Update and Stories that runaway from me.

Not a whole lot has been going on more than the normal mundane bullshit. I finished watching season one of Sawyer... oh excuse me, of Lost on DVD. Quite entertaining, although a bit of the awe has been rubbed away--hopefully they bring it back in season two. Timberlake is bringing back SEXY (as if Sawyer ever went out of style) and LOST is bringing back AWE.

I also wrote a few more pages on book 2.. woohoo!

This is an experiment with poetic description that got out of hand. I had no expectations of where this story was going to go. I simply thought of an image of something soft floating in the water and how to describe its beauty. And like most things I do, it got away from me.
**************


Floating on the time of yesterday, the honeyed locks beat against the waves of today in vain. Despite the gentle back and forth swaying, she was not going anywhere. A horrific beauty, not unlike a Portuguese Manowar jellyfish, assaulted him. He had seen her in this position many times, but she never appeared so angelic before. The rounding of her normally sharp features created a serene being where before there was a calculating hardness in her countenance—narcissism.

The warmth of the sunlight was not needed. His blood was already rising in temperature from the spectacle below him. The tightening of his nether regions didn’t startle him. No, he had expected this reaction—eagerly anticipated it. He wanted to fill in the blanks her expression left, fill it with his own release. Sexual need swarmed him, relentless on its pursuit.

He wanted more time to enjoy this, he had created a masterpiece. He had carefully arranged her, just so. Pulling the rope tied to her neck, her body created a small wake behind her as she glided toward him. Taking the tennis ball out of her mouth, her cavity greeted him with a delicious openness. Her expression, now slightly shocked, amused him, invited him in. He would replace her conceit with his completion.

Little did she know, he had planned this from the beginning. The minute she had talked to him about working on her new project—he knew. This was his chance. For greatness.

After drying his hands on her towel, he snapped pictures with his Polaroid. He would ruin this art he created, but he wanted—no needed—a record of it. He needed to recreate this exhibition for the camera next week, although she would no longer be the actress he was using. For she was one mouthful shy of being all used up.

Lady in Waiting...Staff

Another little intro ditty...

I like having a clean house, but I despise cleaning it. I adore eating gourmet food, but abhor cooking. Such is my lot in life. I was destined to be rich and pampered, I’m sure of it. I can even pull off uncomfortable designer shoes without so much as a grimace. Instead, my unassuming alter ego is a telemarketer by day and my superhero persona is a diner waitress by night. The ability to carry five plates at once on one arm is definitely a super power—and I’m talking the USSR in the eighties kinda super power here—huge.

I’m telling you, dear readers, all of this so you can understand why I wasn’t the least bit surprised when I was asked to save the world. The ability to serve breakfast hash, wear four inch spike heels and make a killer Cosmopolitan saved not only my life, but all of yours. I’ll be expecting letters of glowing praise and generous donations by the end of the week.

Vamp Huntress Intro

As advertised, the soft black leather between her thighs made no noise as she moved. Crouching low, she ran a finger along the outside seam, feeling the bumps of the bullets that lined the length of her leg. Not very practical of her, but she had a few extra clips on her other side. The single bullets were just precautions in case the clips ran out, after she’d exhausted her stakes, holy water, cleaver and UV flashlight.

The roughly hewn brick at her back rubbed against her bare arms. She’d expected the place to be decrepit and cold, and while the brick was crumbling, it was warm—disconcertingly so. Her first boyfriend’s hands had felt like that, hot fine sandpaper. She tried to shake that thought away, knowing it was true no longer. Those hands were now squishy with rot and more than likely, maggot infested. No, she focused on that image. Thinking of those dead hands would strengthen her resolve, fuel her ire. The thought of his hands on her had always brought her shivering, but normally with want—need—this time the quakes wormed their way down into her soul, cooling her already frigid stone core.

Her face, a solid mask of vacant emotions, offered no quarter. She was here to kill, permanently. Exterminator. Pest control. Righteous one. She had many names. The one she liked the best though was murderer. Wanting to think of them as human, her revenge would be sweeter, aka more painful for the opposition. Oh yes, she hoped they had feelings, tender ones at that—for she would play on them until they were raw. Just as her emotions were once—before they disappeared all together. Mind on taking her pound of flesh, she slid further down the underground hall toward their sanctuary.

***

Bad Boys

I updated the manuscript excerpt this morning. I added a little bit here and there.

Something a little more light hearted...
________________________________________

Yup, there another one went… right to prison. This happens to me every time. Either they go to prison, or jail, or go on house arrest, or have to flee the country.

I like bad boys, and they like me.

The cop sauntered up my driveway, illuminated by the rainbow of flashing lights.

“Hey there again, Sally.”

“Heya, Burt. You putting me under surveillance again?”

“Nah, but I bet I’d have the best stats in the force if I did. Perhaps you
should just become an informant. You don’t have to do anything, ‘cept what you’ve been doing—picking losers.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

“Where’d you find this one? Last time you came in for the line up?”

“Five star restaurant actually. And here I thought I was overcoming my lot in life. I should’ve known better.”

Burt wrapped his arm around me. “There, there Sally. You are just moving on to a different kind of criminal. You’ve advanced from your garden variety blue collar criminal to the elusive, white collar mastermind. You should feel proud.”

“Oh it’s a bright day in my world, lemme tell ya.”

“Now, how’s about helping us find the loot?”

“I’ll do what I can boss.”

Out of Control part Deux

A continuation from yesterday's intro...

***

Water pounded on my bloody fingernails as my brain snapped into place. They had given me back control too early…again. If only that were a good thing. I much preferred the days when I woke up blissfully unaware of my nighttime activities.

My stomach revolted and I doubled over in pain, awaiting the worst to come. Every awakening was the same—a moment of clear headedness followed by the racing stream of images of my covert actions. Like a dream, they drifted out of my mind’s grasp as soon as I tried to hold on. The memories I lacked were as elusive as the chip in my head was present.

Our bodies are ruled by little electrical pulses directed by our brains. A chip can control those pulses more effectively than our brains. The technology that held me together and kept me alive was the bane of my existence. The irony was not lost on me.

Decisions had been decided, deals had been done—I’d made this choice. Purging myself of whatever entered my stomach from the night before was on par with me trying to vomit the remnants of the deal I made with the titanium devil—fruitless. I’d have to eat again and I couldn’t survive without my mechanical friends.

Dragging my sorry ass out of the bathroom, I looked at the clock in the kitchen, seven in the morning. Not bad, I’d only lost a few hours this time. How much damage could I have done in three hours time? Downing a glass of water from the sink, the taste of regret and vomit was replaced with the cotton mouth feel of dread. The cordless phone sat on the counter, unaware of its part in my mood swing. The date and time on the caller id taunted as it flashed. I hadn’t been booted up for three hours.

I’d been plugged in for three weeks.
___________

Caution: This video contains disturbing images. Do not watch if you are under 18.

Out of Control

Out of control: intro...

Does anyone know what that truly means? Sure there are drunken nights where we go a little wild, but we still made those choices. Our minds were under the influence of alcohol, but alcohol doesn’t tell us what to do. It cannot control us, it simply loosens our morals a bit, causing us to do what we would if we had no inhibitions. Alcohol makes us do what we really want to do.

That certainly isn’t being out of control, perhaps being drunk is simply being out of the control of society, of civilization.

But what truly is being out of control? We have choices we make everyday. The waking up in the morning, the getting out of bed—we choose that. We wear certain clothes. We talk with certain words—all choices.

What if all that was taken away from you? What if you weren’t even able to think your own thoughts? If you had no control over your motor functions? What if someone—something—had control over your breathing, and even when you blinked?

Welcome to my world.


And now the theme from one of my favorite shows growing up, Inspector Gadget, performed quite uniquely.

Pest Control

Continued...

“Now tell us something interesting about yourself.”

“Like what?”

“Anything that may perhaps set you apart from the others. We want unique individuals in this institution.”

Hmm, unique, huh? I have a whole lot of unique, unfortunately, not much of my set-apartness can be vocalized to the masses.

“I’m just your everyday, ordinary girl, Professor Klum.”

“Doubtful, young lady. Just tell us anything. Did you have a job over the summer perchance?”

Looking directly at Mr. Stone Cold Killer, I said, “Yes, I did as a matter of fact.”

“And what did you do?”

“Pest Control.”

His thin lip sneered to one side.

“Interesting summer job for a young lady. See, I told you, you are unique in some way. Now pass the ba—”

I threw the ball at Sneer’s head. He caught it, but it took him two hands and he wasn’t as quick as me. I could take him. It was my turn to sneer.

Pale green eyes stared back at me. I’ve seen those kind of eyes before, goblin eyes. They almost glow and have little variation or texture in the color. The light color was accentuated by the slash of cheek bones and a roman nose. His strong jaw jutted out at an angle to seem proud. How could I have thought his former expression was a flirtatious one? A face as serious as his isn’t capable of flirtation. It was only capable of one thing that I knew of.

This is my gun...

Yesterday I did blog. Despite what it appears on here. I was having difficulty with blogger yesterday so I had to blog on myspace, but I did in fact blog. For those of you who look at my blog on here, I will include yesterday's blog in today's. Today's is an extension of the little ditty from yesterday anyway.

Here she goes...

The metal gleamed in the sunlight pouring in from the small window at the top of the wall. She was a beautiful thing, too bad I’d have to dull the shine. Smooth and sleek was nice to look at, but not very practical in my line of work. Closing one eye, I used the other to sight down the barrel. I swung my body around to aim at
random items in the room.

“She’s a beaut, Ray.”

“That she is, girl, that she is.”

I laid the weapon on the counter, running my hands slowly over it. “Wrap her up.”

“Thought you might say that.” Ray pulled a case, the kind I prefer, from under the counter and got to work on putting the gun away.

Turning my back to him, my eyes took in the “store.” Not much had changed since I was a kid. A few pieces of higher technology, but other than that, the appearance was identical. Nice to know some things stay the same.

“Your pop would’ve liked this one too.”

Attention now drawn to the aging man behind the counter, I stifled a sad face. The mention of my pops always did that to me. Hardened face, I gave Ray a sly grin.
Whistling air escaped between his teeth, “That is one look I don’t want to see directed toward me again. Yet another way you’re like your old man.”

“I may have some of the same mannerisms, Ray. But I won’t go out like him.”

“No doubt about that. He taught you everything he knew. Now you have time to learn past that. Considering how good he was at his job, girl, I wouldn’t want to be on the opposite end of this where you are concerned.” He patted the gun with obvious affection.

“And that’s saying something coming from you.”

“Damn straight it is.” He handed the case over to me in exchange for the briefcase I gave him. He didn’t even open it to check. No one would dare cross him, not even me. “Now get out of here and don’t tell me where you are going.”

“Like I would anyway, ya old geezer.” I grabbed the case and made my way up the stairs. No, I wouldn’t tell him where I was going. For if I did, he wouldn’t let me walk out of here.


3 years earlier…

He was still staring at me. I fought down the urge to lash out at him. At barely eighteen, most girls knew how to deal with guys staring at them. I didn’t. “Home schooled” with an education that would turn most people’s hair white, I wasn’t prepared for the attention.

First day of college, what the hell was my pops thinking? Sending someone like me, like us, to mainstream college—it just wasn’t done. I had to admit though, that despite not being prepared socially for this, my pops had a good idea. You see, my major is criminal justice, minor in art antiquities. The possibilities of our joint venture would expand exponentially with my new found knowledge. All I had to do was get over the urge to put Mr. Google-eye in his place.

I eyed the clock, expecting something different to happen. A watched pot never boils and a class clock runs five minutes slow, guaranteed. This class was a bunch of bullshit. I don’t know why I had to be here anyway. “Freshman Orientation,” ha, what a pile they are feeding us.

I turned my head back around to the front of the class, only to have a beach ball almost hit me in the head. One hand shot out and caught the ball an inch away from my face. Curling my lip, I glared at the rainbow orb in my hand. My hand wasn’t big, but my fingers are quite dexterous. I held the ball with the tips.

Glancing at the teacher…er… professor, I schooled my expression.

“Nice catch young lady, now tell us your name and something interesting about yourself.”

Panic settled in. I don’t give information out about myself, it was a rule. Pops had registered me under my legal name though.

“Come on, we don’t bite,” assured the Prof.

“What if I do?” I replied coolly.

Mr. Google-eye snorted, directing my attention to him. He raised one eyebrow and his eyes turned to stone. Gone was the good natured flirt, arising in its place was something I recognized, something that made me feel at home. This guy was a stone cold killer.

Without taking my eyes off him, I let my predatory self show though. “Tarena. Tarena Simp.”


Since I'm on dial up now, I can't view this whole thing... I hope it is appropriate!

Puking on a dog and my plans for the weekend.

Things have been pretty busy today. The hubby and the boys are going on a Boy Scout campout this weekend, so preparations are being made. Only one of our cars is working well enough to drive around, and since we have dogs, I will be home all weekend. Which kind of sucks, but it's good too.

If everything falls into place, I'll get more on Book 2 written. Book 2 you say? It's been so many weeks since I've spoken of Book 2. You thought it was a figment of your imagination. Well, it's not. At least 60 pages of it exist currently. I don't have the plot details worked out in my head, so I'm having a difficult time progressing. There are some parts that I know for sure will be happening, so I will try to write those. In the mean time, I'm hoping the plot will work itself out for me while I making progress.

I haven't put revisions behind me. I'm simply waiting for a critiqued edition to come back to me. No sense in spending my time going through all these, only to have to back over themm again.

What else have I been busy with? I'm trying out this work from home search engine thing. So far its promising. It's called ChaCha. Its a search engines that has human guides to help you search. Check it out, it's very helpful. You may even get me as a guide. :)

Now for your insane enjoyment... a true ranting of Sandra as a teenager. Everything in the following story is, unfortunately, true. It is, however, the story that launched Sam's... so I'm happy about that.

Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally puked in a dog's
mouth? (It was a homosexual dog at that) No? (I'm assuming you
answered no so play along.)

Here it was my senior year in high school… so it was 97-98. I was
with some friends at a party in downtown Kalamazoo, Michigan… There were some
guys who lived there that were in a ska/punk band and being the cute
charismatic guys they were, there were tons of people there (mostly
college kids and punks.) It was an old house from the turn of the
century that had three regular floors a basement, and an attic.

The attic was no place for a girl like me, it was the drug, techno music,
glowstick area of hell. The top two floors held bedrooms, one
bathroom and various other places people decided to relieve
themselves. The main floor, more my style, was where the keg was and
had decent punk music playing fairly loudly. The basement was where
they had shows but no one was currently playing.

At the back of the house on the main floor was a little red recliner made just for me
(not really but it was my spot for that night) it just so happened
to be conveniently located right next to the keg. I was the keg
beast that night. Can't really say for certain how much I had as I
never actually got to the bottom of my cup, but I was perfectly happy
to just sit there by myself, so it was quite a bit.

Cute guy #1, singer from said Punk/ska band, was talking to people on the other
side of the room. He smiled at me, I smiled back, I tilted my head
and projectile puked onto their floor. It wasn't from nerves, he
wasn't that cute, I was just that drunk. I had gotten pretty good at
puking, as I always drank to that point back then, hey just made room
for more eh? I never got a drop of puke on me and none dripping off
my chin either. It was a proud day for Mom and Dad.

So, I made a mad dash for the door. Please observe I was at the back of the
house. One other detail I forgot to mention? It was wall to wall
people and no shittin' ya, there were at least 500 people there. So I
made my dash to the Great Outdoors (bathroom was not an option, line
too long, the toilet was probably clogged up anyway so I'd have to
puke in a dresser drawer or something if I went upstairs)

Surprisingly, everyone knowing where I was sitting, how drunk I was
(and how underage I was) people parted like the Red Sea and I made it
out in record time. The outside was crowded too (downtown, no real
yard space) so I puked over their chain link fence.

Said gay dog (Let's call him Rover) came running at me. I say he was a gay
dog, because he was. He only had one other doggie to play with and
it was male. Perhaps it was a dominance thing… but they did things
that nice girls don't talk about. So, being the animal lover I am,
even if they are gay, I ran (okay stumbled quickly) down the fence to
get away from the dog while puking, not quite so projectile anymore
but I still had a decent range. Well, the dog followed me, jumped up
into my face while I puked, thus going into Rover's mouth. Thus
ending my story.

However, I will add a little epilogue for you. Two
years later I saw Cute guy #1 again. I had been to some shows and
quite a few parties at his house when I was in high school so he
remembered me. But of course, he remembered my projectile puking
record better than anything else. I told him the rest of the story,
as he only knew the parts with the little red recliner.

Needless to say, he was quite amused. Was it love at first retching? No. Was
it the worst thing that had ever happened to that house? Definitely
not. Til next time…

I looked up dog puke on youtube and this is what it came up with... Lord forgive me.

The shits.

I expanded on a story. I posted the beginning on Dec 11th. I will post the whole thing this time, for those who didn't read the first part.
_________________

If it wasn’t from the cheap beer or open-all-night diner food, than it was from nerves. The news said he was out again tonight, and in my area. Living alone in the woods had its advantages but this wasn’t one of them. I was virtually glued to the pot with icky business passing through my guts. I don’t care how tough of a guy you are, the combination of diarrhea and crazy murderer in your area will do anyone in.

My physique normally scares people away. Being well over six feet tall and over three hundred pounds of solid muscle will do that. The shaved head, goatee and tattoos don’t hurt either. But this guy got to me.

The news said they received a report of him seen with a pack of wild dogs. Fitting isn’t it? Some crazy guy running with a pack of wolves? It would be, if that were the case. He wasn’t running with the wolves, he was attacking them. Dismembered may be a better word. My neighbors were finding pieces of animals in various places on their properties.

I had over a hundred acres and as soon as I heard the news I hightailed it out of here, he was targeting tough looking mother fuckers after all. So, I went and got drunk, then got some food well away from here. If pay day wasn’t until tomorrow, I would’ve gotten a hotel room tonight, most of my neighbors had. Sure, I could’ve stayed at the diner all night, but who can have diarrhea in a public bathroom? Not me. No, my tough-looking, leaky ass hauled itself back home to die.

And that’s where I sit, glued to the pot, stinking the universe up to high heaven and wishing that I hadn’t ordered chili cheese fries at the diner. The bathroom was getting dangerously warm. My cheeks were overheated and my breaths were coming in short breaths. I used the newspaper I was reading to fan myself. Reading the article about him wasn’t making me any more comfortable.

The tree outside scratched against the side of the aluminum-sided house. I was in a fucking horror movie. My only saving grace was I didn’t have a basement to run to, a second story to get trapped in or a barn full of sharp implements hanging on the wall. Things could always get worse.

The scraping turned to a sharper, more defined noise, then was replaced with a wet noise. It sounded as if a wet towel had been smacked against something. Turning my torso around, I saw a dark wet spot on the small window behind me. He was here.

Grabbing the shotgun I placed next to the commode, I was ready for action. I could almost smell the musk that was associated with him. I smelled dirt, and blood and death. I’d been in a scrap or two in my life. I knew the smell of fear, but there wasn’t any, at least any that wasn’t coming off me. He wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t even angry. Hungry didn’t even cover it, he was just out looking for a good time, but our definition of a good time vastly differed.

My heart rate increased when I heard the screen door open with a creak. Heavy footfalls tromped over my floor. He didn’t even try to conceal his presence. The clomps neared the bathroom, becoming ever louder. He was close enough now that I could hear his wheezing through the door.

He knew I was in here, hell half the neighbors could smell I was in here. I was dumb for coming home, but this was the only place in the world I would choose to make a last stand. I would’ve preferred it to wearing pants and not in the bathroom, but now wasn’t the time to be picky.

Pumping the shotgun into action, I aimed at the door. The second that fucker opened, I was blowing a hole or two in it. Eyeballing down the barrel, my innards rumbled, distracting me. Aww shit, helluva time for another bout. I let my ass explode, no reason to hide, I may as well try to be comfortable.

A thump sounded on the door. The handle turned and the wheezing grew to a higher pitch, coming faster. He was excited. I heard the latch on the door release from its housing. I fired. Then I fired again.

Leaning forward to see my kill that fell through the doorway, I grimaced. That didn’t look like him and the smell wasn’t as strong as I expected it to be. The bloody mangled figure on the floor moved, slowly turning. I fired again. The body landed facing me this time. Fuck! It was my neighbor, who not only had just been shot three times, but had his throat ripped out.

Glass broke behind me and I shot backwards through the window. Glass cut my arms; my pants got stuck on a piece of broken glass. He pulled me harder; my ankle broke as I was forced through the window to the ground.

I closed my eyes and I saw a shadow rise above me. My stomach threatened to revolt at the smell. The shadow rose closer, blinking out the light I saw through my eyelids.

I snuck a peek then. I wish I could say that I couldn’t remember, but I do. That wasn’t my last memory either. The man kept killing, but the killings became more frequent, for now there were two—of us.

Bad Dream

Ahh, someone commented on the book signing. *sigh* Alas, I was not able to make it. We had some family things going on. I was pretty excited about it too, although I will admit, I was not excited about having to drive in Orlando rush hour traffic on a friday evening... who knows when I would've made it there anyway. A friend of mine did go (she works there, she kinda had to haha) she had a really good time and said Janet Evanovich had a lot of goo things to say. JE was courteous and her hubby is her biggest fan/cheerleader, which was really good to see. I'm sorry I missed out on it.

I had a bad dream last night, like a horror movie dream--it seems cheesy when you tell it to people, but I swear to God it flipped me the fuck out, enough to wake up at 5 something am after less than 4 hours of sleep and stay up. I'll sum up and y'all can tell me I'm a dumb scaredy cat.

I was riding in the back seat of a car with a gentleman, a woman was riding in the front seat and I have no idea who was driving. We all worked for some corporate whatever. The woman in the front was the CEO's right hand man--woman whatever. I had an inkling from the dream that somehow I was tied to this CEO, some office fling or something, who knows. I don't know what happened but the woman in the front was talking nonsense, albeit seriously, and somehow we all knew what she was talking about. Something major had to be done to help the corporation, and by major we mean something illegal and probably a little gruesome. Now this world in my head last night was a little sci-fi-ish Lots of glass and gunmetal gray. Gray skies, huge buildings with a bleak landscape around it.

The car we were in was parked on the side of the drive out of the corporation's parking lot, next to some gun metal gray abstract sculpture.

All of the sudden (you know how that happens in dreams) The woman gets out and I feel like I'm in a cop car. She fiddles with some charm bracelet thingy talking about how she has one for each of his, per HIS request, but she got to pick the ways. I had no idea what the hell she was talking about until she took a charm off and threw it at the guy next to me, it was a charm in the shape of a mallet, it turned real and life sized. The guy next to me was helpless, he was forced to grab the mallet and started bashing his face in as hard as he could. Some unseen force was making him do this to himself. He was compelled and couldn't be stopped. The woman laughed, seeming pleased then went around the front of the car.

I have no idea where guy #2 came from but he ran along the opposite side of the car and she went after him with a chainsaw (yes cliche, it was still scary though, shut up!) I heard the motor rev and the guy scream, then the woman cursed and came back to the front of the car. Her chainsaw had broken, the dude was still screaming, but she had another one laying around and went after him again. She marched for him, he screamed there was a horrible gushing, splatter, crunching noise.

Shaken out of my stupor, I ran, not wanting to find out what death she had planned for me. I went into hiding, which meant all the dark damp places where nothing was clean.

I snuck back into my place of work and saw a girl I used to work with. She looked different not bad, just weird. She knew what happened with me running away and she told me not to fear dying, because we were brought back and you don't even remember it. I don't know how the hell they killed to bring her back looking like that, but chainsaw and mallet man weren't going to be so pretty.

Sneaking around again (all this part is fuzzy, some of it was just understood that it happened, being a dream everything is messed up, so I'm trying to tell this in a way that can be understood)I came upon some sort of crazy assembly line type thing. Zombies essentially were walking around getting something injected into their necks. They looked more human after that.

The CEO was the one doing the injecting. (this is where I start to look real dumb if I didn't already) I thought he would help me. We had had a "thing" and I thought he'd have some sort of soft feelings for me. He embraced me, then injected me in the neck. But since I wasn't a zombie, I don't know what the hell it did to me. Which is when I woke up... there are those lasting impressions that one has when a dream fades though and here are those...

The deaths had to be violent; for the horror of death, brings the horror to life. He was creating some zombie horde to wreak horrific havoc on the world, and I was to be the bride to his Frankenstein or some such nonsense. Getting the shot before I was dead meant one thing for me, that my death was going to be even more painful than normal, if possible, and that I would remember it all in every gruesome detail. The woman in the front seat? She had been vying for my place as bride and I have no idea what happened to her. I had a notion that I was to die in some ritualistic way (of course, this is, after all, all about me) which I think had something to do with inflicting pain upon myself with pieces of plywood, one small piece after another I stuck into my self prolonging it as long as possible... a bit anti-climatic, but it was freaky enough to get my heart pumping when I woke up. The misty dark swamp outside my window didn't help much either.

So there, I'm dumb, a coward and whatever else...

And now for something COMPLETELY different...

The music the soul plays

Something I wrote this morning...


A dainty finger lightly traced over the wandering path the ant took in the dusty earth. The zigzagging back and forth seemingly had no method to its madness. Her eyes focused solely on the trek her finger was taking, all else blurred around it. Nails cut short, her hands were serviceable. Her long, slender fingers had a peculiar set of calluses.

Her hands were not a clue as to what she looked like. They did not match her. She was on the short side, and not much about her could be considered long and slender, except perhaps her hands and feet. Most women at 5’3 did not wear size nine shoes. But if the price to have long fingers was having long toes as well, she’d pay it. For her fingers brought her livelihood. They brought her joy.

Fighting the urge to pick up the ant carrying away a piece of her lunch, and place him near his hill a mere few feet away, she continued to trace. She was much too direct a person anyway, much too focused. She always knew exactly where she was going, and took the most direct route—not necessarily the path of least resistance, but short all the same. The meandering path the ant took fascinated her. What would it be like to enjoy all the twist and turns of such a path? It was always much more fun to drive on a curvy road and roller coasters certainly didn’t have straight, flat tracks. When one had no destination in mind, the more exciting path became important. There is no thrill without risk and her life had no risks. Thus, no thrill.

She was becoming bored with life. Which was understandable really, considering she spent four years of her life perfecting one single piece of music. She had mastered it, as none other had, but now what? Now, she had a decision to make. She could either find a new goal and map out the familiar direct path, or… or what? Just amble along? Part of her longed to do so, longed to be free—carefree. Perhaps that wasn’t her lot in life, however. She may need structure, need a set course.

Forgetting the ant and his ambling, the woman walked through her open patio door into a larger room, an almost empty room. She was drawn here and again and again relentlessly. Sitting in front of a baby Grand, her fingers were poised and ready. The music ran through her blood, making he heart feel heavy. She was not sad. She was simply full. The passion required to play her song hadn’t eluded her, if anything it was stronger. Her heart hung in her chest, full to the brim. Life and passion consumed her to the point where conscious thought was not possible, and there was only one way to relieve it. This state was required to play this piece, the greatest a pianist can ever hope to achieve. But there is a reason why this piece is the last any pianist plays. Not only is it the crowning achievement, but nothing can compare after it. The work one’s soul must do to play the song was great indeed. The musician was never the same afterward. She was starting to understand that. This song, her song, filled her with the life she had left behind in search of her dream. This song gave her back her lost years. This song made her want to live, to let everything go out of control and live life with the zest the song demanded of her.

Dare she?


The song mentioned above is fictious as far as I know. The song played here is not meant to replace that song, I simply thought it went with my writing exercise today.

Happy New Year and another little ditty.

2007 makes us think of the future. And as much as I'd like to be thinking positive thoughts, I'm just not. So I did a writing prompt created by The CheerLeader of Doom, that alone should tell you it may not be all ice cream bones and fuzzy bunnies. And yup, it didn't turn out so hopeful. But HOPEFULLY, it is at least entertaining....


The black twilight swirled around my body like a glove. Nothing could see me, nothing could hear me, but most importantly nothing could get me—being in a sea of strangers never felt so safe.

As the sun set, my mind calmed. I wouldn’t be stared at. I wouldn’t have to deal with accusations or glares laced with disappointment and disgust. I could be innocuous, my favorite way to be. I slid my hands up the nape of my neck and dug my fingers into my hair. I twisted and pulled until a severe bun was in place. With sly fingers, my colored contacts were out and replaced with plastic framed glasses. A little red lipstick, a bulky jacket, and no one would recognize me. I was a regular Clark Kent.

The fog and lack of moon helped as well. If there was any day I would’ve picked to tell the world the news, tonight was about as ideal as it would get. The crowd stayed where it was. Those who were not yelling, and threatening violence, were stunned, beyond rational speech. The information I’d been forced to drop would cause more damage than a nuclear bomb at Nagasaki.

Our last hope had failed. I had failed. The world’s population looked to me for answers and while I thought I’d had some at one time, I realized they were pipe dreams. I was chasing rainbows, running after tangents. There was no solution. I was the only one who hadn’t believed that, then I convinced the world of the same. Only I was naïve enough to believe a cure could be found.

I thought surely the plague was only a disease. The infertility just a symptom of a virus. All problems can be unlocked, you just have to find a key. Well we had found a key all right, but not to unlock the mystery of our plight. No, we had found the key that unlocked the forbidden door, behind which, the disease lurked, imprisoned. That door was in each and every one of us and once opened, the force was too great to close again. Who could combat the force of God, surely not me, and even the whole world combined would not stand a chance.

No, we were stuck. Stuck with this ageless decline of ours. We stayed young sure, immortality—what a great scientific achievement. What good does keeping a body young if the mind aged, if the insides still rotted. The plastic-like frame of skin and bones only led to the prolonged pain and agony of death. Death that never came.

The government may have done this to us, but I was the face of blame. In a world of soda pop “water-fountains” at parks and sugary sports drinks, our teeth had been falling apart. One World United, our global government, solved our problem. I had nothing to do with the tooth-strengthener they put in the world’s water supply, even the oceans. I didn’t concoct the calcium mixture that would keep your teeth exactly how they are, despite abuse.

And yet I was to blame, because I gave hope when there was none. I made the situation worse. I understood that, thus my current disguise. I may start feeling the effects to my fifty year old body that appeared twenty soon, but I wasn’t ready to be lynched. Despite everything, I still wasn’t ready to die. Sometimes we never learn huh?

Ooh! something new.

The two story brick home was traditional in this part of town. Nothing set it apart from its neighbors. Even the high tech security system appeared mundane, no small signs with “dwarf secured” on them adorned the lawn. The metal gate was stately with a large Calligraphic F on the center. It was also slightly ajar.

I pushed through the gate, noting the lack of security. Anyone could’ve been in there by then. Stepping across the threshold, there was no noise save the squishing of the wet leaves beneath my feet. A pale blue security light hummed above my head. I was surprised to see it there, most shape shifters wanted it dark, not only for secrecy but they also wanted the moon unobstructed. The light afforded me a better look of the house however. The leaves on the driveway weren’t the only sign of neglect. They also littered the gutters and a small piled cornered itself in the front door. If intruders had gotten into the house, it wasn’t through that door. It had been days, perhaps weeks since it’d been opened.

Not wanting to alert anyone to my presence, I left my car a ways down the street. I may not have investigated a security breach before, but I knew enough that I didn’t want to come in guns a blazing. Although, to be honest, that did hold a certain appeal for me, I always did like violent movies. I was here to investigate, not protect, not arrest, not to instill truth, justice and the American way.

Leaky ass

If it wasn’t from the cheap beer or open-all-night diner food, than it was from nerves. The news said he was out again tonight, and in my area. Living alone in the woods had its advantages, but this wasn’t one of them. I was virtually glued to the pot with sick business passing through my guts. I don’t care how tough of a guy you are, the combination of diarrhea and crazy murderer in your area will do anyone in.

My physique normally scares people away. Being well over six feet tall and over three hundred pounds of solid muscle will do that. The shaved head, goatee and tattoos don’t hurt either. But this guy got to me.

The news said they received a report of him seen with a pack of wild dogs. Fitting isn’t it? Some crazy guy running with a pack of wolves? It would be, if that were the case. He wasn’t running with the wolves, he was attacking them. Dismembered may be a better word. My neighbors were finding pieces of animals in various places on their properties.

I had over a hundred acres and as soon as I hard the news I hightailed it out of here, he was targeting tough looking mother fuckers after all. So, I went and got drunk, then got some food well away from here. If pay day wasn’t until tomorrow, I would’ve gotten a hotel room tonight, most of my neighbors had. Sure, I could’ve stayed at the diner all night, but who can have diarrhea in a public bathroom? Not me. No, my tough-looking, leaky ass hauled itself back home to die.


More to come tomorrow!

Ohh now it time for a cheesy, needlessly violent death metal video WOOHOO!

Website update and prompt

I posted some of my shorts/prompts on the website. And the revised chapter 1 is now on there.

Beginning of a prompt... more to come later.

My body wouldn’t wake up. I knew it must, for it was dangerous to die in a dream. Yet, here I did, multiple times, seemingly without repercussions. Perhaps it was because I had no control of the dream, not even subconsciously.

Whether above or below controlled the dream, I don’t know. Either it is in preparation for the future, or torment of the present, and past. This is a recurring dream. Regardless of who is in the driver seat, the outcome was the same. I was afraid of the devil, for he knew my name.

I think it was his unassuming nature. Everyone else saw him as a mild-mannered, charismatic man. I saw a tall, menacing figure in a purple suit, nothing unassuming about that. Most people saw what I call, the serial killer image of him. I saw the man behind the mask, if the word man can even be used to describe him.

No one else seemed to notice the waves outside the ship were on a loop. They weren’t real. They repeated themselves every two minutes, as did the seagull’s music. What got me the most, though, were the people. Not everyone was real. I’d walk around the deck of the ship, that my father so graciously uprooted his family to be on, and have to maneuver around groups of paper cut outs. Voices were muffled, simulating many people speaking at once. For all I know, the track could’ve been a colony of birds just placed over the groups of paper cut out people.

My parents would walk by the groups, gently nodding and smiling at each one. In fact, my father even attempted to strike up a conversation with one portly looking gentleman. I wanted to state the obvious, that my father was talking to a large cardboard figure and shouldn’t expect it to be very conversational, when my father began his side of a two sided conversation. It appeared the cutout was talking back, not that I heard it.

I suppose the thought of me being insane should’ve crossed my mind. How could I be the only one who saw these things? Hell, even my dog didn’t seem to mind the devil. Surely, that meant something. Animals are more attuned to these kinds of things aren’t they? They should be howling, or trying to break out of their cages. But no, my dog decided its favorite spot was going to be on the devil’s lap. It may have been fitting if he were a hound of some sort. But no, my dog was a Bichon Frese, a small fluffy white dog, who loved the devil.


And now for a sexy Scottish accent and a big gay cat.

Comfort

The warmth was encompassing. Comfort surrounded. Lazy muscles retired. The strain on the neck faded for the first time that day. Stress was fleeting. Comfort was such that one couldn’t even feel their body anymore. No pain, no pleasure, just being. Comfort was such that the brain didn’t want to think. The warmth eased thoughts away. Thinking was too much work.

One rarely feels these things. Lives are made up of one stressful event after another. It is how people measure time. Time is marked by years, sure. But one remembers things because so and so died that year. The car accident happened, so one remembers the graduation party that happened shortly after that, because their arm was in a cast. It may have been the year 1995, but the numbers themselves are meaningless. It is what happened during that year that makes it important.

One rarely hears another mark a passage of time because they were so relaxed, it was notable.

With age, this comfort thing becomes important. It makes itself known so infrequently. Muscles are sore and joints ache. The strength to rise easily left long ago. Even the mind causes discomfort. Trying to remember things long ago becomes taxing.

Even knowing this somewhere in the subconscious doesn’t change one’s behaviors. The work still needs to be done. That gadget still needs to be bought. Braces don’t pay for themselves. People work so hard to get one next thing.

In reality, they search for the long sought after comfort as well. It is just in another form. One seeks the comfort of living comfortably financially. Making ends meet is sure to relieve one’s mind. But where is comfort of one’s mind without the comfort of one’s body? Nowhere. Humanity pushes and pushes until one can’t push anymore.

Diligence. Persistence. Tenacity. All words that are looked upon favorably. And truly they are positive traits. But with them comes others. Tunnel Vision. Obstinate. Static. Simply put, unchanging. Unflinching drive.

What happens to life when one looks diligently ahead, with tunnel vision? It passes by. It floats by unnoticed, until old age approaches and one has time to look back. Now they see all the missed opportunities. Now they see the worth of the small things. Now they strive for something different.

They strive for the encompassing warmth. They let their muscles relax. The strain on their neck is finally released. They sought to not feel, to not think. They sought to do no work. In the end they finally ended up with what they hunted.

Comfort surrounded.

Writing prompt courtesy of my friend.

She gave me the prompt... here are the results...

"Jesus, Ed, you stink."

"Well, aren't we just Miss Congeniality tonight. You do realize we have a job to do, right?"

Of course I knew I had a job to do, I'm good, I always have jobs I can do. Although if I had known this particular job involved a pushy, mouthy and not to mention rotting corpse; I might have reconsidered taking it. Mumbling under my breath, I prepared my tools.

“Why do you always call me Ed?”

“What do you want me to call you?”

“I don’t know, Grandpa?”

I snorted. Yea right. “Grandpa? Get real. Why the hell would I call you that?” The needles slid into their slot. I prepared small little cups in a neat row.

“Look young lady, there is something to be said for respect.”

“Ed, when you deserve my respect, you’ll get it. Until then, you are Ed, family or not. Just be thankful I’m calling you by your given name. It could always be worse.”

“That is such a bad attitude for someone so young to have. Could always be worse? Of course it could always be worse. I could be Satan in hiding and about to rip out your soul.”

“Ed, if that’d get you to shut up, it may not be so bad.”

“You, little girl, are going to get smacked in the face with reality one day.”

“Disappointed you won’t be around to see it, Old-timer?” I can’t believe I’m doing this here. I guess it had to be sanitary considering the location, but still. The smell was getting to me. If it wasn’t the moth balls it was the Bengay.

“You need to lean back so I can shave and clean the area,” I said in a professional tone. I’m not a big fan of chatter when I work anyway. It’s not like I’m a fucking hair dresser or something.

With some grumbling, Ed did as he was told. Bout damn time.

“This will hurt, you know that right?”

“What am I some green horn? You startin’ to care about me?”

“I care about my work. If you flinch because you can’t handle it, my work will be fucked.”

“Such language.”

“You’re one to talk, Sailor.” After a beat I said, “Is that what this is about?”

“What this is about is nunya.”

“Yea, I gotcha. Nunya God damned business.”

“I would’ve taken the God part out of that statement.”

“That’s cause yer old and soft.” I pressed on the flesh of his chest. “It’s watery under there old man. You are rotting before my very eyes.”

Ed grabbed my hand and held it there. His clear, directive gaze bored into mine.
“Lay off me okay, Squirt?”

“Alright, geez.” Oh man, I’d never seen him like that before. Ed was a certifiable hard ass. He could take my shit as well as I could dish it out. I liked that in a person. It was even better in family. Yup, Ed is family. He’s my mom’s dad.

Notice I didn’t say Grandpa. He was never that to me. Hell, he was never dad to my mom. He came into our lives pretty late. Late for us, way too late for Louisa, my grandmother. I didn’t call her a family name either. My mom didn’t call her mom. If she was mom, then there should’ve been a dad, and there wasn’t. Same for Grandma I guess.

I finished shaving his chest and laying the design on it. “Sure about this?”

“Absolutely, just shut up and work.”

“Nice, what kind of sailor are you anyway. No tattoos. Sheesh, that’s a sailor abomination or something.”

“You gonna do this or what.”

“Sure yea, no problem. I just want to make sure this is what you want.”

“Hell why would I not want it. You said yourself, what good is a sailor without tattoos.”

“Not any good at all.”

“Yer startin’ to get it, Squirt.”

“And you want Louisa on the banner below her?”

“That’s what I said isn’t it?”

“Yes, but…”

“Speak of going soft. Are you touched in the head or something girl. We’ve got a job to do here. I said what I wanted and I meant it, now get to the causing pain part.”

“Fine, ya old codger. I’ll make my deceased grandmother have huge perky boobs. Happy?”

“Immensely.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

And this was why I didn’t call him Grandpa. It was just too creepy.

Based loosely on a true story...

or at least inspired by one... if horrorified can be considered inspired.


The head wouldn’t fit in the pot. It was that thought that did him in. He was okay until that point, okay being a relative word, of course. There was nothing okay about him today. Yesterday? Yesterday, he was just fine. But today… well today the head wouldn’t fit in the pot.

It wouldn’t have fit yesterday either, but that wasn’t his concern then. It was his concern now, and that concerned him. God, he was talking himself in circles. The strange numbness had left him as soon as he had to break the nose to get it to fit. One would think the screaming, hacking and blood spattering would’ve done it, but nope, it was the bone crunching noise against the stainless steel pot. It reverberated through him. That’s when he knew he was fucked.

Hadn’t he loved her? He did. He knew he did. What had prompted him to do this terrible thing anyway?

********

I'm thinking of turning this into a longer story, perhaps full length. We'll see.

Part 2

Staring up at the green-tinged fluorescent lighting, I dug my free hand in the warm stew called me. One hand, gently holding the remaining organs aside, the other slid the key along my spine. I’d have to get it lower to grab it.

Removing my gallbladder a month ago must have been in preparation for this. Although it is messed up to be thankful for anything in this predicament, them starting to remove my intestines had really helped. Once someone does the first step, I can finish the rest. In school, dissecting in Biology class had been the same. If my lab partner could make the first cut I could do everything else.

The key was in the place my guts should be. Placing the organs back in place, I grabbed the key with both hands and lifted it out. Laying it on my chest, I felt around for my intestines. The smell of blood and sweat was mixed with disinfectant. That was a favor too, although I suppose it was in their best interest. No reason to have me get an infection and die from something so innocuous. They had bigger plans for me.

The ropes didn’t seem to fit back in. I crammed the extra ten feet into my gut and placed the skin flap back over it. Holding my stomach in place, hate to lose anything on the way, I kicked my legs. Finding purchase on a spot of the floor that wasn’t covered in my blood and other bodily fluids, I scooted myself to the door. Getting there wasn’t so much of a problem. How was I going to sit up and reach the keyhole?

The sucking noise of my movements made this a bit too real for me. I needed something to distract me from the noise. I really must’ve been on some sort of Disney kick because “It’s a Small World” came out of my mouth. Maybe just the thought of the world being small made the distance to the door seem shorter.
The door hit the back of my head as I propelled myself forward one last time. Biting down on the warm, bloody, tissue-covered key, I used both hands and feet to prop myself up against the wall next to the door. Some of my guts spilled out of my stomach. It was unavoidable; I’d have to get it fixed later.

The key had too much stuff on it to slide in easily. Biting off the excess and spitting it on the floor, the key fit. I forced it in and turned. The door fell open. Standing there waiting for me was the Boss.

“Well done, Jamie.” He always called me by my first name. It pretended an intimacy between the two of us that just wasn’t there. He knew everything about me. I knew not a damn thing about him.

“We’ll get you cleaned up and then brief you on your first assignment.”

I should’ve been relieved and excited at the prospect of my first assignment, but emotion was conditioned out of me.

“May I ask what my first assignment is?”

“You’ll be undercover for this one.”

“As?”

“A daycare provider.”