riddled the creature with gunfire. It lost its balance and continued its uncontrolled dive over her crashing hard into the floor. With a kick, she pushed the stairway door shut, slamming it hard on a hand grasping the frame. She sent a flurry of bullets at the hand, which quickly retracted, allowing the door to close. She rolled back on her feet and began to run down the hall just as a hand from the crumpled wraith reached out, grabbing her leg.

Sam hissed an incantation against the creature and it howled as its hand burst into flame.

She yanked her leg free and continued running. One creature had reopened the door, letting out a fierce howl, while his counterpart began shaking and contorting. Finally, the prone beast tore the skin from his face, letting its true form show through. Unencumbered by its mortal flesh, It lept to its feet with an animal’s ferocity and galloped down the corridor after Sam. It was fast and driven, its wings spreading across the hall as it clawed its way along the roof of the hallway, bent on reaching Sam and tearing out her throat.

Sam took a sharp corner, and the beast, unable to adjust, overshot her. "No passage," Sam yelled as she produced a ceremonial dagger and shoved it sharply into the stucco of the hallway. She reached the central area of the floor and caught two elevators open and waiting. Behind her she could here a low voice, “We will burn this swollen Earth, starting with you." Scarecrow man was close. Thinking quickly, she cut her hand spilling blood which she flung into the elevator car, and pressed the button sending it to the lobby while taking the second elevator herself to the 32th floor.

On the way up, she removed her jacket. "Benjamin, I need you. Help me." Tearing out some of the lining, she fashioned a bandage which she wrapped tightly around her bleeding hand. None of it could touch the ground, or the seekers would see her immediately. It would be only moments before her ruse was discovered. The kreening and screaming far in the distance corroborated this.

When the door again opened, she was in her office suite. No sooner had she stepped out of the compartment than the lights went off. Emergency lighting was on instantly, and provided the meager illumination. But the power had been cut, so her passkey would not work, she would not be able to get into her office.

Suddenly a wind, unexpected, blew across her face and children could be heard hushing in unison.

One of the seekers had foreseen her move, and was in the dark, waiting for her. She could see the shadow play across the wall as the thing moved in, but she had no hope of seeing the creature itself. It's breathing seemed familiar.

"Benjamin?"

The creature stood upright in front of her. "No." It sighed happily and pressed its claws against her forehead, preparing to rake.

With a shriek, she fell backwards, slipping a dagger in between its ribs. It howled and reached towards its side. She muttered a quick incantation and the dagger burst into a jet of blue fire, and consumed the flesh of the creature. Without its mortal cage, it would be fierce, but also susceptible to the spells. As it giggled, screamed, and lumbered at her, she ejected an awkward syllable while striking the beast with her fist, sending the creature reeling. She wasted no time counterattacking the beast with a raking motion of her own, and with another incantation and a thrust of her palm, fired the creature through the suite and through the outer window, into the night air.

Retreating into the stairwell for a second time, she made her way up to the roof. She ran across the gravelly surface towards the edge, stopping short and flailing her arms. She stared thirty-three stories straight down to the streets below. Where was he? Sam’s hope sank. “Benjamin, where are you?” Her throat was ragged from the workout, and she seemed unable to throw off her scent. Scarecrow man was with them, and she was unable to get the devices from her office. She turned towards the door she emerged from and caught herself in a half sob. She looked around for possible rigging. Anything.

But there was nothing. She could hear the voices of children. Countless children whispering “hush.” She had read about this moment, about the children. Her hope was depleted.

Sam produced from her satchel a small vial. “Fuck these demons.” If she broke the glass against her skin, she would be doused, and would be a living bomb. Any seeker that touched her would trigger the reaction, and the entire roof would be obliterated.

As she eyed the vial, the door swung open. There stood three seekers, one still disguised as a man, but two now contemptuous monsters, wings spread agressively. Scarecrow passed between their ranks and tipped his hat towards Sam. "End of the line."

Sam raised the vial and as she began her death sentence, a form rose behind her, grabbed her forcefully and fell backwards, pulling her with it off the edge of the building. She lost her grip on the vial which spun upwards in an arc. One of the creatures desperately flew forward to catch the vial, but underestimated its fragility and it burst. A wall of flame exploded from the creature, cutting off her pursuers As she fell, she felt vertigo, and the creature which held her unfurled large wings which he beat, tearing her away horizontally at immense speeds.

"Benjamin?"

"Yes"

Poems? Lynched + Esape

2009-10-21T20:36:00.000-07:00

Not my usual fair. I just need somewhere to tuck this away for now. It's really late and I'm really tired.

Lynched

How long have I been here?
I can barely breathe.
I’m only wearing one shoe.
The ground spins slowly back and forth.
How many men were there?
At least four I think.
It was all so dark.
I wonder if that girl was ok.
They roughed her up pretty badly.
I remember they were pointing at me.
I wasn’t paying attention.
There is a ringing in my ears.
Oh, there’s someone now.
I can see his shoes.
I can barely hear him.
Everything is turning red.
Hey, he’s wearing a star.
He must be a deputy, or a sheriff.
He just spit at me!
What did I do?
He fades from view.
Everything fades from view.

Meh... I wrote this on my cell phone. Seems interesting enough to keep

Escape

There was a man who stayed in bed
Hey had no body, just a head
The rest was fed to pigs you see
When she who from downstairs broke free

"Tapestry" - Prologue

2009-09-28T19:02:00.000-07:00

I thought of this while at Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights. I had thought about if Fate was an incarnation, what a strange horrible job it would be. Who are these servants that they would be allowed to control the strings freely? What would happen if they disobeyed. The spiderweb might be an interesting image I would use later in this story, but for now, I think embroidered skin seems a lot more personal. No longer could the Fate be impersonal, for their own skin would bear their work. And it also makes the fates finite and replaceable as they become more and more covered.

The silhouette of his small house could be seen between the trees. Snow had fallen a few days earlier, and the ground was soaked.

“It is not my place to judge.”

The path leading back and forth up the hill was littered and lined with fist sized rocks. No matter how often they were pushed to the side, the earth insisted on coughing up more of them.

“We have always been content to write.”

The trees became thick along the path, and one had to duck to squeeze between them. Though dirt covered the majority of the path, a thin, golden tracing could be seen peeking out here and there.

“We do not touch ink. Our gift was always with needle,”

The path became very tight – almost lost among the branches which reached to one another for support.

“And thread.”

One must crawl the last several meters or suffer the scratches of the pines.

“The lines and the messages are written out for each generation. Those whose names I bear are measured and cut. All of this done unquestioningly.”

The door into the abode is heavy, cracked wood. The house itself formed of the same rocks that filled the path below. It is as though the mountain gave birth.

“The people down there believe in fate. The people down there believe in destiny. Not I.”

The door pushes inward, its large black iron bands providing it strength and weight. The floor inside is a cobblestone of pebbles. The shading provides an intricate pattern that cannot be grasped from this vantage.

“I make the fate. I give the power.”

An impossible distance forward, impossible given the dimensions of the home from the outside, is a fireplace.

“But I have always obeyed.”

In front of the fireplace is a cloaked figure. His arm reaching upwards, hovers, then gracefully descends.

“I have always followed the plan. The plan they give me.”

In his hand is a needle. As one approaches, the man’s flesh can be seen beneath the cloak. His skin seems riddled with scars.

“But they are corrupt. They are not worthy to guide my needle. Today, I disobey.”

But they are not scars. Upon closer inspection, one sees that they have pattern. They have rich colors and textures. They are embroidery, beautiful and horrifying.

“Today I write the name of my choosing. Today I change it all. Today fate will be ripped from the cloth.”

The figure pushes the needle into his bleeding skin, feeding red and gold thread back and forth across the wound. He is writing a name into his palm.

“Today I fear, will be my last.”

He completes the name, and bites the thread with sharpened teeth.

“Claire, I have chosen you.”

He drops the needle, and as it hits the floor, a baby cries out.

“Congratulations, Gina, you’re a mother!”

The doctor pulls the baby free and the nurses attend to her.

“It’s a beautiful girl, Gina, you’ve done it!”

Gina smiles, exhausted, and receives her husband’s affection.

“Have you picked a name?” Asks one of the nurses.

The mom, through tears, cries, “Yes. Her name is Claire, after my mother.”

“Well, good morning Claire.” One of the nurses sings, as she brings the newborn to her mother.

The baby makes a little cough. And then another. The nurse, concerned, checks Claire’s mouth with a finger. “Oh, the poor thing has a—“ She pulls a small length of string, red and gold. “That’s strange.” She puts it on the table without much more thought.

“She’s going to do great things.” Her proud mother exclaims. “I love you, Claire.”

Mara Engulfed

2009-06-27T14:23:00.000-07:00

This is the same Mara from the other story. This is part of a prelude when Mara is still a child.

Flames engulfed the hallway, boiling up the walls and across the ceiling.

“Mara! Answer me, where are you?”

Phillip held his hand over his mouth, calling down the hallway and up the stairs.

“Mara! Daddy can’t find you! Call to me baby!”

She wasn’t in her bedroom. Phillip flipped her bed upright and shoved her dresser to the side, frantically tearing apart her room, hoping he had overlooked something. The smoke was overpowering, and Phillip bent over coughing and wiping wet soot from under his eyes.
Wait. Was that her? The flames drowned out the other sounds.

“Daddy!”

That was her! But it was useless, her voice seemed to come from all around him.

“Mr. Burgess!” A voice called from below. “Lie close to the ground, we are coming for you.”

“No!” He ran out of her room and darted into a guest room, keeping low. “Baby!” He was dizzy and gasping.

“Daddy!” The scream was piercing. Don’t let my baby burn, he thought to himself.

He heard stomping of feet and looked around frantically. “Mara? Please honey. God, please baby, tell me where you are.”

Two firemen were walking up the stairs on hands and knees, testing the floors, making their way to him. “Mr. Burgess?” One man put his hand on his boot while the other threw a fire blanket over his head. “We got you. We have to move, now!”

“No! My daughter!”

“We’ll get her sir. Stay close to the ground. “ He called into a microphone, “We have the father. Daughter still unaccounted for.”

“Don’t let go of Cappy’s boot. The floors could give out.“

He was marched down the stairs and escorted out the front door. Now he could hear sirens and horns that were so muffled by the inferno behind him.

“Phillip!” His neighbor Amelia and her husband ran to his side, helping him out of his blanket. “Where is Mara?”

Phillip, having regained some sense, looked at the house. It was enormous. A house several sizes too large for just the two of them. “She’s still in there!” He fell to his knees and forward onto his hands, coughing. One of the firemen standing near him helped him back to his feet and leaned him against the rescue vehicle, slipping a mask over his face. “You’re gonna be fine.”
A voice crackled on a walkie talkie. “I can’t see anything in this shit storm!”

“She’s not in her bedroom.” Phillip coughed out to them.

A fireman shouted into his walkie talkie, “You boys are going to have to hurry. The south side is done for.”

“Oh god.” Amelia’s face was twisted and she was gasping in panic.

Mara was in her mother’s craft room. She could hear the fire right outside the door and knew enough not to open it So she grabbed the little cloth bear her mom had been sewing for her, and nestled in the closet. She could feel the smoke when she breathed. She was scared, but she knew that she would get to see mommy. She cried and held her bear close as the smoke filled her lungs.

Phillip watched helplessly from the ambulance, oxygen in hand. Amelia and Doug were close, and all of the other neighbors were coming out to the streets to watch the commotion. Another fire truck had arrived and was currently spraying large jets of water into the fire. Pin pricks of sensation spread through his legs and up his body. “What–“.

“No luck yet.” A voice spoke.

Phillip rose to his feet and looked at his hands, turning them over and back again. He looked at Amelia and spoke, “Mommy’s room.”

He swatted away the paramedics’ hands and ran right through the entrance which had been torn open with axes.

“Where the hell is he going?”

Without a word, he went up the stairs and took the first left, keeping low but moving swiftly. Two rooms down and on the right. Look at all this fire. Phillip pulled the blanket close and charged down the hall and with a grunt, threw himself through the door. Flame blasted into the room, greedily sucking down this new source of oxygen. He went directly to the closet and opened it, looking down at little Mara. She looked asleep except that she was completely the wrong color. He picked her up and cradled her under the blanket with him.

The heat and fire had now spread throughout this room. “Mr. Burgess!”

The tip of a pick broke through one of the walls. Then a larger hole. A dark face peeked in at them, “Some folks just can’t get enough. Let’s get you two out of there.”

Cappy had finally made the hole large enough for Mara. Phillip lifted her through and then stepped through himself, squeezing as best he could while the fire overtook the room he had just left.

Sampson smashed the rear window with an axe. “Don’t worry sir. I’ll take good care of your little girl here.”

Sampson nodded to Phillip as cupped the unconscious body of his daughter. He called some order into his intercom. The top rung of a ladder appeared in the window. Cappy tied Sampson’s rescue rope to the top of the ladder and Sampson spun around and descended. When they were safely on the ground, Cappy tied himself to the top of the ladder and went through the window.

“You’re next.” Called Cappy. “Second time is the charm. Stay close.”

Phillip dutifully crawled out the window onto the ladder and worked his way down, with Cappy just below him. Cappy untied himself, “You’re a lucky man. “ He shook his head, “Let’s check on your daughter.”

They made their way back to the vehicles out front. Paramedics already had Mara on a stretcher, administering oxygen. He coughed hard and walked over next to his daughter, grabbing her fingers and looking at them.

Doug was looking over at Phillip. “She’ll be ok.”

“I know. “ He turned her hands over and looked at her fingertips, and then studied his own fingers.

Phillip kneeled down and smiled. His face then changed into a gasp, as if he had been holding his breath for some time.

“What just happened?” He coughed and searched his surroundings. “My baby!” He turned back to the house.

“She’s here, she’s right here!” Amelia called, looking over at Doug.
Doug knelt beside Phillip. “Are you ok?”

“Where is Mara?”

“Right here, right in front of you!” He stood his friend up.

“Oh Mara!” He fell across his little girl. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at her father from under her oxygen mask.

“Daddy!”

Serial Killer

2009-04-28T12:22:00.000-07:00

I've cut loose with some rougher language than is usually my style. I think it fits. Skip this one if you are easily offended.

“That’s some kind of fucked up, you know that?”

“I’m sorry, I wanted to be honest—“

“You wanted to piss me off is what you wanted.”

“I wanted”

“Shut up. It’s always what you want, isn’t it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“God you dumb bitch, what you meant was to fucking piss me off. Well good job. Congratulations.”

Sara was sobbing and leaned her head against the glass, looking out the bus window into darkness speckled with tail lights.

“Jesus, I don’t know why you are upset. I’m the one who has to fix your fucking shit. I’m always fixing your dumb shit.”

The other passengers, what few there were, minded their own business. The black woman, shaking her head and working on her puzzles. The torn old bastard drinking from a paper bag, talking to himself about sports scores or food recipes or some other triviality. The mop headed teen sucking on a lollipop studying the couple from behind. He looked around continually, wondering if anyone else was getting as much entertainment out of the spat as he. He smiled knowingly to the lean individual near the back, who seemed oblivious, choosing instead to listen to music on his earphones.

Presently, the bus arrived at a quiet stop and the door slid open. Brad was already out of his seat, flourishing his hand in front of himself, “Any day now.”

Sara, lonely and beaten, slinked out of her seat and moved down the aisle. Brad caught the disapproving eye of the black woman up front. “Mind your business.” Brad flashed a menacing smile and looked at the bus driver, whose eyes darted after the girl and then at Brad, and then at the passenger behind Brad, shambling along behind the two, drowning out the world with his music.

Sara put some distance between her and her boyfriend. “Sara, slow the fuck down.” Brad called after her, “Don’t be fuckin’ makin’ me look bad.” He grabbed her arm and she whimpered, “No.”

“No? What the fuck you mean, ‘No’? Ain’t I got a say in what happens? You fuck around and get fucking pregnant?”

“With you!” She looked at him horrified.

“With shit,” He spit. “You supposed to tell me when it’s that time o’ month. Don’t think I’m payin for it neither. “ He looked over his shoulder at the other passenger. Though he was walking the same way, he was obviously giving the couple a wide berth. He leaned in close to Sara, “You pull extra shifts or whatever you gotta do.”

In a moment of ego, she lashed back, “Why don’t you get a job and help out? I’m aready working—“

“I don’t do no nine to fives, bitch.” His hand raised up and across her cheek with a sadistic smack. He pulled his hand back and looked around. “‘Sides, I have to take care of your ass. God.” She was recoiling in horror. His face softened as he realized what he had done, “look baby. I didn’t mean to hit you, but damn, you just get me fuckin’ frustrated. You know I love you right? C’mon baby, you know I love you.”

Sara, shaking, shrunk back from Brad. “I hate you.” She whispered.

“What? “

“Nothing.” Her eyes looked down.

“No. What the fuck you just say? Yo, Buddy. chill.” He raised his palm to the other passenger, who was looking at his own feet, living in his own world, oblivious. “Say that again, bitch?”

“Nothing!” She shouted. They were stopped and squaring off against one another. The other passenger was approaching closer. “I hate you!”

“Well Fuck you then!” Brad shot in low and landed a fist solidly into her abdomen, forcing all of the wind from her, leaving her in a twitching crumpled heap. He pointed at her as she clutched herself defensively into a tight ball, still unable to catch her breath. “You fuckin’ asked for that shit. You don’t fucking tell me—Hey back the fuck up buddy!”

Brad didn’t see the blade until it had passed in front of him once. He barely registered the arterial spray, fixating instead on the tip of the blade, watching it unflinching as it plunged back into his staring eye socket. His mouth just hung open like a brainless idiot, and his head followed the blade forward a little as it was retracted. Brad fell to the road like an empty trench coat. The other passenger stood above Brad and looked down at him, studying him and taking him in. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a Polaroid and tossed it onto that once living pile of shit.

Sara’s eyes were wide and she gulped for oxygen, watching her problems evaporate in front of her. She saw the passengers shoes in her field of vision. First they faced away from her. Then they turned towards her. He kneeled and studied her. She saw his eyes, and accepted her fate. He reached out and ran a finger through her hair, gently pulling a lock forward. He slid his knife close to her face. She saw it was still covered with gore. She closed her eyes. She heard the blade slide and cut, but there was no pain. She opened her eyes again, and watched the passenger walk away from her down the street. She saw a small droplet of blood in her hair, now one lock less. She closed her eyes and passed out.

Matt Meets Mara

2008-05-11T16:03:00.000-07:00

*sigh* I loved this story. I've lost everything from it. I recreated one of the scenes here. At this time, it's a ghost story, but you find out that it's much, much more. I still have the prelude laying around somewhere I'll have to post it at some point.

“It’s this girl. I don’t know, It feels like I see her everywhere.”

“What girl?”

“I don’t know. She’s different every time. When I’m out eating, or on the bus.”

“Different every time? What do you mean?”

“These women come up to me, and they—“

“That sounds like a deal.” Matt interrupted.

Jason furrowed his brow, “They come up to me and they tell me things. But always the same exact thing.”

“Chalk it up to lack of imagination, man.”

“No, it isn’t that. It’s the details. Her name is Mara.”

“Which one?”

“All of them!” Jason guestured wildly. “They are all Mara.”

“Who’s Mara?”

“God, I have no idea! These women, who just, I don’t know. They seem so unrelated. And they just introduce themselves. They tell me something about my eyes, something about their father. "

“Pretty name. You ask any of them out?”

“I never get to that.”

A waitress, snapping gum, came up with a cheery, all-too-happy smile, “Can I get you boys anything else?”

Matt eyed the waitress for a second . “Uh, no, we’re good umm—“ He looked at her nametag. “ Just the check, ok, Cindy?”

“You got it!” and with a loud snap, the waitress shuffled off.

Matt turned back to Jason, who was now pouting with his hands folded in front of him. “Jason, you ever think that she’s in your mind? You know, seeing what you want to see?”

“No. Well, sure. Maybe.” Jason reached out and slowly rotated his glass of ice water in front of him. He frowned at Matt, “I don’t –“ He stopped, and then breathed a few shallow breaths and a choke. “I miss her.”

“Hey bro, we all miss her. But you’ve gotta stop driving yourself crazy with this, you know?”

Jason looked away. “I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s just –“ He stopped himself and stammered for a moment. “Just—“ He put his hand to his eye and slyly wiped a tear, pretending to preen his hair. He looked back at Matt, “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now.”

Matt smiled at Jason, “Buddy,” He leaned forward, “You are allowed to be sad. I mean, it’s a good thing you know. You get it out and you move on. You aren’t supposed to just get over it. Michelle is a big part of you.” He laughed, “You’d be one sorry suck if you forgot her.” He tapped the table, “Hey, man.” Jason smiled back weakly. “Hey, you are doing alright. You just need to get around people again. You know, talk, party, relate.”

Cindy had returned and set the check in front of Jason with two obligatory peppermints. Matt reached over and snatched up the check and a mint. Cindy had not moved yet.

“Thank you, Cindy.” Jason looked up at her. She was looking intently at him.

Matt noticed her attention, “Thanks, Cindy. Here.” He held out a twenty.

“Hi.” Cindy said to Jason. “I just –“ she fumbled for her words. “You seem familiar.”

Jason smiled and nodded, “I get that.”

“No, it’s –“ She seemed a little disoriented. She reached out her hand to shake his. “I’m sorry, you just seem-- Your eyes. Have we met?”

Jason flicked a look at Matt, who was now just staring at the waitress with more than a little curiosity, his hand still outstretched.

“Mara?” Jason said in a low, soft voice.

“I think so.” She whispered. “Do we know each other?”

Jason took her hand. “I think we do. I’m Jason.”

“I knew that.” Mara smiled, and then blinked, and looked over at Matt. “Yeah, ok.” She chewed on her gum. She took the bill from Matt, “Well, thanks. Be right back with your change.” She sharply pulled her hand from Jason. Matt cocked his head, “Keep it. Mara?”

“No, Cindy.” She tapped her nametag, “Cindy. “ She walked away, “You boys have a great day!”

Matt turned to Jason, who was looking a little proud of himself. Matt stood from the table. “All of them, huh?” He popped his mint in his mouth and threw the wrapper on the table. “Let’s start over. Tell me about this girl.”

Above Water

2008-04-26T21:52:00.000-07:00

This story was my therapy. It's a metaphor for several things. Loneliness, Sex, Frustration. I needed to understand that when you set out on a personal journey, the world will support you and drown you. The ship was inspired by a painting I saw of a tiny ship in a maddening storm.

Behind a tiny wheel upon a wooden ship is a captain. His eyes are dark and his brow is furrowed. His skin is beaten and red as he holds his wheel steady, pushing his craft across the ocean. Sometimes the water is like glass, and the ship glides effortlessly, but just as often, the water bounds against his hull, threatening to drown him along with his vessel.

He is a proud captain, and he laughs at the water. “Rage on.” He calls out to the sea as he turns his craft up a large rolling wave. Spray smacks against him as the sky grows dark. He grits his teeth. The ocean boils underneath his ship, rocking it hard. The captain lashes himself to the wheel as a large wave crashes over the deck and knocks him from his feet. He stumbles back into position. It is hours until the storm abates.

The captain expects the water. He talks to it, argues with it. And though he is fierce, sometimes at night his throat catches and curses the water. Once the waves had rolled him off the edge of the ship and into the ocean. The impact of the wave had knocked his breath from him, and he struggled just below the surface. It was then that he relaxed, and felt the waves toss him about and drag him under. He closed his eyes. He was going to be one with the ocean, and warmth and brightness enveloped him. Finally, he was going home. And then pain. It started in his lungs, and as he began to asphyxiate, it pounded at his brain. His eyes shot open as he struggled to the surface. With a ragged gasp and several coughs he shouted out. A rope was passing him in the water and he grabbed hold. Though his chest was quaking in pain, he had the resolve to pull himself on board once again. He howled at the water. He could never be the water. What is the water that it should dictate his course?

But now the water was clear and sun was bright. The wind was full, and he clipped along. He was above the water, belonged above the water. He was singing out, loud and strong. He was a captain. He almost missed a tiny dot along the horizon.

A dot? A ship? He strained to look. It seemed like a sail. He turned towards it.

It was definitely a sail, and a mast, and a hull. He pulled out a telescope and peered at the ship. There was someone on it, waving frantically, jumping up and down. “Who?” He asked excitedly. He removed the glass and could see the ship clearly, and peeking back in the glass he saw the ship was headed towards him. The figure was larger, and he could see hair. “A woman,” he thought.

The other figure was indeed a woman. A captain of another small ship. Both vessels slowed as they passed alongside one another. “Hello!” She yelled excitedly, and hung off the side of the ship, reaching out her hand. He was confused at first, but smiled and reached out for her hand. And then the world slowed. He could hear his slow inhale. He could feel a bead of sweat trickle over his eyelid. He could hear the creak of his ship as it gave here and there. And he could see her. Her hair blew out softly behind her like a flag. He watched his hand reach out. He watched his fingers uncurl and he watched as her fingertips connected with his. He gasped as he felt her skin against his own. He saw her fingertips curl gently and grazed his with her nails. And time was restored. She was laughing and she called back to him, “Turn it around!”

He remembered where he was and sprung back to the wheel and aligned his ship with hers. She was throwing ropes over to him, and he began looping them around the sides of his own ship until they were bound together.

Both ships weighed anchor and the vessels slowed. Evening was approaching and he could hear her call, “Permission to come aboard!”

He sputtered, “Uh, granted! Yes, come aboard.” He was in shock as this beautiful captain set her feet upon his deck. As he could now see her closely, he could see her hair was matted, and salt covered her arms and face. But she looked strong.

“You look awful.” She pushed at him. She could see him studying her and reached her fingers through her hair where they stuck firmly. He laughed, “Goes with the job.”

“Yes it does.”

The two became acquainted and he lit a lamp and brought her down below and pulled some bread and fruit out of one of the storage barrels. They sat at a small table where she took off her shoes. “God, it’s been a while. How has the ocean been treating you?”

It was a simple question. But his mouth began to talk. He talked slowly at first, and then faster and more excited. She laughed and shared her own stories. The two became friends before the first bite of food was taken. They marveled at one another and laughed and teased. He had never had this much to say. She had earlier accepted that she might just as well be silent forever.

After dinner, they shared their voyages, and their current stores, moving back and forth between the vessels as the excitement took them. But as the night wore on, they became tired. He was sitting on a crate near the side of the boat when he saw her walking towards him, cradling something. Was it treasure. She smiled, “it’s not treasure. Well, maybe it is.”
She handed him a large book. “It’s my journal. I want you to read it.” Her face blushed and she turned away as she raised a hand to her face. “ I want someone to know who I am.” She turned back to him, “I want you—“ she smiled, “to know me.”

He trembled as he received the book. It was very thick and filled with writing. It was like his. “Come with me” he said as he stood and walked into his quarters. She followed. He reached onto a shelf and pulled his own log and gave it to her, “I think I want the same thing.”
They each read pieces and excerpt aloud to one another. He laughed hard as she read to him his misadventures. He started to explain himself and stopped, and laughed. But his laugh became a choke and then a sob and then a cry. He couldn’t help himself. He cried and took her to him and held her. Her own tears welled in her eyes and she grabbed him with all of her strength. “Oh god!” He sobbed. “I knew that--” he couldn’t finish his words.

“I know,” she said softly to him and kissed his chest and kissed his neck. She laid her head against his chest, feeling him rise with each sob. Rhythmically at first, but slower and slower as he drifted into slumber. She fell asleep against him.

When he awoke, she was not there. He jumped up. Was it a dream? He launched through the door and squinted as the bright sunlight stung him. As his vision returned he looked. Ah, her ship! It was real. He called out for her. “Down here!” she cried.

He peered overboard and saw that she was sitting on a plank lowered over the side of the ship. She had been painting unto his hull. “I want you to remember me.” She smiled at him for a long time and then turned back to her work, singing in a cheery voice.

He smiled happily and lowered himself as well. He painted designs onto her hull. “You are not the water.” He muttered to her.

“What’s that?” She turned to look at him.

He laughed, “I was saying you aren’t the water. It's this little thing I think about. What I meant is—“

“I know exactly what you meant.” She smiled deeply at him. "Thank you." She sighed,"You," she threw a small stone out into the ocean, "you aren’t the water either.”

He smiled at her recognition. She was like him. She was above the water.

They spent the rest of the day relaxing, in contact with one another, trading tips about their shipping routes. The traded some of their crates with one another – the variety of food and clothing was more than worth it. As the second day came to a close, he looked at her, a little sad.
“What is it?”

He looked away, “I have to leave. I am –“ He paused and closed his eyes “still a captain.”
She smiled, but she was disappointed. “I know. As am I.” She walked over and touched his arm, “It’s ok. Our ships still have places to see, right?”

They held one another tightly. They were not the water. They could not conform. They were kings.

They untied the boats. As the ropes loosened, the boats slowly separated. She stared at him.
He stared at her and then, with an exhale, he thrust out his hand. “I will see you again.”
She was silent. She reached out, and as they parted, their fingertips touched.

“I will see you again.” She called back to him as her ship disappeared into the night.

The Small Dark Spaces

2008-04-24T06:22:00.000-07:00

This was an entry in my personal journal. I was coping with hunger issues (of a sort).

I have finished school for the semester. I lie back on my couch with a pillow on my chest. It is a strange thing to shed so much stress so quickly. I look over at the clock. I have sacrificed so many things. I scratch my cheek. A PhD would be rewarding, but is it enough? I need to be selective about the things I do, I need to do less. I need to not try to devour the world, but be content with some smaller piece of it. No one can have it all, right? There just isn't enough room for everything.

I wandered into my bedroom looking up at my four-poster bed. There is a circular metal tester connecting the posts, and from it are lengths of flax rope. I let them run through my fingers, closing my eyes, smelling the oil. I need this. I untie the rope from the metal, and I place it in a cabinet next to my degree.

My eyes drift over to art work I've gotten from friends. I look at some of the art I've been working on myself. My paintings which are so recently coming back to life. I need this.
No sooner have I finished piling those papers and canvases into my little cabinet than I spy my keyboard. "Ok, then." I wander over to it and power it up. I think I need this. I sit behind it and I inhale sharply, and on the exhale, I begin to play "Comptine d'un autre été". I am so uncoordinated, but I still make up for it with all of the heart I can muster. I finish and let my fingers run up between the black keys. I breathe. Oh yes, I need this.

So in it goes. Along with the music I love and along with my drums. Umpf. Things are really getting cramped in my cabinet, but I smile and whistle as I rearrange things to fit. I hear laughter from behind some books. Two beautiful daughters wave at me. "I need you both", I call to them.

"Daddy, we love you!" They call out. I laugh to myself. When I am good, I am very very good. I'm pretty sure there is more to that little saying.

A torrent of wind hits me from behind. Then paper -- lots and lots of paper. Origami figures. Everywhere. "I had forgotten about you" I called to them. I tiptoe back and forth scooping them up. They are delicate, to be sure. So I find little gaps here and there in my cabinet for each of them. Sadly, I have to let some of them go. But I am certain that I need this.

My cabinet is straining. I sit on the edge of my couch, eyeing it intensely. How am I expected to keep putting things in there? My knees are pulled up under my chin and I am hugging them. I look over at a gym bike, and I look back at the cabinet. "There just isn't any more room," I sigh to myself.

I stare for a while, and well, Hello! I notice that there are still gaps. I was certain those weren't there a moment ago. Ok then, I rearrange the things in my cabinet and behold! I have made room. Hefting the bike to my shoulder, I say softly, "I need this" and I place it into the cabinet.
I am pacing back and forth. No room. Nothing. Totally stuffed.

But wait! My writings! My pots and pans! No room! "But I need this", I say matter of factly and I turn back to the cabinet. I rearrange things. I turn my math equations on end, and use the ropes to tie back some of the strange devices I had put in there back when I was a child. "There!" I had made room, so in it goes.

Oh god. I turn around, and in the center of my living room are the designs and research of my day job. I turn back to my cabinet. I hear a click and then a clang and I spin back to see a closet door slowly creak open, and strange creatures spill out. All manner of gnome and goblin and faerie dart back and forth. I capture them in little glass boxes. I scoop each in turn and fit them into the cabinet. Beautiful, but be careful of the teeth.

Something very strange is happening. With each memory and with each talent I place into the cabinet, no sooner do I pull back my hands than I see one more small, dark space. But it isn't that. If I don't fill the hole, then the things around it settle in to occupy the gap. I need something to keep eveyrthing from shifting.

"There!" I grab my rock climbing shoes and shove them in. And a space opens up! I shove my graphic novels in, and a microphone, and video games. I continue through the night filling those holes. In the morning, I see a large hole to one side of the cabinet. It's painful to think of it all going to waste. I look around, frantic to fill it. I start to wonder, "Am I complete? Am I done filling this thing?" I need to go out and get more talents and memories. This simply won't do.
The doorbell rings. Actually, it must have been ringing for some time. I walk to foyer, somewhat defeated, panting, and pull the front door back.

Dark eyes looked up at me. A wicked smile and a soft pale hand reaches for mine. "Hello. I'm here about the ad."

"Hello" I reply. I can't take my eyes off of her. "Excuse me?"

"I was told you might have room enough for me?"

My mind was disturbed. Room, room, room. I don't have any...

I look at the cabinet. I start to laugh. "Actually, I think I have been preparing room for you all night long."

She peeks behind me and spies the cabinet. "Oh my!" She laughs even as her face flushes. "You know," she points at the cabinet, "I have one of those."

Erotic Rope Massage

2008-04-14T16:25:00.000-07:00

I copied this right out of one of my journals. It's not much of anything, but my lifestyle might surprise many. Nothing short of all will satisfy man, right?

I had a friend curious about certain interests of mine. Namely shibari, or erotic macrame. It was simply to be an academic discussion, but, as always, as I talked more about it, I growled... I got excited, bit my lip... I think just watching my expressions change became more interesting than the words i was saying. I flipped back and forth from the point of view of the top (the one doing the loving) and the bottom (the one being loved).
This person talked about a very unpleasant experience with an ex boyfriend. He tied her up and took advantage. There were no safe words, and the whole experience felt ugly. It was an awful story. The bottom is to be caressed and made to feel exceptional, even when it is getting beaten.
When I approach a cute little pet, I do like when she shrinks away a little. Even when there is this incredible trust, it's nice to see a little adrenaline pump through her. It means that she is going to notice every... single... time... I touch her skin. Lights will flash in her head as she mentally pictures my interactions.
The ropes are soft and elegant. It is silk that is gracing the skin and supporting it and holding it in place. Next time you go to a store that sells chains, pick up a pile of delicate links and let them slide around your hands and arms. See? It doesn't hurt. Shibari is sexy. The knots are pretty, as well as functional. This beautiful ermine before me is going to look her best.
I like my pet to daydream. Don't entertain me, don't be charming or tell me how you are good at this or bad at that. It's nerves, soon you'll be caught up in the moment, and your sentences will be reduced to single words. Relax and feel the attention as i make my loops and ties. I am a therapist of sorts, and it is important that to trust me. Coos and meows are always appreciated, so long as they aren't premeditated (that's a bad kitty). I praise my loved one and pet them while I make sure everything is properly held. It is intensely exciting to explore every inch of someone while I work. Circulation isn't cut off, and really, my little friend can just let herself be carried away. I'm in control.
Now, this by itself is a tasty dish. This wonderful creature is bound with beautiful patterns, held in a cute little sweater. Oh alright... a few kisses on the throat. Oh and maybe the belly. And maybe down around... oh no you don't. If this is all of shibari you get to experience, then you still have a lot. There is still a lot of trust to make it this far.
But sometimes, after feeling those bonds hold you like a delicious embrace simultaneously hugging your entire body, you ask for a little comfort. What's that? I thought I told you to ask nicely, or not at all. Now, if you've ever held a baby or watched someone else calming their infant, quite often, it's those gentle pats on the bottom that reassure the child and put him or her back to sleep. Why would I do any less for my baby. The skin is very sensitive, so I pat it, or a drape something over it, back and forth. This works everywhere. Just close your eyes and enjoy. This is all for you. You konw... anyone can have sex with you. They get off... MAYBE you get off... they leave... but this... You are not being used. You are being possessed.
I love gooseflesh. It's like little baby birds crying for a meal. Ok birdies... I will indulge.
So the skin sometimes gets numb. You have to pat a little harder. I use my hands, but they aren't made of stone... or wood. Maybe something just a little firmer. The skin tightens, so the little pats are absorbed everywhere. You can tell the excitement is rising because the skin will blush and smile and tell you. There is no need to fear banging a poor little hand into a wall or lamp, they are secured. Just make sounds so I know you are still with me. And remember our safe word -- if I hear it, even unconvincingly, your dream ends (and so I've chosen as our safe word "antidisestablishmentarianism"... I'm teasing... you know it's "Mozart"). The ropes are firm, but not painful, and we can actually support you if you'd prefer to stand, hang (keep one toe on the ground, please), or lean over something... a nice soft pillowy chair? What a good kitty. You get a snack. Let me just towel you off a little.
So, the path from here gets narrower. Those who brave it can experience a little world in the twilight. The real world melts away behind you, and as excitement builds, feelings change... things you THOUGHT hurt now just throb. Ticklishness leaves. The skin is stronger and wants something a little more fulfilling. I will spare the details, but honestly, isn't it fun to go to work the next day with a little sting somewhere to remind you of what you experienced? (...and he walked to the wall and pulled down a strong leather strap. This will do.)

Power hungry

2008-04-14T04:23:00.000-07:00

A journal entry of mine. I sometimes think I should pool all of my quips that I paste on the internet and bring them here. I so often want to return to them only to find them scattered to the winds.

I was having a conversation last night about dominance -- whether it is more attractive to rule the night as a rock star or to seethe with reserved power in the vein of Hannibal Lecter (minus the taxing dietary ritual... maybe.... chomp).

On the one hand, you can show overt power, screaming to horny fans, spending your free time "rehabilitating" for the next show (and Turbulence is your name). On the other hand, you are cool and reserved, unassuming but powerful (and so you are Laminar).

Let us assume that those attracted to power want real power. That, in fact, they do not counsciously dupe themselves. And let us set aside the whole problem of corruptive power. It is very hard to see beyond what your senses tell you, and so I would assume the glamour of the rock star to be more attractive--at least at first. (Let me add some "rock stars" have obviously transcended their fame and girded themselves with substance). After all, many (most?) rock stars do not dress themselves. They do not plan their venues. The do not even write their own songs. They are creations of people in another sort of power.

As for me, I enjoy being a positive influence with a dark, sharp edge. I get a rush out of control. But I've spent time on the "bottom", biding time and building strength. Eventually I felt I could do... better. "Give me those reins. Give me that crop." But being a subservient turned god, I feel compassion -- a shepherd? If I am in control, it is not for control's sake, but to deliver the right caress, the right pain, to make someone who trusts you feel great about themselves. Defend that soul against those who would brutalize their esteem. Maybe one day you will find yourself under their heel, and you will want them to step lightly (but not too lightly).

Power lies in self esteem. The ability to produce value. And to get there, you must be honest with your shortcomings. Forget those masks, they are doomed to come off one day -- humble yourself. Find those imperfections and chip away at them, or hell, counterpoint them -- there is so much delicious marble to work with. This is how a masterpiece is made. Sure, you still give control to those you trust (how else can you learn), but you always have the power to take it back. True power requires identifying fake power. True power allows us to spin gold from straw

....chomp...

Yard Sale

2008-03-29T22:09:00.000-07:00

I was playing with my junk out in the garage when I thought, "Hey! I can sell this for money!" It was hard lugging it around for people to see, and it was long and tiring, but there it was, laid bare in the morning sun. Many people came. Then more came. Some came two or three times, looking for that special connection. Some simply went to get some money. I had bottled water on standby because after sampling my wares, many people were exhausted and sweating -- and I aim to please. Sometimes I got a nickel, but as I got more comfortable haggling, I bumped my price up to a dollar.

One older gentleman, stout and bearded, lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose and smacked his lips. "Nice balls".

"Thanks" I replied, presenting three bright red balls about the size of plums.

"What's with the straps?" He queried.

"These are gags, sir."

Silence. The man eyed me for a full minute. Then he grunted and backed away. A matronly woman ushered her kids to the car. I was losing them -- our romp was coming to an end. The man was still backing up down the sidewalk, so I gave chase, "You don't understand sir!" And I showed him, "These go around your mouth! Sir! Don't run!"

I guess he did understand what I was saying after all. Oh well, some people are just plain odd. But, I guess next time my mother asks for help selling gramma's stuff, I'll politely refuse.

(I miss gramma's gnomes -- I think I'll untie one of them.)

Birthday-jitsu

2008-03-29T22:07:00.000-07:00

(I wrote this to a friend of mine as an intimate private message, but I thought it was too funny/WTFish to tuck away into history, so here it is...)

"Everyone hide! Here she comes!"

Everyone scrambled into position. There were snickers of excitement. Some were tucked behind the couch, some covered with curtains. One man was pretending to be a lamp, balancing a shade on his head.

A key could be heard grinding its way into the lock. The knob jiggled, and a muffled expletive followed. The key receded and another key found its way. This time it felt complete, and the knob turned.

One of the women behind the couch was stifling a sneeze. Her friend reached out grinning and itched her nose for her.

The door cracked open and the smell of booze and wet cigarettes poured in and permeated the room. One of the older men winced and peered through one eye at his cohort across the way, who smiled meekly and shrugged.

Karen set one foot into the door. Her heel was broken and her other foot was completely bare. Rather than hang her coat, she limply threw it at the wall near the coathanger and doubled over coughing and spitting. "Happy F'ing birthday!" She called out to no one.

No one moved.

Karen proceeded through the room, oblivious of its occupants and pulled at an imaginary cord hanging from a stunned, shivering man. No light came on, but it seemed to satisfy Karen just fine. She ambled into the kitchen singing limp, random syllables, pulled open the fridge, and stood, enjoying the cool air. "Alright, Karen." She commanded herself, "Get it together." Leaving the cooler door gaping, she walked into her bedroom, kicking off her remaining shoe as she entered.

"What the HELL do we do?" Asked one of the heftier guests pretending to be a coffee table.

"I thought I knew her better." Responded a very confused young women crouched behind a large vase. "When she falls asleep, we can just leave the cake and the card."

"Shhh" Hushed a woman, "She's coming back."

Karen had reentered the front room. Only she was no longer dressed in her soiled school marm outfit. She was clad in black latex, head to foot. She was rubbing her eyes as she pressed several places on a wall. A painting slid to the side and a display case slid forward. Whips, gadets, spikes, guns were exposed. She collected her weapons and donned her night vision goggles. She laughed to herself, "Enough of this."

She injected a hypo into her neck with the calmness of a marble Buddha. Sobriety poured through her limbs almost instantly. She kicked open the front door, looked into the night, and slid her goggles over her eyes. She walked out into the open air and let the door close behind her.

The calmness was broken with the crack of a whip and a rapidly retreating voice, "Fear me, Night!"

Then nothing.

After a minute of astonished silence, one young voice called out in an excited whisper, "That" he paused for effect, "was f***ing awesome!"

God From the Earth Reborn

2008-01-28T10:47:00.001-08:00

This is a small excerpt that I had dropped from a story I wrote (and rewrote and rewrote) long ago. It's from an earlier copy as almost all of my writings were lost. I was young, and my writing style was not yet matured. I had felt that this character was a bit too vicious and took the interest away from the main characters. I cleaned it up a little in order to post here. If you think this story is about letting the "devil" loose on the world, you missed the point (which is actually understandable since the context is missing).

The God of the Earth faced two angels. He stared through bars of a prison cell, more flame than metal, fluid and angry. He paced back and forth, licking his lips, studying one angel and then the other. Both were standing at attention and looking in the distance, keeping their expressions emotionless. The Prince smiled.

"How is slavery, these days?" He stopping before one, surveying him squarely from head to toe.

"It is not slavery to serve by choice. The great Host loves us." Although angels appears timeless to mortals, they were not. They were created during the first darkness, but not at the same time and not for the same purposes. And the one that now spoke was the younger, and its features more feminine. Though its composure was kept, the outrage was there.

"Oh I'm aware of the choice. Undoubtedly, you are obedient puppies. You never question authority do you?" The Prince snorted. "Whether it is through fear or sheer ignorance I do not know, but it doesn't matter." He relaxed his pose, "What are your names, little ones?"

The young one flinched and opened his mouth, but the older squelched him, "I am called Berial, and this is Lazril, Defiler. We are many. Our strength doubles yours." Berial returned the Prince's amused stare, countering him, "Your underhandedness curses you still. You will never again will you darken our Master's house."

"Spare me." the Prince laughed, "If I darken his house, it will be to light it up. It will be razed to ash."

Lazril quipped, "You will be the one burning."

"You may be right, infant. But pain is part of being alive. Pain is struggling through adversity. It tells me that I have the courage to make those hard decisions. Pain is your enemy, not mine."

"..and the sinners of this world will join you in your eternal torment." The elder chided. "Enjoy your passion, for your pain will be fiercest of all."

"And who exactly delivers this punishment? Obviously it is not I. I who have opposed Him since I was granted knowledge would hardly fall in line and obey. It cannot be my children who join me for disobeying. No, unless your holiest brethren carry out the task themselves, there will be no one to punish me. And with every soul you send me, I have one more soldier, armed with the knowledge to tear your wings from your bodies." The Prince flared, "I look into your eyes, and I see cattle, ignorant and blinking. Your fire has long been snuffed out if it was ever there at all."

Berial shook his head, "Why go this way?" He showed pain, "Why? Why would you choose an eternity so hard, when you could simply obey and be in our fold? Of what use is knowledge if it brings only pain?"

The Prince frowned, "That sentiment is what imprisons you. To assume that what is easy is what is right." The Prince maintained control, but his teeth grinded. "You would turn in your fellow angels to curry favor with that Tyrant? Promote hate, and ignorance? Provide men with logic and then require that they do the illogical. Carressing with one hand while murdering with the other. Never have atrocities been done so cheerfully as in your Master's name." He was in a fervor, "Yes, you conceited sheep. It is indeed a hard thing to do what it right. I do not blame you for not following, but do not detract from the importance of my example."

"I wonder," The Prince looked at his hands and flexed them, "how you might behave if there was no 'eternal reward'. If your Master ordered you to your obliteration, or to some eternal torture, would you be so quick to take up the charge?"

"He would never require such a sacrif-"

"But what if he did!" The Prince enunciated each syllable slowly and fiercly. "Would you still consider your actions reighteous? You are so quick to twist the blade in me. Pointing out my punishment, as if that alone determined right from wrong." He let out a sigh. "I have accepted my fate. I cannot sit idly by and not question, whatever my fate. Religious wars are declared in that sheep-herders name. Cowardice and hate spewed across his gardens, and the more pious the snake, the more venomous the poison. That world--" He looked up, "You sit by and watch them scrap it out in their great cock-fight. You let each feel you favor them alone. But the health of the roots can be seen in the fruit, " He looked back at the two angels, both staring at him, "and I'm afraid there is some very rotten fruit above."

Berial was shaken. "You are too angry, Defiler. You are not thinking straight. We each have a duty, and we may not understand--"

Lazril trembled. "I hate you."

The Prince smiled warmly at Lazril, "I know you do. And given the circumstances, I can hardly blame you. The foundations underneath you are collapsing, and the fruit of knowledge has taken hold. " He made a motion to touch Lazril, but stopped short of the bars, "I fight and bicker because I have the right to fight and bicker. My sword is tempered and it is very sharp. Even had it not come to this, I would gladly fall again."

Berial cried, "You are disloyal! You did not uphold your duty. Your time is short. The great El will destroy you!" He turned to Heaven shaking his fists, "Why do you let him live?"

"Ah," The Prince beamed at Berial, "He's not that kind of God. These prisons are all he musters." The Prince walked to a wall and retrieved a large red cloak. "You are half right though." He threw the cloak over his sholder and clasped it around his neck, "my time is short. And so I must send a message."

"You will not!" Berial cried, pulling Lazril next to him as he advanced, "This is your prison! You cannot leave! You can never leave!"

"Oh but I can." He flicked his hand and drew a symbol in the air. An iron gate appeared, and opened, revealing a stairway up from the Abyss. "When making threats, first ascertain on which side of the bars you stand. But Fret not, for I accept God's gift. I will put this prison to good use."

"You can't leave us! God will destroy you! Vengeance! Vengeance!"

The Prince smiled. "Great things await, little puppies. He may be the Alpha," He flicked his eyes upwards and then back at the anguished pair before turning to leave. He called over his shoulder, "I will always be the Omega".

As the gate closed behind him, flames poured into the prison like water, engulfing the messengers. Berial and Lazril writhed and screamed, but did not expire.

Love in the Sack

2008-01-28T10:44:00.001-08:00

I was asked to write a love story. I'm already writing a love story! I would feel like I was cheating on the other lovers. But maybe they could just be friends. I had one hour to complete this. It was a self imposed time limit. My problem is that I can rewrite forever, and while the prose might seem nice, the returns diminish and so I am training myself to write and move on -- write and move on. I wrote once and then I did a once-over for grammar and spelling, and a wince to think of all the "fat" that must be left behind.

Matthew smiled as he slowly stirred from slumber, fixed tightly in a fetal position. He reached for the coolness of his pillows, but his knuckles pushed against hard burlap. Burlap? His fingers explored further, and his smile faded.

He tried to stretch, but the covers bound him tightly – not so much like a blanket, but rather –

Matthew's eyes popped open. Darkness. He tried to sit up, but the ground was unsteady. He was not in bed. He was trapped, and if his senses told him correctly, he was suspended in a burlap sack. Nonsense.

He reoriented himself and explored the inky black. He was completely surrounded by this material. He was in a sack. He reached upwards where the sack must be tied and felt a cool ring, large enough that he could slip through it a single hand. No breeze, but he could feel cords tied to the ring, pulled taught by his weight.

"Hello?" He cried out. "Can anyone here me? Where am I?"

Nothing. No echo. The only sounds were the wrenching of long ropes twisting.

"Hello? Please, who are you?" He assumed that he was captive. An unexpected whimper escaped, but he stifled it. He could get out of this. He fingered the material of his prison for some imperfection, some way to tear it open. Then he stopped. "How far above the ground am I? " He thought to himself. The lack of echo and sound told him that wherever he was, it was big and it was open. And it was silent. A warehouse perhaps?

"Ok, Matt – you can figure this out."

The sweat was very heavy on Matthew's skin, and he was hungry. But with hunger came some desperation, and Matthew started to shift his weight, back and forth. At first nothing. Slowly, however, momentum was imparted into the woven cage. The ropes groaned and the bag swayed. A little more each time until the it reached a pendulous rocking as terrifying as it was exhilarating. But there were neither walls nor obstacles of any kind. The excitement of this experiment passed, and gradually the sack slowed. Matthews eyes welled up in a flare of madness and he sucked in as much air as he could. Then he screamed. It was loud and painful and turned from frustration into a laughter into a hacking cough. Then some desperate animal noises and then sobs.

"Hello!" Matthew cried once more, and then went silent.

Some uncountable amount of time passed, and Matthew shook awake. "I was sleeping?" He said to himself. Had it been minutes? Hours? His stomach growled for food and his bedclothes were soaked thoroughly from sweat.

A female voice called out, "Is anyone there?"

Matthew realized that he had been awakened by a voice not his own. He struggled to reposition himself, listening out into the void. Was it real?

"Please, someone answer me!"

It was a sobbing, British accent.

"I hear you!" Called Matthew excitedly. "Yes, yes, I hear you!"

"Oh! Who are you? Why am I here?"

"I'm certain I do not know. I was going to --"

"I've been calling out for hours. Where have you been? What is this place?"

"Miss, please. Hours you say?" Had he been sleeping that long? How did he not hear her being brought in?

"At least! Where am I?"

"Well, we are suspended in sacks in a large empty room, as much as I can tell. I tried to swing myself but there seem to be no walls."

"Hanging? In sacks? That's absurd. Who would want to do that to us?"

"Someone's sick idea of a joke, I suppose. I haven't heard a soul or sound since I was first brought in."

"Well I hope they bring food soon. I'm starving!" Matthew realized that he had not eaten for some time. Was it days? Weeks?

"Me either," he replied. "I must have been taken from my bed. I have not eaten for at least a day, maybe more. I'm Matthew, by the way."

"Anna, here. I'm Anna. I found some kind of ring with cords tied to it. It seems that I could untie a cord." Untie the cord. What if there was no floor?

"No! You don't know how far you might fall. It could be fatal!" Matthew called out to her.

She silently acquiesced. Instead she turned her attention to him. "So, Matthew, is it? Do you have a family?"

"No. A wife. Well, once I had a wife."

"I'm sorry, I – "

"Don't be. Divorced. I was young. I still have my dad."

She smiled, "I have a little girl. Divorced as well. Maybe this place is a little Hell made for us." She chuckled, "I live near my sister. My parents are further North, I don't see them often."

"I see"

Matthew and Anna exchanged information about themselves, passing the time. And passing more time. They sang songs together and they traded jokes and generally made the best of it. But as the time grew long, their moods turned sour.

"I am so hungry, Matthew." Anna started kicking as best she could, frustrated and lashing out. They both started hurling insults at their captors. But soon this game became dry.

"Anna, your family sounds nice. I'm sure they will come looking for you."

Anna didn't say anything. "Matthew." She became serious for a moment.

"Yes, Anna."

"I think we've been left here to die."

Matthew bit his lip. Shouldn't they already be dead? He realized that his sweat kept coming, and he stayed hungry, and he hadn't had to relieve himself since he first came here.

"What would be the point of that?" He replied. "There is always a reason. This certainly is a large room to go completely unnoticed." Matthew went back to singing "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall."

Anna pouted to herself. She pulled at her long hair and tried to stare through the darkness at it. She looked up at the top of the sack. She couldn't see it, but those cords were there all the same. How far a drop could it be. Then she remembered.

"Matthew!" She yelled. "I'm removing an earring." She did this pinched it between her thumb and forefinger, and lifted it up past the metal ring. "I'm going to throw it."

"…sixty-seven bottles of beer… What? You have?" Matthew knew what this meant. "Ok, yes, I'll listen as well."

"Ok, here goes." She tossed it as best she could.

They both listened. They both continued to listen. "Did you throw it yet?" Matt asked.

"Of course! Maybe the room is carpeted I'm throwing the second." She removed her second earring and prepared to hurl it.

"Wait!" Matthew called out. "Can you maybe cut a little hole in the side of your sack? Maybe there is a light somewhere."

"Matthew, Matthew. Why are you so smart?" Anna sounded happy, at least there was a plan. Scraping the side of the sack with the post of the earring, she grew excited, "It's working!" A tear was forming.

"Good! Good! Keep at it!" Matthew encouraged. And then there was a terrible noise. Tearing fabric and a little shriek.

"Matthew! My sack! The tear! It just grew bigger." This was an understatement. The material of the sack was deceptive. It was in fact quite fragile, and the small tear had widened considerably under her weight. She fell into the hole that had been created and grabbed at the other side of the sack, securing her footing within her deteriorating prison.

"Are you ok?"

Anna wasn't sure, the tear was still ripping slowly, but if she held tightly, she seemed to be able to remain in the sack. "This isn't good, that's for sure." She weakly joked. "Matthew, I am able to look through the tear. I don't see anything. It's very dark in here. Oh my god, Matthew, I can see—" The tear tore straight up to the ring. Anna screamed, "Matthew! Oh my god!"

"What is it? Anna, speak to me!"

"Oh my god!" Anna was no longer held in the bag, but was curling her small frame around the rags that remained of it. She was crying and sobbing. "I'm hanging onto the outside! I can't hold on forever!"

"Anna, reach up and grab the ring. You have to pull yourself up! You can do it, honey! Please don't give up."

Anna loosed one hand and reached up towards the ring. "I think I—"

All Matthew heard was a quick rip and then a scream. His body went tense as he heard that scream. It didn't stop with a thud. It didn't stop at all. It just trailed off into nothing. Adrenaline and sickness coursed through his body.

He curled up into a fetal position and let the sobs rack his body. When he could not cry any longer, he feebly whispered his little song.

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.."