Lamiae

Their arms were wrapped tightly around each other in a passionate embrace.  They were kissing furiously, their lips glued together.  He'd never felt like this before, so inflamed with love.  He wanted her.

He wanted her blood.

What? Where did that come from? he thought to himself.

They continued to kiss.  The urge to bite her grew stronger.  He stopped kissing her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm...I'm not feeling well...I should go," he said.

"Oh...is everything okay?  You look a little pale."

"Oh do I?  Yeah I'm...I'm fine.  I'll see you tomorrow alright?"

"Okay...I'll call you alright?"

"Alright."

He pulled on his jacket and went outside.  When he got to his car he got in and locked the doors and sat there.  He looked at his arms.  They were pale.  He wanted to cut them, to drink the blood.  His own blood?  What was wrong with him, why was he thinking like that.  He stared at his skin for a while, the longing to spill his own blood slowly crept away and he took a few deep breaths.  He just was not feeling right, a good night's sleep would help.  That would make him feel better.

He started the car and began to drive.  Drive.  Drive.  Drive.

He woke the next morning with a bad headache.  He crawled out of bed and walked into the bathroom.  He fumbled around in the cabinet for some pain killers.  When he found them he closed the cabinet and noticed his reflection in the mirror, or rather, his lack thereof.  He saw nothing in the mirror but the reflection of the bathroom around him.  His body was not displayed in the image at all.  He closed his eyes and rubbed them and opened them again.  Nope, still no reflection.  Disturbed and wanting to get out of the bathroom he turn.  He hit the door on accident and jammed his arm into the handle.  The stupidly pointed, metal handle cut him and he began to bleed.  The sight of blood gave him an elated feeling.  He had the urge to drink it.  He shook his head and went back to the cabinet for a bandage.  Ignoring his absent reflection and his bloody urges he bandaged his arm and then went to the kitchen for some breakfast.

He put the stove on a low heat.  He put some butter in the pan and spread it around then cracked two eggs in it.  He took some spinach and shredded it with his hands and sprinkled it in.  He grabbed salt, pepper, onion powder, and garlic powder from the cupboard.  He sprinkled on the ingredients, but when he got to the garlic he stopped.  As soon as he opened the bottle the smell of garlic filled his nostrils and he felt sick.  He closed it and took some deep breaths.  Finally the smell dissipated and he finished cooking the eggs.

As he ate he thought about the strange things that were happening to him.  He knew what he was, but what he did not know was how he came to be one.  He thought they were only legends, stories, myths.  He wondered if he could turn into a bat and fly.  He tried.  He thought really hard.  Nothing happened.  Oh well, it was worth a try.  He saw no fun in being a vampire if he could not fly, but then again, you can't ave everything.

He finished his eggs and went into his office to begin work.  His phone rang.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Babe it's me, how are you feeling this morning," his girlfriend asked.

"Oh, much better I think."

"What do you think was wrong."

"Well, nothing is wrong, really...it's just...I'm a vampire."

What's Joy?

I could try to explain how I feel

But that might get a little silly

I just feel giddy you know?

Like, I can't exactly explain it

I'm just super happy and cheerful

The why factor, well life I guess

Life is so beautiful sometimes

I guess my life is pretty good

I must have done something right

For once at least, because

She's all mine, she loves me

So I guess I win in the end

And all that I've lost was nothing

I needed in the first place

And I'm just super happy

I'm not one for big words

But the word beatific comes

To my mind at this moment

That's just great I think

I'm feeling...dandy just dandy

I think I'll go for a walk

I Don't Want To Be Here

Do you know what it is like to lose someone?  I think it I do...or last, sort of what it feels like.  Because I lost myself...and that is hard.  It is a hard thing to lose yourself, to lose sight of who you were.

You forget yourself, the thoughts you had, the way you were...it sort of gets left behind.  And I think I don't want to be here, forgotten on the side of the road, left behind by my own self.

Then I stop and wonder, maybe this is exactly where I am supposed to be.  Maybe I'm doing everything I'm supposed to be doing.  Never perfectly of course, never good enough.  I will never be good enough.

But maybe what I'm doing is just right...just right.  Maybe I do want to be here.  Maybe I could be happy here.  No, I'm not the same person I used to be.

I have changed a lot I suppose...I'm different to say the least.  But I'm still me...and maybe, just maybe this is the place for me.  I do want to be here.  I wouldn't ask for anything to be different, because everything is right.

I am not my own, all I have is not my own, so why try to change, why worry, why not just be satisfied.  I want to be here.  This is where I belong, this is where I will stay.  This is who I am.

So let me be this way and don't try to stop me, because I'm doing it the way He designed...I was seeking so long for something more when it was right in front of me all along.  Well I am done.

This is where I am, where I will always be and I am satisfied, finally satisfied, finally ready to accept.  It took me long enough.  But this is where I belong, this is where I will stay.  This is who I am.

Who Are You Even?

"So I met this guy.  He was a crazy guy.  Always going on and shouting about voices that would tell him crazy things.  All sorts of conspiracies and stuff, you know.  He was trying to warn me about the government doing something, trying to take over our lives with computers or something.  He kept going on and on about it, saying how it was so important we protect our brains."

"That's pretty crazy I guess."

"You're tellin' me!  I said to the guy, I think you're pretty much safe as you are.  You don't need to worry about anything.  He just walks away shouting about it still, leaves me like he never talked to me at all....So my daughter is in a talent show at school.  She's playing the flute.  She's been playing since she was old enough to talk.  She's ten now.  She's a real angel, let me tell you.  If you've ever seen a cuter kid I'll give you a hundred bucks!  Here take a look at this picture of her!"

"She's cute alright."

"Yeah she is.  She's so excited to be in the talent show bless her heart.  She's been practicing all day....My wife was at the grocery store the other day and some guy just cuts her off, steals her spot you know! Now my wife, you gotta understand she's no pushover.  She tells the guy off and she tells me he starts cussing her out! He's gotta alotta nerve!  Oh boy, let me tell you if I had been there that guy would have been sorry!  You know what I'm saying?  People have some nerve don't they?"

"Yeah...they sure do..."

"I know, I know some people seem to be totally oblivious, thinking they are the only person in the world or something.  Oh look at me, I'm God's gift to me....Well anyway, my boss gave me a couple tickets to a football game, I figured I would take my son, have some good father son bonding time, you know?  I think that would be nice you know what I mean?"

"Nope.  I don't really give a crap.  Bye."

"Oh...ok...bye..."

This Story Will Never Be Finished

He ran around a corner and down an alleyway.  It was dark and he kept knocking over trashcans.  The men chasing him were gaining on him.  It would be only a matter of time before they caught him, and then who knew what would happen then.  He came out of the alleyway to another street.  He ran down it passing people who gasped as he rushed passed them.  The men were almost upon him now.

One of the men tackled him to the ground.  He struggled but he could not get free.  He felt a pain in his head and then everything went black.

When he awoke he was-

The Rising

There was a hole in the earth again.  It was like the others, the dirt pushed away like something had pushed it out from beneath.

The villagers were baffled.  More and more graves were now missing their inhabitants.

The sky was growing darker every day it seemed, as if the sun was slowly being eaten up by blackness.

The dead roamed the hills seeking a future that had ended so long ago with their lives.

The earth shook and groaned every now and then, but it kept on turning.

Idem

"How'd you get a job as a reporter?" I asked her as we stood waiting to leave.

"I sort of stumbled upon it, I just happened to meet my boss, I was a writer, he needed someone, I started out as an intern of course," she replied.  She spoke fast.

"Do you like your job?"

"Yes, very much."

"That's good."

"Mmhmm...what's your name?"

"Phil, and your's?"

"Anne.  Good to meet you."

"You too."

Me and Anne and two other reporters who I was less interested in speaking to stood around while the soldiers prepared the two trucks.  We were headed into dangerous territory, lead by Captain Higgens of the 5th battalion.  I was neither a reporter or a soldier, but camera man.  I worked alone, selling footage to news companies.  I had been invited along by the Captain.  The reporters were there to get the story if the South City.  This was a war zone basically.  It was ruled by a terrorist group called The Frumentarii.  We were to get a good news story and get out before trouble struck.  The soldiers were there to make sure things went smoothly.

"Mount up!" shouted Captain Higgens.

We climbed onto the trucks.  My camera sat at my side, ready to record at a moments notice.  Anne climbed in at sat down next to me.  The two other reporters sat in the second truck behind us.  The Captain and two other soldiers and the driver were also in our truck.  The remaining soldiers were in the other truck.  We set out down the road.  The driving was smooth and easy for the first half hour of the trip, but the deeper we got into the city the more uneasy I began to feel.  I wasn't the only one, the soldier next to me gripped his gun tighter and the other soldier had a frightened look on his face.  The Captain was stoned faced, set in his mission.

Suddenly there was an explosion behind us.  The truck behind us went up in flames and the yells of the soldiers and other reporters were heard and then cut short.  A van sped up ahead of us.  The back doors opened and two men shot hooks onto our truck.  The van swerved and the hooks pulled our truck so that it spun out and flipped over.  Everything was a jumble and when we stopped rolling we were upside down.  Te hooks were still on our truck but the cables had been cut, and up ahead I saw the van parked.  Several men were approaching us, all armed with guns.  I undid my seat belt and fell to the ground.  Before I could to anything else arms reached under the truck and dragged me out.  I was hit in the head and everything went black.

I awoke what must have been hours later in a dimly lit room.  I was tied to a chair.  Next to me, also tied to chairs, were Anne and Captain Higgens.  Another hour passed and finally someone came into the room.  Several men actually walked in, dressed in black, their faces covered by wraps.

"What were you doing the South City?" asked the man in the lead.

"We were reporting," said Anne.  She was frightened, I could tell by her voice.

"Reporting what?"  the man asked.

"The situation...the life, that's all," I said.

"Why did you need soldiers for that?" the man asked.

"We were there simply to make sure the reporters got in and out safely," replied Captain Higgens.

The man nodded to the man to his right and the man grabbed the Captain and dragged him out of the room.  The leader pulled out a gun.

"Now, which one of you is going to tell me the truth about why you are here?" he said, the pistol hanging loosely at his side.

"We already told you the truth!" said Anne tears now rolling down her cheeks.

"I hate to ruin a pretty face but..." before I knew what was happening the man raised the gun and shot Anne in the head.  Blood splattered on my face.

"What did you do that for?" I shouted.

"You're next unless you tell why you were in South City."

"We told you, we were there to report the city's current conditions and maybe interview some of the people.  The soldiers were there to make sure we stayed safe."

"Well...they didn't do a very good job did they?"

The man pulled off his mask.  I gasped.  It was the soldier that had been sitting across from me, the one who had looked so frightened.  He smirked as he raised the gun and pointed it right between my eyes.

"Last chance," he said.

"What will you gain by killing me?"

"Nothing, but you'll only be an annoyance if we let you live."

"Just let me go."

"And miss out on shooting you in the head?  No thanks, killing is something I really, really enjoy.  Call me sick, but I can't help it.  So, if you aren't going to tell me anything else I think I'll shoot you now."

"Before you kill me...I just want to say, scio qui sis.  Lingua loquor."

"How?" he asked astonished

"I've studied it for years, I figured it might come in handy some day," I said, glad to buy myself some time.

"Lorem.  Me et te reservabunt."

"Malo mori."

The Quiet Room-Not So Silent

It was a small square room with a single window in the middle of the ceiling, letting in light, but very little.  The room was dark and thick with dust.  It was cold and damp with chipped and peeling paint on the walls.  In the center sat a single man, curled up in a fetal position.  He rocked back and fort murmuring things to himself, inaudible things that faded away into the nothingness that surrounded him.  He was talking back to the voices in his head.  They whispered things at him, terrible things that made him afraid.  Never before had he been so afraid, and no one was helping him.  Fear was griping at his very throat and his breathing was heavy and rapid.  Tears spilled from his eyes uncontrollably and he pulled at his hair over and over again.  The voices would not leave him alone, they echoed around his mind.  No matter how many times he told them to leave they never left, only grew louder.  His whole body ached and shook and trembled and it was all he could do to not scream at the top of his lungs.  But his mutterings went on and on, the tears continued to fall, an his body continued to shake.  The fear was always there and ever present, it would not go away.  The voices would not leave him alone.  He just wanted them to leave him alone!  Why would they not just go AWAY!

Then a door opened and a voice called out his name.  The voice was not in his head, it was not his own, it was a woman, calling his name.  Calling him back to reality.  Because the voices...they were not reality.  They weren't real.  They weren't real.  They weren't real...

The Bombs Dropped-Preface to a book I am writing

 There was a sound like thunder and the ground cracked in two. A massive cloud of fire and smoke erupted towards the sky and a rushing shock wave blew outwards in all directions. Buildings were demolished miles around and the radiation seeped into the crevices of the earth. Hundreds of thousands of people were dead, consumed by flames or having the life crushed out of them by sheer force of power. Tree and shrubs were stripped of their leaves and branches and even the bark. The devastation was intense and unlike any other the world had ever seen. The bombs dropped and the world went up in flames and was consumed by fire and radiation leaving few survivors. Eighty-five percent of the population was dead. Fourteen percent were mutated into horrible monsters with a thirst for blood. The remaining one percent were poisoned with enough radiation to grant them long life, but at the cost of having some painful sickness like a bloody cough or awful migraines that plagued them for the rest of their lives.

As time progressed the population slowly began to increase. The survivors started colonies, formed alliances, and began to rebuild. A powerful government arose called The Council lead by a mysterious power-hungry leader known only as The Judge. The Council took it upon themselves to rule over the land that became known as Mandolia. All the villages became under the rule of The Judge who sat on his throne in the capital castle Rockheart.

Strange human beings with super powers started appearing throughout the land. They became known as Light-bringers and became the heroes of the wastelands. They brought justice and order to the land, but also began to oppose the forces of The Council. Though some were not so good intentioned and joined forces with The Council. Even still they were Light-bringers, bringing forth light into the new world.

Slowly the world began to rebuild itself, but not without conflict. The winds of war blew even as the world struggled to survive.

The Burial House

Thum lay in a rocky mountainous region where nothing but a rare type of mushroom grew. It was a small town with a steady population of around three hundred people. Often enough new members were born, and often enough members died, and when they died they were sent to The Burial House.

In this strange and eerie building lived the mysterious creatures known as the Consumers. No one knew what they looked like as they were cloaked in black with tall hoods that covered their faces in shadow, but they were certainly not human. Their duty was to carry away the dead and dispose of them. But what was always wondered was how they were disposed of. The story that was told was that the Consumers simply buried the dead deep under ground in catacombs. However, many of the citizens complained that they were never allowed to see their loved ones before they were carried off and consumed in flame or earth, or whatever was done with them. An investigation was put out by the own sheriff, but nothing ever came of it. The Consumers said they did their job and would not be interfered with. Some said that the sheriff was afraid of them, and backed off out of fear. Others said he had done his job and found no fault with the process by which the Consumers disposed of the dead.

So Thum continued on as it always had, harvesting and living off it's unending supply of mushrooms. Parents worked the fields, children went to school, and the Consumers did their work, whatever it was exactly.

But it all changed one day when a strange man came to town.

John Craigs was a young man of about twenty-three years. He had lived in the valley all his life and was the son of a wealthy miner named Thomas Craigs. John left his home to seek a quieter life in the mountains, and, hearing about the tiny town of Thum, decided to pay it a visit. As he rode his horse along the path towards Thum a storm began. It started to pour rain on John, and thunder roared and lightning flashed across the sky. As he rode John saw in the distance a large house. Though he did not know it, it was indeed the Burial House. The road lead John past the large house and as he went by John thought he saw several figures standing out in the front. The Consumers watched as the guest arrived and wondered if he soon would be joining their host of dead.

John rode into town and stopped outside an inn. A boy ran out to stable his horse and John went inside. As soon as the door was open he flt warmer. There was a roaring fire in the middle of the room in a large stone basin. Tables full of men and women filled the room. John walked to the bar and sat down in an empty chair next to an old man and his escort.

“Whiskey,” said John.

“You're new here stranger, what's you're name?” the bartender said as he poured a glass of whiskey.

John picked up the glass and took a drink before answering. “The name is John, John Craigs.”

“Welcome to Thum Mr. Criags....What brings you here might I ask?”

“I'm looking for a small town o settle down in.”

“Settle down? You look a might young to be wanting to settle down.”

“I have money, and care to spend my days reading, if you don't mind.”

“No offense, it isn't any of my business how you live. I'll leave you to your drink then.”

The bartender bustled away and John turned in his seat to survey the room. The crowd of people was not unpleasant as the crowds in most saloons John had been to were. They were nice looking folks, and save for the occasional hooker standing about seemed decent enough. The room was not terribly loud either. An occasional holler or yell came from men who were playing cards. One of the prostitutes giggled as a man nibbled at her ear. A plump woman waited tables, bringing out beer and ale and whiskey and food. John liked this saloon. His father had always told him, “If a town's got a good saloon or two, then it's probably a good town.”

John paid for his drink and for a room and retired for the night. The plump woman showed him to his room.

“Will you be needing me to send you up some company, Mr. Craigs?” she asked stiffly.

“That won't be necessary ma'am,” said John. She loosened up a bit.

“Goodnight then, Mr. Craigs,” she said with a smile as she left the room.

Once the door was closed all the sound from downstairs was cut off, and John felt quite peaceful. John opened his suitcase and pulled out a book. He sat in an armchair by a lamp and began to read. He fell asleep reading his book, but he did not awake.

The body of John Craigs was carried out of the room early the next morning. The cause of death was unknown and the Consumers spirited the dead body away towards the Burial House. The sheriff watched as the creatures carried the body away, and once they were out of sight turned to his deputy.

“You left no trace,” he said with a smile.

“Told you I wouldn't!” the deputy said holding his hand out. “Pay up sheriff!”

The sheriff handed him ten dollars and walked away mumbling. The deputy was good at his job. Maybe too good. The sheriff thought maybe the Burial House could use another body by tomorrow...but he was too tired.

But the Burial House had another body the next day. The sheriff had died mysteriously, and the deputy took over. So things continued as normal. The town went on and the Consumers did their job, and the dead were put to rest. The Burial House lived on.

The Fork In The Road

Timothy walked down a road, alone and uncertain where exactly he was going.  Brilliant rays of sunlight crept like so many snaking vines through the dark and gloomy clouds that hovered like a sea in the sky.  Trees grew on either side of the road.  Great trees with massive, thick trunks and hulking, muscular branches with no leaves.  In between each tree was a large rock, or rather, half a rock.  They were all split in two neatly down the middle to reveal a sparkling display of purple stone inside.  The sides of amethyst faced east, and Timothy walked west so that he saw the magnificent rocks before him.

Timothy was a fair young man.  He was tall with wavy brown hair that fell to his shoulders, but not past them.  His skin was spotless and a light brown, like that of someone who spends much of their time in the sun.  He had broad shoulders and dark brown eyes, much like the color of the trees around him.  Looking into this man's eyes was like looking into a vast maze of black tunnels that never ended, with a hint of light dancing and teasing around every corner, only to disappear when close to it.  A flicker of sarcasm hung about his face, from his slightly upturned eyebrows to his almost always smirking mouth.

The road itself was dirt.  Plain and simple dirt with pebbles and rocks scattered here and there.  There were no holes, no hills, and no cracks.  The road was flat, unforgiving, and endless.  It stretched on straight ahead as far as Timothy could see.  The road had a voice too.  A slight whisper that echoed with every step that Timothy took.  If he stopped walking the road stopped talking, but Timothy could never stop.

On an endless journey to an unknown land Timothy was destined to walk until he reached his destination.  The road told no lies, the road told no truths, the road told nothing at all, but it always talked.  A whisper, and the sky was ever changing.

Lying in the middle of the road lay a fork.

And Timothy stopped walking.

The Quiet Room

The nothingness was interrupted by a bright light.  He squinted and covered his eyes with his hands as the sudden change blinded him.  He sat on the cold concrete, alone and friendless.  As his eyes adjusted he saw two men towering over him.  One man held a small cup and a glass of water.  He knew what was in the little cup, and he didn't like it.  The other man held a clipboard.  He knew it was filled with lies and horrible things about him.

"Time to get up," said the man with the clipboard.

"Time to tak your medicine," said the other man.

"No," he said defiantly, "you can't make me take your poison.  I won't let you!"

"Now Sam, don't start that again.  Aren't you tired of being in the Quiet Room?"

"No, you can't make me!  I won't do it!  You'll have to kill me first!"

"No one is going to kill you, Sam.  Just take your medicine, it will make you better."

"Lies, you're just lying to me.  STOP LYING TO ME!"

The two men looked at each other and nodded.  They left the room and closed the door behind them, cutting off Sam's continuous yelling.

"What are we going to do Doctor?"

"He won't take his meds, and he's been in there for two days already...we can't keep him in there forever.  We'll have to find someone he trusts."

"I know someone."

"Who?"

"Richard."

"Who's Richard?"

"Richard is Sam."

"I see...you think Richard will take the meds?"

"I'm on good terms with Richard...next time he comes around I think I can convinve him."

"Make it happen Greg, he needs those meds before it's too late."

"I'll do my best Doc, I'll do my best."

They walked away, Sam's yells getting fainter with every step.

Intothefray

Into the fray

We all fly yelling

Arms flailing around

We hunt the dreams

We seek our fortune

But do not find

We listen for the words

That we never fully hear

A blind moment

A lapse in judgement

It could be your last

If you don't play your cards right

You will end up the loser

The game goes on

Everyone is playing

It's the game of life

Loser takes all

Colosseum

The only rule was that you could not see what you were doing.

Blindfolded they were lead into the arena.

Blindfolded they listened as the crowd shouted and howled in excitement.

Blindfolded they listened as their fellow slaves were torn to pieces by unseen beasts.

Her Bedroom, Half Empty

There was a twin sized bed in the far corner with white sheets and a sky blue quilt on top.  The pillowcases had yellow stars on a black background, with a great full moon in the center.  She had always loved the sky and anything to do with it.  The ceiling was covered in glow in the dark stars and crescent moons.  The wall were sky blue like the quilt, but they had fluffy white clouds painted on them.  At the foot of the bed was a chest where she kept her shoes.  She had never been a very neat person, and all her shoes were sort of jumbled around inside.  Between the bed and the window was her dressers, one drawer still ajar and a sock hanging out of it.  On top of the dresser were trophies from her tennis matches and pictures of her with her friends.  There was also a note that read, "Good luck today sweetheart, you'll do great! Love, Dad."  She had read it, because it had been moved from her bedside table, which was the least cluttered object in the room.  In fact, the only thing on her bedside table was a glass of water.  It was half empty, much like the bedroom without her.

Various articles of clothing were strewn around the room.  She had never been a very neat person.  Only the day before he had been telling his daughter she needed to clean her room over the weekend, and she laughed and nodded her head.  She hadn't been lazy, just busy.  Always going somewhere, always doing something, always working on some new project or playing tennis.  Her closet stood to his left, the door wide open.  All her dresses were hung carelessly on hangers and various other items were thrown on the floor.  The only thing missing were her car keys and her tennis bag, which had been with her.  She had been on her way to a tennis match, the one she had been preparing for for so long.

He took one last look around the room and then left, closing the door behind him.  Her room was half empty without her, and she wasn't coming back.  His daughter was never coming home.

Music Munchies

Sometimes I just need music

To feed my soul before I get back into the fight

Sometimes I just need a little groove

To help me move on through the stormy night

Maybe a little tap or a knock

On the wooden table or metal door

Just a click or clack

Hum a few notes or maybe more

I want to chew

On those blissful little notes

Floating in the breeze

Sailing on the clefs like boats

I want to sink my teeth

Into the feeling of the groove

I want to drink it in

I want to feel my bones be moved

A feast of chords

The main course is the chorus

A catchy tune

With riffs that march before us

Oh that tasty beat

It vibrates deep in my soul

That bum bum bum

That makes me blissful so

Foolish

Stuffed against a wall of thorns
Sliced and cut in a methodical rhythm
Pressed hard with a soul so torn
And broken apart by the schism

Meaningless mutterings from the heart
Failure is a default for you
Running until you fall all apart
Fleeing from what you know is true

And the emptiness is a welcome feeling
The hollow icy tones
Just waiting for relief from this peeling
Terror but echos no groans

A silent moment for those who are lost
A remembrance of the past
Fallen friends and enemies in the frost
Forgotten time that was never the last

So go on being ignorant and foolish
You don't know you only judge
You'd rather be plain ignorant and foolish
With your hypocritical hearts of sludge

Call me what you will when you don't know the facts
Make all the claims your lying hearts can muster
Just remember in time about what exactly that's
Happening in this twisted cluster

Tangible

I met Death, and he was amused by me.

Maybe it was my confused and bewildered look, or maybe I smelled a certain way.  Maybe it was my frightened and lost tone of voice, or maybe I just plain looked funny.  Either way the whirling around of thoughts in my muddled mind did not help any.

"You don't know what you want," Death said to me.

"This is what I want," I said sure of myself and what I felt.

Death looked down at his watch.  The time was not right I guess for he laughed, winked at me, and then turned and vanished.

I now stood alone in the bright courtyard.  The sun shone down and reflected brilliantly off the new fallen snow.  A tree that was dead with gnarled , old branches stood next to me at my right side.  And to my left there was a small bird sitting upon a small fountain.  The bird pecked at the frozen water, and occasionally the small creature let out a chirp.  One side was death (the dead tree) and the other side was life (the small bird).  But even the side of life there was not peace or happiness.  In fact there was much hardship and struggle as the bird continued to try and get water, but to no avail.  I knew the water was frozen, but the bird did not seem to understand that.

I began walking home.  My lazy feet dragged through the snow soaking my socks and shoes and the bottoms of my pants.  I did not care.  The ability to give a shit had long since passed away and I was now only focused on one thing: my journey home.

A rustle in the bushes to my left made me jump a little.  It was nice to be startled though.  The feeling sort of kept me in reality in a way.  Out from the bushes came a small cat, a baby most likely.  It saw me and stood still hoping I would not see him.  I did not just see a kitten before me, but a living, breathing, normal creature.  I felt normal, id only for a second, seeing that little kitten with its dark, wondering eyes and its soft, fluffy fur.  Then, it walked away, almost taking my sanity with it, and again I began to descend into that dark, deep hole that was now my mind.

But I knew that was not the end.  Deep down I knew hope existed, somewhere, somehow.  I continued to walk thinking of friends and of family; loved ones and those who cared about me and were always looking out for me.  I felt comforted, I almost felt alive.

And alive was good.  I felt like I was a bran new toy just out of the factory, ready to hit the shelves and start a new life of helping others and making them happy.  Alive was more than good, it was great, it was awesome, it was pure amazing!  I was so ready to be alive, and I finally was.

Now I approached a crosswalk.  The light was green and cars sped up and down the road all in a hurry as people rushed to get wherever they were trying to get to.  The signal was a stop sign saying I could not walk yet.  So I stopped and waited for the walk signal.  I waited and waited some more.  I began to grow impatient as I stood there and the cars continued to zoom by.  As I began to get angry I realized that I had neglected to press the button on the light pole.  All this time it had been my problem that I had not started to do something about.  I had not taken the first step in finding a solution.  Feeling sheepish, I pressed the button and waited.  Soon after the signal said I could walk.  So I did.  I walked on.

The Red Blade

Tanner kicked in the door of the building and rushed in, his partners close behind him.  The people standing around the small art museum saw what was happening and at once panic ensued.  Tanner rushed up to the front desk and stuck his gun the the woman's face.  With wide eyes she spoke to him.

"What can I do for you, sir?"  she asked is a calm voice.

"What do you think?  Keep your mouth shut," he snarled back at her.  His partners had sealed the exit, and Big Tony was standing in front of it with his sub-machine gun.  The people had quieted down and were now all in a scared huddle on the floor.  Tom and Mac were in charge of getting the paintings that they had come for.  Bella and Ash were in charge of the hostages.  Tanner was the leader, and he was happy standing their with his gun in the desk lady's face.

It was not long until they heard sirens approaching.  Tanner had been counting on this, which was why he planned on turning it into a hostage situation.  Not only would the paintings be worth a lot of money, but he was planning on negotiating for more money for the hostages.  Lives were usually worth a lot to the police.  It was like a weakness, the importance of human life.  Tanner knew better.  Life wasn't not important, except to live however the hell you wanted.  If he were a cop, he would never negotiate with bad guys, he'd bust in and kill whoever got in the way.  Cops were soft.  He wasn't soft.  That's why he was ahead in so many way.

Richard sat on the floor holding his sobbing girlfriend, Amanda, against his chest.  He stroked her hair gently and whispered to her that it was going to be alright.  They had come here on a date Amanda being a fan of art.  Richard had thought she would like it, and she had very much been enjoying it until this.  He looked around the room.  There was nothing he could use...except...

"Excuse me," he said.

"What?" asked Bella.

"I've got to go to the bathroom."

"Bull, you haven't even been sitting there twenty minutes."

"I had to go before, and I just hadn't yet."

"I don't care, stay there."

"Come on, you want me to piss all over the floor?"

"Not my problem," said Bella turning away.

"Naw, come on Bella, what's he gonna do?  Sure, I'll take you to the restroom.  Anyone else gotta go?" Ash asked.

"I do!" said a woman, but Richard gave her a look and she lowered her hand and shook her head.  "Never mind."

"Alright, let's move," Ash said.

Richard got up and moved down the hall, Ash following him, his shotgun sticking out in front.  As they walked they heard the voice of the police over a loud speaker.  Ash looked back for just a second, and it was enough.  Richard spun around, swinging is arm around and knocking Ash into the wall.  The shotgun clattered to the floor.  Richard jumped for it but was grabbed around the middle by Ash.  They struggled.  Ash tried to pull a revolver from his waist, but Richard got it first.  He hit Ash over the head with the pistol and then put him into a headlock.  He put the gun to his head and moved forward.  They came out of the hall and Richard called attention to them.

"The rest of you better put down your guns or I shoot him!" Richard said.

"Ash!" Bella cried.  They were brother and sister.

"Put 'em down now!" shouted Richard.  The other's began to lower their weapons, but Tanner looked right at Richard and raised his pistol and fired off several rounds.  He hit both Richard and Ash, killing them both. Bella screamed and rushed forward.  Amanda cried out as well and when she moved to get up Tanner turned and shot her as well.

"Tanner what are you doing?  You said no one was supposed to get hurt!"  said Big Tony.

"Shut up and watch the door like you're supposed to." Tanner said.  Tom and Mac had stopped gathering the art and were exchanging looks.

"Tanner...you just killed three people, including one of our own...what the hell man?" Tom asked.

"Finish the job, or I'll shoot you too," Tanner spat at him.  The lady behind the desk began screaming hysterically.  "SHUT UP!"  She kept screaming.

BANG!

She slumped to the floor, a pool of blood forming around her body.  Tanner looked around the room just in time to see Mac raise his gun and shoot him five times.

Outside the police hearing the gunshots decided to send in SWAT.  They burst in, tear gas being thrown everywhere.  Tom, Mac, Big Tony, and Bella were all arrested and the hostages taken to safety.  Those declared dead at the scene, including Tanner, were brought to the morgue.

That night on the news the story of the bloody, failed museum robbery was the top talk.  A man and his wife sat eating their dessert after dinner, sipping tea and just relaxing.

"This is why I hate watching the news, Bill," said the woman.  "These stories are so depressing."

"I know Clara, want me to change it?" asked Bill.

"Please..." she said.

"If only you could just change life's channel with the click of a button..." Bill said with a sigh as he switched to a game show.

To Crawl

Stepping lightly, trying to avoid the stumble
An inevitable process of falling and bruising
The hurt causes you to stay stuck to the ground
And you are forced to crawl slowly forward
But you've forgotten how to crawl
Being on your feet for so long
And such a simple process as this
You must relearn and master once again
And that first time you stretch out your arm
The first time you grab and pull is the hardest
It is not easy, and you are not used to it
But it is life, which was not made to be easy
So you press on
You learn to crawl again, so you can walk
But when you walk again, remember this
The time you crawled, because as hard as it is
Crawling is important, because its are constant change
Always a reoccurring step, nothing new
But always a challenge every time, always new
Remember to crawl, when you can't walk
Remember to crawl

Love

He puts his hand on my shoulder and smiles at me.

"It's alright, you're free now," he says.

There were holes in his hands.  And I knew what he had gone through to buy my freedom.  But he did it.

Because he loves me.

Hopeful Tendencies

Don't bother trying to help, you'll hurt more than you know
If the thought has ever crossed your mind then you know too
Like a winged gargoyle posed for the strike, so is the pain, waiting
Causing pressing fear, that moment before the needle enters the skin
That time when you know you're about to die, but it feels forever

And the moon won't save you, even as it laughs in your face
The stars have closed their eyes to you, and pretend not to hear
The sun is long gone, and has given you over to darkness
Your hair falls flat against your face and eyes are blank and staring
Memories of long forgotten pasts rush back to the forefront of the mind
Tearing a hole in your sound philosophy, your judgement is gone

So crawl back to your friends, the ones who cast you out
Because you think you will find solace and safety there
But you will not, you will find empty words and empty actions
Failed and worthless attempts to comfort and protect you
Lead by hand that only half care, faces that have no real pity
Only selfish desires, to turn and ask you for your life in return

And when your lights go out, and death finally takes you
What will the maker say to you and the life that you have lived
You cannot look back and be proud because you were a failure
You let yourself, and everyone down, defying the creator, shaking your fist
And shame will swallow you, and you will be ready to fall
But a reaching hand pulls you up, and your savior looks you in the eye
Love and peace fills you, and the suffering that He endured was for you

Cap-Ture

Traditionally a concept not worth viewing
His mind not of the seventh tradition
Basically a leader among the minute and poor
Leaving his mark staying behind for more
Painting a picture of red and blues
Blood and makeup thrown across canvas
Telling the story no one wants to hear
Making a blame of your own self and being

The ridicule is too much for a man
So the flight of many birds is a storm
A tornado that sweeps through and devastates
A thunder cloud that burns its mighty crown
The rain forward showers blankets of sheets
Rice and ice, a pool of flooding fur and shame
It is not for one to cry out nothing
But for all to keep quietly to themselves

So a disaster, holding in my arms
Like a bowl of envy and worry and hate
Dropped into a pit of the human souls
A box of evils that you can release and
Only one can tame and control, but not keep
Such a light to stop the dark, it is there
But you hide from it, dwelling in pity
You rule out all need for sanctity and measure

So back up, the shore is creeping towards you
Grasping at your feet and ankles craning its neck
It has to eat, you have to feed
It has to swallow you whole before it grows
If you want to be free, the chains are broken
The clouds will cry, the wind will be hesitant
The shouting won't end, but you will die
All death will take up
And then eternal life...

What a weird dream...

He switched the station and looked down at the cup of juice in his hand.  He swirled it around and then took a sip.  He rolled his eyes.  It was warm.  It was so hot out the ice had melted and the drink had warmed up.  It was so hot out he was sweating just sitting down.  He watched as the talk-show host prattled on about something that was of no importance.  There was nothing good on the television.  The room smelled too.  It smelled like week old Chinese delivery, and possibly a mixture of old pizza and bad milk.  The windows had stayed closed, the blinds drawn, the only light coming in through the skylight overhead.  But it was so caked with dirt and muck that it barely let in any light anymore.  He looked down again.  There were stains on his sweatpants...they probably smelled a bit too.  His shirt stank for sure, though it had fewer stains; mostly it was just wrinkled and squashed, a few holes in it here and there.  But he really didn't care.  It didn't much matter what he looked like.  He hadn't left his house in over a week.  He hadn't even answered the phone, and there were countless messages beeping for his attention.  His voice box was full he was pretty sure.  But he really didn't care at all.  No one had come to visit him...at least not that he knew of.  He sort of tuned out any sound other than the television, and his door was padlocked.  But obviously no one cared, or they would have tried harder to see if he was alright.  But hey, he didn't care.

He woke up with a start and looked around the room.  It was clean.  He squinted as bright sunshine shone in through the window, which was now open with the blinds drawn back.  Fresh air streamed in and a fan was set up across the room, helping to keep the air circulating.  The smell had been much reduced, and was now replaced by the slight smell of lavender from a purple candle that was lit on the small table next to the couch.

His cloths were the same, still stained, wrinkled and ripped.  He sat up.  The television was off and he heard someone in the kitchen.  He walked towards the noise of dishes being moved about and entered through the doorway.  Standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes and humming quietly to herself was his wife.  She was dressed in one of her short, low cut summer dresses with the flowery pattern.  She had flat bottom shoes on and her curly, brown hair was hanging loosely around her face.  She looked up when he walked in and smiled at him.

"Look who finally woke up!" she said playfully.  He looked puzzled.  She cocked her head to the side.  "What's wrong honey?  You look like you've see a ghost."

"Are...you...you a ghost?" he asked frightened.

"Silly...what are you talking about?"

"You're...you're dead...I saw you...you were dead..."

"Do I look dead to you?  Honestly...you must have been having a bad dream is all!  I'm perfectly fine, standing right here in front of you!"  She dried her hands and walked up to him and kissed him on the lips.  

"You feel real enough..."

"Of course I do, you silly boy...but goodness, you need to brush your teeth and take a shower baby, you're smelly."  She rolled her eyes and tapped him on the nose and went back to the dishes.  

He turned and went into the bedroom.  He undressed and stepped into the shower.  He washed up, shaved, and brushed his teeth and then put a pair of clean jeans a t-shirt on.  He looked at himself in the mirror before he left the room.  He looked much better now.  He went back to the kitchen.  His wife was now standing at the counter chopping vegetables for soup.  He walked up behind her and put his arm around her and began kissing her neck gently.  

"I'm sorry...I guess I had a dream and was just a little groggy still..." he said in between kisses.

"Obviously!" she said with a laugh as she turned and kissed him.  They kissed a bit more and then she looked at him, still smiling happily.  "What shall we do today?"

"I don't know...maybe go to the park?  How about a picnic?"

"Oh good choice...we haven't been on a picnic in a while!  Let me finish getting the soup ready for dinner tonight, then I'll pack us a lunch and we'll go."

"I'll go pack up the car?"

"Sure!"  she turned back to the soup and he gave her one last kiss on the cheek before going out to the garage to grab the picnic supplies.

As he loaded up the car a man in a dark suit approached him.

"Mr. Gable?" the man said.

"Yes?" he replied turning to face the man.

"May I ask what you're doing?"

"...I'm going on a picnic with my wife...who are you?"

"Detective Rice with the Branson PD.  Why don't you come with me a moment."

"Why?  What did I do?" he was starting to feel nervous...something didn't feel right.

"You've done nothing...I just would like to talk with you."

"We can talk here..." he said.

"Who's there honey?" asked his wife coming out of the house.

"A detective Rice, he's with the police...I'm not sure what's wrong..."

"Who are you speaking to?" asked Rice.

"...My wife..." he said looking from his wife to Detective Rice.

"Mr. Gable...your wife...she's dead..."

"What?" he said almost laughing.  "She's right here!  Is this some sort of joke?  Alright, who put you up to this, buddy?"

"Mr. Gable...your wife died a week ago...no one has heard from you since...your neighbors said you were still in your home...but we've been keeping an eye on you...your sister is worried about you..."

"No...my wife...she's right here...honey, tell him you're right here..." he said turning to his wife.

"I'm here Detective Rice...I'm as alive as you are!" she said with a look of disbelief.

Detective Rice looked at Gable as he continued to talk to thin air.  The man was crazy.  A week of solitude after his wife's death had sent him over the edge.  Rice had seen this happen once before, and this was just as sad as the first time.  

"Mr. Gable...please just come with me...you can go on a picnic with your wife when you get home..."  Gable looked at Detective Rice and then said goodbye to his wife.  He kissed the air and then followed Rice to the car across the street.  Rice put him in the front seat and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Bye honey!" called Gable from the car as they pulled away. "I'll be home later, I love you!"

Constant

The bus pulls up to the stop and I climb aboard as I have done for the past few months.  It's nothing new, and I am quite used to it by now.  But this time there is a man on the bus that I have not seen before.  I don't know him at all, but for some reason I like him.  Maybe it is just because of his appearance.  He's dressed in slacks with a pair of nice dress shoes, a button-up shirt tucked in and a belt.  He has a solid, manly beard, and on his head he is wearing a neat, old-fashioned hat.  Everything about him seems to shout integrity, hard-working, honesty, and I just like him.  It's sort of weird.

I sit down, and nod at the man, he returns a nod.  That is all.

The next time I see him, I am once again impressed by his appearance, and for some reason am glad he is aboard the bus.  I sit down and once again there is no real interaction between us except that we acknowledge one another.  I know he remembers me, just as I remember him, though I doubt he has the same strange fascination with me as I do with him.  So once again, a quiet bus ride home, nothing new.

The next time I see him, we actually talk briefly.  I compliment him on his hat, and we exchange the usual pleasantries that are often exchanged by strangers who dare to speak to one another.  The exchange is short, but friendly, and I am happy with it.  I wonder if maybe we will introduce ourselves next time.

But then next time is met with a simple nod and smile from him.  He knows me now for sure, by my face.  But we do not talk this time.  I decide that either we will continue this usual acknowledgment of one another or one day actually know each other's names.  Either way, I don't mind, so long as he is there.  Why?  I have no idea.  I guess, this total stranger has just become a common thing in my life.  He's become a constant.

Waiting Reason

Waiting, hopelessly waiting
A simple predicament, a valid excuse of reason

Causing pondering, wandering of the mind
A not lasting fear, a hope of treason

Crowds made up of a various kind
Speaking voices honestly bound in a gloomy season

Happenings, whispers, solid sounds of echoing footsteps
Breaking the soul for no apparent reason

The Flesh Eaters and Sleeping Gorgeous

The swamp bubbled sickeningly and the moon cast strange shadows across the surface.  Some dark clouds floated menacingly about the sky, and what stars could be seen were faint and unfriendly looking.  The dead trees that stood as sentinels on the shore around the swamp had branches like claws and their trunks had eerie knots and twists in the wood that made them look like they had faces.  The only sounds were that of the thick swamp mud churning and the howl of wolves in the distance.  There was a very slight breeze and a fowl stench filled the air.

A cloaked and hooded figure stood on the edge of the swamp, face hidden in shadow, eyes faintly glowing a dreadful shade of blue.  The figure stood absolutely still, watching the center of the swamp as if waiting for something to happen there.  After a few moments the swamp mud began to bubble and spit more violently and slowly a second cloaked figure rose from the muck.  It rose out of the slush and slowly glided over the surface to where the other figure stood.  The made a soft hissing noise at each other and then made their way away from the swamp towards the trees that grew thicker until they were enclosed by dead tree after dead tree in a small forest.  The moon was blotted out by the man branches that hung over the two hooded figures like hands waiting to snatch them up.  The figures walked silently through the forest until they came to an open area.  It was flooded with moonlight and the large rectangular stone table in the middle of the clearing was lit up brightly.  Tied to the table was the body of a beautiful woman.  A lifeless, motionless body that was pale and stiff.  The eyes were staring endlessly into nothing.  The two figures approached and stood on either side of the stone table.

"The others shall be arriving soon," hissed one of the figures to the other.

"Good," it hissed back.

They stood still and silent for almost an hour before more hooded figures began to emerge from the trees.  They all gathered in a large circle around the body tied to the table.  One figure, taller than all the rest spoke up in its hissing sort of voice.

"Brothers," it began, "we have been in hiding for hundreds of years.  The light kept us away.  Cowering in our holes, in crevices, in he deep murk of the swamp.  But now, our time has come to emerge.  The darkness is taking over once again.  Tonight, we perform the Flesh-Eating Ceremony, causing the darkness to become more powerful destroy all light.  Brothers...let the Ceremony begin.  Feast on the flesh of this lifeless mortal."

The Flesh Eaters began to move in towards the body on the table.  Then out of the forest burst a bright light.  A tall, broad-chested man astride a snow white horse rushed forth, followed by other mounted knights as well.  The leader was dressed in golden armor with silvery-white trimming.  The other knights were armored in white armor, all mounted white steeds.  They trampled down the dark hooded figures, cutting at them with shining blades of glory.  After the short battle the leader dismounted and approached the woman's body tied to the table.  He drew a silver dagger from his belt and cut her bonds.

"The Lady Emily!" said the knights as they bowed on their knees.

"Is she...dead, my lord?"  asked one knight looking up at the leader.

"No, she is not," he said sheathing his dagger.  "She is merely sleeping, but she is close to death."

"What can we do?"  asked the knights.

"You can do nothing...but I...I shall kiss her upon her lips, and breath life back into her body," and with that the leader bent over and kissed her.  Her skin became colored again and she began to move.  Her eyes closed and then opened again as if she was just waking up.  The leader stepped back looking at her lovingly.  She smiled at him and sat up.

"Thank you brave knights," she spoke to them all.  "You have rescued me and shall all be rewarded greatly.  Not only that, but you have destroyed the dark lords of the underworld and helped restore light to our kingdom once again!"

The knights all cheered and mounted their horses and began to ride back towards the castle.  The lead knight mounted his horse and held his hand to the Lady Emily.  She smiled and took it and he pulled her into th back of his horse, and they rode forth into the light.

Tickle Me Pink

On a blood red sky is painted your hands
They're spread wide in a flowing manner
Scooping the moon and stars into your eyes
The sun has swallowed your voice
Your skin is glowing from the ocean salt
It makes you sparkle and shine like a gem
Gingerly so gingerly you walk along the beach
Your hair blowing in the sea breeze
The sand isn't like normal sand, it is soft
It feels like silk over the skin, soft to the touch
I am breathing, softly and slowly
Taking in the uplifting moment
I'm happy, for what feels the first time
We're together, on an adventure
With the real world at our heels
We forget time and just forget life
If only for a while, we'll pretend we're free
From everything that holds us back, just you and me

Tackling The Bear

If I were a mountain man I would probably have a goal, and one goal only.  Every morning when the sun creeps over the pointy peaks of the Sierras and the trees just light up green I would wake up in my log cabin.  One room, nothing fancy.  A nice little stove fireplace deal going on, a small one man bed, maybe a dresser and a desk and chair and table too.  Nothing much, simple but just enough.  I'd probably have a wardrobe or something, because I have to keep my cloths somewhere you know.  I'd mostly wear cargo pants so I can carry lots of stuff in my pockets.  There are always cool sticks and rocks you find in the woods.  I'd probably have a cool rifle too, and I'd need ammo of course.  I'd also have a big knife, something practical, but deadly.  I have to stay safe you know.  And with my stuff, I'd get all ready to go on my hunt to reach my one goal as a mountain man.

I'd suit up eat my breakfast and leave the cabin into the mountain air, breathing in the freshness.  The crisp smell of the pines filters through my nose and my lungs and back out through my mouth.  Today is the day, I feel it in my bones.  It's an interesting thought.  People use the phrase "dry as a bone."  But if the bone is in someone's body I imagine it would still be sort of slimy with all that blood, flesh, and muscle around it.  Just saying.  So my slimy bones feel it, they aren't dry of course.  I feel it.  Today is most certainly the day.  I set off up the mountain.  Birds chirp at me, and I'm pretty sure they're cheering me on, but you can never tell with birds.  They can be very rude sometimes.  I met a crow once who had the audacity to call me a pig over and over again.  I shot him.  So he doesn't call me a pig anymore.  Because he's dead.

So anyways.  As I'm walking I hear this loud roaring from my right.  That's him alright.  I approach cautiously.  Well not really, I'm loud as can be because  "Loud Stupid Fool" is my middle name, as is "Danger" and "Lovestotakerisksbecausehethinksitiscooltodothat."  (If you can read that middle name then bravo).  So The bear does nothing.  The poor loser is stuck in a bear trap, his fat hairy leg all bloody and stuff.  I feel bad you know, like, am I supposed to kill me a bear when he's all caught up and stuff?  No, I don't think so!  So I decide I should maybe help him or something.  Again I approach not cautiously and poke the bear with my rifle.  He roars and motions to the bear trap.  I give him the thumbs up and he nods.  He doesn't want to be trapped I guess, well obviously not.  So I just take out my crafty big old cool neat awesome sharp worksforeverything knife and pry open that there bear trap.  The bear is all, roaring and runs away and falls because he's hurt and stuff, he can't go far.  You know I just feel bad and stuff, so I tell him I'll help him out.  So we walk back to my cabin and I bandage him all up and he's like that's cool and so we're both cool with each other now.

So my goal of catching that bear weren't exactly the way I planned them.  Instead of getting a cool rug or something like that I made a new forest friend.  But that's pretty chill because now I have another way of survival up here in the mountains and stuff you know.  So it's all good, I'm totally alright with it.

But yeah, that's only if I was a mountain man.  I'm actually just an astronaut.  I've got nothing better to do, I'm a little bored of the view, and the extraterrestrials are only such good company.  But what ever.  I can dream about the earth I see far away from me and my beautiful mountains.  So  it's all good.  I'll tackle a bear another day, or make a friend with one, whatever.

Dream Job

The heavy metal doors swung shut behind Dawson Burns and the guards began locking them down.

"Welcome to Grey Town, Mr. Burns," said Sam.

"Thank you, I look forward to getting a good nights sleep tonight," Dawson replied taking his hat off and hitting it against the side of his leg to get the dust off.  He looked around at the countless shacks and huts scattered about.  It was one of the largest settlements in the country now and housed over five thousand people.

"You'll find the inn up the main road here.  The owner's name is Dan Morrison.  Tell him I sent you, he'll hook you up with a nice little room, maybe some company."  Sam winked and clapped Dawson on the shoulder before walking away towards the town square.  Dawson smirked, finding Sam's seedy personality to be amusing.  He set off down the street, his dusty, gray trench coat billowing in the high winds that always blew across the Wastes.  His heavy duty boots caused dust to cloud up with every step, but he did not mind.  He was dirty enough already, and his main focus now was getting a drink and a place to stay.

He reached the inn and stopped to look it over from the outside.  It appeared to be as sleazy and dirty as any inn in any town on the Wastes, except much larger.  Drunken men and women stumbled out, some stumbling in, already having drunk much.  Dawson walked inside and as he entered the sounds of drunken laughter and shouting met his ears.  Me sat around tables smoking, drinking, and playing cards.  Slutty women littered the place, rubbing men's shoulders and serving drinks.  Dawson approached the bar and set his hat on the counter as the bartender walked over.

"Bottle of whiskey please," Dawson said.  The bartender reached under the counter and set a bottle and a glass on the counter.  "I was told to tell you that Sam sent me."

"Ah, you must be his friend Dawson, he told me about you," the bartender said.  "The name's Jed."

"Good to meet you, Jed."

"And you Dawson.  I'll have one of the girls show you to a room, just let me know when you're ready.  Care for some company tonight?"

"No thank you."

"Suit yourself."

Jed walked away to help other customers and Dawson turned around, glass of whiskey in hand, to face the room full of people.

His attention was caught by a group of men in the far corner.  There were five of them and they were all seated around a small circular table.  They were playing a game of cards.  Many men at many tables were playing card games, but what caught Dawson's eye were the weapons they had.  They were expensive weapons like the ones that people from the big cities owned.  These men were not from around here.  All the big cities were back west, mostly in Newcalee.  Three of the men had fancy scoped rifles slung across their backs, .48 caliber pulse rifles by the looks of them.  Another man had an assault rifle leaning against his chair.  It was one of the armor piercing guns that held the deadly .22 dart round, capable of piercing almost any armor, even a tank's shell.  The last man had a shotgun sitting across his lap.  Most men who carried shotguns had one of the older double barrel shotguns or a pump-action that shot the cheap and common 9 gauge scatter-shot rounds.  But this man's shotgun was a lever-action with a magazine, and by the size of it it looked like it held 16 gauge slug rounds, pulse slugs most likely.  Each man carried a seven round cylinder revolver, .44's by the looks of them.  Their cloths were on the higher-end also.  Shiny black boots and dark pants with belts and tucked in shirts, vests and ties.  Long tench coats hung from their chairs, and bowler hats sat on the table in front of them.  They were quiet and intent on their card game, but Dawson saw their eyes scanning the room around them every so often.  They were aware of their surroundings.  Dawson downed the rest of his whiskey from the glass, grabbed his hat the the bottle and walked over.  He pulled up a chair and sat down right near them, tipped back in his chair, crossed his legs and looked at them.  After a moment the men set their cards down and turned to Dawson.

"Evening gentlemen," Dawson said cordially.

"Good evening to you as well," said the man with the shotgun.  He was clearly the leader, and his accent confirmed that they were from Newcalee.

"Where about are you all from?"  Dawson asked.

"Back west, we're on government business," the leader replied, and they all turned back to their card game as if the conversation was over.

"Is that so?  I've got family back west.  I came out here for work.  What kind of work do you do?"

"Not really any of your business is it?  Now if you'll excuse us," said another man man, his right hand twitching towards his assault rifle.

"Nice weapons you have there," said Dawson.  "You don't see fancy guns like those out here too often.  I suppose the west is wealthier though, you all can afford more."

"Yes," said one of the riflemen coolly.  "So that being the case, may I ask why you came out here for work?"  Yes, Dawson had engaged them in conversation.

"There was a particular job I wanted that I couldn't get back west," Dawson said in an almost bored tone.

"What job is that?"  asked the leader.

"Oh, none of your business now is it?"  Dawson said with a chuckle and a wink.  A couple of the men chuckled as well, but the leader did not look amused.

"Are you from Gray Town?"

"No, I came from a town called Middlelake about fifty miles north of here.  I'm visiting a friend for a few weeks."

"What's your name?"

"I would love to tell you all, if you would tell me yours."  The men glanced at each other and leader nodded.

"My name is Jason," said the the leader.

"Rick," said the man with the assault rifle.

"Mike...Jared...Anon," said the three men with the rifles.

"Good to meet you all, the name is Dawson, Dawson Burns."

"Pleasure to meet you as well Mr. Burns," said Jason, "now would you care to tell us what you do for a living?"

"Well, if you're really that interested, I'll humor you.  I'm a courier.  I actually first got hired back west in San Diego.  I was sent out here to work for the American Republic Corporation.  I move items and packages up and down the east coast for them, sometimes on my own, sometimes in caravans.  What about yourselves?"  Dawson hoped they would be more obliged to tell him what they were doing here since he had been open with them, if not totally honest.

"Like we said before, we're doing a job for the government," said Jason.

"Which government?" asked Dawson, "I mean there technically are two you know."

"The Newcalee Republic.  And the NR and the ARC work together, despite their separations."

"They do indeed.  I often work with other couriers from the NR.  So let me guess.  You work for the NR, you're on 'government business' and you won't say what exactly.  You're mercenaries right?"  Jason paused then nodded.

"Yes," he said.  "We're looking for someone, our orders are to bring them back."

"What did this man do?"

"That's classified.  We're not supposed to discuss our mission with anyone, but you may be able to help us.  In fact we're headed north to Middlelake.  We had to stop at Gray Town to meet an informant.  Unfortunately he hasn't shown."

"You're looking for someone in Middlelake?  That's a small town.  I haven't been there long, just a few weeks, but I already know everyone there, that's how small it is."

"Good, then you might be more help than I thought.  You probably know the guy we're looking for."

"It's a possibility yes," Dawson said with a smile.  His hand slowly and stealthily moved to his waist to the handle of his .45 automatic pistol.

"Like I said, we're not really supposed to talk about the mission with strangers...but seeing as you'll be able to help us, I don't see any harm in it.  The man we're looking for, well we have no idea what he looks like.  But we know he goes my the name of Murdoc.  He's a contract killer.  We've never been able to get a hold of the people who hire him, but we've got plenty of evidence to nail him.  He's nothing more than a hired murderer.  He's a bounty hunter, he kills whoever he gets paid to kill.  The government does its best to keep that sort of stuff from being practiced."

"Times have changed you know, the world isn't what it used to be.  Law is a little different now."  Dawson said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"The government thinks otherwise.  The NR is trying to restore the country to what it once was, in terms of law and politics anyway,"  Jason said with a frown.  "Law is in the hands of the government, not of vigilantes."

"Well that could certainly be a bad thing.  I think the way government was before the fallout is sort of what caused the fallout in the first place, wouldn't you agree?"  Dawson asked.

"Well, I was only a little kid before the fallout, I don't remember much of politics and government," Jason replied thoughtfully.

"Well, I wasn't very old either, but I was old enough to understand that the government had no clue what it was doing.  Governments were good at one thing, starting wars and turning their countries into socialistic hell-holes.  I see the government trying to work its way back to that.  I don't think that's right."

"Well, whatever the governments plan may be, do you still think it's right for a murderer to go free?"

"This man is not a murderer, you yourself said he is a contract killer, or a bounty hunter."

"Same difference.  Either way we've been told to retrieve him and bring him back to Newcalee to await trial.  Are you going to help us or not?"

"Sure I'll help.   You say he goes by Murdoc?"  Dawson stood up and put his hat on his head.

"Yes," said Jason eyeing Dawson.  Jason had an uneasy feeling and was moving his hand towards his revolver.  "Do you know him?"

"Oh yes, I know him alright.  But I'm afraid he won't be able to return to Newcalee with you.  He has other plans."  In a fluid motion Dawson pulled his .45, shot and killed each man with a single shot, and then returned his gun to his holster.  The whole inn had gone quiet.  Every eye was on Dawson, but no one moved.  Jed stood frozen, a mug of beer in one hand and a towel in the other.  Dawson turned to everyone and smiled.

"Don't mind me, I'll just be on my way."  He grabbed one of the .48 caliber scoped pulse rifles and any extra ammunition as well as cash from the bodies.  "The rest of their stuff is up for grabs, they've got some nice stuff on them folks."

Dawson walked to the entrance.  Before he left he pulled a gold coin from his pocket and tossed it to Jed who was at a nearby table.  "For your troubles," said Dawson leaving.  As soon as the door shut behind him he heard a rush of footsteps as the people inside ran to grab what they could from the bodies of the Newcalee lawmen.

As Dawson walked down the road his friend Sam came running up to him.

"What the hell happened Dawson, I heard gunshots from the town square," he said.

"Yes...I had a bit of trouble at the inn.  Looks like I won't be able to stick around as long as I was hoping."

"Well before you go, your number one employer wants to see you.  He has another job for you."

"Good.  I'll see him and be on my way.  You might want to think about getting out of town as well.  The NR is looking for me, and probably anyone associated with me.  The ARC will probably be after us soon as well."

"It was only a matter of time," Sam sighed shaking his head.

"I knew this job wasn't going to be easy," said Dawson with a chuckle.

Forest Floor

Scattered with green lichen, soft glowing moss
Fallen leaves and twigs of snapped fingers of trees
Twinkling stars peer through the branches, eyeing the busy cities
Not of humans but animals, and critters and things
Tiny creatures, fairies and miniature trolls, unicorns and dragons
Minotaurs and centaurs, druids and fauns and bugs large and small
Dwarfs came too, from far away lands, not the forest but the mountains
Stone was their strength, rock solid and grim their faces
The elves were there also, just passing through
They came from the heart of the forest, where magic grew
The humans are far away, unaware of the life within
The trees hold them back and protect the secret held deep
They go about their business, busy and working hard
They have no adventures and they drive violently in their cars
But deep in the forest, roaming the floor, are adventurers right and left
Large and small of all sorts of races, ogres and giants were a rare treat
To see such towering massive brutes, with hearts as large as boulders
They were frightening to look at, but friendly once you got to know them
They were all apart of the adventure
And everyday was a new adventure, but the humans never knew
Their dull drab lives were lived on, while the forest was truly alive
All the creatures, big and small, knew the secret to happiness
It was not fame or fortune, or even forcing a smile
But adventure, oh adventure, that was where it lay
It was not easy, nay life was not made to be easy
But that only added to the excitement, and added to the joy
The creatures they knew what they were here for
They weren't made to live easy lives, and the adventures were all around
Not easy, but challenging and trying, but they brought joy
Because in the end the suffering was worth the reward, and oh joy!
What an adventure they all had, those forest creatures
While the humans live on in their own world, complaining and sorrowful
Because they didn't know their lives were adventures, so they put them away
They lived them like all humans, boring and dull, the same thing
Day after day and not knowing the truth, happiness found in work
Work is your adventure, every day around you, adventure adventure
But the forest knew it, and all who lived there too
All those creatures who walked the forest floor

Imagination

Fruit loops and happy things, silly string and water balloons
Water guns and bright colored flowers, breakfast for dinner and chocolates
Staying up late and sleeping in, going on adventures wherever we want
Crazy times and crazy ideas, head-banging music and dancing
Being silly just because we can not caring what other people think
We're too cool, we're too much fun for everyone else
I bet their jealous because we're having the time of our lives
When they're in their day jobs and we're still partying
No matter where we are, we're having fun, we're on adventures
Summer time, ukuleles, banjos, guitars, pianos, singing songs
Oh the good times are rollin' and we're just showin'
Everybody what we're made of, and we're made of fun and games
All day long, and we'll be goofballs and we'll be silly
Because life is too fun to take so serious, and we remember
So many people forget that, but not you and I, because yeah, we're cool
We be fly, whatever the heck that means, but it works I guess
Whatever slang terms we can think of that mean flat out stinkin' awesome
Well, we can use those terms, and even if other people don't agree
Who cares?
The beach, the sand, the rolling waves, the way you laugh, you're cute smile
Oh the wind that's blowin' your hair and carrying us along
In our big red balloon, flyin' high above the road watching
Watching all the cars they're driving like ants, hurrying and rushed
But baby we got all the time in the world, and we're just smiling to ourselves
We're flyin' we're floating we're having the time of our lives
And who's going to stop us, no one can take away our imagination
And boy, do we have imagination

Tonight

I lie awake in my bed in the summer time with my window open
Blinds up and the moonlight shining, lighting up everything
I sit and I make up fairy tales and fantasies about you and I
About when we're together having adventures all the time
And if you stop and think it's not far from reality because
You and I have imaginations that soar high above
We'll be whatever we want to, whenever we feel like it
We can be marauding pirates or spacemen in spaceships
Today we'll climb Mt. Everest, tomorrow we'll fight baboons
Next week we'll swim in the ocean, and float on red balloons
I might have to pack sunglasses because we'll travel to the sun
But the only thing that will melt is my heart because I'll be with you
And when those sad times come, when we have to say goodbye
We don't feel as sad because we know that we can dream tonight
I swear I'm not laughing at you, but I'm laughing at myself
Because I'm the biggest fool whenever I'm hanging out with you
Whenever my eyes meet yours I pretend I'm looking at the shore
When the waves comes rolling in and the sun is shining all around 
You and I will spend tonight side by side on the cool, clean grass
Looking up at the stars that shine and laying down on our backs
We'll point up and make some shapes like hearts and flowers too
Then we will sail among the heavens in a great hot air balloon 
And when those sad times come, when we have to say goodbye
We don't feel as sad because we know that we can dream tonight

Giving It All You've Got

When you're in that giddy mood
But it's between a point of heartbreak and a smile
Cracked at the top broken in the bottom
You got something to say, you've got to mean it
Talk to me, talk to me make me feel it more
If this is how we're going to be then I'm OK
You just make laugh, you make me smile
Just like before but better
Is it better or am I just saying that?
Either way I'm happy, for you, for me, for us
When you're in that pity mood, feeling sorry
Not for yourself, but for everyone else and you know
Something's going to change even if it kills you
Because you can't go backwards, you gotta go up
Forwards, not down, and keep smiling
Because you know that you got work to do
Hard work and lots of it, give it give it all
Because everyone is worth it, because you don't live
Live for yourself, no, you live for others
And look at me now, look at us, the things we've learned
We're OK you and I, and I'm thinking it'll be great
And in the end in the end things are great
And everyone is happy and those fairy tale endings
The ones we thought we'd never see, they're there
And you're dancing with the love of your life
Everything is right and everything is good
Baby give it all you got
You've got to give it all you've got

The Gossamer Night

Sky, oh sky, the vast expanse its beacons
Clouds, swiftly and softly as the sun's soft glow illuminates
The setting begins, as twinkling diamonds appear
The sky, oh the sky, a brilliant shade of purple further up
Blood red, bright orange and pink horizon-ward
Trees set against, outlined in light, still and silent
The quiet of a summer night sets in, only crickets
Only chirps from those tiny insects playing their piece
Off, far away, the screech, the howl, the night creatures' cry
Echo softly in the valley, sounding, bounding empty
The darkness slowly creeps in and the moon beams
It's turn is up, it's time has come
Gracefully it rises, craters showing, surface glowing
Arching it's neck the North Star points forward, blinking
As if to say, that way, adventure is that way
But you are silent, you are sleeping
Quietly, safely in your bed, soft sheets covering you
Comfortably situated, the silken night moves around you
Deep sleep, pleasant dreams of someone you love
Somewhere you know, somewhere you've never been
A mystery, sprinkled with soft sparkling lights
Waiting, it is calling, and you are wading
Wading through streams of gossamer, hands brushing softly
Eyes fixed forward, the mind alert but content
All is well, all is peaceful, and your adventure begins
The North Star is pointing, and you are walking
Walking in dreams, guided by soft lights
The ones you love, your dearest friends
You begin your adventure and so starts the greatest end
And so it ends, and you wake
The morning sun greets you and you smile
Rested, at peace, a new day dawns
Good morning as you step from your bed of dreams
Another day worked towards another night
A halcyon night walking in gossamer streams

\kə-ˈtas-trə-(ˌ)fē\

The sand washes away at the shore
Eating away at the earth
The water slowly pushes it forward
Like an army on the march it moves
Forward, onward, fearing nothing
Not a stone nor stick turn it back
The sand is a fearsome beast
It kills, it rips, it wrecks, and tears
The sky watches, painting the ocean blue
Clouds whispering, showing not
City lights make it a blur
The salt stirs itself into a frenzy
The sand, it crawl onward
Moving slowly, churning slowly
Victory set in sand, set in stone
Crushing, biting, breaking
And the watchman watched on

You Can't See What Happens Next

Jed was standing above the man slouched on the ground.  There was a bag over the man's head and his hands were tied up in tape.  Jed was smoking a cigarette, and as it burned low to the end he squatted down in front of the man and pushed the burning end against the man's arm.  The man jerked awake with a cry and his head turned this way and that as he tried to figure out what was happening.

"Where am I?" the man asked in a frightened voice.

"Hell," Jed replied flicking the cigarette stub away.

"Who are you?"

"The devil."

"What the fuck do you want?"

"What do you think we want Mr. Barns?"

"Oh shit...not you guys..." Barns began cursing under his breath.

"Yes.  Did you think we wouldn't catch up to you?"

"Doesn't matter, I'm not talking you assholes, I won't say a damn thing."

"I think we can fix that."  Jed pulled a razor blade from his pocket, but Barns couldn't see anything.

A Compilation of Hand Written Stuff I Wrote Mostly At Camp

SPIDERS
Climbing upward it makes its way
Crawling, spinning, making its art
This way and that, back and forth
Around in circles, making its mark

* * *

Untitled #1
Let's go on an adventure together.  I don't know where, but somewhere mysterious and magical.  We'll climb mountains and blaze trails through forests.  We'll swim in rivers and run underneath waterfalls.  The cool thing is, we'll never be lost because we'll be together, and when we're together, we have everything.

* * *

Still
I met a girl, a wonderful girl
She is unlike any other girl I have ever met
She's beautiful yes, but what draws me to her
Is her odd yet attractive mind
It is almost like mine
Random and silly, but
So very much different a the same time
Every time I look into those eyes
All I see is mystery
And it calls me, and I want to know more
She's  pretty wonderful girl
But a pretty wonderful mystery
And she broke my heart
That wonderful mysterious girl
And I can't stop loving her
Still. Still. Still.

* * *

Untitled #2
My hand brushes gently against her cheek.  Her eyes close and she inhales through her nose, savoring the soft touch.  The wind is blowing against us as we sit at the end of the dock on the pond.  The quiet summer night yields all of its romantic and magical charm.  The full moon is reflecting in the water and giving enough light for me to see the slight smile spreading on her face.  Her hand meets mine and we look deeply into each other's eyes, cherishing this beautiful moment.  We smile, then lean in.  Our lips lightly brush as we both hesitate slightly, but then it happens.  Closing the space.  Our first kiss.  It is every bit as wonderful as I imagined.  When we separate we are both smiling. Then we sit holding hands at the end of the dock, the moon smiling down at us.  All on that one beautiful summer night.

* * *

I Hate My Writing
Everything I write is crap
People tell me I'm a good writer
But I hate the words I write on these pages
All the words I see
Typed, written, from my mind
I despise with all the anger and hate I can muster
My own words seem to mock me
I find no real art in what I write
Some people's works I read and fine them beautiful
But not my own, not my own at all
Everything I write is crap

All my writing feel so dark and depressing
I often say that is what I'm best at
But all these words, they ruin and destroy
I feel them burning through my mind
If I am good at anything
It is hurting and causing pain
My writing, I feel, is an extension of this
And it's like I can't stop, so I'm afraid to write
It all burns in the end so why bother?
Why should I keep writing
When I feel such shame with each stroke
Or each press of a key?
My friend, she told me I'm not going to stop
And I almost hope she's right
Is what I write really any good?
If so why do I hate it, why do I end up wishing it away?

So I sit writing this stupid poem
Wondering if it will be my last piece of work
I need motivation I guess you could say
But my emotion that I feed on feel to be running dry
I am starting to feel numb, cold, dead
This vicious cycle of life, I try and put it to words
Is what I do worth it at all, is it really any good?

* * *

Careless
"This is probably a mistake," she says, but she is smiling.

"Probably," he sighs with a smirk.

Then they begin kissing.

* * *

This Is Me
Joe sighed as he set his cup of tea down on the table and stared at the unused napkin in front of him.  His leg shook under the table, ever so slightly vibrating the table and what was on it.  He picked up his tea, took a sip, and set it back down again.  He let out another sigh.

He had not written in days, nothing good at least.  It was all nonsense or a load of poorly places garbage.  He had never really thought of himself as a good writer, but he was usually at least satisfied with what he ended up with, or at least able to tolerate it.  But not lately.  Lately he had been writing stuff that only had a place in his wood-burning stove.

"Maybe I've just run out of juice," he said to himself.  "Maybe I just can't write anymore...it all seems the same after a while.  It all seems so generic and pointless."

His tea was now cold but he continued to sip at it anyway.  When it was gone he got up and went out to his porch to smoke.  He opened the box and pulled out a white cigarette, lit it, and sat down with a big sigh.  He sat thinking, smoking, thinking, smoking.  Each inhale brought his mind peace and clarity, the trail of gray smoke snaking its way up from the red, burning tip.

Then an idea hit him.  It was so stupid but it seemed like it might actually work.  He put out his half-smoked cigarette and rushed inside to his typewriter and began pressing the keys vigorously, typing out the story of a man who was having trouble writing.