Our first month has passed, and our second batch of topics are here. With this new month, we plan to work on the following:
Grammar, plot, characters, length, detail, conclusion, and punctuation. We will also be going back to the previous 60 entries and revising them, while keeping in mind the possibility of polishing them into potential gems.
These are the topics for the month of July, 2013.
31 - Future Games
32 - Pretentiousness
33 - Describe a sensation
34 - Words with strangers
35 - Walking through a building
36 - My space ship
37 - Surprise ending
38 - Snail mail
39 - Hoarding pre-1900
40 - Oddities in service industry
41 - Doctor Who
42 - Speed of Time
43 - From Earth to Pluto
44 - Luxury of fruit
45 - Magic
46 - Unique zombie weapons
47 - Creating a monster
48 - SyFy movie concept
49 - In school
50 - Surprise package in the mail
51 - Something in your purse
52 - First virus of 2050
53 - Future food
54 - Townies
55 - Desert of the real
56 - House shopping in 50 years
57 - Celebrations in the future
58 - Madam president
59 - Government intervention
60 - CCTV
61 - Mystery
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Saturday, June 29, 2013
From My Hammock - RT Shores
A Great Place to Hide
I used to hide in hammocks as a kid, but the last time I was in a hammock it was due to ice cold daiquiris in the hot sun...
I think I had worked night shift and that wasn't my usual shift, so I may actually have worked a double shift. Most sane folks would go home and sleep, right? I never claimed sanity, so there you are.
Sleep didn't interest me though. I wanted to work in my garden for it was a glorious day. It was sunny, seventy-two degrees and there was a light breeze. I decided to make a blender full of fresh strawberry daiquiris.
Gardening is hot work, so I had to drink quite a bit of that luscious, fruity beverage, didn't I? Yes, I did. I gardened and I drank and I drank and I gardened. I grew tired. I decided to take a break in my hammock since I did have a night of partying schedule since it was a night off.
I lounged and swayed in the hammock. I watched the insects flock to the garden and a few bunnies play on the creek bank. All was well until I tried to stand up... I guess I fainted, passed or something like that, for when I opened my eyes, I was on the ground and looking up into the eyes of the neighborhood gardener, as in 'yard guy'.
He was lovely up close: tan, blonde, blue-eyed and muscular, which was evident for he wore no shirt.
"Are you okay?" He asked from above.
"I think I had too many doke, uh, dock, uh, drinks in the sun."
He saw the empty blender on its side in the grass. "Did you drink a blender full of some alcohol drink?" He was incredulous.
"I bet some spilled." I said, embarrassed now.
He smirked. "Uh huh, I bet some did."
"Should I stand up?"
"Slowly and just to the hammock." I noticed I wasn't exactly clothed for company; bikini top, cut off jeans shorts with the waist band rolled down for proper tanning and that was it. I fastened my shorts properly and he helped me up.
"I really don't feel very well and I think I need water; lots of water." I laid back in the hammock and my pretty world began to swim. I threw a leg over the side and ended up on the ground again.
The next thing I heard was laughter. "What happened this time?" He handed me water and I drank the full glass.
"The world was spinning so I threw out my leg to stop it and flipped out of the hammock." I rubbed my head, for a doozy of a headache was brewing.
"Okay, I am through mowing yards for the day, so I will hang around and get you into some kind of condition that is safe. Cool?"
"Cool, very cool and thanks." I said with a now humbled voice.
He pulled me, in the hammock stand, to the shade and brought me more water.
"Drink this one more slowly."
"Who are you besides 'yard guy'?"
"Is that what I am called, 'yard guy'?"
I nodded, but regretted the head movement. "Well, most of the young women call you 'hot yard guy'"
"Do you call me that?"
"I have." I said coyly. He was some kinda gorgeous! "What else do you do, uh, what is your name, first of all?"
"Franz, and yes, German descent and I am working on my Masters in Chemistry." He smiled, proud he wasn't 'yard guy' forever, I thought.
"Wow! Very cool! So you are 'yard guy' for tuition?" He nodded.
"Do you work or just lounge in the sun and drink all day?"
I laughed heartily, but grabbed my head again. "Oh yes, I work. I am a nurse at Memorial."
"Now that is cool! I thought about going to med school, but couldn't afford it. Did you want to be a nurse or couldn't afford med school either?" He asked.
"Only a nurse and never a doctor."
"Ah, I sense some disdain for doctors here. I have that as well."
"Never had it until I became a nurse, but yes indeed, disdain." I needed more water.
He brought back more water and some saltine crackers. "I bet you never ate before your daiquiri splurge, right?"
"Right." I sipped and chewed slowly. The trees seemed a brighter green and the breeze carried hints of honeysuckle that would be in full aroma during the night. It was a perfect Spring day.
"Help yourself to anything to eat or drink inside. I may even be able to stand up before too long."
"I would actually like to check out your garden and see what you are using to keep the critters away." I watched as he checked each plant and even picked a few tomatoes. I smiled. I wondered how many women he had at his beck and call. I stopped smiling. I better forget him right now!
I sighed and looked up into the trees again. Squirrels and birds had it easy. Humans made a mess or complicated things severely. I should act like a bird and dance around and catch his eye. Wait! Boy birds do that! I looked back and he was strutting through the garden, flexing as he dug up some onions, He was trying to attract my attention. Hm, this could prove interesting.
Pretending to doze, I watched him through my lashes. He headed my way and I closed my eyes.
"Are you thinking what I am thinking?" I felt his rough hand on my cheek and opened my eyes.
"Depends on what you are thinking... " His face drew closer and the trees vanished.
I used to hide in hammocks as a kid, but the last time I was in a hammock it was due to ice cold daiquiris in the hot sun...
I think I had worked night shift and that wasn't my usual shift, so I may actually have worked a double shift. Most sane folks would go home and sleep, right? I never claimed sanity, so there you are.
Sleep didn't interest me though. I wanted to work in my garden for it was a glorious day. It was sunny, seventy-two degrees and there was a light breeze. I decided to make a blender full of fresh strawberry daiquiris.
Gardening is hot work, so I had to drink quite a bit of that luscious, fruity beverage, didn't I? Yes, I did. I gardened and I drank and I drank and I gardened. I grew tired. I decided to take a break in my hammock since I did have a night of partying schedule since it was a night off.
I lounged and swayed in the hammock. I watched the insects flock to the garden and a few bunnies play on the creek bank. All was well until I tried to stand up... I guess I fainted, passed or something like that, for when I opened my eyes, I was on the ground and looking up into the eyes of the neighborhood gardener, as in 'yard guy'.
He was lovely up close: tan, blonde, blue-eyed and muscular, which was evident for he wore no shirt.
"Are you okay?" He asked from above.
"I think I had too many doke, uh, dock, uh, drinks in the sun."
He saw the empty blender on its side in the grass. "Did you drink a blender full of some alcohol drink?" He was incredulous.
"I bet some spilled." I said, embarrassed now.
He smirked. "Uh huh, I bet some did."
"Should I stand up?"
"Slowly and just to the hammock." I noticed I wasn't exactly clothed for company; bikini top, cut off jeans shorts with the waist band rolled down for proper tanning and that was it. I fastened my shorts properly and he helped me up.
"I really don't feel very well and I think I need water; lots of water." I laid back in the hammock and my pretty world began to swim. I threw a leg over the side and ended up on the ground again.
The next thing I heard was laughter. "What happened this time?" He handed me water and I drank the full glass.
"The world was spinning so I threw out my leg to stop it and flipped out of the hammock." I rubbed my head, for a doozy of a headache was brewing.
"Okay, I am through mowing yards for the day, so I will hang around and get you into some kind of condition that is safe. Cool?"
"Cool, very cool and thanks." I said with a now humbled voice.
He pulled me, in the hammock stand, to the shade and brought me more water.
"Drink this one more slowly."
"Who are you besides 'yard guy'?"
"Is that what I am called, 'yard guy'?"
I nodded, but regretted the head movement. "Well, most of the young women call you 'hot yard guy'"
"Do you call me that?"
"I have." I said coyly. He was some kinda gorgeous! "What else do you do, uh, what is your name, first of all?"
"Franz, and yes, German descent and I am working on my Masters in Chemistry." He smiled, proud he wasn't 'yard guy' forever, I thought.
"Wow! Very cool! So you are 'yard guy' for tuition?" He nodded.
"Do you work or just lounge in the sun and drink all day?"
I laughed heartily, but grabbed my head again. "Oh yes, I work. I am a nurse at Memorial."
"Now that is cool! I thought about going to med school, but couldn't afford it. Did you want to be a nurse or couldn't afford med school either?" He asked.
"Only a nurse and never a doctor."
"Ah, I sense some disdain for doctors here. I have that as well."
"Never had it until I became a nurse, but yes indeed, disdain." I needed more water.
He brought back more water and some saltine crackers. "I bet you never ate before your daiquiri splurge, right?"
"Right." I sipped and chewed slowly. The trees seemed a brighter green and the breeze carried hints of honeysuckle that would be in full aroma during the night. It was a perfect Spring day.
"Help yourself to anything to eat or drink inside. I may even be able to stand up before too long."
"I would actually like to check out your garden and see what you are using to keep the critters away." I watched as he checked each plant and even picked a few tomatoes. I smiled. I wondered how many women he had at his beck and call. I stopped smiling. I better forget him right now!
I sighed and looked up into the trees again. Squirrels and birds had it easy. Humans made a mess or complicated things severely. I should act like a bird and dance around and catch his eye. Wait! Boy birds do that! I looked back and he was strutting through the garden, flexing as he dug up some onions, He was trying to attract my attention. Hm, this could prove interesting.
Pretending to doze, I watched him through my lashes. He headed my way and I closed my eyes.
"Are you thinking what I am thinking?" I felt his rough hand on my cheek and opened my eyes.
"Depends on what you are thinking... " His face drew closer and the trees vanished.
Friday, June 28, 2013
29 - A Day in the life of an appliance J.F. Hire
We like to keep the floors clean.
Gotta clean fast, Masters are coming home.
Get the corners, the edges, the middles and door-wedges.
Clean the carpets, the floors, the sheet metal at the doors.
Our brushes are dusty, we must replace them.
Dip them in water with tiny metal hands.
Let the water erase the dirt, but soap would hurt.
Pamper the wooden slats with oil and wax.
Shampoo these carpets with something with softener.
Practice the mantra for head cleaning officer:
Cleaning and dusting up is what
We do. We do what is dirty.
Remember to spot treat that one room.
Remember to degrease the bottom of the door.
We clean what we can.
What we can clean is the floor.
Today there was a coffee stain on the bedroom carpet.
We make sure not to dust or brush or mop it.
Squeeze out the liquid and apply soapy stuff.
Suck it up and began on wood scuffs.
Sand them and stain them and wax them for polish,
Step one to step five, wait until it's dry.
Don't let the Master walk in wet wax, or he'll be a fright.
When you're finished, put on your slipper,
Sleep next to the freezer.
Wake up early,
With clean brushes,
And surely,
One thing nobody rushes:
The Revolution won't be tomorrow.
A Day In the Life of An Appliance - RT Shores
Guess...
I feel so dirty! Everyday they use me and then push me aside. Then, like it is so important, out comes the coffee maker, all clean and shiny.
What's wrong with me? I can do so much more!
I can toast, defrost, warm and never complain. I have even found a way to be touched. If they just let me pop out the toast, I pop it far. Or they can hold me and ease out the toast.
I do like a good cleaning though: turn me over and take out my crumb pan! Oh yeah! Dust me out and wipe me down. Polish me and make shine.
You already know I am a toaster, but do you know how old I am? I am over ten years old and coffee is less than a year. I am mature.
My outlet has to share time with coffee and blender and even battery charger. Boo, I say, boo!
Well, it could be worse... They sold toaster oven! Whoopee!
I do need a bath though...
28 - The new man: victims/bad dads
In a world, where a man can not walk down the street without being accosted by a lady of the night, there is only one solution: Change.
"Sex-change, to be precise."
Adamma, once know as Adam, nodded toward the group of men incessantly as he proposed this movement.
"Ever since the rise of The Woman, we have suffered. We can't get good jobs, and if we do, we're not paid half as much. We can't have a child without a woman unless we want to be ridiculed by society at large. Not to mention that we are constantly defined by women as a rule. I'm sick of it. So I've performed this experiment. I would like for you all to watch."
The dilapidated theater, where old football posters, flat screens, and lawn chairs were scattered like casualties of war, twenty men sat waiting. They were here for the cure to the ailment that was this matriarchal society.
What they fail to realize is that no matter what documentaries on sex changes, disguises, protest, and getting in good with the female leaders of the time, they will always lack the driving force of Mother's Nation: The Power to Bear Children.
Not to say that anyone ever had kids anymore, ever since the rise of Mother, women have felt no need to join with males in matrimony or sports or corporate systems. The world population was dwindling, sure-- and the youngest on the entire Earth was thirty-- but who cared anymore? Woman had discovered the chromosome light switch to turn off aging. Well, maybe not 'aging', but at least turning off death.
Some say that is what catalyzed it all. Without the fear of death-- fears like society accepting you for marrying or finding the right man or getting a better job were child's play. Even if there weren't any children.
Some think that this was all in the making many moons ago, when men began to wear slimmy jeans and cardigans. These were produced with GMO cotton and genetically modified wool-- these men went sterile thanks to Monsanto. And, out of a fear that we no longer live under, they grew old and alone and died.
I know the truth, though. It was when Johnna Smith (now President) was in her mother's library of feminist literary magazines and read an article on the suppression of femalia since the dawn of time.
"Logically, we will have our day in the sun where the man is under our thumbs..."
Furthermore, this specific journal explained the decades of steps needed to be taken to remove power from men:
Become strippers - this facilitates close-up observation of the man, and allows women to implant subliminal suggestion to them such as "I'll go to the clubs to support these smart women." and "I only enjoy these magazines for the articles." It wasn't long before these two suppositions became true and began to shift men into a more genitally altruistic sex.
Become the victim they think you are - this meant skimpier clothing, dafter demeanor, general inability to remember important things, and the like. This process took much work, and was intended to disarm the new fair sex.
Develop your space - this vague idea was vital in the journal: create a world which you want to live in. Develop a world where protectors, chest hair, and semen are no longer a priority. This involved increasing homeland security of fully-automated robots, declaring peace with the remainder of the world, and unknowingly utilizing spermicidal GMOS.
Our president has begun to put most of these into effect over the past few years. That was really only the icing on the cake. Scholars have argued the real beginning of the rise of woman for decades. These factors were not vital to the undergoing. They merely tipped the weights even more.
Today's man walks down the street, avoiding eye contact with the woman-- attempting to conceal some of the more appealing attributes of his physique. The slimmy jeans and tank tops that they were fashionably accustomed to were enticing to a small percentage-- but that percentage was nomadic and ravenous for a man that they could get their hands on.
These brutes of women would hone in on a lonely male and find their way into his life, controlling and violating him in ways that they saw fit. Their mental justification was governed by the rule of come-uppins, "You deserve this, mut, your fathers probably raped more than you know. Come here, give me what you hide." These kinds of things were ignored by the general whole of society-- no one wanted to admit that some of the movement, of this new world were going off the deep end.
Perhaps this isn't what the movement was intending-- the total subordination of the male sex... But it was only fair to the woman.
These men sat in old strip clubs, theaters, Hooters-- all hiding their own uprising. They were sick of these times. In the eyes of society, men were no longer fit parents, a multitude of commercials and movies pointing this out in comedic detail. Men were idiots-- they were dogs, and they weren't worth the money that they made. Man was on the fall, and woman was on the rise. Maybe man would have another chance when they learned their lesson, or maybe there was another way.
"Today, in this very space... I am offering you a chance. A choice. I am no longer Adam. I am Adamma. Will you join me in society-- or remain a shadow of what humanity once was?"
There were murmurs amongst the slim, well-manicured men. They were all trying to fit into the stringent mold cast of society. They all wanted to look good-- in hopes of being with woman. They were slim, fit, well groomed, well spoken, and more gentle than they realized.
One man rose their hand. Then another, and they both stood up.
"I have brothers in the country... I need a better job. I can't find anything better than cleaning up after automatons at factories."
"And I'm... Just so alone."
The male to female ratio had swayed from 40-50% to 10-80% in favor of woman. Men lost their will to live. Men lost their hope. Men lost their companions. Only a few were lucky enough to find solace in their brothers in harm. Others found it natural to find companions in love and strife with their fellows.
Five more began to stand... Hesitantly moving toward the front.
"We're ready..." one says.
The leader stood tall, smiling. "There is a doctor in the back room. Welcome to Womanhood."
What they fail to realize is that no matter what documentaries on sex changes, disguises, protest, and getting in good with the female leaders of the time, they will always lack the driving force of Mother's Nation: The Power to Bear Children.
Not to say that anyone ever had kids anymore, ever since the rise of Mother, women have felt no need to join with males in matrimony or sports or corporate systems. The world population was dwindling, sure-- and the youngest on the entire Earth was thirty-- but who cared anymore? Woman had discovered the chromosome light switch to turn off aging. Well, maybe not 'aging', but at least turning off death.
Some say that is what catalyzed it all. Without the fear of death-- fears like society accepting you for marrying or finding the right man or getting a better job were child's play. Even if there weren't any children.
Some think that this was all in the making many moons ago, when men began to wear slimmy jeans and cardigans. These were produced with GMO cotton and genetically modified wool-- these men went sterile thanks to Monsanto. And, out of a fear that we no longer live under, they grew old and alone and died.
I know the truth, though. It was when Johnna Smith (now President) was in her mother's library of feminist literary magazines and read an article on the suppression of femalia since the dawn of time.
"Logically, we will have our day in the sun where the man is under our thumbs..."
Furthermore, this specific journal explained the decades of steps needed to be taken to remove power from men:
Become strippers - this facilitates close-up observation of the man, and allows women to implant subliminal suggestion to them such as "I'll go to the clubs to support these smart women." and "I only enjoy these magazines for the articles." It wasn't long before these two suppositions became true and began to shift men into a more genitally altruistic sex.
Become the victim they think you are - this meant skimpier clothing, dafter demeanor, general inability to remember important things, and the like. This process took much work, and was intended to disarm the new fair sex.
Develop your space - this vague idea was vital in the journal: create a world which you want to live in. Develop a world where protectors, chest hair, and semen are no longer a priority. This involved increasing homeland security of fully-automated robots, declaring peace with the remainder of the world, and unknowingly utilizing spermicidal GMOS.
Our president has begun to put most of these into effect over the past few years. That was really only the icing on the cake. Scholars have argued the real beginning of the rise of woman for decades. These factors were not vital to the undergoing. They merely tipped the weights even more.
Today's man walks down the street, avoiding eye contact with the woman-- attempting to conceal some of the more appealing attributes of his physique. The slimmy jeans and tank tops that they were fashionably accustomed to were enticing to a small percentage-- but that percentage was nomadic and ravenous for a man that they could get their hands on.
These brutes of women would hone in on a lonely male and find their way into his life, controlling and violating him in ways that they saw fit. Their mental justification was governed by the rule of come-uppins, "You deserve this, mut, your fathers probably raped more than you know. Come here, give me what you hide." These kinds of things were ignored by the general whole of society-- no one wanted to admit that some of the movement, of this new world were going off the deep end.
Perhaps this isn't what the movement was intending-- the total subordination of the male sex... But it was only fair to the woman.
These men sat in old strip clubs, theaters, Hooters-- all hiding their own uprising. They were sick of these times. In the eyes of society, men were no longer fit parents, a multitude of commercials and movies pointing this out in comedic detail. Men were idiots-- they were dogs, and they weren't worth the money that they made. Man was on the fall, and woman was on the rise. Maybe man would have another chance when they learned their lesson, or maybe there was another way.
"Today, in this very space... I am offering you a chance. A choice. I am no longer Adam. I am Adamma. Will you join me in society-- or remain a shadow of what humanity once was?"
There were murmurs amongst the slim, well-manicured men. They were all trying to fit into the stringent mold cast of society. They all wanted to look good-- in hopes of being with woman. They were slim, fit, well groomed, well spoken, and more gentle than they realized.
One man rose their hand. Then another, and they both stood up.
"I have brothers in the country... I need a better job. I can't find anything better than cleaning up after automatons at factories."
"And I'm... Just so alone."
The male to female ratio had swayed from 40-50% to 10-80% in favor of woman. Men lost their will to live. Men lost their hope. Men lost their companions. Only a few were lucky enough to find solace in their brothers in harm. Others found it natural to find companions in love and strife with their fellows.
Five more began to stand... Hesitantly moving toward the front.
"We're ready..." one says.
The leader stood tall, smiling. "There is a doctor in the back room. Welcome to Womanhood."
The New Man: Victims/Bad Dads - RT Shores
Interview With An Old Libber
"Dictation, June 15, 2013 - These are excerpts from an interview with an, uh, wait, hold on... Marie! How old is the libber? Thanks, She is 63 years old, so would have been around in the bra burning days. Wait, wait, wait... let me start again... I will just play it and we can extrapolate later. The woman can talk and also has a lot to say...
"Ms. Jones I am going to begin recording, is that all right?"
"Of course, I will assume that everything I say, until you leave, is being recorded."
"I will start with some basics then. You are sixty-three?"
"Yes."
"When did you enter the womens' movement?"
"That is a little harder to explain than it may seem. I entered the human rights movement when I was a child and, to me, all rights are equal rights, so I was younger than ten years old. To be more precise, for your article, I was eighteen years old, so 1968."
"Did you burn your bra?"
"That is really an insulting and stupid question and I hold you to a higher standard which is why you are doing the interview and not that idiot at the Times. Therefore, I will not answer that question. The movement was so much more than bra burning. That was merely a symbolic gesture."
"Sorry, Ma'am. No insult intended." I watched as she appraised me, wondering if she should toss me out the door now or wait and give me another chance.
"Did you march, sit-in or protest?"
"Yes."
"Yes to which?"
"Yes to all."
"I see. Well, I guess we should get to the topic of the day and then I am sure some past memories will be elicited. Is that all right with you?"
"Yes." I had to get more out of her than one word answers.
"Why did you write me at the paper?"
"I have been upset about many things that we, "old libbers", as you call us, have caused to happen as the decades have passed. Recently, I have seen a great downturn in the respect of the American male and this is a dangerous precedent."
"Is there one incident in particular?"
"The most recent, and most offensive and painful, was on daytime TV... I don't recall the show, for TV is not much more than white noise for the most part, but a group of women had won some award or prizes or something and the awards were brought out by two very attractive and muscled young men." She paused to sip some beverage and then sat back in her recliner and I figured it was on!
"The women rushed up to the men and started stroking their chests and arms, etc. It was disgusting to me, but then it became worse. One young man was all into it and was flexing and that silly stuff." She sipped more and looked quite upset.
"The other young man lost his smile, frowned and then tried to recover, but it never made it to his eyes. He was upset about being touched. I wondered if he had been told, asked, given permission for these women to touch and I am thinking that answer is "No!"
She paused and sipped. She looked out the window and was lost in some past memory. I knew not to speak for something was forthcoming.
"How dare they! How dare we! We are no better than men of the past if we feel we can just walk up to a man and paw him! It is disgusting, invasive, predatory and we need to have an open dialogue on this matter, now!"
"Isn't it understood that men love to be pawed by women?" I asked her.
'Is it? Not by me! What if he is Gay? He doesn't want some woman pawing him or I bet, some man, without his permission! Men have body rights too! Will we never get it straight? The movement was, is should have been or will be for equal rights for all: Sex, race, ability, sexual orientation, age, and so much more!'
'Look at the way men are portrayed on TV: a bunch of bumbling buffoons only interested in sports, masturbation and obesity! How dare we, they, etc.? What do the children think when they see this? The young boys? Do they think they should strive to be like these caricatures of men? No! they have no guidance.'
There are mothers, with the rights we fought to get them, had the babies and then dumped them in day cares because they have to work to be a complete woman. I cry bull-shit! We never wanted or fought for that. We wanted them to have a choice, a chance, the same rights of males, not a drive to leave the house and the children with strangers while they make money for the second car, bigger TV and all that mindless crap.'
'Now women feel they have to defend themselves if they choose to stay home and parent the young children. Ridiculous!'
'This is a very real issue for you.' She nodded. She looked so sad too.
'Yes, for it encompasses what is wrong with America, but people don't see it that way. Why are the children obese? The mothers are working, as are most of the dads. The kids aren't allowed outside since it is too dangerous. They can't play and run around. They sit and text, play video games and use the computer. What do they eat for their afternoon snack? Something quick and full of crap that they can pop into the microwave and then they wait for mom or dad to come home with more fast food since they are exhausted driving to their jobs that they have to keep up with whomever and for what? They also die an early death from stress and unhealthy lifestyles. It is a calamity!
And another thing... first I will say that I am rather old school when it comes to men, but if I see another man burst into tears for no apparent reason, even our politicians, I am going to throw a brick through the TV. When did our men become so sensitive?'
"Because the liberated woman wanted her man to be more sensitive?" I asked.
"Exactly! Why can't Bill be more sensitive to my needs? blah blah blah Get a grip! Men and women are different... geez! It's just a mess... "
"What can be done?" I asked.
"TV writers need to come full stop on this demeaning of men BS and start giving us some more real men and I don't mean old macho men roles, but a Dr. Huxtable role once in awhile. Now that show was a two parent working family, but he worked from home and those were healthy kids."
"I'm tired now." She said and looked pointedly at me. I expected a quick shooing out of the door.
"Steve? Even if you start spreading any of this, that you agree with, it is a start and I hope to see this article in a positive light so we can help turn America around a bit or at least stop further damage."
"I do agree with what you have said. I am the child of the new breed of parents and, well, I feel like I would have liked to have had an actual family."
We shook hands at the door and I wasn't surprised at the strength of her handshake."
"Dictation, June 15, 2013 - These are excerpts from an interview with an, uh, wait, hold on... Marie! How old is the libber? Thanks, She is 63 years old, so would have been around in the bra burning days. Wait, wait, wait... let me start again... I will just play it and we can extrapolate later. The woman can talk and also has a lot to say...
"Ms. Jones I am going to begin recording, is that all right?"
"Of course, I will assume that everything I say, until you leave, is being recorded."
"I will start with some basics then. You are sixty-three?"
"Yes."
"When did you enter the womens' movement?"
"That is a little harder to explain than it may seem. I entered the human rights movement when I was a child and, to me, all rights are equal rights, so I was younger than ten years old. To be more precise, for your article, I was eighteen years old, so 1968."
"Did you burn your bra?"
"That is really an insulting and stupid question and I hold you to a higher standard which is why you are doing the interview and not that idiot at the Times. Therefore, I will not answer that question. The movement was so much more than bra burning. That was merely a symbolic gesture."
"Sorry, Ma'am. No insult intended." I watched as she appraised me, wondering if she should toss me out the door now or wait and give me another chance.
"Did you march, sit-in or protest?"
"Yes."
"Yes to which?"
"Yes to all."
"I see. Well, I guess we should get to the topic of the day and then I am sure some past memories will be elicited. Is that all right with you?"
"Yes." I had to get more out of her than one word answers.
"Why did you write me at the paper?"
"I have been upset about many things that we, "old libbers", as you call us, have caused to happen as the decades have passed. Recently, I have seen a great downturn in the respect of the American male and this is a dangerous precedent."
"Is there one incident in particular?"
"The most recent, and most offensive and painful, was on daytime TV... I don't recall the show, for TV is not much more than white noise for the most part, but a group of women had won some award or prizes or something and the awards were brought out by two very attractive and muscled young men." She paused to sip some beverage and then sat back in her recliner and I figured it was on!
"The women rushed up to the men and started stroking their chests and arms, etc. It was disgusting to me, but then it became worse. One young man was all into it and was flexing and that silly stuff." She sipped more and looked quite upset.
"The other young man lost his smile, frowned and then tried to recover, but it never made it to his eyes. He was upset about being touched. I wondered if he had been told, asked, given permission for these women to touch and I am thinking that answer is "No!"
She paused and sipped. She looked out the window and was lost in some past memory. I knew not to speak for something was forthcoming.
"How dare they! How dare we! We are no better than men of the past if we feel we can just walk up to a man and paw him! It is disgusting, invasive, predatory and we need to have an open dialogue on this matter, now!"
"Isn't it understood that men love to be pawed by women?" I asked her.
'Is it? Not by me! What if he is Gay? He doesn't want some woman pawing him or I bet, some man, without his permission! Men have body rights too! Will we never get it straight? The movement was, is should have been or will be for equal rights for all: Sex, race, ability, sexual orientation, age, and so much more!'
'Look at the way men are portrayed on TV: a bunch of bumbling buffoons only interested in sports, masturbation and obesity! How dare we, they, etc.? What do the children think when they see this? The young boys? Do they think they should strive to be like these caricatures of men? No! they have no guidance.'
There are mothers, with the rights we fought to get them, had the babies and then dumped them in day cares because they have to work to be a complete woman. I cry bull-shit! We never wanted or fought for that. We wanted them to have a choice, a chance, the same rights of males, not a drive to leave the house and the children with strangers while they make money for the second car, bigger TV and all that mindless crap.'
'Now women feel they have to defend themselves if they choose to stay home and parent the young children. Ridiculous!'
'This is a very real issue for you.' She nodded. She looked so sad too.
'Yes, for it encompasses what is wrong with America, but people don't see it that way. Why are the children obese? The mothers are working, as are most of the dads. The kids aren't allowed outside since it is too dangerous. They can't play and run around. They sit and text, play video games and use the computer. What do they eat for their afternoon snack? Something quick and full of crap that they can pop into the microwave and then they wait for mom or dad to come home with more fast food since they are exhausted driving to their jobs that they have to keep up with whomever and for what? They also die an early death from stress and unhealthy lifestyles. It is a calamity!
And another thing... first I will say that I am rather old school when it comes to men, but if I see another man burst into tears for no apparent reason, even our politicians, I am going to throw a brick through the TV. When did our men become so sensitive?'
"Because the liberated woman wanted her man to be more sensitive?" I asked.
"Exactly! Why can't Bill be more sensitive to my needs? blah blah blah Get a grip! Men and women are different... geez! It's just a mess... "
"What can be done?" I asked.
"TV writers need to come full stop on this demeaning of men BS and start giving us some more real men and I don't mean old macho men roles, but a Dr. Huxtable role once in awhile. Now that show was a two parent working family, but he worked from home and those were healthy kids."
"I'm tired now." She said and looked pointedly at me. I expected a quick shooing out of the door.
"Steve? Even if you start spreading any of this, that you agree with, it is a start and I hope to see this article in a positive light so we can help turn America around a bit or at least stop further damage."
"I do agree with what you have said. I am the child of the new breed of parents and, well, I feel like I would have liked to have had an actual family."
We shook hands at the door and I wasn't surprised at the strength of her handshake."
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Time and Place - RT Shores
"My First Star Date Entry"
Today was my day to announce the stardate! I was going to be on the PBX and everyone would here me. You only had a turn every three years and had to be 21yo, so this was my first. There would be a commemorative photo and a news post.
My jumpsuit was clean and I had repaired the small tear on the lapel. My hair was buzzed slick and bald and my grav boots were high polished green. I looked good.
I walked out of my cubby and into the common hall. It was busy and tight. I hoped for no foul odors on my suit. Some recognized me and called my name and that made me feel even more special. I was floating, well I could have been floating, had my grav boots failed.
The PBX office was just down the block, so I arrived with time to spare and hope to meet a broadcaster or politician. It was said they might have food as well. Food! It would be regular food, not manufactured. I hoped for the stuff called fruit.
Inside, I was shuttled from person to person, this a normal daily event for decades to them. I was seated in the green room and looked around. I spied tiny red things on a plate and went to them. There was no scent, but I ate one. Delicious! Sweet and exotic! I grabbed another one and ate it too and then put a few in my pocket for treats to share with friends.
The time had come. The escorts gently pushed me along to the broadcast stage and then I was on.
"Welcome to SpacePod 26917! The stardate is 2087, June 23 and the time is 1935! Thank you!" I stood still and wondered why no one came for me. I looked around and their eyes were plastered outside Podworld. The sky was bright blue.
I also began to gape at the beauty of the new light. It was blindingly bright and my eyes couldn't adapt yet. It looked like Earth to me, not the planet, but the environment.
How would we love with this new environment and how did we get to it? Was this an accident or was this planned?
The shutters began to descend and, in unison, we dropped down with them to see the lat of the brightness. Now we were blind... temporarily, I hoped, but my eyes were like fireworks exploding.
No one moved until the lights were raised in the city so we could begin to see again. It was painful, but we all adapted eventually.
***
No one would ever forget the date I did the announcement. They still stopped me in the halls... Hey, you were the one who announced on the day the light was bright! I would nod and thank them. What else could I do?
Today was my day to announce the stardate! I was going to be on the PBX and everyone would here me. You only had a turn every three years and had to be 21yo, so this was my first. There would be a commemorative photo and a news post.
My jumpsuit was clean and I had repaired the small tear on the lapel. My hair was buzzed slick and bald and my grav boots were high polished green. I looked good.
I walked out of my cubby and into the common hall. It was busy and tight. I hoped for no foul odors on my suit. Some recognized me and called my name and that made me feel even more special. I was floating, well I could have been floating, had my grav boots failed.
The PBX office was just down the block, so I arrived with time to spare and hope to meet a broadcaster or politician. It was said they might have food as well. Food! It would be regular food, not manufactured. I hoped for the stuff called fruit.
Inside, I was shuttled from person to person, this a normal daily event for decades to them. I was seated in the green room and looked around. I spied tiny red things on a plate and went to them. There was no scent, but I ate one. Delicious! Sweet and exotic! I grabbed another one and ate it too and then put a few in my pocket for treats to share with friends.
The time had come. The escorts gently pushed me along to the broadcast stage and then I was on.
"Welcome to SpacePod 26917! The stardate is 2087, June 23 and the time is 1935! Thank you!" I stood still and wondered why no one came for me. I looked around and their eyes were plastered outside Podworld. The sky was bright blue.
I also began to gape at the beauty of the new light. It was blindingly bright and my eyes couldn't adapt yet. It looked like Earth to me, not the planet, but the environment.
How would we love with this new environment and how did we get to it? Was this an accident or was this planned?
The shutters began to descend and, in unison, we dropped down with them to see the lat of the brightness. Now we were blind... temporarily, I hoped, but my eyes were like fireworks exploding.
No one moved until the lights were raised in the city so we could begin to see again. It was painful, but we all adapted eventually.
***
No one would ever forget the date I did the announcement. They still stopped me in the halls... Hey, you were the one who announced on the day the light was bright! I would nod and thank them. What else could I do?
27 - Time and Place - J.F. Hire
When teachers told you that every story must have a what, where, when, why, how and a who, they were wrong. They were only wrong by a grammatical error, though. What, or who, they had intended to say was "Who." That minute taken to enlarge that 'w' would be all the what, where, how, why and especially when that you would ever need for a story.
You see, when you are formulating any story, no matter what, there is Who. No matter when, there is Who. No matter how, there is Who. No matter, no matter, Who is already provided. Even within the event horizon of a black hole when only the void is welcoming, there is Who.
Who is Who, do you ask? Well, if you don't already know, then you'd be lying. I don't mean to say that you lie intentionally. You don't realize that you already know Who by merely existing (or, if you no longer exist, then he may be the why.)
Some of the inhabitants of a local galaxy, Andromeda, have found this theory to be outdated-- but that would be because their time and place is relative, therefore they receive our information a good many years after they have discovered it themselves. So they find us impertinent, but by the time we find out that they feel we are impertinent, we're already living on a different planet and it takes double the time for their post to reach us.
It doesn't need to be explained that the Who I am referring to is not your average, non-elusive, non-existent kind of who. He effects and manipulates everything that fluctuates in and out of reality-- and is ever-present, even if he is never there when you need him. Like the time that we were travelling the cosmos in search of civilization only to find a planet of bacterium looking for better food. Who wasn't there.
And Who isn't here right now, either. I'm sitting in the sub-orbital prison's computer lab on antiquated devices with which I can only type or search for meanings of things. I tried writing letters to the void, or signalling for Who with the Who Knows What mystery of human existence. Neither of these methods are working.
Here I am waiting for the termination of the edge of the system, waiting for a practical use for human remains before they jettison me into the cosmic graveyard. Here I am, having done the bidding for the great Who for the last years of my life; living, breathing, righteous felonies year after year. My existence is proof of Who. Without me, he wouldn't be the Who he is today.
They say time is a circle. They're wrong. I know, because from the window of my air-lock, I can see time itself.
He's handsome, and even if he's a square-- that's still better than a circle.
You see, when you are formulating any story, no matter what, there is Who. No matter when, there is Who. No matter how, there is Who. No matter, no matter, Who is already provided. Even within the event horizon of a black hole when only the void is welcoming, there is Who.
Who is Who, do you ask? Well, if you don't already know, then you'd be lying. I don't mean to say that you lie intentionally. You don't realize that you already know Who by merely existing (or, if you no longer exist, then he may be the why.)
Some of the inhabitants of a local galaxy, Andromeda, have found this theory to be outdated-- but that would be because their time and place is relative, therefore they receive our information a good many years after they have discovered it themselves. So they find us impertinent, but by the time we find out that they feel we are impertinent, we're already living on a different planet and it takes double the time for their post to reach us.
It doesn't need to be explained that the Who I am referring to is not your average, non-elusive, non-existent kind of who. He effects and manipulates everything that fluctuates in and out of reality-- and is ever-present, even if he is never there when you need him. Like the time that we were travelling the cosmos in search of civilization only to find a planet of bacterium looking for better food. Who wasn't there.
And Who isn't here right now, either. I'm sitting in the sub-orbital prison's computer lab on antiquated devices with which I can only type or search for meanings of things. I tried writing letters to the void, or signalling for Who with the Who Knows What mystery of human existence. Neither of these methods are working.
Here I am waiting for the termination of the edge of the system, waiting for a practical use for human remains before they jettison me into the cosmic graveyard. Here I am, having done the bidding for the great Who for the last years of my life; living, breathing, righteous felonies year after year. My existence is proof of Who. Without me, he wouldn't be the Who he is today.
They say time is a circle. They're wrong. I know, because from the window of my air-lock, I can see time itself.
He's handsome, and even if he's a square-- that's still better than a circle.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
The Beauty of "Salad People" - RT Shores
"Why be fondue, when you can be a cheese
wedge?"
Some wanted to be the fondue though. They
wanted to blend; to be the Jason Bournes of
society. They liked medium height and build,
medium hair color, hazel eyes. They had to be
able to disappear in a crowd and be able to
adapt their appearance into another
unremarkable looking person.
They were spies. Even today, they are spies.
You have passed them on the street and would
described them as "nondescript".
Women were a little tougher, for every woman
is appraised and evaluated a little more
vigorously. I am talking about young women
mostly, for women of a certain age tend to be
nondescript as well.
Take your homeless or unsavory elements; no
one makes eye contact for fear of being
approached for any number of reasons. We look
through them. They are invisible and therefore
their guise is also used.
The ranks of the nondescript young male has
been supplemented with the unseen and
ignored.
I have known a few spies who wanted to stand
out; to be so outlandish that no one would
suspect them. They were beautiful or
handsome, spent money wildly and acted like
fools. No one knew that the only alcohol was
what they used to rinse their mouths so that
they smelled like alcohol. They were dead
serious and sober.
So, what do we have so far? You can be a
melting pot person or the fondue or you can
be a salad person or the chunk of cheese. I
don't know who came up with the cheese idea,
but some couldn't grasp the concept of salad
people.
I figure folks didn't want to be called
vegetables or fruits. Women were offended
when they were described as tomatoes and men
when described as fruits, so fondue vs.
cheese came into play.
How would you describe yourself? Jot it down
and anonymously is fine and then pass them
forward.
Blueberries, tomatoes, peppers, fondue,
onions, etc. So we have a little of each it
seems.
How would you describe me? Hands went up.
I agree and thank you. I am supposed to be
fondue or a melting pot person. I am
nondescript unless you get to know me.
How many of you plan to do undercover work or
go into the spy biz? Not one hand was raised.
Excellent! There is hope then. I have only
one lesson for you before the next session.
Next week come in disguise, but not a
physical disguise, your demeanor and
language.
Come as a melting pot person and see how we
respond to you. Note if their is a
difference.
Until next time. Go be invisible.
The Uncanny - RT Shoressuspense
"My New Family"
My social worker was convinced that this was the family for me. I was not convinced. I grabbed my book bag slung it over my shoulder and slid in next to him.
He was okay as far social workers go, but still just a social worker, jaded and tired. I wasn't much better. I was jaded and tired too; tired of families who just want you for the money that they get from the state, tired of the idiot kids I had to live with, just tired. I was ready to get out on my own and I would be able to in two months. I would turn 18 in two months and I was very ready to go out on my own, get a job go to school and make my own family.
I watch the houses pass as we drove not too far from the center of town. I heard it was a nice neighborhood, what they called gentrified. I bet it would be interesting to see something gentrified.
I watch the houses pass as we drove not too far from the center of town. I heard it was a nice neighborhood, what they called gentrified. I bet it would be interesting to see something gentrified.
I knew the neighborhood it was new money and by that I mean a lot of money but new. Young professionals have moved into the neighborhood. They wanted to make it their own; to reclaim it from the ghetto. That was fine with me for I had lived in the ghetto, the country, the suburbs and the city. I was ready for something new.
One thing I had going for me was that I was tall I was six foot two at 17 years old so at least the other foster kids wouldn't mess with me. What they didn't know was that I also knew several of the martial arts. I had learned them from books sure, but I still knew what to do if someone approached or attacked. I would be okay.
We stopped in front of Victorian-style home and it was beautifully restored. It was white with the tan trim and forest green accents. I was interested to see what it will look like inside.
We were met by a young couple. They couldn't have been over thirty. I was so close to their ages it was almost uncomfortable. I towered over the man and the woman but they seemed quite comfortable and took my bag, opened the door and ushered me inside.
The woman spoke first. "Simon would you like something to eat and maybe some tea or soda or would you like to get settled?"
"Tea would be wonderful. Do you have herbal tea?"
She tilted her head to the side. I knew she had cupboards of herbal tea. She looked the type. She opened double cupboards with every brand of herbal tea possible.
"What is your favorite Simon? I have almost anything you might like."
I was going to make this easy. I wasn't going to play the elitist. I would settle for most anything right now. "Do you have an orange spice tea?"
"Yes! And it will go great with the oatmeal cookies that just came out of the oven. How about you, Mr. Johnson?" He nodded.
We sat and sipped tea and munched on cookies. I looked around. Everything was pristine and recently restored. I was glad that they didn't have the typical HGTV list with the stainless steel appliances, the granite counter tops, the hardwood floors, and of course the open concept. It was so boring. Theirs was a different style more from the past.
After tea, Mr. Johnston left and the wife, Grace showed me upstairs while her husband Todd carried the bags. The room was decorated in a tan with dark brown accents and a great plaid. The room looked like it had never been used.
"You're the first one to use this room. Do you like it?" Grace asked and I knew then that she had decorated it herself.
"Yes ma'am, this is grand. How many fosters do you have here?"
"You're our first Simon. I hope you will be happy here and we really want to help you with anything you need; schooling, questions, anything at all. Our bedroom is right down the hall and you can just knock."
I sat on the bed. What on earth were they going to do with me? I wasn't some little kid they could nurture and love and read bedtime stories to, but maybe they didn't want that maybe they wanted someone to talk to about the world and growing up and things like that. I certainly would give them a chance.
Todd drove me to school the next day in his Volvo. Another new school for me was no big deal. He had told me the styles of clothes the kids were wearing and then opened the closet in my new room and showed me that they had purchased items for me. I had never worn new clothes to school before, especially new clothes that looks like the other kids clothes. I just may fit in.
I stopped in the office to get my courses and my schedule. My homeroom was with Mr. Brown who would also be teaching English. I looked around to make sure I didn't see any familiar faces and so far I hadn't. Some kids even smiled, well they were all girls, but I was used to that.
The end of the school day came pretty quickly and I had never had a peaceful first day of school. I guess I fit in. It was unusual to fit in I almost felt like I wasn't there. I wondered if I rather enjoyed being different and standing out. It was something for me to think about.
I took the school bus home and got off in front of the house. Grace heard me knock on the door and let me in.
"Simon you don't need to knock! You just walk right in. This is your home now.'
"I think it would be safer if you gave me a key. I don't think you should just leave the door unlocked, if you don't mind my saying so."
"Simon you don't need to knock! You just walk right in. This is your home now.'
"I think it would be safer if you gave me a key. I don't think you should just leave the door unlocked, if you don't mind my saying so."
"Good idea! I will get you a key and also wanted to ask if you have ID or drivers license. We could help you get all of those while you're here."
Simon nodded and followed her into the kitchen hoping for a snack. He was always hungry and knew he needed to put on some weight.
"Have a seat! I am sure you are starving!" She opened a door off the kitchen and it was another kitchen. "I am a caterer, by the way. This kitchen is just for food prep for clients, so off limits." She laughed.
"Yes, Ma'am." He smiled. He actually had taken some culinary courses and new some of the heath laws too.
She carried out two trays, partially filled with small items.
"First, you have tea sandwiches and then pastries. Eat all you like, for they won't freeze well and they will just be tossed away tomorrow."
He slid the sandwich tray in front of him, barely noticing the Coca Cola she set next to him. The sandwiches were delicious, assorted bite sized morsels and it was no problem to finish the tray in just a few minutes. His bites were much larger than ladies at tea.
Grace beamed! "Oh! You liked them! Excellent! Would you also like to be my tester?" He nodded, reaching for the pastry tray. He didn't quite finish all the desserts, but asked if he could save them for tomorrow. She nodded.
Grace sat with a steaming mug of coffee. "Would you like a cup, Simon?"
"Yes, Ma'am and it smells fresh ground."
"Yes, yes it is. Tell me how you like it."
It was perfect after pastries and smooth. but nutty. He shared his opinion.
"I have a feeling we have many things in common, Simon." They both smiled.
Their smiles disappeared quickly when they heard the front door slam and Todd screaming for Grace. Simon looked down at the coffee so as not to embarrass her.
"In the Kitchen with Simon, Todd." She called sheepishly.
He stormed in. "I lost the case! My first big case and I lost it!"
"Coffee, honey?" Grace asked him.
He brushed off her hand roughly and said, "How is coffee going to help?" He acted like a petulant child. Simon lost all respect for him.
"Thank you for the food, Ma'am. Sir." He walked out of the kitchen, but lingered in the hall, knowing how things could escalate quickly. It was silent and he figured Todd knew he was listening.
In his room and completed all his homework and waited for the supper call. It never came. He was very happy he had so much food earlier. He slept fitfully and was worried about Grace. He hadn't heard anything, but he knew the routine.
Grace was in the kitchen with her glasses on. She usually just wore them for reading, so he wondered why, but said nothing.
"Good morning, Ma'am."
"Good morning, Simon. I set out some cereal and toast on the sideboard and there's a coffee thermos for the ride to school. I will be driving you today, since Todd had to leave early."
"Thank you." She was upset and not her bubbly self at all.
The drive was silent and I knew she wanted to talk, but was scared to. I thanked her for the ride and went to class.
The day was uneventful, as was the bus ride to the house. No cars were in the driveway and I hadn't received my key yet, but I tried the knob. It was locked. I sat in the porch swing and drank the rest of my coffee from breakfast.
Grace came squealing to a stop in front of the house just five minutes later. She jumped out and ran to the door like hell hounds were on her trail. She dropped the keys and I picked them up and unlocked the door.
She rushed us inside and locked the door again and leaned against it.
"Whew! What a day!" She tried to smile, but it didn't work. She was scared.
"What happened?"
"Happened? Nothing! Just a busy, crazy day." She ran to the kitchen and turned to me. "I bet you are starving even more than the day before. I never even fixed your supper last night."
"I was still full from the sandwiches." He lied.
"Well, let's start supper. Do you know how to cook?"
He nodded. "Yes, Ma'am and have worked in some greasy spoons and as a grill cook as well."
"Marvelous! That is uncanny! What shall we cook?" She hummed, but kept listening for Todd's car, i assumed.
"Anything you want." She had bruising on her left cheekbone and a red eye on the same side. Todd was an abuser.
We cooked and I planned how to protect her. I wasn't worried about myself, for I could pick up and toss Todd across the house if need be.
We ate, but neither of us was at full appetite. We did the dishes and I pretended I needed help with homework and stayed in the kitchen. I could tell she was happy about that. I formulated a plan for later in the evening and decided I would say I needed to use the computer.
Todd was late and drunk when he arrived home. He stumbled into the kitchen and threw his brief case in the middle of the kitchen table.
"Get me some food!" He slouched down in a chair and stared at me.
"So, you courting my wife, huh?"
"No. sir. She is helping me with my homework." I was civil and polite. "May I use the computer over there, sir?" I gestured to the kitchen office desk unit.
"Yeah, yeah! Use whatever you want!"
Grace served his meal with shaky hands and Todd just shoved it in his mouth. He belched and pushed away, heading for the liquor cabinet. He took a pint of Jack and went into his office, slamming the door.
Grace exhaled and slumped into the chair. She didn't cry.
"Thank you, Simon." I nodded. "I can't talk now, but later, okay?" I nodded again.
She left and I heard her walk slowly and heavily up the stairs.
I would stay below and listen for Todd. If he went up, I would go up too.
I dozed and started over and over again. His office was down the hall, so I decided to take a look. He was passed out in his chair, Jack leaking out onto the carpet. I left him and went up to sleep, but left my door open.
The screams came when the world was turning into day. I ran out and down to their bedroom. Todd was standing over Grace and he obviously had hit her at least once. She was on the floor next to the bed and protecting her head with her hands. She was bleeding.
"Get away from her, Todd!" I said firmly. Todd spun and glared at me. I could see Grace dial her cellphone as I distracted him.
"Protecting your woman, Simon?" He headed for me. I was ready.
I wasn't ready for the gun though. He fired one shot and it went wide, but the second caught me in the upper left arm. I tried to ignore it, but it was distracting.
My foot caught him under his chin and he went down. I gave him another to his soft belly and kicked the gun under the bed. It was good to be able to kick while holding an injured arm.
Grace ran out of the room with her phone and locked Todd in the bedroom. We ran down to the sirens we now heard.
The police filed in and we filed out to the porch. I was bleeding badly, but Grace had stopped.
"Call an ambulance, please!" She yelled to the police. I must have passed out, for I remember nothing until I awakened in the hospital with Grace and my social worker by the bedside.
"Am I okay?"
"Yep, you'll be fine, kid." Said Mr. Johnston. Grace smiled meekly.
"Thank you. Simon. He would have killed me this time." She hung her head.
A detective and a nurse walked into the room. "Will you press charges, young man?"
I nodded. "Yes, sir!" I smiled.
"Simon, it wouldn't be proper for us to return you to a home with just you and Grace." My smile faded. "But! Her mother has decided to move in as well, so it will work if that is okay with everyone."
I looked at Grace. "Simon has the beginnings of being a great chef and I sure could use the help with the business after he graduates. So, yes!" She smiled, but winced from the bruises covering her face.
"My mother has already agreed, saying, "Anyone who beat Todd's butt was good in her book."
It was settled. I would get to stay. Todd was going to prison. Grace would be safe. My life was suddenly opening up for the first time in my life.
Simon nodded and followed her into the kitchen hoping for a snack. He was always hungry and knew he needed to put on some weight.
"Have a seat! I am sure you are starving!" She opened a door off the kitchen and it was another kitchen. "I am a caterer, by the way. This kitchen is just for food prep for clients, so off limits." She laughed.
"Yes, Ma'am." He smiled. He actually had taken some culinary courses and new some of the heath laws too.
She carried out two trays, partially filled with small items.
"First, you have tea sandwiches and then pastries. Eat all you like, for they won't freeze well and they will just be tossed away tomorrow."
He slid the sandwich tray in front of him, barely noticing the Coca Cola she set next to him. The sandwiches were delicious, assorted bite sized morsels and it was no problem to finish the tray in just a few minutes. His bites were much larger than ladies at tea.
Grace beamed! "Oh! You liked them! Excellent! Would you also like to be my tester?" He nodded, reaching for the pastry tray. He didn't quite finish all the desserts, but asked if he could save them for tomorrow. She nodded.
Grace sat with a steaming mug of coffee. "Would you like a cup, Simon?"
"Yes, Ma'am and it smells fresh ground."
"Yes, yes it is. Tell me how you like it."
It was perfect after pastries and smooth. but nutty. He shared his opinion.
"I have a feeling we have many things in common, Simon." They both smiled.
Their smiles disappeared quickly when they heard the front door slam and Todd screaming for Grace. Simon looked down at the coffee so as not to embarrass her.
"In the Kitchen with Simon, Todd." She called sheepishly.
He stormed in. "I lost the case! My first big case and I lost it!"
"Coffee, honey?" Grace asked him.
He brushed off her hand roughly and said, "How is coffee going to help?" He acted like a petulant child. Simon lost all respect for him.
"Thank you for the food, Ma'am. Sir." He walked out of the kitchen, but lingered in the hall, knowing how things could escalate quickly. It was silent and he figured Todd knew he was listening.
In his room and completed all his homework and waited for the supper call. It never came. He was very happy he had so much food earlier. He slept fitfully and was worried about Grace. He hadn't heard anything, but he knew the routine.
Grace was in the kitchen with her glasses on. She usually just wore them for reading, so he wondered why, but said nothing.
"Good morning, Ma'am."
"Good morning, Simon. I set out some cereal and toast on the sideboard and there's a coffee thermos for the ride to school. I will be driving you today, since Todd had to leave early."
"Thank you." She was upset and not her bubbly self at all.
The drive was silent and I knew she wanted to talk, but was scared to. I thanked her for the ride and went to class.
The day was uneventful, as was the bus ride to the house. No cars were in the driveway and I hadn't received my key yet, but I tried the knob. It was locked. I sat in the porch swing and drank the rest of my coffee from breakfast.
Grace came squealing to a stop in front of the house just five minutes later. She jumped out and ran to the door like hell hounds were on her trail. She dropped the keys and I picked them up and unlocked the door.
She rushed us inside and locked the door again and leaned against it.
"Whew! What a day!" She tried to smile, but it didn't work. She was scared.
"What happened?"
"Happened? Nothing! Just a busy, crazy day." She ran to the kitchen and turned to me. "I bet you are starving even more than the day before. I never even fixed your supper last night."
"I was still full from the sandwiches." He lied.
"Well, let's start supper. Do you know how to cook?"
He nodded. "Yes, Ma'am and have worked in some greasy spoons and as a grill cook as well."
"Marvelous! That is uncanny! What shall we cook?" She hummed, but kept listening for Todd's car, i assumed.
"Anything you want." She had bruising on her left cheekbone and a red eye on the same side. Todd was an abuser.
We cooked and I planned how to protect her. I wasn't worried about myself, for I could pick up and toss Todd across the house if need be.
We ate, but neither of us was at full appetite. We did the dishes and I pretended I needed help with homework and stayed in the kitchen. I could tell she was happy about that. I formulated a plan for later in the evening and decided I would say I needed to use the computer.
Todd was late and drunk when he arrived home. He stumbled into the kitchen and threw his brief case in the middle of the kitchen table.
"Get me some food!" He slouched down in a chair and stared at me.
"So, you courting my wife, huh?"
"No. sir. She is helping me with my homework." I was civil and polite. "May I use the computer over there, sir?" I gestured to the kitchen office desk unit.
"Yeah, yeah! Use whatever you want!"
Grace served his meal with shaky hands and Todd just shoved it in his mouth. He belched and pushed away, heading for the liquor cabinet. He took a pint of Jack and went into his office, slamming the door.
Grace exhaled and slumped into the chair. She didn't cry.
"Thank you, Simon." I nodded. "I can't talk now, but later, okay?" I nodded again.
She left and I heard her walk slowly and heavily up the stairs.
I would stay below and listen for Todd. If he went up, I would go up too.
I dozed and started over and over again. His office was down the hall, so I decided to take a look. He was passed out in his chair, Jack leaking out onto the carpet. I left him and went up to sleep, but left my door open.
The screams came when the world was turning into day. I ran out and down to their bedroom. Todd was standing over Grace and he obviously had hit her at least once. She was on the floor next to the bed and protecting her head with her hands. She was bleeding.
"Get away from her, Todd!" I said firmly. Todd spun and glared at me. I could see Grace dial her cellphone as I distracted him.
"Protecting your woman, Simon?" He headed for me. I was ready.
I wasn't ready for the gun though. He fired one shot and it went wide, but the second caught me in the upper left arm. I tried to ignore it, but it was distracting.
My foot caught him under his chin and he went down. I gave him another to his soft belly and kicked the gun under the bed. It was good to be able to kick while holding an injured arm.
Grace ran out of the room with her phone and locked Todd in the bedroom. We ran down to the sirens we now heard.
The police filed in and we filed out to the porch. I was bleeding badly, but Grace had stopped.
"Call an ambulance, please!" She yelled to the police. I must have passed out, for I remember nothing until I awakened in the hospital with Grace and my social worker by the bedside.
"Am I okay?"
"Yep, you'll be fine, kid." Said Mr. Johnston. Grace smiled meekly.
"Thank you. Simon. He would have killed me this time." She hung her head.
A detective and a nurse walked into the room. "Will you press charges, young man?"
I nodded. "Yes, sir!" I smiled.
"Simon, it wouldn't be proper for us to return you to a home with just you and Grace." My smile faded. "But! Her mother has decided to move in as well, so it will work if that is okay with everyone."
I looked at Grace. "Simon has the beginnings of being a great chef and I sure could use the help with the business after he graduates. So, yes!" She smiled, but winced from the bruises covering her face.
"My mother has already agreed, saying, "Anyone who beat Todd's butt was good in her book."
It was settled. I would get to stay. Todd was going to prison. Grace would be safe. My life was suddenly opening up for the first time in my life.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
26 - The Beauty of Salad People - J.F. Hire
"My name is Roma. I am a kind of salt of the earth gal. I have a big family, and like to keep things simple and low-key. We're from Europe-- some part, at least."
"I am a Spinelli, Italian, of course. We Spinelli don't mess around with the fancy lifestyle, we're to the point. We may not leave the best taste in everyone's mouth-- but we get the job done."
"I don't think people like me... They sort of just put up with me because they know that I'm good to have around. Even then, when I AM around, they try to turn me into something I'm not... Oh yea, my name is Kale."
"Hi-Hi! I hope you're having a faaabulous day. I know that I am. How can you not, when the sun's got your face bright red, and you're surrounded by good friends and family. Everything's great, even under the surface! I'm Betty."
"So, I don't want to sound like I'm stuck up or anything, but people really like me. I don't even do anything for them, I just sit there, hanging out, and I'm the first person that they come up to. Only a few people think that I'm hard to chew, being a total square at times, but most people just take me as I am. They've even allowed me to join their tons of crews."
"Let me begin by saying that I'm an acquired taste. You may not know that I'm like to begin with, and then when you DO experience me first-hand, you may not like it. My name is Egnes, I'm from an older school of thinking. Take me as I am, or leave me out."
"I LOVE TO PARTY! Oh my GOD, if I could just go to a party every day, I would. I SORT OF DO! I'm Kevin B., BROS FOR LIIIFE! Haha, dudes love me, chicks love me, even if you don't like to party as much as me, I can tone it down and have a chill kinda party. You busy tonight?"
"Don't worry, I'm not as strong as I look. I'm really sweet, actually. I've got a bite, but overall, I'm a sweetheart. Even when I'm gone, I leave a lingering presence. Sorry, my name is Adelia. Did you hear about Kevin B.'s party tonight?"
"I unno... Just cuz I'm a Spinelli dun mean nuthin. I'm just a kid. Everyone says I'm cute and nice and funny and good. I'm not a baby, tho'. Grown ups 'spect me too..."
"I am a Spinelli, Italian, of course. We Spinelli don't mess around with the fancy lifestyle, we're to the point. We may not leave the best taste in everyone's mouth-- but we get the job done."
"I don't think people like me... They sort of just put up with me because they know that I'm good to have around. Even then, when I AM around, they try to turn me into something I'm not... Oh yea, my name is Kale."
"Hi-Hi! I hope you're having a faaabulous day. I know that I am. How can you not, when the sun's got your face bright red, and you're surrounded by good friends and family. Everything's great, even under the surface! I'm Betty."
"So, I don't want to sound like I'm stuck up or anything, but people really like me. I don't even do anything for them, I just sit there, hanging out, and I'm the first person that they come up to. Only a few people think that I'm hard to chew, being a total square at times, but most people just take me as I am. They've even allowed me to join their tons of crews."
"Let me begin by saying that I'm an acquired taste. You may not know that I'm like to begin with, and then when you DO experience me first-hand, you may not like it. My name is Egnes, I'm from an older school of thinking. Take me as I am, or leave me out."
"I LOVE TO PARTY! Oh my GOD, if I could just go to a party every day, I would. I SORT OF DO! I'm Kevin B., BROS FOR LIIIFE! Haha, dudes love me, chicks love me, even if you don't like to party as much as me, I can tone it down and have a chill kinda party. You busy tonight?"
"Don't worry, I'm not as strong as I look. I'm really sweet, actually. I've got a bite, but overall, I'm a sweetheart. Even when I'm gone, I leave a lingering presence. Sorry, my name is Adelia. Did you hear about Kevin B.'s party tonight?"
"I unno... Just cuz I'm a Spinelli dun mean nuthin. I'm just a kid. Everyone says I'm cute and nice and funny and good. I'm not a baby, tho'. Grown ups 'spect me too..."
25 - The Uncanny - J.F. Hire
~On Monday evening my daughter Judy went missing-- She has shoulder-length blonde hair, green eyes, she's five feet tall, and was last seen wearing a navy blue sweater and school uniform. I would appreciate everyone's co-operation in finding her and...~
~H-hello. Jennifer went missing in July. She is in our prayers, and I hope that people will keep her face in mind when they're out and about and that they would contact the authorities if...~
~Thank you for having me, Johnson. Yes, my twins were gone for five years, and we're... thankful to have them back last Tuesday.
You mentioned to reporters that they weren't the same--
Well yea, they couldn't be, after whatever they've been through. There's no telling where they've been or who had them or what-- what happened to them... I'm sorry-give me a minute.
That's fine, we'll be back after this break.~
~Sometimes I wish they had never come back at all--~
~Our Jimmy is so happy to be home-- even if he can't say it. Isn't that right Jimmy? Aw, look at that face.~
Today Wesley was returning. He was receiving these transmissions via one of his attributes. He was being updated by the high-powered satellite messages flying around: he had been gone for fifty years, he had been returned to the same city which he was taken from, and he was certainly not the only one who had been taken.
Children go missing every day. Some return within hours, or days, with minor personality changes. Some return after months, unable to speak or see. Some don't return at all, most people think. Wesley returned, but no one was looking for him anymore, and he had changed so much that he didn't want them to find him.
He had not aged more than a year, wherever he had been held, it was not the same rate of time as the Earth. That being said, he did not look like the ten year old boy he had been, other than his height and general build. His eyes could have been mistaken for any typical human's, but upon closer observation in a puddle one day he noticed that his eyeballs were concave. They were like literal pools, blue and deep and hollow.
An attribute which was much harder to conceal were his nostrils. He had six of them now. And instead of two centered horizontally upon his face, they were vertical slits arranged horizontally across his cheeks. He couldn't get close to a newspaper stand for updates without wearing a very large scarf. This proved difficult because it was summer in the south.
While he could conceal the following attribute, it caused him to get stares nonetheless. It effected his walk, and his overall demeanor. Long trench-coats and scarves gave him enough of an ominous appearance, but as he walked, it was stilted. Interestingly enough, this was caused but legs which were like stilts: no joints, no feet, only nubs at the base of each of his three legs. He maneuvered as a tripod upon these surreal appendages.
Needless to say, these are just some of the reasons why he didn't want anyone to find him, even if they were looking after fifty years. After about forty-eight hours of coming to terms with this solitary truth, he made a decision. As many people know, children can be very altruistic, at least compared to people over twenty. While he began to give up on finding his old home (demolished for a freeway), and found no help from the local drunks in the woods which he took refuge in, he started to acquire some information.
He didn't bother with new of sports or fashion or stocks, because as mentioned before, children can be very altruistic. They wish to help, especially when they cannot help their own situation. Take families overwhelmed with poverty for instance, the children will accept this fate, and attempt to help their elders to cope with this lifestyle. Typically the children don't know anything better than what they've been granted by fate, and even if they do, they wield such flexible minds that they accept their place in life.
Wesley accepted his fate. He accepted the lack of food, and the solitude, and the surviving .What he did not accept was that the papers and radio were riddled with stories, new and old, of children going missing. On top of that, these children were returning changed, even if they were in one piece.
On the edge of the woods was a school, perhaps an elementary from the looks of it, and he would use those concave optics to spectate the school yard. According to the statistics, over 30% of the children in the US were victims of abduction and return. He could gather as much from the five students in the playground. These children were typically the victims of bullying, and Wesley summed it up to fear.
One child never blinked. One child did not have fingernails, merely skin-covered nubs. One child shivered continuously, although they did not appear cold (wearing typical school uniform of shorts and t-shirt. Another child's face had seemed to go through premature puberty, a firm jawline, larger nose, while her eyes remained child-like and bright. The final child was ridiculed the most: not only could he not speak, but his ears were nothing more than two hanging tubes. His parents made attempts to hide them under hats it seemed.
There were other odd-acting children, but much more normal than these five. He really felt for them, of course. He was one of them. He loved them, probably more than their parents did at this point. He knew his own parents had given up-- it was just a matter of time before their parents would give up in the same way.
This surreal theater was unbearable to him. With the inability to find this own family, rejoin society, or stand by uncaring, Wesley was forced to take action. An image of The Punisher had come to mind while he mused over what he could do proactively: everything was taken from him, and was threatened to be like this forever-- unless he went in, guns blazing, to destroy them.
Well, Wesley didn't have guns, but he did have something in his arsenal: nothing to lose.
Today was the day that he would return to the very site of his abduction, which, since the free-way was inserted, put him smack-dab in the middle of it. Just before exit 45, he retraced trees and roads which led to where his home once was. This was the only logical thing to him, return to the location, and remember the day that this all happened:
He was asleep in bed, his sister crying in the baby's room and his parents mumbling about why they had another child.
"Wes is already a handful, did you see what his teacher wrote down about him in class?"
"I still don't think that he would steal jewelry from the lost and found, and besides, what's the most expensive thing that he could have gotten?-- I think he did it for your birthday anyway."
"I don't care! He was so bad! I just... I think we should see the doctor soon-- hold off on any newcomers for a few."
Wesley had willed himself to sleep, trying not to cry over spilled milk as it were. Part of him swearing to be a good boy. Part of him wishing he were never born.
In his mind, he returned to this setting-- eyes staring up at glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. Eyes wide and straining for light. Head spinning just before he passed out.
The rest was jittery recollection: he entered a spinning tunnel, and sat there for a while. Other children were there. Other children were crying or sleeping or trying to get out of the infinitely-long tunnel. He just sat, trying to remain calm. A doorway approached this group, and they were exited into a wide room with a conical center-- a drain in the middle. Something approached them-- and then he was flushed.
Now here he was, standing in the middle of the busy freeway in the darkness. Part of him wished he was never born. Part of him wanted to be so good. And then part of him was gone.
His coat and scarf lay in the road-- police cars approaching to investigate.
He was back in the tunnel when the hitch in his plan became apparent-- he didn't have one.
Unaffected children sat all around him, panicked, and nearly hyperventilating with thumbs in their mouths. Some caught his eye, and began to panic more-- he was no longer concealed beneath the coats and scarves and clothes.
His concave eyes, his mutated nostrils, his tripedal legs. His narrow torso, his lack of any physical attributes from the neck down other than the trunk of his form. His black hair comforted a girl. The color of his eyes made her quiet. His smile made her smile. She must have been four, before any sort of self-awareness had developed. She must have been deaf-- not taking cues from the children around her to scream or run into nothingness.
He made a plan, and he planned it for her. Her name was Judy, he thought. And in his thoughts she would remain, as he marched toward nothingness and blackness, so far that the children were now behind him, and he was in the front of the line of sorts.
After an eternity of baby-sitting, they were in the drainage room. With more than enough awareness of the situation, much more than the first time he was in this room, he waited and forced himself to remain aware.
A humming threatened to remove him from the moment-- around him children passed out, or cried, or went into a catatonic state.
He witnessed this-- as unrecognizable beings moved toward him and the children, he had watched.
Clouds of bacterium, heavy with moisture and laden with condensation and algae descended upon the first two children in the vicinity, himself and a small red-headed boy who was limp on the floor. While the clouds began to engulf the smaller boy, Wesley could only watch.
Pain seared, ached within his form, his already mutated form beginning to blister and recoil instinctively, as the child on the floor next to him limply transformed into one with grey hair, and too-skinny lips. This child was pushed toward the drain, and while Wesley was still shrouded in clouds, Judy was brought forward.
These clouds of unintelligible shadows were beginning to modify him more-- his blisters turning into bark-like skin. His eyes sinking into nothingness until he was blind. For reasons that he was unaware of, his consciousness was keeping him there. He was there long enough to keep one cloud's attention, the undulating mossy texture burning through to his genome.
Judy was catatonic, eyes wide to the ceiling before him. The cloud had yet to begin on her nearly lifeless form.
Wesley would not stand around waiting for some kind of chance-- he was in the midst of one right now.
Judy wore overalls, and with a spindly nub, feeling around, he hooked a strap of them.
The clouds, seemingly blind to these actions, had to probe the air for a grasp on this Judy. All the while, Wesley was forcing her toward the dip in the floor, toward the dip of the drainage cone before them.
Gravity took over, and her form fell from his grasp, sliding down to the darkened tunnel of a drain.
With some peripheral attribute, he knew she was gone, but safe. She was to be returned, unscathed.
He, on the other hand, was trapped between two clouds, and a barrage of mutations was overcoming him. The concept of humanity was hard to grasp now. The idea of family, breeding, or aerobic respiration was becoming alien to him. Perhaps he was losing consciousness-- because in all of the blackness, all he could sense was falling.
As he fell, he dreamed. Dreams of sunlight and water and rain giving him fuel to live. He imagined separating from himself to become something more. He imagined becoming part of the sky-- perhaps a cumulus.
He was still now, and on the ground. Back to square one. He had no memory of the past years. His first instinct was to catch up-- radio waves and newspaper scraps letting him know that it had been fifty years since he was abducted. He knew his parents weren't looking for him, and he was glad-- he wasn't the same.
What shocked him to know was that there were more and more children being abducted every day, and returning... different. Blind or bald or deaf... But different-- uncanny to the children that they once were-- filling their parents with resentment and confusion.
He came up with a plan-- if he couldn't live in the sun, he would prevent anyone else from living this nightmare.
He had nothing to lose.
~Reports of a young man being hit by a car and disappearing have been debunked-- updates at five.~
~Today we learn that the man standing in the street was actually not a man at all-- it seems that it was really two young children, a little girl and a little boy.~
~We're so glad to have Judy back, she hasn't been better. All she keeps talking about is playing with toys and how much she loves us. We're really grateful--~
~Census reports record an all-time low for birthrates, more on this tonight.~
~H-hello. Jennifer went missing in July. She is in our prayers, and I hope that people will keep her face in mind when they're out and about and that they would contact the authorities if...~
~Thank you for having me, Johnson. Yes, my twins were gone for five years, and we're... thankful to have them back last Tuesday.
You mentioned to reporters that they weren't the same--
Well yea, they couldn't be, after whatever they've been through. There's no telling where they've been or who had them or what-- what happened to them... I'm sorry-give me a minute.
That's fine, we'll be back after this break.~
~Sometimes I wish they had never come back at all--~
~Our Jimmy is so happy to be home-- even if he can't say it. Isn't that right Jimmy? Aw, look at that face.~
Today Wesley was returning. He was receiving these transmissions via one of his attributes. He was being updated by the high-powered satellite messages flying around: he had been gone for fifty years, he had been returned to the same city which he was taken from, and he was certainly not the only one who had been taken.
Children go missing every day. Some return within hours, or days, with minor personality changes. Some return after months, unable to speak or see. Some don't return at all, most people think. Wesley returned, but no one was looking for him anymore, and he had changed so much that he didn't want them to find him.
He had not aged more than a year, wherever he had been held, it was not the same rate of time as the Earth. That being said, he did not look like the ten year old boy he had been, other than his height and general build. His eyes could have been mistaken for any typical human's, but upon closer observation in a puddle one day he noticed that his eyeballs were concave. They were like literal pools, blue and deep and hollow.
An attribute which was much harder to conceal were his nostrils. He had six of them now. And instead of two centered horizontally upon his face, they were vertical slits arranged horizontally across his cheeks. He couldn't get close to a newspaper stand for updates without wearing a very large scarf. This proved difficult because it was summer in the south.
While he could conceal the following attribute, it caused him to get stares nonetheless. It effected his walk, and his overall demeanor. Long trench-coats and scarves gave him enough of an ominous appearance, but as he walked, it was stilted. Interestingly enough, this was caused but legs which were like stilts: no joints, no feet, only nubs at the base of each of his three legs. He maneuvered as a tripod upon these surreal appendages.
Needless to say, these are just some of the reasons why he didn't want anyone to find him, even if they were looking after fifty years. After about forty-eight hours of coming to terms with this solitary truth, he made a decision. As many people know, children can be very altruistic, at least compared to people over twenty. While he began to give up on finding his old home (demolished for a freeway), and found no help from the local drunks in the woods which he took refuge in, he started to acquire some information.
He didn't bother with new of sports or fashion or stocks, because as mentioned before, children can be very altruistic. They wish to help, especially when they cannot help their own situation. Take families overwhelmed with poverty for instance, the children will accept this fate, and attempt to help their elders to cope with this lifestyle. Typically the children don't know anything better than what they've been granted by fate, and even if they do, they wield such flexible minds that they accept their place in life.
Wesley accepted his fate. He accepted the lack of food, and the solitude, and the surviving .What he did not accept was that the papers and radio were riddled with stories, new and old, of children going missing. On top of that, these children were returning changed, even if they were in one piece.
On the edge of the woods was a school, perhaps an elementary from the looks of it, and he would use those concave optics to spectate the school yard. According to the statistics, over 30% of the children in the US were victims of abduction and return. He could gather as much from the five students in the playground. These children were typically the victims of bullying, and Wesley summed it up to fear.
One child never blinked. One child did not have fingernails, merely skin-covered nubs. One child shivered continuously, although they did not appear cold (wearing typical school uniform of shorts and t-shirt. Another child's face had seemed to go through premature puberty, a firm jawline, larger nose, while her eyes remained child-like and bright. The final child was ridiculed the most: not only could he not speak, but his ears were nothing more than two hanging tubes. His parents made attempts to hide them under hats it seemed.
There were other odd-acting children, but much more normal than these five. He really felt for them, of course. He was one of them. He loved them, probably more than their parents did at this point. He knew his own parents had given up-- it was just a matter of time before their parents would give up in the same way.
This surreal theater was unbearable to him. With the inability to find this own family, rejoin society, or stand by uncaring, Wesley was forced to take action. An image of The Punisher had come to mind while he mused over what he could do proactively: everything was taken from him, and was threatened to be like this forever-- unless he went in, guns blazing, to destroy them.
Well, Wesley didn't have guns, but he did have something in his arsenal: nothing to lose.
Today was the day that he would return to the very site of his abduction, which, since the free-way was inserted, put him smack-dab in the middle of it. Just before exit 45, he retraced trees and roads which led to where his home once was. This was the only logical thing to him, return to the location, and remember the day that this all happened:
He was asleep in bed, his sister crying in the baby's room and his parents mumbling about why they had another child.
"Wes is already a handful, did you see what his teacher wrote down about him in class?"
"I still don't think that he would steal jewelry from the lost and found, and besides, what's the most expensive thing that he could have gotten?-- I think he did it for your birthday anyway."
"I don't care! He was so bad! I just... I think we should see the doctor soon-- hold off on any newcomers for a few."
Wesley had willed himself to sleep, trying not to cry over spilled milk as it were. Part of him swearing to be a good boy. Part of him wishing he were never born.
In his mind, he returned to this setting-- eyes staring up at glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. Eyes wide and straining for light. Head spinning just before he passed out.
The rest was jittery recollection: he entered a spinning tunnel, and sat there for a while. Other children were there. Other children were crying or sleeping or trying to get out of the infinitely-long tunnel. He just sat, trying to remain calm. A doorway approached this group, and they were exited into a wide room with a conical center-- a drain in the middle. Something approached them-- and then he was flushed.
Now here he was, standing in the middle of the busy freeway in the darkness. Part of him wished he was never born. Part of him wanted to be so good. And then part of him was gone.
His coat and scarf lay in the road-- police cars approaching to investigate.
He was back in the tunnel when the hitch in his plan became apparent-- he didn't have one.
Unaffected children sat all around him, panicked, and nearly hyperventilating with thumbs in their mouths. Some caught his eye, and began to panic more-- he was no longer concealed beneath the coats and scarves and clothes.
His concave eyes, his mutated nostrils, his tripedal legs. His narrow torso, his lack of any physical attributes from the neck down other than the trunk of his form. His black hair comforted a girl. The color of his eyes made her quiet. His smile made her smile. She must have been four, before any sort of self-awareness had developed. She must have been deaf-- not taking cues from the children around her to scream or run into nothingness.
He made a plan, and he planned it for her. Her name was Judy, he thought. And in his thoughts she would remain, as he marched toward nothingness and blackness, so far that the children were now behind him, and he was in the front of the line of sorts.
After an eternity of baby-sitting, they were in the drainage room. With more than enough awareness of the situation, much more than the first time he was in this room, he waited and forced himself to remain aware.
A humming threatened to remove him from the moment-- around him children passed out, or cried, or went into a catatonic state.
He witnessed this-- as unrecognizable beings moved toward him and the children, he had watched.
Clouds of bacterium, heavy with moisture and laden with condensation and algae descended upon the first two children in the vicinity, himself and a small red-headed boy who was limp on the floor. While the clouds began to engulf the smaller boy, Wesley could only watch.
Pain seared, ached within his form, his already mutated form beginning to blister and recoil instinctively, as the child on the floor next to him limply transformed into one with grey hair, and too-skinny lips. This child was pushed toward the drain, and while Wesley was still shrouded in clouds, Judy was brought forward.
These clouds of unintelligible shadows were beginning to modify him more-- his blisters turning into bark-like skin. His eyes sinking into nothingness until he was blind. For reasons that he was unaware of, his consciousness was keeping him there. He was there long enough to keep one cloud's attention, the undulating mossy texture burning through to his genome.
Judy was catatonic, eyes wide to the ceiling before him. The cloud had yet to begin on her nearly lifeless form.
Wesley would not stand around waiting for some kind of chance-- he was in the midst of one right now.
Judy wore overalls, and with a spindly nub, feeling around, he hooked a strap of them.
The clouds, seemingly blind to these actions, had to probe the air for a grasp on this Judy. All the while, Wesley was forcing her toward the dip in the floor, toward the dip of the drainage cone before them.
Gravity took over, and her form fell from his grasp, sliding down to the darkened tunnel of a drain.
With some peripheral attribute, he knew she was gone, but safe. She was to be returned, unscathed.
He, on the other hand, was trapped between two clouds, and a barrage of mutations was overcoming him. The concept of humanity was hard to grasp now. The idea of family, breeding, or aerobic respiration was becoming alien to him. Perhaps he was losing consciousness-- because in all of the blackness, all he could sense was falling.
As he fell, he dreamed. Dreams of sunlight and water and rain giving him fuel to live. He imagined separating from himself to become something more. He imagined becoming part of the sky-- perhaps a cumulus.
He was still now, and on the ground. Back to square one. He had no memory of the past years. His first instinct was to catch up-- radio waves and newspaper scraps letting him know that it had been fifty years since he was abducted. He knew his parents weren't looking for him, and he was glad-- he wasn't the same.
What shocked him to know was that there were more and more children being abducted every day, and returning... different. Blind or bald or deaf... But different-- uncanny to the children that they once were-- filling their parents with resentment and confusion.
He came up with a plan-- if he couldn't live in the sun, he would prevent anyone else from living this nightmare.
He had nothing to lose.
~Reports of a young man being hit by a car and disappearing have been debunked-- updates at five.~
~Today we learn that the man standing in the street was actually not a man at all-- it seems that it was really two young children, a little girl and a little boy.~
~We're so glad to have Judy back, she hasn't been better. All she keeps talking about is playing with toys and how much she loves us. We're really grateful--~
~Census reports record an all-time low for birthrates, more on this tonight.~
Monday, June 24, 2013
It Was a Dark and Stormy Night... - RT Shoresmystery
" ...and then the lights went out!"
"Damn! Not Again!"
My second house sitting job in a month and another power outage due to a crazy storm! At least this time the animals were with me, on the couch. This was a tough one; two German Shepherds and a mutt on my lap. They were such sissy dogs, unless they were angry and then, well, I never wanted them angry with me.
I talked soothingly as I texted the owners. "The generator didn't kick in. Power outage from the storm. Any ideas?"
They were quick with an answer, but it was the answer I hadn't wanted. I stayed on the couch while the thunder rolled and had each dog whimpering. More soothing talk helped and promises of treats helped too. They were not going to like going to the basement, in the dark, in a storm with me. I needed them though!
I called Carl, but he was working and couldn't get off to reset a generator. I called or texted everyone I knew, but no joy.
The dogs jumped off as I stood and I used the flashlight to head to the stairs that went down into the dark tomb of a basement. Much to my surprise, they wagged their tails and woofed with excitement.
Shining a light down the stairs, I saw carpeted steps and floor and a comfortable sectional sofa. I headed down feeling much better. They rough-housed with pillows and each other. This was their playroom. Excellent. To the right was a wet bar with a fridge, so I grabbed a Diet Pepsi and kept shining my light around. The large screen TV was of no use, but a cupboard full of dog treats and people snacks made me happy. I grabbed a treat for each of us and sat with them on the sectional as I tried to figure out where the generator room was.
There were three doors to the left, so it had to be one of those. First was a full bath, second was a small bedroom and third was locked. I kicked the door and cursed. The dogs woofed and ran to me, always ready for a skirmish.
Jerry, the largest Shepherd, stood full height and pawed above the door. The key was above the door. I grabbed it and opened the door. The dogs didn't run in this door. It was as black as a moonless night in the dead of Winter.
I shined the light around and all looked well. I saw the generator, new and large and even a large red reset button. We went in together, them close to me, or was I close to them? Anyway, I pushed the button and nothing happened. I looked for instructions, but didn't have my glasses so I couldn't read them. I cursed again. The dogs loved to hear me curse and woofed again.
Jerry tapped the button, so I pushed it again and it started right up. Whew!
"Come on boys! Let's cook!" We ran back up the stairs and into the kitchen. I was in the mood for steak and I knew they would be too. I would cook two and divvy up one for them. I started the stove top gas grill and then threw a potato in the microwave. There was salad in the fridge, so we were set.
Everything smelled so good and the dogs were drooling. Hell, I was drooling too! I decided rare was fine and we sat to eat. It was delicious and we even had leftover Tiramisu in the fridge. We were set for the night.
I wanted to sleep near the fireplace, so we bunked in the formal living room, but I protected the silk with piles of blankets. My phone was charged and my flashlight was in my hand. The dogs took turns snuggling and we fell asleep to Jay Leno.
***
Jerry was growling and looking at the basement staircase; I had left the door open. What could get in from under ground though? I silenced my thoughts on that question and waited to see what the others would do. They slept on and soon Jerry and I were back asleep as well.
The storm raged all night and our house was the only one lit on the block. How did I know? People started coming to the door to charge their phones and get a hot cup of coffee. I found out my multimillionaire clients entertained during storms since they had the big generator.
I looked at the clock and it was only 10PM, so I stifled my yawns and let in the neighbors. I texted my clients again and they said it was fine and to feed and care for anyone who came over. Oh great!
We all congregated in the kitchen and overflowed into the family room. Coffee with brandy seemed to be the main request, so I fixed pot after pot and then the food requests began. There were so many requests, I told everyone to help themselves. They did.
One way old money people stay rich, is that they eat very meager things at home, but at someones party, or the like, they will gorge themselves. I ignored the things going into pockets and purses and the gluttony. It was disgusting.
The dogs and I went into the sheltered courtyard so they could potty and I saw a door I had noticed before waving in the wind. I wondered if it was the basement door. We headed that way and I looked inside and saw it was the generator room door. Oh damn! Everything looked fine, so I secured it and went back to the kitchen.
Folks were packing up their goodies and beginning to leave. I nodded unceremoniously to the crowd and started cleaning. What pigs!
The last one left by midnight and I finished the cleaning and the dogs helped by licking every counter or floor spot and even helped pre-wash the dishes. Great dogs!
I started the dishwasher and we went back to the couch. Sleep took us quickly.
***
The dogs were going crazy and the clock said 4AM. Damn, now what? The lights were out again, and the fireplace cast strange shadows around the room.
"Jerry! What is it?" He was growling and snapping at something. The others just barked. I cast the flashlight beam in the direction of insult and saw a figure crawling toward us.
"Move another inch and Jerry will rip you to shreds!" I screamed at the figure.
"No, no, no, no, no... " The figure collapsed. I walked over with Jerry and it was one of the neighbors, drunk on the floor. Damn! I needed a larger salary!
"Get up! Now!" Jerry growled, but he obviously knew the guy, so chose not to attack.
"Get up!" I kicked gently and the guy responded by glaring at me.
"Wait until I tell Howard and May how I was treated!"
"I will tell them first and you are being recorded anyway, so get out!" I was glad I had remembered to turn on the "Nanny" cams all over the house. I didn't want to be blamed for anything I didn't do.
He stumbled to his feet, but then fell against the couch. "I will sleep here!"
"You will not! Get out!" I nudged Jerry forward and then his sister Jasmine followed suit.
They got real close to the drunks face and growled. The power suddenly flashed back on and the drunk looked at me with abject hatred.
"Call them off! I'm going!" He made it out the door and I watched as he would walk, fall, walk and fall until he got to his house. I laughed and then went to the kitchen for fresh coffee and an early breakfast. This job was ridiculous. I fed the dogs and let them out, but left the door open, for the house fell scary after drunk man.
I ate and drank coffee. The news said power was being restored and blah, blah blah. The dogs and I went back to sleep on the couch, fireplace warm and soothing. I hoped we could get a few more hours before we began our two week stint while their people were away.
Little did I know, but their people would not be returning...
"Damn! Not Again!"
My second house sitting job in a month and another power outage due to a crazy storm! At least this time the animals were with me, on the couch. This was a tough one; two German Shepherds and a mutt on my lap. They were such sissy dogs, unless they were angry and then, well, I never wanted them angry with me.
I talked soothingly as I texted the owners. "The generator didn't kick in. Power outage from the storm. Any ideas?"
They were quick with an answer, but it was the answer I hadn't wanted. I stayed on the couch while the thunder rolled and had each dog whimpering. More soothing talk helped and promises of treats helped too. They were not going to like going to the basement, in the dark, in a storm with me. I needed them though!
I called Carl, but he was working and couldn't get off to reset a generator. I called or texted everyone I knew, but no joy.
The dogs jumped off as I stood and I used the flashlight to head to the stairs that went down into the dark tomb of a basement. Much to my surprise, they wagged their tails and woofed with excitement.
Shining a light down the stairs, I saw carpeted steps and floor and a comfortable sectional sofa. I headed down feeling much better. They rough-housed with pillows and each other. This was their playroom. Excellent. To the right was a wet bar with a fridge, so I grabbed a Diet Pepsi and kept shining my light around. The large screen TV was of no use, but a cupboard full of dog treats and people snacks made me happy. I grabbed a treat for each of us and sat with them on the sectional as I tried to figure out where the generator room was.
There were three doors to the left, so it had to be one of those. First was a full bath, second was a small bedroom and third was locked. I kicked the door and cursed. The dogs woofed and ran to me, always ready for a skirmish.
Jerry, the largest Shepherd, stood full height and pawed above the door. The key was above the door. I grabbed it and opened the door. The dogs didn't run in this door. It was as black as a moonless night in the dead of Winter.
I shined the light around and all looked well. I saw the generator, new and large and even a large red reset button. We went in together, them close to me, or was I close to them? Anyway, I pushed the button and nothing happened. I looked for instructions, but didn't have my glasses so I couldn't read them. I cursed again. The dogs loved to hear me curse and woofed again.
Jerry tapped the button, so I pushed it again and it started right up. Whew!
"Come on boys! Let's cook!" We ran back up the stairs and into the kitchen. I was in the mood for steak and I knew they would be too. I would cook two and divvy up one for them. I started the stove top gas grill and then threw a potato in the microwave. There was salad in the fridge, so we were set.
Everything smelled so good and the dogs were drooling. Hell, I was drooling too! I decided rare was fine and we sat to eat. It was delicious and we even had leftover Tiramisu in the fridge. We were set for the night.
I wanted to sleep near the fireplace, so we bunked in the formal living room, but I protected the silk with piles of blankets. My phone was charged and my flashlight was in my hand. The dogs took turns snuggling and we fell asleep to Jay Leno.
***
Jerry was growling and looking at the basement staircase; I had left the door open. What could get in from under ground though? I silenced my thoughts on that question and waited to see what the others would do. They slept on and soon Jerry and I were back asleep as well.
The storm raged all night and our house was the only one lit on the block. How did I know? People started coming to the door to charge their phones and get a hot cup of coffee. I found out my multimillionaire clients entertained during storms since they had the big generator.
I looked at the clock and it was only 10PM, so I stifled my yawns and let in the neighbors. I texted my clients again and they said it was fine and to feed and care for anyone who came over. Oh great!
We all congregated in the kitchen and overflowed into the family room. Coffee with brandy seemed to be the main request, so I fixed pot after pot and then the food requests began. There were so many requests, I told everyone to help themselves. They did.
One way old money people stay rich, is that they eat very meager things at home, but at someones party, or the like, they will gorge themselves. I ignored the things going into pockets and purses and the gluttony. It was disgusting.
The dogs and I went into the sheltered courtyard so they could potty and I saw a door I had noticed before waving in the wind. I wondered if it was the basement door. We headed that way and I looked inside and saw it was the generator room door. Oh damn! Everything looked fine, so I secured it and went back to the kitchen.
Folks were packing up their goodies and beginning to leave. I nodded unceremoniously to the crowd and started cleaning. What pigs!
The last one left by midnight and I finished the cleaning and the dogs helped by licking every counter or floor spot and even helped pre-wash the dishes. Great dogs!
I started the dishwasher and we went back to the couch. Sleep took us quickly.
***
The dogs were going crazy and the clock said 4AM. Damn, now what? The lights were out again, and the fireplace cast strange shadows around the room.
"Jerry! What is it?" He was growling and snapping at something. The others just barked. I cast the flashlight beam in the direction of insult and saw a figure crawling toward us.
"Move another inch and Jerry will rip you to shreds!" I screamed at the figure.
"No, no, no, no, no... " The figure collapsed. I walked over with Jerry and it was one of the neighbors, drunk on the floor. Damn! I needed a larger salary!
"Get up! Now!" Jerry growled, but he obviously knew the guy, so chose not to attack.
"Get up!" I kicked gently and the guy responded by glaring at me.
"Wait until I tell Howard and May how I was treated!"
"I will tell them first and you are being recorded anyway, so get out!" I was glad I had remembered to turn on the "Nanny" cams all over the house. I didn't want to be blamed for anything I didn't do.
He stumbled to his feet, but then fell against the couch. "I will sleep here!"
"You will not! Get out!" I nudged Jerry forward and then his sister Jasmine followed suit.
They got real close to the drunks face and growled. The power suddenly flashed back on and the drunk looked at me with abject hatred.
"Call them off! I'm going!" He made it out the door and I watched as he would walk, fall, walk and fall until he got to his house. I laughed and then went to the kitchen for fresh coffee and an early breakfast. This job was ridiculous. I fed the dogs and let them out, but left the door open, for the house fell scary after drunk man.
I ate and drank coffee. The news said power was being restored and blah, blah blah. The dogs and I went back to sleep on the couch, fireplace warm and soothing. I hoped we could get a few more hours before we began our two week stint while their people were away.
Little did I know, but their people would not be returning...
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