tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2123364474161130662024-03-08T10:38:21.366-08:00"A Book Is A Loaded Gun...in the house next door. Who knows who might be the target of the well-read man?" - Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-16128527912022307022017-03-29T04:26:00.001-07:002017-03-29T04:26:23.723-07:00Letter to Holmes
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Dear Sherlock Holmes,</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Just so we’re clear,
this is your fault. It was your books that led to this murder, your tales of
the almost magical world that is detective drama stories that guided my hand to
become one of your villains. Of course, I’m talking not only to the fictive
detective, but also the real ones that will find this, but at the same time I
know that they will not be able to solve my case. So, Sherlock, this letter is
addressed to you, the one man that could.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Let me begin by describing
to you how this all began. When I was young, I lived in a small farmhouse on
Sussex Downs. There used to be a man who lived a little while away from me, but
was still the closest house. He kept bees. He was extremely odd, oftentimes
disappearing for months on end, times when some other, younger man would come
and take care of the bees. I always found his eccentricity and apparent lack of
social life somewhat fascinating. I saw in him myself. Despite this, the man
remained distant. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">It wasn’t until one
summer that I noticed he was gone and I made my way quietly into his home. It
was here that I found the Sherlock Holmes stories that I would come to love
after sneaking into the home again and again, each time taking another book and
replacing the one I’d taken last. However, there was something else I found.
Something much more interesting than the books that have inspired me to write
this letter today. It was a slim Moroccan leather case that held a syringe and
a tiny vial of some solution. Naturally, I stuck myself with the stuff, and
found myself addicted. And that was how my life as a criminal began.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">It
wasn’t until much later, as you police already know, that I would find my true calling
within the criminal underworld. No, that would not be until I found myself a
young man in the Diogenes Club, a club that, if you have never been, you will
never understand. Sherlock, of course, knows well of the place, so I will not
waste my time describing it. But, the point is that it was here that I
overheard of a man that was served almost as a computer for the government, a
man that was so smart, he was said to occasionally <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">be </i>the British government. And, as anyone else who understood the
implications behind such a powerful man would, I killed him. Police, you
already know of this, because of the last letter I addressed to Holmes that you
couldn’t help but turn into a huge news story. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">It
has been some time since I’ve killed. But I have once again. Which is why you will find
this next letter next to the dead body of the man who started it all. The
beekeeper. Hopefully, one day, someone will see him, lying there on the ledge
of Reichenbach Falls. But until then I remain waiting for Sherlock to crack the
case. And before I leave, know that my killing, my letters, they were all
inspired by you, wise detective.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> Sincerely,
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"> Professor
James Moriarty</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-83262838071739109222016-04-20T13:31:00.003-07:002016-04-20T13:35:35.528-07:00Cozy Dark<span style="font-family: inherit;"> My fingers had been crossed that
some sort of excuse would come up for not going. A broken car, a pounding head,
anything to allow me to call them up and say “I just can’t make it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The
interview began normal enough. I sat at a desk. Across from me sat a short, fat
man with glasses that had such heavy rims they looked like he’d stolen them
from a 3D movie. He kept wiping his nose with his hand, and then, as if that
weren’t gross enough, pushing his glasses up with the same hand. On the desk
sat a name plate that read Harrison Lett. He asked standard questions at first,
but soon, things got weird. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Any
relatives die recently?” he wiped his nose.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Relatives,
family, any die within the last month or so?” he pushed up his glasses.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “N-
well, no but, I don’t see what-” he cut me off in such a confident manner like
he’d gotten my response a lot.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “How
do you cope with death?” he wiped his nose.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “How-”
I stopped myself. Did I really want to ruin my chances for another job? I tried
to think about the question but only ended up thinking of when my mom died. I
was sixteen and I tried and tried to pretend it was no biggy. I tried and tried
to tell myself that by crying I was being defeated and being beaten from the
inside out. I cried anyways, I still don’t think I’ve come to copes with the
idea that I’ll never talk to her again.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I
sit and drink the night of the funeral. Then, I get up the next morning and
move on,” I lied.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “And
your mother’s death: is that how you went about coping with that?” My heart
jolted, the world tilted for a quick second and my chair slid with it. I was on
the ground. The forced back tears of a sixteen year old me came rushing into my
face, ready to burst. Then, everything went back to normal. I didn’t fall, or
cry or move the world.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Yes,”
I answered. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Next
thing I know the guy is shaking my hand with his snot-coated hand and dragging
me to a different room. The building looked like one huge moss covered brick
from the outside. On the inside it was nothing but four offices, all like
Harrison’s but with different names on the desks. But, if you walked far enough
into the hallway you’d run into a bigger room with more desks, old looking
computers with huge blocky monitors and no lights. The desks had candles, a
couple per each desk, the only sources of light in the room. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I’m
gonna go ahead and introduce you to the rest of the group. You got the job
Jacob, relax.” I tried to but I remained tense. The dark, the ad, the way
Harrison seemed to know my past before I said a thing, it felt uncomfortable,
and it felt great. Next thing I knew the room seemed to get light as we
approached a desk. The name plate said Stephen Roscoe.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “This
the new guy?” the presumed to be Stephen Roscoe sitting at the desk said. He
had pictures up on the blocky monitor. Dark pictures where there seemed to be
faces where faces couldn’t possibly be. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Yup.
Jacob this is Roscoe. Expert on everything afterlife, ghouls, ghosts, spirits,
whatever you wanna call it, he knows about it.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Uh,
hi,” I said reaching my hand out. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Sorry,”
Roscoe smirked a bit as if I had done something worth laughing at, “I don’t
shake hands with the living.” I looked at Harrison, puzzled but he seemed to be
laughing to. Without an explanation we moved on. As we moved back into the
darkness I heard a small shout. I looked at Harrison, again awaiting an
explanation. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Oh,”
Harrison suddenly turned towards me as if forgetting to tell me something, “I
forgot you weren’t used to the screams yet. It’s the darkness, they can’t stand
it. There aren’t much in here but the few that are can’t do much harm. They
just hang around the desks.” I finally built up the courage to speak.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Who
are they?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Huh?
You seemed more prepared in the interview. The ghosts Jacob, that’s why you’re
here after all.” The conversation ended when we arrived at the next desk. A
tall African American man leaned on it. He was smoking a large cigar that
puffed bright smoke into the darkness. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “This
is Leonard Price, our… investigator,” Harrison explained. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Its’
Leo,” he said through a cloud of smoke, “and you Jacob have quite the past.
Frankly, I figured you’d get the job. You and death oughta be good buddies by
now, eh?” I prepared an answer, something rude, something to show this
frighteningly tall man I wasn’t going to be the ‘new guy’. Instead, I was
interrupted with a thick laugh that tore into the darkness with a huge cloud of
smoke. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Harrison’s
been giving the same tour for years now,” Leo said, his face wrinkling with a
faint smile, “the same suddenly terrifying questions, and then, that one
personal one at the end. Catch the new guy off guard and see how well he takes
it. That’s my part; it’s my job to get that tiny piece of info. My real job is
to look at death certificates, know what kinda ghost we’re up against. Did they
drown? Were they hanged? Heh, I’m the guy who’ll tell you. Then, Harrison
brings you to Roscoe. A scary guy, says he’s dead, says he’s a ghost.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Is
he?” I suddenly found myself blurting out. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “No.
He’s supposed to have died and then,” he snapped, a loud snap that rang like an
alarm clock, “come back just like that. Died and lived to tell the tale,” he
laughed again, blowing more smoke, “Then, for the finale, you get to me. Big,
scary ole’ Leo who knows everything about you before you know what he looks
like. To me </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">that’s </span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;">scarier than some
of the ghosts we hunt.” I felt like Leo wasn’t done, and I know I wasn’t done
with my questions, but Harrison shoved his way into the conversation.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “The
last desk is yours. You’ll start as soon as there’s a job to be done. But for
now, you can leave.” And just like that I found myself leaving the darkness
and, defying everything my past had taught me, I suddenly feared the light more
than that cozy darkness of my new office.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Then,
I was here. In the car, in a similar darkness, but less comfortable. It was
somewhere around two in the morning and Harrison had called me. Only a couple
words made it clear why, “We’ve got a job.” He gave me an address and hung up.
Now, I was on my way. I’d only slipped into the clothes I’d worn earlier that
day, left on my slippers and began the drive. I arrived at the house, there was
a car already there. When I got up I realized Leo was standing outside the
house. He looked ridiculous with sunglasses on this early in the morning, his
hair and beard scruffy looking like he’d just waken up and a huge smile on his
face.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Jacob,
you look surprised to see me,” Leo said through the smile.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Uh,
yeah. I kinda thought Harrison would be here.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Well,
I’m offended Jacob,” he said as he began walking up to the door, I followed
close behind, “You could see him hunting ghosts before </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">me? </span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nah, I’ma be teaching you. Harry and Roscoe hunt too, but
they’re not good for teaching newcomers like you.” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Why
aren’t they good?” I asked as we reached the door. Leo took a gun from
somewhere and turned sideways.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “They’re
too nice,” he said as he kicked the door down and pointed the gun around.
“Clear,” he said as if checking for criminals. He turned to me, smile gone. His
breath still smelled of cigar smoke.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Okay,
we gotta go around and make sure all the lights are off, ignore any screams you
might hear, if they’re in the dark they aren’t gonna do anything to you. If you
do find a light, turn it off,” he explained it fast and handed me a gun. Then,
he became the man I’d met again, he laughed, “Get ready,” he said walking away.
Confused and still drowsy I began walking around. My eyes had yet to adjust to
the darkness inside the house. I held the gun tight in my sweating hand. I
could picture my beat white knuckles, and my red fingers gripping the gun as if
it was trying to get away, as if-</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">a scream. I shot. It was right in
my ear, I jumped and shot again. I still couldn’t see, I didn’t want to see
anymore. The darkness became groggy as if I was standing in black jello. I
couldn’t breathe. Was it a result of panic? No, hands, around my neck. I pulled
away. Screaming, this time louder, this time not that of a human but that of a
monster. That of my mom getting shot as I lay, quiet, in my bed. Then the room
was lit and my eyes burned. Before I noticed Leo in the doorway to the room
pointing a flashlight and a gun I saw the face in front of me. That of a little
girl, screaming, coughing out blood, blood running down her dress. The hands
around me were hers but the scream was not. She was screaming for help, she was
being stabbed over and over. Her blood got on my shirt when she flew forward
and fell to the ground, the result of Leo shooting. He then ran over to me,
turning the flashlight off. The dark became comfortable again.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You
alright Jacob?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Yeah,
uh, what was that?” I asked as I began to breathe again. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “That
Jacob was Penelope, died just last year. Stabbed to death.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “She
was being stabbed when she was attacking me, her eyes, they were still the eyes
of a little girl, they weren’t the eyes to the scream or the hands that
strangled me…” I trailed off, wanting to just fall to the floor.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “They
appear the way they died. Note that I said </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">appear,
</span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jacob, not act. It’s the kids you gotta be careful of; they’re the ones
who’ll make you feel like you’re the badguy.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Are
we?” I asked. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Leo
laughed. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Let’s
go back to the office and report our success.”</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-2706770346505371292015-09-24T19:41:00.000-07:002015-09-24T19:41:33.475-07:00This is a Poem Shaped Like a Circle
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a poem </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>shaped like a circle because, w</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ell, you know, symbolism and all that g </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ood stuff. You see circles can mean lots
of di</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>fferent things though. Where’s the fun in a
poem </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that tells you what it means. Leave it up to
the reader</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to decide why this poem is shaped like a
circle. If I tell</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you
this circle is a symbol for something meaningful to m</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>e
what do you care? Are you suddenly going to care for tha</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>t thing as much as me, or are you going
to move on with yo</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ur life and the only time you’ll ever
think of this poem agai</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>n is when you accidently flip to it
while you are looking fo</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>r your own poem or story. And you’ll
say, “Oh there’s th</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>at
poem shaped like a circle for a reason that means a</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>bsolutely nothing to me. But if you give this
reason</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>then you may read it again… and again and
agai</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>n and again. And do you know why you we</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>re flipping to you own poem? Becua</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>se it has meaning to you. Gi</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ve this meaning too.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-88806250259972323122015-08-29T09:05:00.005-07:002015-08-29T09:05:46.096-07:00COWPOCALYPSE!<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">It was a day like any
other except with cows on bicycles instead of people. And so, since this day
was no different from any other day besides that one little thing I just
figured it was a coincidence. I mean, it was bound that one day cows would
start riding bicycles. Today just happened to be that day. So, ignoring the
bicycle riding cows I walked to my car and began loading the groceries. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">On
my way home I saw a cow without a bicycle. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Strange,</i> I thought wondering why this
one specific cow decided not to ride a bicycle when today was obviously the day
for cows to ride bicycles. I pulled over and asked him about.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Why
aren’t you riding a bicycle?” I asked rather politely.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Moo.”
the cow exclaimed rather rudely. I was shocked. Never had I heard a cow moo as
rudely as this cow just mooed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Sorry.
What’s wrong with you?” Then the cow brought its hoof up to its face and looked
ashamed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“I’m
sorry,” it said, “I’m just a little cranky today. All of the other cows are
finally riding bicycles and I don’t own one.” I felt suddenly sorry for this
cow. Like me, he longed to fit in with the others, but he couldn’t because he
didn’t have a bike. I couldn’t because nobody liked me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Oh,
well… do you want me to give you my car?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Yes.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Okay,”
and with that I got out of the car and held the door for him. He got in a drove
away quickly before I could even close the door. The car swerved beautifully
into the sunset, hitting everything and anything in its way. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Then,
next thing I knew, I no longer had a way home for some reason. I looked around
desperately for something to steal, or maybe ride away on, like a dog. Finally,
I heard barking and followed it. Sure enough, there was a dog… but with a cow
riding it!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“What?!”
I shouted like a cow shouting moo, or a person shouting “what” at the odd sight
of a cow riding a dog.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Sorry.
This seat is taken,” it said to me in its weird cow voice. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“But
cows can’t ride dogs! The people invented them! Cows can ride bikes, and
occasionally cars and maybe dogs, but not dogs!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“Oh
my, never have I heard a man talk so rudely to a woman before!” That is when I
realized that this was not a cow, just a large, white and black spotted woman.
But it was too late, she already knew too much. So, I pushed her off the dog,
hopped onto its saddle and road away.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Finally
I got home, where I let the dog back into the wild. It responded with a quick
thanks and ran off. But, as I looked in my driveway, there stood three cows,
all holding baseball bats.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“What
is all this then?” I asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“The
cows are taking over. The only reason we hadn’t yet was because our leader
didn’t have a bike, but some idiot gave him a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">car.</i>” And then it came to me. That idiot was probably that lady
riding that dog. She seemed like an idiot to me. So I told the three cows my
story. They didn’t really actually care about it and beat me with the baseball
bats and then left.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">There
I was, lying in the hot sun on the hot pavement, with my hot body, as the cows
took over the world. I couldn’t even move because (who knew?) cows are really
good with baseball bats. But suddenly, I had a vision. The clouds parted and in
them came down a giant face. A giant dog face to be exact and it began licking
me and gave me the strength to stand. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“What
are you?” I asked when it was done.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">“I
am you, from the future. It is your job to stop the cowpocalypse.” I then kind
of understood what I had to do. Well, kind of. Okay, fine, I didn’t understand
at all. But I would do it anyway. And with that, leaving dog-faced future me
behind, I galloped after those baseball bat cows. Best ending sentence ever.</span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-17454321897847765282015-05-13T16:00:00.001-07:002015-05-13T16:00:39.201-07:00Cassius' Suicide
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">If this was to be the place of my
fall,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">during the climax of a soon to end
brawl,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">then I’d rather it be at the blade
of my sword<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">than at the hands of the enemies
with which we now warred.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">My sword already knew the taste of
horrible gore.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">The skin of our own leader, it had
earlier torn,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">and now it avenged the death it had
caused<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">a nonstop killing feast, without
even a pause.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">But my honor was overthrown as my
hands did grow weak. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I could not stab myself, my blood
refused to leak.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">So I went to my servant, who all
the while stood by<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">and told him my wish: that I wished
to die.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">But before he could drive the sword
into me,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I promised him one thing, that he
could be free.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">On the same day as my first, I do
take my last breath.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I’ve learned to accept my fate;
this date is my death.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-51664153832462455692015-03-17T15:22:00.006-07:002015-03-17T15:24:24.717-07:00The Fantastically Ridiculous Adventure of Sarcasm Sam: Part Six<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Part five can be found <a href="http://loadedbook.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-fantasically-ridiculous-adventure.html">here</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Dan looked around the roller
coaster section. The rollercoasters were as run down as the stages and they ran
with no one on them, much like the shows. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">"</span>Pie-eyes!”
he shouted into the screaming of the rollercoasters. They sounded like they’d
been running for years, like any minute they would just crumble around Dan
leaving him surrounded by a steel graveyard. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Pie-eyes!”
he shouted again. He could hear Sam shouting too, like an eerie echo that
called just late enough to not sound like an echo. An echo with a body. That
was all Sam was, he latched onto whatever Dan did and made the audience laugh
at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">him. </i>Dan told the jokes and then
Sam stepped out and took all the credit. An echo with a body sounded just as
terrifying as it actually was. And he thought <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he </i>was misunderstood. That was something worth laughing at, Sam
being misunderstood. Didn’t he see that the fact that everyone recognized him
as misunderstood meant he wasn’t? No. He didn’t. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Pie-eyes!”
He could tell he would soon find himself back in the central tent again since
he and Sam had realized that if you walked far enough you somehow ended up back
there. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">"</span>Pie-eyes!”
he shouted one last time before he turned around. Merry-Go-Round music
distracted him from his thoughts about Sam and made him think about his first
time here, The Point of No Return. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Back
at the circus, before any of this had happened, before he had thrown that water
balloon onto the ground of Sam’s tent, he sat in his own tent. No makeup. No
afro. The man behind Delightful Dan. He had been thinking, similar thoughts as
the ones he was having now, when he heard music and laughter. At the time he
didn’t realize this laughter was coming from the hellish mirror maze he had now
been through at least twice. Standing, he made his way toward the music. Soon,
the laughter and music had seemed one, a song that, when put together, became
more wonderful to Dan than either the music or laughter alone. A
merry-go-round, the source of the music, was running in the dark with a large
gutted clown and a pie tin faced clown on it. Pie-eyes and Silly Samantha. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“You!”
Pie-eyes called out, “How would you like to help me with something?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“With
what?” Dan found himself asking rather than asking an expected who are you,
what are you doing here, or simply telling the clown they were closed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I’ve
kidnapped your friend here, not to mention several other clowns from here, to
get the attention of a clown named Sam.” Dan now recognized the pie tin faced
clown as Samantha. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Unfortunately,
none of these have gotten his attention. Should I kidnap you too?” All the
while Pie-eyes voice continued to get louder and quieter as the ride continued
to spin.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“No, he wouldn't care if you kidnapped me.
But I might be able to help.” Pie-eyes got down from the merry-go-round and
approached Dan, who now noticed his eyes. He was smiling and the purple makeup
around his lips helped make it more apparent. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Can
you now?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Yeah.
I’ll go get him. But, what happens when I bring him to you?” Pie-eyes laughed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“That’s
the surprise.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Okay
then. I’ll do it,” Dan said. He wondered if Samantha could hear him from the
spinning merry-go-round Pie-eyes had left her on. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Good
then. Come with me and I’ll explain a little more,” Pie-eyes said handing Dan a
water balloon. “You’ll need this. Don’t break it.” Dan took it carefully. He
was in the midst of a mad man, and he loved it. The feeling that someone needed
him.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Dan
found himself back in the central tent. He realized, coming out of his
thoughts, that his bodiless echo had been silenced. He moved toward the freaks
section to find out why.<o:p></o:p></span>Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-60042662628429493552015-03-16T12:45:00.003-07:002015-03-16T13:06:55.536-07:00The Fantasically Ridiculous Adventure of Sarcasm Sam: Part Five<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Part four can be found <a href="http://loadedbook.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-fantastically-ridiculous-adventure_13.html">here</a>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Smells of popcorn, cotton candy
and sweat bombarded me and Dan as we stood on the now empty stage. The laughing
had resumed, and I could still here the crunching of the muddy ground as the
purple suited man walked away. Despite these smells and sounds everything
seemed on pause, yet not on pause as Dan and I looked at each other.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Why
did you step out of his way?” Dan looked down at his oversized shoes like a sad
dog. I wondered if this was an act or real disappointment with himself. Did he
really care? It was too big of a question to answer based only off of one sad
dog face. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“It
doesn’t matter. What matters is that we can’t just stand around when our
friends are in trouble,” Dan mumbled, eyes still aimed at his shoes. Even with
his eyes aimed at shoes and the mumbling the message came out how he wanted it
to, a message that was meant to sting, turn the tables and say that since I was
still standing here talking it was my fault that Samantha was being pulled by
her hair to wherever it was Pie-eyes was taking her. I knew that was what he
wanted, but the message stung anyway.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Okay
then, let’s go.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We
started by going the way Pie-eyes had gone but ended up back at the central
tent with the now empty desk in the middle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Where
could he have gone?” I asked Dan, looking from the mirror maze section to the
clown section we’d just entered. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“We
can try the rollercoaster area, or the freaks area, those are the only places
we haven’t been.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Why
not split up, I’ll go to the freaks, you go to the rollercoasters,” I
suggested. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Okay…
what do we do if we find him?” I stopped and thought about this. Yell for the
other? Even then, what would the two of us do? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“We
save Samantha,” I decided. This was apparently good enough for Dan because he
began walking toward the rollercoasters section. I turned my back to him and
looked at the entrance to the freak area, then, I began walking. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">This
area was similar to the clowns area, with a similarly dirty stage, the muddy
grass that covered the entire place, and the crowds of performers moving about
the place. These crowds, however, were made up of bearded women, legless people
pulling themselves with their hands, abnormally tall people, and all kinds of
other people who had been labeled as freaks. Not knowing where to look I
shouted as I moved through the crowds attracting glances from the people I felt
I should have been glancing at. Finally, after one of the shouts, Pie-eyes
stepped out from behind the curtain with Samantha still at his side. He was
smiling and the pie filling bounced in his sockets. Samantha’s screaming had
gotten louder, more desperate. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Show
time,” he whispered to himself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span>Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-43487076394420497782015-03-13T16:45:00.000-07:002015-03-16T13:03:55.744-07:00The Fantastically Ridiculous Adventure of Sarcasm Sam: Part Four<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Part three can be found <a href="http://loadedbook.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-fantistically-ridiculous-adventure.html">here</a>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
found that despite my feet’s objection I was carried toward the stage. Silly
Samantha was shouting something under the pie tin, but it was muffled and inaudible.
Pie-eyes turned to look at me, his smile fading.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
aren’t on yet…” he mumbled quietly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I
know,” I said, suddenly having no idea what I was going to do. I could tell
Silly Samantha could recognize my voice because the voice from the pie tin grew
louder. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Then
get off the stage,” Pie-eyes said. It was no longer a mumble, but a command and
he pointed ominously toward the curtain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No.”
With that Pie-eyes shouted something angrily and spun on his heels away from
me. Pie filling fell on the stage. He grabbed Silly Samantha’s orange hair and
dragged her back to the curtain. I saw Dan step out of the way for him when
suddenly a small fist connected with my jaw and I found myself stumbling
backwards. It was the purple suited man who greeted us, he may have been tiny but
he was strong. I imagined what this would have looked like to the audience,
this sad clown being pummeled by this short man, but then remembered there was
no audience. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
been wanting to do this since you and your friend got here,” the man said as
his fist came flying and this time hit my chin. My teeth made a loud clicking
sound as they interlocked harshly. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“What
do you mean?” I heard Dan step out from the curtain. Dan, the clown who had
brought me here to save our friends and who I’d just witnessed step out of the
way for a clown-dressed mad man.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m </i>supposed to be Pie-eyes partner in
this, not some pitiful clown.” He gestured toward me. I tried to stand while he
and Dan argued.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Why
would you be his partner? You aren’t misunderstood like him and Sam.” The
purple suited man laughed and threw his hands into the air. His mustache
bounced on his face in a way that would have been comical if it hadn’t been in
this situation.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“You
think I’m not misunderstood? Do you see me? All your friend has to do is take
off his makeup and he’s not “misunderstood” anymore! I can’t take off these
stubs of legs! I can’t take off these tiny hands! I came to the circus to be
the strong man and instead they wanna shoot me outta cannons because I’m “just
the right size”, and you think I’m not misunderstood!” The stage grew quiet,
even the echoing laughter seemed to cease for this moment. It felt like a play,
the way Dan, the man, and I were standing in a triangle on stage. It felt like
none of this was real and someone would shout that it was a rap and I could go
back to my tent.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“You
could help us,” I told the man. He laughed and walked off of the stage leaving
Dan and I to stare at each other. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Click <a href="http://loadedbook.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-fantasically-ridiculous-adventure.html">here</a> to continue to part five. </span>Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-41676448528633250542015-03-13T16:44:00.001-07:002015-03-16T12:56:59.089-07:00The Fantistically Ridiculous Adventure of Sarcasm Sam: Part Three<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Part two can be found <a href="http://loadedbook.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-fantastically-ridiculous-adventure_8.html">here</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Dan and I sat in a tent that we
got to from the “Clowns” section of Pie-eye’s tent. There was still laughing
coming from somewhere, but I had yet to find out from where. I thought maybe
the reflections in the mirror maze were laughing loud enough for it to echo
throughout this entire place. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I
want to know what’s going on Dan. You know more than you’re letting on,” I
suddenly said absent mindedly. After how the encounter with Pie-eyes had gone
on I was getting more worried with what I’d gotten myself into. But, being in
the point of no return I figured it was no hope trying to get out of it. After
managing to croak my name to answer Pie-eyes question he laughed. His entire
body moved when he laughed, not just his huge gut, and pie filling dripped from
his eye socket to the muddy ground. Then, once finished laughing at my name, he
told Dan to escort me to this tent. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“It’s
a circus Sam. Put on a good show and you won’t get fired,” Dan responded,
suddenly standing. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Listen
Dan, I don’t know what you expect me to do without knowing anything about this
place.” Dan sighed heavily and scratched at his head under the red afro wig.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Pie-eyes
is a clown like you Sam… -er, he used to be at least. His entire point as a
clown was to have pies thrown at him.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Well,
you don’t have very many options when your stage names Pie-eyes,” I said. Dan
snickered a little but remained serious.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Well.
He got fed up with it. His pain was laughed at Sam. So, he figured people would
think it was hilarious to make a circus made up entirely of pain.” I waited for
him to say something else, but he stopped. I had no clue what to say. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Why
are we here?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“He
thinks you need saving from us Sam. He’s sees himself in you. He wants you to
help him.” I didn’t know how to respond to the weirdest job offer I’d ever
gotten. Everything felt off, crooked, cracked. Suddenly the curly mustached man
who’d greeted us stepped into the gate with a big smile on his face.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Show
time,” he cooed at us. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The
stage was dirty and old. The chairs were few, but all empty. The atmosphere of
the entire place was unbearable. From here I knew I could hear the maniacal
laughing and could see rollercoasters running vigorously on the horizon.
Pie-eyes stood at the end of the stage, shouting things as if there were an
audience. I imagined pushing him off, wondered what kind of damage it’d do, how
long it’d take him to stand again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“And
now,” he yelled generically, “we introduce our newest act, Pie tin Penelope!”
Applause came from somewhere, probably the other people preparing for the show.
Pie tin Penelope stepped out, a woman with crazy orange hair sticking out in
every possible direction, and a Pie tin with a smile drawn in a thick red
marker stuck on her face. I immediately realized who the face under the tin belonged
to. Silly Samantha was Pie tin Penelope. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Click <a href="http://loadedbook.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-fantastically-ridiculous-adventure_13.html">here</a> to continue to part four. </span>Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-25562190141557342012015-03-08T08:48:00.001-07:002015-03-16T12:54:35.295-07:00The Fantastically Ridiculous Adventure of Sarcasm Sam: Part Two <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Part one can be found <a href="http://loadedbook.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-fantastically-ridiculous-adventure.html">here</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A large gate was the entrance,
one that curved into elaborate laughing faces. I wouldn’t have minded the faces
if they had looked human. And while they were human the laughing had twisted
them to a point of no return. This is exactly what the sign over the gate read:
“The Point of No Return” in curly, colorful letters. From behind the gate came
laughing, shouting, excitement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Where are we?” I asked Dan, who
was still standing and adjusting his wig from our fall into this place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I know you can read Sam. There’s
a sign right there,” he pointed up at it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Oh, of course, the point of no
return. I’ve been here many times; I understand perfectly what’s going on.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I see why you’re Sarcasm Sam,”
Dan rolled his eyes, walking toward the gate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I have yet to see what makes you
Delightful though.” As we approached the gate I realized the short man standing
next to it. He had a mustache that curled, and short hands that looked like
those of a baby. He wore a purple jacket and baggy purple pants. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Come one, come all,” he said.
But the way he had said it made it clear he would rather be leaving than
coming. Dan suddenly lit up and hopped toward the man, as clown-like that
movement could’ve ever been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I’m Delightful Dan, this is the
other clown I was telling you about,” he said, gesturing toward me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Go on in,” the small man said
pointing toward what was inside the gate. I followed Dan into what slowly
became a mirror maze. But the reflections on the mirrors were not mine. And
these reflections, that didn’t belong to me or Dan, were pounding on the glass,
screaming, and loudest of all, laughing uncontrollably. The entire maze shook
with the pounding of a thousand different reflections without bodies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Wh- what is this?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Mirror maze,” Dan answered
nonchalantly. He walked through the maze like he knew the way and didn’t pay
any attention to the reflections. I tried to stay away from the mirrors that
weren’t regular mirrors. Finally, we reached the exit, which led to a small
tent. The tent split into four parts. The way we had come from was the mirror
maze. Then, there was one way labelled “Rollercoasters”, one labelled “Clowns”
and one labelled “Freaks”. In the middle of the tent sat a desk with a large
man sitting at it. He was not smiling, but the purple makeup around his lips
made him appear to be. He had a purple nose rather than the classic red one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Too
much purple, </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Dan,” the clown said, standing
and then taking Dan’s hand and shaking vigorously. It buzzed loudly with a joy
buzzer, but nobody said anything about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Pie-eyes,” Dan responded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Pie-eyes?” I asked suddenly. The
purple clown turned towards me and I finally noticed that his eye sockets were
filled with cream pie filling instead of eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“And you are?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">Click <a href="http://loadedbook.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-fantistically-ridiculous-adventure.html">here</a> to continue to part three. </span><o:p></o:p></span>Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-37422388395328725092015-03-07T07:11:00.001-08:002015-03-16T12:52:51.283-07:00The Fantastically Ridiculous Adventure of Sarcasm Sam<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I laughed at the very idea of
Sarcasm Sam and Delightful Dan ever being friends. But offstage, we clowns are
people like any other, so, Sarcasm Sam and Delightful Dan were very much so
friends. This is why it struck me as odd when Delightful Dan showed up outside
the green tent, with his red smile painted on, sporting the red afro, red and
blue spotted shoes, fluffy red collar, and the unforgettable shining red nose. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Dan?” I asked the clown. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Sam,” he responded, nodding his
head and pushing past me into the tent. I noticed him holding a sword in one
hand and a water balloon in the other. Clowns were nothing without their props.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“What’s this all about?” I tried
to get some information out of him, but instead just got silence as he pulled
my own costume out from the back of my tent. It was weird to be talking to
Delightful Dan without the Sarcasm Sam costume on. We were a team of clowns,
incomplete without the other. Delightful Dan would tell jokes, make all the
kids laugh. Then Sarcasm Sam would walk out and sarcastically tell Dan his
jokes were good. Kids booed Sam. Then, Dan would throw pies at me, chase me
around while I tripped over things, and tons more. People loved the team.
People would’ve hated us on our own. Dan threw the costume at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Here. Put this stuff on,” he
said as he tossed it. Despite not knowing what was going on I began slipping
into the costume. Sarcasm Sam had a fluffy green collar as opposed to Dan’s
red, no signature clown nose and green shoes. His face paint involved a green
frown instead of Dan’s red smile, and green circles around his eyes. Mean, old
Sarcasm Sam. As I slipped into the costume I tried again to get information out
of Dan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Okay Dan, I’m putting the
costume on. Now what’s this all about?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“The whole families in danger
Sam. Lord Tickle Pickles, Huge Henrietta, Silly Samantha, all of them,” Dan
explained as I began to apply the face make-up. I cared about all of my fellow
clowns, but Silly Samantha was the one that truly worried me. As myself I had
spoken about twice with her, but as Sarcasm Sam she was my girlfriend who
always stuck up for me when Dan and I fought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“How are they in danger?” I
asked, carefully circling my eyes with the green makeup. As soon as I finished
asking Delightful Dan threw down the water balloon and a swirling blue portal
of water open in the ground. Laughter poured out of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“They’re in there Sam. But after
this, there’s no turning back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Let’s go,” I said, reaching out for
Dan to throw me the sword. Once I caught it I realized it was rubber. With
that, Sarcasm Sam and Delightful Dan hopped into the portal and began their
journey to save their family.</span><br />
<br />
Click <a href="http://loadedbook.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-fantastically-ridiculous-adventure_8.html">here</a> to continue to part two.</div>
Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-25998413780513491962015-02-28T10:34:00.003-08:002015-02-28T16:15:44.967-08:00The Search For PoetryI can only come up with so many rhymes<br />
before my poems become worn, forgotten with time.<br />
So is that all I'll be? Am I in my prime?<br />
Will I one day have no more ideas in mind?<br />
Some would say yes, that we're all assigned<br />
a fate that decides when we shall resign.<br />
But wait, does that mean we are all just confined<br />
to a straight-forward path that we must follow blind?<br />
So what happens to those few who choose to decline<br />
to follow the path, to stick to the bind?<br />
Will they get to explore? Might they get to find<br />
the rhymes that I need to make poems sublime?<br />
How should I ever know if I don't stray from mankind?<br />
Is this still my fate, to leave them behind?<br />
While this new way is unmapped, and it may be unkind,<br />
it seems right to venture with an open mind.<br />
I still do not know if leaving that line,<br />
will help me, or was just a waste of time,<br />
but no matter the outcome, no matter the finds,<br />
at least I can know the decision was mine.Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-17161276020636754322015-02-27T15:36:00.001-08:002015-02-27T15:37:33.790-08:00CharmingWhen I pulled up I didn't expect to see my mom wearing a white hat to block the sun, a light green shirt, khaki shorts, and her typical smile. In one hand was a glass of lemonade and in the other was a cigarette with a thin stream of smoke coming from it. I pushed open my rusted door and stepped out onto the gravel driveway. <br />
"Cynthi, I'm happy you could make it!" she called from her lawn chair. She set her now empty lemonade glass onto the dead grass. I could see where she'd set lawn chairs all over the yard, where, in the few places there was grass, it was flattened. In front of her sat the kiddy pool I remembered me and my older brother swimming in as kids. It was now filled with wet leaves and spiders. <br />
"Mom , why're you out here?"<br />
"Cynthi, you know what the doctor said. I'm going to die. There's nothing he can do, let alone me," my mother had a raspy, masculine voice that let you know she had always been a smoker. What you couldn't tell from her voice was that she was in the early stages of lung cancer.<br />
"At least don't smoke," I told her as I pulled a lawn chair for myself over next to her.<br />
"Oh, you always were the good one. That's why your were my least favorite," she joked. She threw the cigarette into the grass and stomped on it. We both laughed. It had always been a joke among us that. That my way of always trying to take care of her had gotten on her nerves. <br />
"So, mom, why'd you call me? Is everything alright?" She laughed a laugh that was raspier than her voice.<br />
"Yes Cynthi, everything is fine. There's, well, uh, something I need to tell you." This was the first time I'd heard my mom pause mid-sentence. She had always been so direct with her ideas. Her sudden stutter made me nervous. <br />
"What is it mom?"<br />
"Our family has, um, always had special <em>charms </em>as my dad called 'em."<br />
"You mean our drinking?" I asked. She laughed again. Her family had always had a bad drinking problem. From her dad, to her, to my older brother. We knew it wasn't a joke, but we also knew that a 60 year old with lung cancer shouldn't smoke. <br />
"No, not that. We have... powers." <br />
"Powers?" I was becoming less nervous and more confused.<br />
"I guess the best place to start would be with Arthur," she said. It was the first time I had heard her say my older brothers name since he'd passed away. <br />
"He could move things Cynthia. He could move things without touching them." I thought she was delirious. Too much sun? Not enough sleep? None of it sounded like my mom.<br />
"You mean like, <em>super powers?</em>"<br />
"Yeah. Kind of. I think in science fiction they called it telekinesis."<br />
"So, he could move things with his mind?" I wanted to tell my mom this was silly, she was joking. I could tell she wasn't.<br />
"He could. But it wasn't only him. My dad had powers, I have powers," she explained it intensely. Moving her hands and shaking her head. I could tell she was regretting throwing that cigarette into the grass.<br />
"So, you're telekinetic too?"<br />
"No. We all have different powers. My dad could look at people and persuade them to do things," with this I began thinking about how grandpa used to tell us to do chores and things when he visited. We always listened. "I can, heal people."<br />
"Heal people?"<br />
"When Arthur was... sick... I wanted to use it to save him," her eyes began to water. She almost never cried. It made me want to cry with her.<br />
"Why didn't you?"<br />
"Your dad said not to. He said people would wonder how we had cured him, how he had lived. He wouldn't even be our kid anymore but would live in a hospital, being poked and prodded in order to find out the truth," she was sobbing now, "Your dad was right, of course. He always was," she kind of laughed now. The laughing through the crying came out almost as a groan and sounded somewhat like her voice before the smoke. It made me smile a little, despite all of the crying.<br />
"So... do I have powers?" She wiped away the tears.<br />
"Yes Cynthia, you have them too. You just need to discover them. That's why I'm telling you. I'm going to die soon and I won't be able to help you when you discover it," she stopped crying. She picked up the glass, remembered that it was empty and set it back down. <br />
"Can't you just heal yourself?" I asked. <br />
"You know I can't Cynthia," she sighed. Her tears were gone. She was getting out another cigarette. I decided against telling her not to. "You can go now. Unless you wanna stay for dinner."<br />
"I have plans," I explained.<br />
"Okay. I'll see you later sweetie." I leaned down and kissed her. She was never one to kiss back, she always hid her feelings for whatever reason. But this time, she kissed back. <br />
"I'll see you mom." I opened my rusted red car door and got in. I looked out the window at my mom, who was waving. I waved back, looking at the kiddy pool again. Suddenly, in a small flash I saw me and Arthur in the pool. It was Fourth of July and we were spraying each other with water guns. Then it was gone. The third glimpse of the past that day. I pulled out, across the rickety gravel. Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-68745872487651805222015-02-24T15:03:00.003-08:002015-03-01T09:29:33.774-08:00Scar StoriesThe apartment was small, a lot of tight spaces that came with annoyingly common situations where everyone would meet at “mom’s house” for breakfasts or dinners or over the holidays. I never even considered it mom’s house anyway, after all, my older brother and I split the payments (despite the fact that he usually missed his and asked me if I could get it and he’d pay me back next week (which of course, never happened)). Now that my mom was so sick I stopped showing up to the house for celebrations when everyone else did. I tried to play it off as stress and depression (note that I used the word “tried”, indicating that, despite my attempt, my family didn’t believe me. <br />
Soon, my mother stopped visiting my father at his nursing home. I figured if she was that sick, whatever her illness was would surely kill her.I now stopped once a week to check up on dad (eyes always closed, breath always heavy with a faint smell of cigar smoke (was it really possible that smell had stayed that long?), his oddly crooked left arm, and a faint stubble on his normally clean-shaven face). Such visits involved nothing I minded. I waved to the pretty nurse at the desk upon entering, went and sat on a couch (as far away from the cigar smoke breath as I could) and read a magazine, then left, waving to the nurse again. My dad never required any assistance (and if he did, he’d much prefer that pretty nurse do it over me).<br />
I used these weekly visits as an excuse not to help my brother and sister with mom. She would prefer her sons help over any nurse and would definitely require the aforementioned help. So, I had managed to not go into that little apartment (which I continued to pay for, despite the fact that my mom probably should’ve gone into a nursing home too) for almost a year. And I was happy with this routine. That is where the true story begins, me (happy with the routine mind you) entering that house for the first time in over a year (nearing two, I realized as I stepped in to see that Christmas decorations littered the house). <br />
“Mom!” I called out. The close walls stopped my voice from carrying at all. Ii didn’t expect an answer. Instead I walked farther into the house until I heard the television running in her bedroom. As I entered she pulled her green eyes away from the television. <br />
“Henry?” she asked, squinting at me and moving her hand around for her glasses. I decided to spare her the trouble of finding out they were on her head.<br />
“No mom, Henry couldn’t make it, he’s going on a business trip with his family.”<br />
“Why didn’t Vanessa come?” I tried to mask the fact that it bothered me mom would expect Vanessa to take Henry’s week before me, despite the fact that she was the one who called me and complained how it wasn’t her week so she wasn’t going and explained that since I had never went I should be the one to have to go.<br />
“Vanessa couldn’t make it mom,” I lied.<br />
“Well,” my mom put her head back on the pillow and her eyes back on the screen, “I’m glad you could stop by.” Then, there was silence. I couldn’t just sit and read a magazine like with dad, so I just stood awkwardly in the doorway until finally mom said,<br />
“Come and sit Danny, I don’t bite,” without even taking her eyes off the television. I went and sat in the chair next to her bed. As opposed to my dad’s smell of cigar smoke my mom smelled like perfume. But not in a good way, in an overwhelming way, like she had taken several different perfumes and used the entire bottle on herself. Despite the smells strength I didn’t mind it, it was exactly what home had smelled like as a kid when she used to stand and walk, wafting the smell everywhere the went. Suddenly she turned the television off. I was surprised to see she’d gotten the remote and wondered if it had been in the bed with her. Then, she turned to face me.<br />
“Speaking of bite, what’d you think of getting me to my favorite chair and making something for us to eat?”<br />
Her favorite chair was one in the living room, one with a tacky old-school pillow with purple and red flowers on it. It was a dark wood that, at the top, curved into flowers themselves. She always took the pillow and used it under her head. In the kitchen I found almost nothing in the refrigerator and realized that both Henry and Vanessa were probably to “busy” to ever go shopping for her. Finally, I found some cheese and cut the mold off, then cut it into cubes. By the time I was done the cheese was hardened but I didn’t mind. On my way to bringing the plate back to my mom I popped a piece of cheese into my mouth. It was horrible. I set it into her hands anyway. As I sat down into the couch across from the chair I could tell she was turning her nose up at the cheese and then setting it on the table. Instead, when I was sat down, she was turning her nose up at me. <br />
“Daniel, I’ve tried to be nice enough about this but clearly you don’t care,” she said as the wrinkles turned up around her eyes. I sat there, somewhat shocked. My mother had never been one to get mad, about anything. I didn’t think I had ever heard her call me Daniel, even when she was mad at me, I was Danny. But her look remained. <br />
“You’ve never cared. You’ve always been the most ungrateful son I could ever ask for and now I am done!” she threw the plate to the ground. It shattered and the pieces of cheese bounced and stuck to the hard wood floor. “I need to tell you a story Daniel,” she wiped some of the tears and her wrinkles became smoother (or at least as smooth as they could get).<br />
“Mom…” I began, trying to calm her down,<br />
“No Daniel, just listen,” she interrupted. “When I met your father, he owned a bike. I thought he was amazing, the way his black hair blew in the wind, the stories he’d tell about him and his biker gang getting in fights and that’s where he got his black eye or his scar or this burn mark or whatever kind of injury he had that week.”<br />
I rolled my eyes, I’d heard this story so many times.<br />
“Well, soon I approached him one day, when he was outside the café I was working out, leaning against his motorcycle. He was holding his left arm weird and rubbing it. I told him I liked his bike.<br />
‘Thanks,’ he replied simply, more quiet than his normal, boastful self. I tried to get his attention again.<br />
‘Did something happen to your arm?’ I asked.<br />
‘Yeah,’ he said, again, quickly and quietly.<br />
‘How’d you get that one?’ I asked, eager to get him telling one of his usual wild stories. Instead he turned to me and grabbed me with his right arm,<br />
‘You wanna know what happened to my arm?!’ he shouted, pushing me against the wall, ‘my dad beats me, that’s where all of this comes from,’ he pulled his shirt sleeve down revealing bruise after bruise running up his arm. ‘My arm is broken!'”<br />
I listened to every word. This was not the story my father and mother had told us as kids.<br />
“I was scared, but, well you know your own mother Daniel. I looked your father in his watery eyes and said,<br />
‘Let’s run away together.’ He released his grip on my arm, and pulled his shirt sleeve down. <br />
‘Really?’ I nodded my head at him. Well, next thing I know we were on that motorcycle and leaving.”<br />
I suddenly thought of my fathers left arm. It must’ve healed wrong from that. I thought of the way he never wore short sleeves. He must’ve never been a fan of showing off the unexplainable bruises that littered his arms. Suddenly, I came back to reality. I looked at my mother.<br />
“What does this have to do with me?” I found myself asking in a way that sounded much more rude than I had intended. My mom laughed.<br />
“Your father hit me Daniel. He hit me and it’s a miracle he didn’t hit you guys. I hid it. I tried to act happy and nice. As far as I’m concerned I’ve done pretty well. But I’m scared Daniel. I’m scared that you have to much of your father in you.”<br />
“What do you mean?”<br />
“I mean I’m happy you’re not married yet,” my mother answered. It didn’t sound like my mom, who had done a good job of fooling us into believing she had always been nice.<br />
“Do Henry and Vanessa know this?” I asked her.<br />
“I’m not worried about Henry and Vanessa.”<br />
Suddenly, without thought, I stood, stepping over the plate and cheese. She was right. I didn’t care. I didn’t and didn’t think I could learn how. I leaned, kissed her wrinkled, tear streaked cheek and walked out of the cramped apartment.Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-8557468470961151312015-01-24T09:43:00.000-08:002015-02-28T10:34:44.283-08:00Kings of the Jungles<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It wasn’t the first time I’d <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">gone out with friends. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">At the time, I’d assumed it<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">wouldn’t be the last either.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My friends and I were<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">crazy. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The lives of the parties, <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">the kings of the jungles. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">That crazy went farther than<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">just parties though. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">That crazy went with us <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">on the road, in school, in public
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">where you wished for nothing more
than to<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">have an off switch, <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">to finish the night with the
flick of a wrist.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Unfortunately, you can’t.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">That night we were driving to one
of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">the parties. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">This one was a big one, an
all-nighter,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">the kind we’d skip school for the day
before, the day of and day after.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">For some reason, as if believing
there wouldn’t be<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">enough beer at the party, we
brought our own and<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">drank in the car. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We were a mess.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Barely dodging car wrecks,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">moving swiftly out of the way at
the last minute.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And then laughing.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We laughed at death.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We laughed in the face of death,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">spat in the face of death and
said,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Not
today.”<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We thought ourselves to be gods.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We were not gods. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Never would we be gods.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Nevertheless, <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">we thought ourselves gods<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">and we acted accordingly.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And, our entrance to the party
had<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">to be nothing less than <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">godly.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We came through the door <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">like a raging bull, <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">blasting into the party <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">and announcing our arrival.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Don’t
worry,”<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">we had said in<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">slurred voices,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“We’ve
arrived.”<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Most of it from there was blurry,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">dancing,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">drinking, <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">the entire world<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">tipping and spinning<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">with my every step.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The world listened to me<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">and I commanded it that night: we
danced.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Next thing I know I’m on the
ground,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">headache,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">burning white light in my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I felt as if the light would burn
me<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">if I stayed any longer so I <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">rolled to my side only to<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">realize that there was <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">someone next to me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Anyway, I tried to stand, <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">the world was still spinning but
I<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">was no longer spinning with it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Some of my friends were in the
room<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">too. I sighed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Sometimes I feared that this was
it for me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The high point of my life would
be my <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">reign of terror as the king of
the jungle.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">To this day I fear that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I still fear that I’m no better<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">than I was then and<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">never will be<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">because it’s so easy to <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">get it in your mind that since <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">change is so hard it’s<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">impossible. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">As much as I hope I’m <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">wrong I can’t bring myself<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">to face my fear <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">and just grow out of <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">the “king of the jungle”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I used to be<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">into the father <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I’m supposed to be today.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And when I stood up,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">head <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">aching,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">eyes<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">burning,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">world<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">spinning,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I realized that.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It’s odd that I’d had<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">the fear all along,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">had been to <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">more parties than I <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">could count,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">and yet this one,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">the same as the rest,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">had been the breaking point.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Was it just that this party<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">had been one to many?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Or that the pain in my head<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">and eyes had been enough<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">to change me?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Had the idea always been in my<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">head and I just then chose to <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">listen to my own thoughts?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It doesn’t matter. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">What mattered was that<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">despite my remaining fear,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">despite my inner lion,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">despite the feeling like I should
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">just collapse and <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">call it quits,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I left, and I’d like to think I
changed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I think maybe telling to you<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">helped.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Hopefully, it ended up having <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">meaning,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">it didn’t come out how it always
had in<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">my head:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">the nonsensical story of a man
who was so<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">scared of change that he changed.<o:p></o:p></span>Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-59978224023015050622014-10-21T16:35:00.000-07:002015-03-13T16:42:18.321-07:00DoorbellThe doorbell screamed at me louder than the "Trick-or-Treaters" did. I sat up in my bed and ran my hands through my hair. I felt like screaming. I felt like explaining to the kids who rang by doorbell that when my lights are off it means I'm not going to give them anything. Instead, I stood from my bed and decided I needed another drink. After I got to my kitchen and poured the drink I looked out the window and saw the scarecrow, zombie and clown standing on my porch still. They smiled. They thought nothing of it that I was trying to sleep. Trying to pretend Halloween didn't exist meaning that the grown-man dressed as the devil never broke into his home as a child and never killed his parents when they opened the door to give him some candy. I quickly shut the curtain I was peeking from and stomped back to my bedroom, turning of thee lights as I went. Halfway down the hallway leading back to my bedroom the doorbell rang again. Not even thinking I spun around and threw my full glass as hard as I could. It hit the wall and shattered, muffling the voice of someone standing in the hallway.<br />
"Trick or treat."<br />
I didn't care what or who said it, I ran at them and tackled them. Once on top of them I punched and punched until I could feel crunching under my fist. I finally pulled away and saw what I was punching. The boys zombie makeup looked much more realistic than it had out on the porch now that he was bleeding, and his eyes were swelled to the point that I don't think he could see. I stood and looked down at the hardly breathing body. Tears fell onto it. How had he even gotten in? It didn't matter, it didn't even matter if he had broken in now that I had done <em>this</em>. I didn't want to look at it. I began walking quickly back into my room. I told myself that didn't happen. It was memories of that one Halloween and beer working together to make this hallucination. I would go to bed, wake up in the morning and-<br />
and then something was behind me. Walking, now running, towards me. I turned again to see the skeleton boy running at me.<br />
"You've become what you fear! You're the man in the devil mask! You killed your parents!" he screamed. How did he know that? It didn't matter, he saw me kill his friend, this was real, he had seen what I did and now it needed to happen to him to. The kid reached me and pounced his skeleton mask partially crooked on his face. I took a nearby lamp, pulled it from the wall and swung like a bat at the skeleton. By unplugging the lamp I eliminated the last source of light in the hallway, making it so that the kid appeared to be nothing but a skeleton. This was no kid. This was a skeleton, just as that killer had been the devil. My swing was powerful enough to send him flying into a wall, but he had a good grip on my collar and I went flying with him. My head hit the wall and the kid was punching me with tiny fists. I took the lamp I still held and swung again. This time something broke. I hoped it was not my lamp, I hoped it was the kid. I hoped it was his skeleton bones snapping. Before I could know what the snap was the clown kid had his scarf pulled tight around my neck. I fell back but the clown kept pulling. I tried to hit him with the lamp but couldn't. As the home became darker, I remembered...<br />
<br />
<em>My parents passed out candy every year. They loved the smile on kids faces when the candy was dropped into their awaiting pillowcases. They loved those smiles more than me. And I knew it too. It was obvious. I despised them for it, for ignoring me while they gave to other parents children. Why did they not give me candy? Why did they not love my smile? So finally, my first year out of their home, I bought the devil mask. I knew they would despise it, being devout Christians. I would go to their home, wearing the mask and they would hate me. They wouldn't want a smile or to give me candy. Best of all they would ever know it was me, they'd think they hated some kid more than me.</em><br />
<em>I went to their door and opened my pillow sack.</em><br />
<em>"Trick or Treat," I called to my old mom who I hadn't seen in years. She did smile. She held out a handful of candy and told me to hold my pillowcase under it. I obeyed.</em><br />
<em>"Here you are," she said dropping the handful in. She didn't scowl. She didn't say anything about the devil was not a good costume. She just smiled and gave candy to me. She loved the devil more than me. So, reaching for my Swiss army knife I decided I would give her someone to hate for as long as she lived. Pushing her out of the doorway I removed the knife and...</em><br />
<br />
I looked where three dead, costumed kids sat in my hallway. How'd they get there? Was I truly the devil I feared I had become?<br />
<em>No</em>, I thought<em>, the devil doesn't need a mask</em>. And with that I removed it and prepared to hide the bodies.Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-2003545510236760572014-10-17T07:08:00.001-07:002014-10-17T07:08:31.472-07:00Beam Me UpHe sat in front of my cage, with his hat tipped slightly and a cigar sticking out from in between his lips. Two nameless men with guns stood on either side of him. <br />
"Where am I?" The man stood and looked down at me. Once he stood I learned that he was abnormally tall and had the dark eyes of a shark.<br />
"This is the S.S. Capone. My spaceship. And you're Lucky Leo right?" That's when I realized this man didn't want to talk to Leonard Day, the man who had just been interrupted on a sky diving trip. He wanted Lucky Leo, the man responsible for the deaths of hundreds, whether those deaths be orders or by his own hand.<br />
"I'm Lucky Leo," I answered.<br />
"Good. They call me 'The Gray Man', but you can call me Gray," he held his hand out and I took it and shook. "Your friend, that's 'Mr. Machine'?"<br />
"Mr. Machine?" <br />
"So you don't know yet..." Gray began walking away from the cage.<br />
"Don't know what?"<br />
"That you're a wanted man Leo," Gray turned back toward me.<br />
"Trust me, I know that I'm a wanted man."<br />
"No, not like this. You're a wanted man even up here Leo. Do you remember 'The Red Gang'?"<br />
"Yeah. They were a rival gang from a long time until I finally went in personally and killed the leader, 'Mars'. What about them?"<br />
"They were actual aliens. Like me. A rival gang of mine as well. We though we were done with them when you killed Mars," Gray stopped and blew smoke in my face, "but you just made things worse. A new leader rose, Mr. Machine. A robot built by Mars himself. Mr. Machine is now after you Leo. It's up to you to stop him..."<br />
"And Mr. Machine is my friend back on the plane?"<br />
"Exactly. That's why he pushed you off. The one thing he didn't count on was me saving you."<br />
"So now what? You send me back knowing all of this information? I live the rest of my life in fear of knowing anyone could be an alien or a robot?" I asked Gray, pushing myself against the bars of my cage.<br />
Gray whispered, "Well, it's either that or these two men shoot you. Your choice Leo. I'm a man of business. Don't think I won't go down to Earth myself and kill Machine. But I like you, and you're gonna go back down and kill him because I told you to," by the end of Grays sentence he was also up against the bars, sneering at me. <br />
"Then get to sendin' me back."<br />
"It's not that simple. If I send you back right now you'll continue falling to your death. You misunderstood what I meant by sending you <em>back.</em>"<br />
"In time?"<br />
"With this," Gray held out an oddly shaped silver gun.<br />
"Got it." <br />
"This is your only chance. If you fail this time, you die."<br />
"I understand," with this I slicked my hair back like a always did when I was Leo, "Beam me up Scotty."Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-28203533220116306142014-10-14T17:53:00.001-07:002014-10-14T17:54:05.782-07:00The Delivery Man<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“It’s
a scam. Don’t click it.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“But
what if it’s not? Imagine what I’d be missing out on…”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I’ll
tell you what you’d be missing out on: a virus in your computer, that’s what.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I
don’t care about this old computer; I’ve been meaning to get a new one anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“And…
great. You’ve clicked it and now have a virus in your computer. Good work…”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The
lights go off.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Umm…
what just happened?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I
have no idea, power outage? It is storming.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“No,
not the power. Look.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“That
ads still running…”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Yeah,
I know. It says…”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Congrats! You’ve won the three million!”<o:p></o:p></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Who
just said that? Did it come from your speakers?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No.
My speakers are off.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Well
then-”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Here you are.”<o:p></o:p></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Hundreds of bills suddenly fall into his hands,
released by a cold hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Who
is that?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Delivery Man. Delivering your three million
sir.”<o:p></o:p></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The lights return.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“What
was that?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I
have no idea. Is this a joke or something?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I
didn’t do it. Who was that third guy?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“No
idea. That was weird.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Wait,
is that real money?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Yeah,
I think so…”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“This
is actually three million dollars! Where did this come from?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Your
guess is as good as mine, but let’s spend it-”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The
computer beeps loudly before they can leave.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“What
was that?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“The
computer.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“What’s
it say?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“The
Delivery Man will be back later for his payment…”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“His
payment?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“I
don’t know dude… let’s just go, we have three million dollars!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The
two men leave the room, never noticing the eyeless creature sitting behind them
the whole time, wearing a blue uniform with a name tag: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Delivery Man.</i><o:p></o:p></span><br />
Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-72948211818625906932014-09-30T17:51:00.000-07:002014-09-30T17:59:26.323-07:00Lydia's Sorrow
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
wake up. Just like every other night she’s standing outside my window. Wearing the
pajama bottoms I let her wear last night when she got cold.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Go to sleep,”</i> she mouthed it, didn’t
say it. But I had heard her before; I knew where this was going.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Shh… just go to sleep. It’s alright. Go to
bed.”</i> I watched as her figure practically flew away from the window, the
legs of the Ohio State “block O” pants sailing by me. I didn’t want to get up.
I knew it wouldn’t do any good. This was never gonna change. I stood and ran
down the hallway and threw the front door open. I watched as she glided around
the house corner.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Lydia!” </i>I heard my voice scream but my
lips didn’t move. I went around the corner after her just to bump into her,
falling backwards into the snow. Just as I had last night, the night before,
and the night before, and the night-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“What’re you doing Lydia?” </i>She began
crying. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I don’t know Louis. I- I- it’s not you. I…”
</i>the sentence was lost in a mess of tears as her hand came up to her head.
That’s when I saw the gun. Even though I had been through this so many times,
every night the same thing, I still was shocked to see the gun. My chest still
sunk and I still stood back up as quick as I could to hold her other hand. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Lydia. Lydia, look at me.”</i> She turned
her head up towards me but the gun stayed at her head. I could feel the indent
of the block O’s under my hand. My favorite pants. The ones my dad gave to me.
All he left me after he died. With the way I acted, the way I ran away: I
expected nothing. And yet, I got these pants. She was the first girl I let wear
them…</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Louis.
I’m sorry. I- I can’t- Louis. I’m sorry.”</span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span></i><span><em>"Lydia…”
</em>then my ears
began ringing. I fell backwards. I hit the cold, white ground hard and began
crying for no reason.</span><br />
<span></span><br />
<span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
shoot up as my covers fall. I’m breathing heavy, I’m sweating and I can’t get
that final <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I’m sorry.”</i> out of my
head. I push the covers aside and begin to stand. I walk over to the dresser
and slowly open the bottom drawer. A tear falls onto the blood-stained, block
O, pajama pants.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Louis. I’m sorry. I- I can’t- Louis. I’m
sorry.”<o:p></o:p></i></span><br />
Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-66093571751263336552014-09-14T08:38:00.002-07:002014-09-14T08:43:37.324-07:00A Blue Room: Part IIINight fell fast and none of us were ready for it. We had gotten deep enough into the forest that turning back to spend the night in a city wasn't an option, but not deep enough that we could travel to the other side of the forest. We were in the center of the forest at the dead of night. <br />
"Good night," some unrecognizable voice said. <br />
"Good night," another voice mumbled.<br />
"Night," someone growled.<br />
"Good night," Selene's soft, recognizable voice cooed.<br />
"Night," I called back, finishing the "good nights" and letting the sleeping start. Little did I know, I wouldn't be able to get much sleep that first night.<br />
<br />
Screaming awoke me. I sat up and looked around. Lelantos and Selene had just waken up because of the scream too, but the old man and Carnage were missing. I tried to listen to the voice and guess who it was while I stood and took my sword from the satchel hanging on the side of my horse. Recognizing the voice as the old man's, I began pumping my legs as hard as I could, bringing myself towards the cry. Lelantos stood too and was running not to far behind me. When I found them the old man was on the ground, cowering away from Carnage who was thrashing a tiny, sharp object towards him. Carnage turned towards me, a wild look in his eyes. All I could do when he lunged towards me, the sharp thing held out in front of him, was jump out of the way. Lelantos was then there, holding Carnage and smashing the object in a huge fist. He held Carnage like a trophy. <br />
"What do I with him?" he asked turning towards first me, then the old man. I turned towards the old man too.<br />
"Kill him," the old man sneered with obvious hatred for the goblin. Lelantos turned towards me for confirmation, but I just remained silent, still in shock. Lelantos closed the fist that held Carnage, making it look like he had no neck to begin with. I turned away from the gruesome display and saw that the old man watched with a smirk on his face as the goblins body went limp. Lelantos dropped Carnage. <br />
"What happened?" Selene was suddenly standing there asking, with her hands over her mouth. <br />
"He tried to attack me," the old man mumbled, "tried to steal from me and run away in the night. He never actually wanted to help us, he only wanted to steal from us and go back to his life," when he finished his smirk had become a look of disgust. <br />
"Well, what do we do now?" I asked.<br />
"Keep going, we have no other choice. Be more careful, and don't die," Lelantos said. The old man nodded in agreement. I turned towards Selene who I could also see agreed. And, oh though it was still dark we gathered our things and began walking again. <br />
<br />
The city on the other side of the forest was smaller, but more civilized. Everyone knew each other and trusted each other. Everyone hated outsiders.<br />
"Here to bring the badness of the world to our quaint little city?" we were greeted by a man sitting on the ground. <br />
"No, we're here for a place to eat and sleep," I called to him, not even paying attention to the man himself. Soon we found an inn called "The Great Woods Inn". It was an elf inn, people wouldn't like it that we were staying there, but we didn't need any of these people to like us. As soon as we entered the inn Lelantos went to get a drink. The elves were scared of him because he was so large, and them so small so they quickly began serving him drink after drink. Me, Selene, and the old man went and sat at a table. Right when we sat down though, the old man said something that startled me.<br />
"We don't know Lelantos, maybe we oughta leave him behind." I looked over at Selene to make sure this startled her as much as it did me. It had, her eyes had become angry.<br />
"We'll need more than us three to stop Eos!" Selene cried across the table at the old man, "And if we didn't I'd think it be smarter to get rid of <em>you, </em>the weakest of us!" She stood and left to go get a room in the inn. The old man just sat there, calmly.<br />
"Fool," he mumbled, "she doesn't know that a traitor like that goblin can end us before we even me up with Eos, we oughta get rid of everyone but you and me Plutus," but I stood and left too. I was not going to sit and talk to this crazy old man any longer than I'd have to. As I was leaving I heard him shout. "You're making a mistake Plutus! Together, we'd be unstoppable!" I didn't look back, just went to my room. <br />
<br />
I lay on my back in the soft inn bed and think. How was it that the group I had handpicked to kill the greatest wizard of all time, was a thief, a vampire, an conspiring old lunatic, a warrior with no heart and myself, a useless fighter. What had made me think this was a good idea? <br />
<em></em><br />
<em>"</em><em>I do. You're right. What kind of survivor would I be if I didn't want revenge? But that doesn't mean I need to plan on actually one day getting it."<br /> "And why not?"<br /> "Because we never will."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
The old man, the old man had convinced him that despite the fact that it wouldn't work, it was the hunger for revenge that would keep the plan going.<br />
"Having trouble getting to sleep?" Selene suddenly asked from my door way.<br />
"You too?"<br />
"I doubt Lelantos and that old fool are getting any sleep either," she said as she walked over and sat on the side of my bed. <br />
"Do you think we should just give up, do you think there was never a chance of success in the first place?" I asked her.<br />
"Those are two different questions," she answered, "We shouldn't give up, but was there ever a chance of success? The definite answer is no. We were just not meant to win." I sat up and looked into her solid black eyes. <br />
"If there's no chance than why not give up?"<br />
"Because there's also no chance we'll be doing anything else with our lives." I stared at her. I saw that girl I could've killed but didn't. I took a small golden dagger from the dresser next to my bed. "What's that?" she asked, moving her head to face the shiny weapon.<br />
"The dagger I was going to kill you with, that night we met. It was made to kill vampires. I kept it and fought with it. It's weak against humans but that didn't stop me," I whispered to her.<br />
"Are you going to kill Eos with it?" she smiled.<br />
"Hopefu-" something thudded against my door. We both turned towards the noise. I put away the dagger and drew my sword, she readied her fangs. I kicked the door down and a body leaned against it went flying. I recognized it as the elf that had served Lelantos. The entire hall was littered with elves. I ran down the hall where, at the bottom of the stairs, I found Lelantos, dead too. Me and Selene both knew who had done this. Eos.<br />
<br />
We ran out of the inn and into the forest, following laughter.<br />
"What do we do when we find him?" Selene asked nervously. Suddenly, a flash of blue light came down from the sky towards me. I looked up just in time to see, the old man, floating in the air, the light coming from his outstretched hands. Then Selene jumped in front of me and took the impact. Just like that she was gone. I looked up again, now that the blue light had disappeared. The old man floated there, grinning. <em>Eos</em> floated there, grinning. Eos had been with us all along. Had killed an innocent Carnage, had killed Lelantos, and now, Selene. I threw aside my sword and drew the tiny, golden dagger. Eos shot another bolt of light. <br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I ignored the shouting behind me. I ignored the blood that came out of my nose, my ears, and my mouth as I ran through the blue light. I felt like I lost all control of my body but the arm holding the small golden, jeweled dagger stayed up, ready when I reached Eos. But suddenly, the blood was gone. The shouted was silenced. I regained control.</span><br />
<em></em><br />Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-91764937321326894502014-09-10T17:30:00.001-07:002014-09-10T17:30:21.048-07:00A Blue Room: Part II The sun made it look as if the flames coming off of my city were going up into the clouds. Even though this was not the case the flames certainly did leap high. I just watched as my city collapsed. There was nothing I could do for it now. I would instead go and find the person who burned it, Eos. But I knew I wouldn't be able to take him on my own, I'd need help. As if reading my mind a voice suddenly spoke.<br />
"You want revenge don't you Plutus?" an old looking man asked me, not tearing his eyes away from the fire.<br />
"You don't?" I muttered, turning back towards the fire.<br />
"I do. You're right. What kind of survivor would I be if I didn't want revenge? But that doesn't mean I need to plan on actually one day getting it."<br />
"And why not?"<br />
"Because we never will," the wise man finally turned towards me. "None the less I'm going to help you. Because my want for revenge has gotten the better of me," the old man sighed and then held his hand out to me. I struggled to take my eyes away from the final view of my city I'd get. When I finally managed to look at the old man I shook his hand.<br />
"We'll need more people," I explained.<br />
"Then we'll get more," he said.<br />
<br />
So, me and the old man gathered a group of people. Carnage, a goblin who's family had been killed by Eos before he even knew them. Carnage himself had been left living just so he could suffer through life without knowing his parents. We'd chosen him because he'd become bitter and was small and sneaky, could steal and hide. Lelantos, a huge brute of a man who was claimed to have been one of the few people ever to fight Eos and live to tell the tale. He was a valuable warrior and smart when it came to hunting, which would come in handy while tracking Eos down. The last person we needed was a vampire. Luckily I already knew one by the name Selene. I'd met her when a group of vampires began attacking my city before it was burned. As I crept through the night, killing every vampire I had contact with, I bumped into Selene.<br />
"Run," I found myself saying against my better judgment. The young vampire girl looked at me, brushing black hair out of her face revealing deep black eyes.<br />
"Why?" she asked through a mouthful of blood.<br />
"Because you're young. You don't need to die this way." She smiled at me.<br />
"First time with vampires, huh? I'm older <em>than you. </em>But I accept. I'll run. You wouldn't kill little ol' me," and with this she darted away. I watched as she ran. She may not have been young but I wouldn't be the one to kill her, I promised myself that. She was one of the good ones.<br />
<br />
We arrived at an inn where rumor had been spread that she'd been staying. Me, Carnage, Lelantos and the old man stood outside the inn.<br />
"If you guys don't mind, I'll go in on my own."<br />
"It's fine, we'll wait," the old man mumbled. I entered the inn and was hit with a strong smell of alcohol. I cringed. Someone bumped into me.<br />
"You got business here?" a buff voice asked. I couldn't take it. I drew my sword and stabbed the owner of the gruff voice. <br />
"I do," I answered his question as he fell to the floor, getting blood on my clothes and shoes. Suddenly, someone was at my side. A soft voice whispered into my ear. I recognized it immediately.<br />
"I know," it said, "that I owe you. We can go to my room here."<br />
<br />
The room smelt no better, but I had begun to get used to it. <br />
"So," she said, "you've finally come back for me."<br />
"What?"<br />
"You're finally gonna kill me, right?" she asked. She looked the same as when I first met her. Her black eyes didn't look angry though, she seemed content with the idea of me killing her. Like she'd <em>expected </em>it.<br />
"I'm not going to kill you. Selene, why would I want to kill you?" I was so confused and shocked.<br />
"That's what most of them want Plutus. That's what vampires are <em>for. </em>So, if you're not gonna kill me what're you here for?"<br />
"I've got a different use for vampires Selene. It's said that they're immune to magic, we want you to help us fight Eos."<br />
"Us?" she asked. I was surprised this was her concern rather than the fact I was asking her ot help me kill one of the most feared wizards of all time.<br />
"I've gathered a group of people who want revenge on Eos too. A group selected specifically for their individual talents that together, we'd defeat Eos. All we need is a vampire Selene," she cut me off.<br />
"I'll do it. Anything to get out of this inn. But we've gotta leave now Plutus."<br />
"Of course we can."<br />
And then the band of misfits was off to fight the most powerful wizard ever. Just like that my dream of revenge was one step closer to coming true. And oh though in my mind everything didn't play out nice I was nowhere near prepared for what was ahead.<br />
Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-28843837231007077362014-09-09T13:37:00.000-07:002014-09-10T14:36:16.149-07:00A Blue Room: Part I<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
ignored the shouting behind me. I ignored the blood that came out of my nose,
my ears, and my mouth as I ran through the blue light. I felt like I lost all
control of my body but the arm holding the small golden, jeweled dagger stay
up, ready when I reached Eos. But suddenly, the blood was gone. The shouted was
silenced. I regained control. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“You’re
not in the forest anymore,” a soft female voice whispered to me. I looked
around. The voice was right. I wasn’t in the forest anymore. The forest had
changed to a blue, glowing room. As if the magic had engulfed me and turned the
forest to nothing but magic. Then I saw the owner of the voice. It was Selene,
who had gone with us on our quest. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“Selene?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes
Plutus, it is me. When Eos cast that spell on me this is where I went,” Selene
explained. I guessed I had gone there because of the spell he’d casted on <em>me.</em> I studied Selene's shark-like eyes, solid black yet somehow soft, somehow comforting. She was a vampire, brought along because we'd been told vampires were immune to Eos' magic. We'd been proved wrong early in our quest.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"What should we do?" I asked Selene. Suddenly her eyes became cold as I would've expected a vampires eyes to be. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"Well. I don't know about you but I'm hungry." She suddenly lunged towards me, fangs shining in the blue light. I barely dodged out of the way. She brought her head back up to face me again, hissing with the movement. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"Selene wait-" but she lunged at me again and this time got a hold of me. As I writhed against Selene I began to accept my fate as Selene's meal. But suddenly I remembered the golden dagger held with a piece of cloth to my waist. I reached for it and stabbed Selene quickly, not even thinking long enough about where to stab her. When the dagger lunged into her neck she began stumbling backwards, gagging and coughing up blood all over me. I pushed her away and she stumbled backwards on the blue floor. I tried to wipe the blood off of me but it just smeared on my body and hands. I finally thought to look back at Selene who's eyes had turned back to normal. Through the blood and new tears she had begun laughing. I slowly walked up to her and stood over her, holding the bloody dagger to my side. Her laughing pierced through me and I realized that she was Selene again, not the blood-thirsty thing that had just lunged at me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"Thank you Plutus. Thank you. You have no idea what this room was doing to me." Once she spoke I kneeled down and held her head. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"No," I whispered, then screamed. "No! I didn't want to kill you! You were my friend-"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"It's okay Plutus. You've done me a favor. Now do one for yourself and find your way out. You still need to defeat Eos." Her eyelids drooped as if weights were attached to them, suddenly and witht their fall a different voice emerged from the blue.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"Plutus. I didn't think you'd be the last one left. I figured you'd surely snap before Selene. But, here we are," Eos' voice snarled behind me. Without dropping Selene's head I gripped my dagger tighter. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"You did this. This is your fault," I spit back, without even looking at Eos.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">"Then come and get your revenge Plutus." After some thought I decided I would get my revenge and turned to face Eos. I would get my revenge.</span>Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-91945366492729712012014-09-02T17:37:00.000-07:002014-09-03T12:46:59.717-07:00Two-Tone"Hello?" <br />
"Yeah? Who's there?"<br />
"Dave, David. This is my house... who's in my home?"<br />
"Who do you think is in your home Dave? Guess. Who's <em>always </em>in your home."<br />
"Ummm... I don't know... I'm usually alone. Who is it?"<br />
"Dave."<br />
I enter the room and see myself sitting at the chair, watching TV in my chair. He stands and offers the seat to me.<br />
"Sorry, I was just keepin' it warm for you. It is a really comfortable chair isn't it?"<br />
"Yeah. My favorite."<br />
"Well, I know it's your favorite I <em>am </em>you."<br />
I sat in the chair.<br />
"So, uh, I don't really know how to ask this. How'd you get here?"<br />
"Drove here from work."<br />
"But, I mean, how is there two of me?"<br />
"Does it matter? It's not like I'm takin' your chair or somethin'."<br />
I thought for a minute.<br />
"I guess not."<br />
I finally sat in my chair and looked towards the TV. My show was on. <em>Our </em>show was on.<br />
"So, Dave, how was your day at work?"<br />
"Good. Well, I mean, except what Mr. James did."<br />
"I know right, can't he ever just mind his own business?"<br />
I laughed at my own joke.<br />
"I guess there's no such thing as a nice boss."<br />
"You can say that again."<br />
"I guess there's no such thing as a nice boss."<br />
This time he laughed at his own joke.<br />
"At least we can get home and sit down and watch TV."<br />
"Yeah. Plus it's nice to have someone to talk to."<br />
<br />
"He's talking to himself, what should we do?" the man asked gesturing to the man, Dave, living in the artificial world, completely alone.<br />
"We can't interfere. If creating "imaginary friends" is his way of coping then we need to record it, not criticize it."<br />
"No, seriously, the man responded, "he's talking to <em>himself.</em>"<br />
Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-30465066937123549462014-08-27T17:23:00.001-07:002014-08-27T17:39:17.056-07:00Therianthropy IIClick <a href="http://loadedbook.blogspot.com/2014/08/therianthropy.html">here</a> if you haven't read Therianthropy I<br />
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Suddenly, banging. My eyes opened as if I was never asleep. My heart dropped into my chest, my breath was gone. Another bang. I could hear more teachers waking up. Another bang, this time followed by growling. A teacher behind me sat straight up and gasped so loud that afterwards everything became silent. No one breathed. No one banged. No one growled. I felt a tear drip down my face. <br />
"They're in there. I hear them," a whisper screamed at us from above the trapdoor. The complete silence returned immediately once the whisper was finished. There was a human up there, not a wolf. But suddenly, another growl. Was there a wolf? Suddenly I heard loud sobbing on my right.<br />
"Yup. That's them." At this the trap door slammed and a kid jumped down, followed by two wolves. There was screaming, blood flew from the wolves. All of the teachers began running to one side of the bomb shelter. I ran with them. Laughing and growling and screaming bombarded me. The human kid stood and watched as the wolves tore apart some of the other teachers, laughing maniacally. <br />
Once the wolves finished their current meals they began making their way to the back of the bomb shelter where the rest of the teachers were screaming. The human kid finally didn't see the humor in the wolves killing us teachers one by one and began working his way back up the ladder. <br />
"Adios," he said calmly, shutting the trap door on his way out. The wolves pounced on another kid when suddenly two bright flashes blinded me and a loud boom made a loud ringing block any other sounds. Both wolves fell suddenly (or at least, two brown and gray blobs fell, that I assumed were wolves). I stood for a minute until my vision cleared and the ringing ended. Teachers were still screaming. I pushed through the crowd of teachers to find not two dead wolves, but two dead students. Laying on the dirty concrete floor of the bomb shelter were two students, one of which I recognized as Sarah Evans. A straight A student who had always known the answers, always been <em>good. </em>And now she was lying before me with a bullet hole in her chest, blood pouring from her and being coughed from deep in her throat. Again I cried. Once I found myself turned away from Sarah I realized the other teachers were confused.<br />
"Where'd the gun come from?" someone asked.<br />
"The student dropped it."<br />
"The student had <em>a gun</em>?" with this the murmuring got louder and became full fledged panicked screaming. <br />
"How'd he get a gun?"<br />
"Do they all have guns?"<br />
"Maybe we should just give up-"<br />
But I stepped up and interrupted the panic. <br />
"We were able to take two of them weren't we?" I asked the other teachers as they grew silent, "Who says we can't take more? Maybe there are more of them that are just humans, unarmed. Maybe we have to go on a little hunting trip and take out some wolves. Or maybe this is the war we feared and they all have guns, and some of us will die. But the point is that they can't take us all. Not if we're together. So who says we go up there and fight, rather than hide here like cowards?" I asked. Voices soon began saying "Me", or "I" and together those would be "us". We were all going up there. We planned it out, gave a certain person the one gun we had and began our way up. I was the last to go up. As I planted my hand onto one rung of the ladder I looked back at Sarah, now dead. I remembered the wolves eyes when I first saw them. The eyes of kids, innocent kids who'd never kill a teacher. Who'd never wield a gun. Then again, I never took myself to be much of a leader. I began the climb to the battleground.Not-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-212336447416113066.post-80226130524265609872014-08-26T13:30:00.000-07:002014-08-27T17:40:48.971-07:00TherianthropyThis wasn't the first time he'd been caught cutting class. In fact, most teachers had to keep an eye on him all the time, for a long time he could only use the bathroom during lunch and had to be back within a certain amount of time. So I wasn't surprised when I heard snickering coming from the bathroom. <br />
"I know you're in there," I shouted into the stall, "Get out here!" The snickering stopped for a minute and then I could hear what sounded like an attempt to breath quietly. Suddenly another teacher entered.<br />
"What's going on here?" I just pointed to the bathroom door and the other teacher understood, but he looked surprised.<br />
"I have someone in here too. He asked to go at the beginning of class and hasn't been back yet." When I still didn't get a result I pounded on one of the stall doors. Something pounded back. The other teacher looked at me and rolled his eyes like so many students had. I know for a fact he would've yelled at a student for doing that, but I just ignored it. Just then the door flew open and a brown blur knocked me against the tiled bathroom wall. I squinted my eyes and clenched my teeth, seeing only the brown blur jump at the other teacher next. Once I was able to stand I looked at the other teacher. Blood was everywhere. He was dead, he had to be. I couldn't believe it, what was going on? What had that kid done? I walked over to the stall. There was the other kid that had been cutting class, also bleeding, his shirt off.<br />
"What's going on?" I asked. He only writhed on the ground and groaned, holding his arm where there was what seemed to be a bite mark. Then, screaming cam from another room. I heard <em>growling. </em>I rushed in to see what was going on. Another dead teacher and this time I could see the brown blur clearly. It was a wolf, and there was more than one. Some kids were mid transformation. They were different colors, and their eyes were still the eyes of the simple kids that sat in class and answered questions, or the kids that cut class, the kids that I'd see walking through the hallways laughing and joking with the others. But their faces had long snouts, some covered in blood and some ready to be covered. One pounced at me and I went running down the hall. A wolf jumped from the bathroom, presumably the kid who I'd seen with the bite, now transformed. He knocked me into a locker and for a second my vision went blurry. All that existed were me and blood caked claws that just thrashed and thrashed at me. Then the world came back as that wolf began chasing other teachers through the hallways. Wolves poured from every classroom. Suddenly a voice was calling for me quietly. I turned towards where there was a trap door leading to an unused bomb shelter under the school from when it was first built. It was open the tiniest bit so the voice could travel to me. I crawled and ducked under wolves until I was at the trap door. It raised for a split second as I was yanked down into it, ruling the ladder useless. I looked around at several other teachers and some staff members I didn't even know. <br />
"The wolves can't open this trap door," one teacher explained, "we'll be safe."<br />
"What if they turn back into humans?" another teacher asked through tears.<br />
"Then it's war."<br />
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Click <a href="http://loadedbook.blogspot.com/2014/08/therianthropy-ii.html">here</a> to read Therianthropy IINot-Only But-Also Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04535660257438463722noreply@blogger.com0