Here I showcase some of my creative writing skills. There is always more to come!
For My Child to Survive... (July 2016)
“I found Frank’s body, Stan! Why? Why didn’t you just let him live? You said… you said you didn’t want to kill anyone else.”
“Karen, put the gun away… You have to understand that I didn’t want to… But only doing what you want can be fatal. You have to do what you need to in order to survive.”
“But why was his life the price for your survival?”
“He saw my son and he saw what he could do. He would have exposed him…”
“He never said he would expose him—!”
“He didn’t have to! I could see it in his eyes! You could see it! He was afraid... He would have told anyone who would listen. That cult, that so-called government organization, or whatever they are, wants people like my son, and your cousin would have done what I just did if he were in my position. My son needs me and I need to keep my son safe. That’s all there is to it.”
“You’re a monster… You are just addicted to getting blood on your hands now!”
“It’s better that I become a monster than I allow those that call themselves human turn my son into a monster or make him out to be one. Only three weeks ago, Oliver was a normal seven-year-old boy who loved camping and video games. Now, because of that freaky portal that irradiated half the planet with that strange light, my son has silver hair, glowing markings on his face, and yellow eyes, and can’t even enter a public restroom or go to his own school without someone trying to grab him or hurt him in some way. He can’t control these… these powers either… but people are trying to call him and others like him ‘devil children’. My son is no child to the devil. He is still my son. So until I find a way to cure him of this condition, or until other people see what’s really happening to this world, I will continue to stain my hands with blood to keep my only child safe. And you know I would do the same for you, Karen. ”
“I… I don’t know anything anymore… Superpowers. Portals to other dimensions. Lights in the skies. I was only a pediatrician before all of this. You were a forensic scientist. We both dealt in real sciences, but this is science fiction. But I do see the world as it is now has changed you into someone I can’t be with.”
“Karen, please—”
“I love Oliver and you… no, I love Stanley Reyes, the man who I was engaged to be married to a month from now, but you—who you are now—I don’t even recognize you. Maybe you always had this darkness in you and I was just too blinded by love to see it, or maybe Oliver wasn’t the only one in our home affected by that light, but after what you’ve done, I can’t bear to be around you, let alone look at you.”
“Karen! Karen, don’t walk away from me! If not for me, at least stay for Oliver! I need— I mean… he needs both of us. You’ve always been the closest thing he has known to a mother.”
“Stanley… you killed my cousin! A cousin who was almost like a brother to me! What kind of family could we build together when you’ve killed part of mine? I just learned you killed two others before him in the last three weeks and you expect me to trust or even forgive you?”
“YES! You know I only did what I had to—”
“You keep saying that, and what scares me the most is that you believe it! You talk about other people lacking humanity, but where is yours? You say that Oliver is no child of a devil, but with a man like you as his father, he may as well be! If you believe that this is all for you and your son’s survival, then you should understand that me leaving you is for my own survival!”
“You would abandon us? Now? When we need you most?”
“I’m not abandoning Oliver, Stan. I am leaving you. Here is your ring back. If you love me and if you really want to survive, then you will let me go. Good luck to you and goodbye.”
“LIKE HELL YOU WILL LEAVE!”
“GET BACK, STAN! DON”T MAKE ME—”
*****************************************************************************************************************
“Wake up, Oliver. It’s time to go.”
“Hmm… Karen? Where is Daddy? I thought I heard you two yelling outside the tent earlier and some kind of loud bang.”
“Your dad decided it would be best if you just stayed with me for a little while. He and Cousin Frank went somewhere far away.”
“W-Why didn’t he s-say anything to me before he left?”
“Well… I hope you can forgive me one day for making him rush off. But he wanted me to tell you that he loved you, he would do anything for you… and all he wanted was for you to survive.”
“Karen, put the gun away… You have to understand that I didn’t want to… But only doing what you want can be fatal. You have to do what you need to in order to survive.”
“But why was his life the price for your survival?”
“He saw my son and he saw what he could do. He would have exposed him…”
“He never said he would expose him—!”
“He didn’t have to! I could see it in his eyes! You could see it! He was afraid... He would have told anyone who would listen. That cult, that so-called government organization, or whatever they are, wants people like my son, and your cousin would have done what I just did if he were in my position. My son needs me and I need to keep my son safe. That’s all there is to it.”
“You’re a monster… You are just addicted to getting blood on your hands now!”
“It’s better that I become a monster than I allow those that call themselves human turn my son into a monster or make him out to be one. Only three weeks ago, Oliver was a normal seven-year-old boy who loved camping and video games. Now, because of that freaky portal that irradiated half the planet with that strange light, my son has silver hair, glowing markings on his face, and yellow eyes, and can’t even enter a public restroom or go to his own school without someone trying to grab him or hurt him in some way. He can’t control these… these powers either… but people are trying to call him and others like him ‘devil children’. My son is no child to the devil. He is still my son. So until I find a way to cure him of this condition, or until other people see what’s really happening to this world, I will continue to stain my hands with blood to keep my only child safe. And you know I would do the same for you, Karen. ”
“I… I don’t know anything anymore… Superpowers. Portals to other dimensions. Lights in the skies. I was only a pediatrician before all of this. You were a forensic scientist. We both dealt in real sciences, but this is science fiction. But I do see the world as it is now has changed you into someone I can’t be with.”
“Karen, please—”
“I love Oliver and you… no, I love Stanley Reyes, the man who I was engaged to be married to a month from now, but you—who you are now—I don’t even recognize you. Maybe you always had this darkness in you and I was just too blinded by love to see it, or maybe Oliver wasn’t the only one in our home affected by that light, but after what you’ve done, I can’t bear to be around you, let alone look at you.”
“Karen! Karen, don’t walk away from me! If not for me, at least stay for Oliver! I need— I mean… he needs both of us. You’ve always been the closest thing he has known to a mother.”
“Stanley… you killed my cousin! A cousin who was almost like a brother to me! What kind of family could we build together when you’ve killed part of mine? I just learned you killed two others before him in the last three weeks and you expect me to trust or even forgive you?”
“YES! You know I only did what I had to—”
“You keep saying that, and what scares me the most is that you believe it! You talk about other people lacking humanity, but where is yours? You say that Oliver is no child of a devil, but with a man like you as his father, he may as well be! If you believe that this is all for you and your son’s survival, then you should understand that me leaving you is for my own survival!”
“You would abandon us? Now? When we need you most?”
“I’m not abandoning Oliver, Stan. I am leaving you. Here is your ring back. If you love me and if you really want to survive, then you will let me go. Good luck to you and goodbye.”
“LIKE HELL YOU WILL LEAVE!”
“GET BACK, STAN! DON”T MAKE ME—”
*****************************************************************************************************************
“Wake up, Oliver. It’s time to go.”
“Hmm… Karen? Where is Daddy? I thought I heard you two yelling outside the tent earlier and some kind of loud bang.”
“Your dad decided it would be best if you just stayed with me for a little while. He and Cousin Frank went somewhere far away.”
“W-Why didn’t he s-say anything to me before he left?”
“Well… I hope you can forgive me one day for making him rush off. But he wanted me to tell you that he loved you, he would do anything for you… and all he wanted was for you to survive.”
Horror From My POV (July 2016)
I watched from the safety of my hiding place beneath the table. I was trembling uncontrollably, but could not will myself to move. I wanted to shout to Shanda, who was too busy rearranging the photos of us together on her bookshelf, but could only manage a low whimper. I could muster no courage. I was a coward after all.
The creature approached her from behind slowly, reaching out with one mangled hand. It looked like a man, standing erect on two legs with two arms and nearly hairless, but there was something unnatural about it. Even in the low light of the living room I could tell that the flesh was grayed, the eyes were hollowed, and there was rot around the teeth and nails. It smelled like something burned and decayed… almost like something I had the displeasure of eating before.
I watched it wrap those rotten claws around Shanda’s neck. I watched it spin her around and pull her into its wicked embrace. The nasty gray flesh around its mouth pressed to hers and in moments Shanda dropped to the floor. Dead.
It was only after the creature disappeared that I managed to bark, but still trembled.
The creature approached her from behind slowly, reaching out with one mangled hand. It looked like a man, standing erect on two legs with two arms and nearly hairless, but there was something unnatural about it. Even in the low light of the living room I could tell that the flesh was grayed, the eyes were hollowed, and there was rot around the teeth and nails. It smelled like something burned and decayed… almost like something I had the displeasure of eating before.
I watched it wrap those rotten claws around Shanda’s neck. I watched it spin her around and pull her into its wicked embrace. The nasty gray flesh around its mouth pressed to hers and in moments Shanda dropped to the floor. Dead.
It was only after the creature disappeared that I managed to bark, but still trembled.
Playthings (March 2014)
My body was bloodied and bruised when the giant plastic hand finally released me, dropping me near the front door of my home. The large and unblinking bright blue eyes stared down at me as I crawled to the front door of the house.
My “wife” met me at the door and stooped down to help me to my feet. She put one of my arms over her shoulder and supported me as we walked to the bathroom. The tub was already filled with the bright green liquid that would be my salvation. The woman, sometimes called Asia, who I’d only been housed with for a few days now, would help me into the tub, fully clothed.
As I slid into the basin, completely submerging my body, the liquid seeped into my wounds and my body was instantly healed and my energy was restored as if I’d had a month’s worth of relaxation and fine dining. The blood was also instantly lifted from my clothes. When I finally got out of the basin, my clothes would dry instantly.
All of this was routine in my life. This was the routine of every human life.
We didn’t have real jobs. Our only “real job” was to act out the machinations of our masters in whatever poorly plotted story someone “ages five and up” could design. We didn’t get to have real families because our spouses and homes were selected for us and could change on the whim of the master. We didn’t eat real food, because our masters, whose bodies were made of cloth, plastic, wood and various other artificial materials had no need for it, and all we needed to survive was the green liquid we were provided so that we could rejuvenate our broken and bloodied bodies after what some might call “a hard day’s work” and go back to do it all over again.
We were only allowed to do two real things with our lives. The first real thing we were allowed to do was speak to the people we interacted with, as long as there was no talk of rebellions and as long as the conversations didn’t deviate too far from the masters’ plot. Rebellion was out of the question anyway since it’s hard to defeat creatures that are ten times larger than you and can’t feel pain. Many of us learned this the hard way. To revolt against the masters would be suicide. The second real thing we were allowed to do was procreate. Sex was the only good thing we had going for us. Because of the ability to create more “playthings” for the masters, women were not played with as frequently as men. Unlike our masters, we had no need for an assembly line to improve our numbers. No one could refuse to have children. The masters were frequently watching us through the windows of our “dollhouses”, being the perverts that they were. It was also difficult to fall in love, given the capricious ways of the masters and their tendencies to place us with different mates. Also, there was always the very real chance that any of us could die during a regular “playtime”. The green liquid could heal us and clean us. But it could not bring us back from the dead. Dead humans were just discarded to the garbage, as we once discarded broken toys that were beyond repair.
The older masters at least had enough compassion to place laws to prevent the use of our infants and children under a certain age in the dangerous play times. At least in this way our progeny would have a few years (I assumed) of freedom, though they were usually confined to the houses since they were not being played with.
Outside of my own home I could hear a larger door opening and bright light pooled in through my windows from the lights of the outer hall that led into the master’s playroom. A large shadow fell over our home as the mother of the plastic giant entered the room.
She was taller than the plastic one, but instead of plastic her body was made of cloth and her hair was like red yarn. Where her eyes would be, there were only large black buttons comparable to the size of tires, yet she could see like no other. Her mouth never moved when she formed words, because it too was made of yarn and sewn into the shape of a permanent smile.
“Barbie, it’s time to put your toys away,” the mother said. “You know that they’re frail and they need time to heal or they’ll break permanently.”
“Yes, Mama…”the smaller one replied, pushing our small house into the corner of her playroom where it was usually stored while in disuse. I would hear the moans and screams of my friends shortly after as they were replaced in their homes to recuperate from our long day’s work.
It was odd to label these beings as if they truly had genders and ages, but given their appearances, with the exception of those that resembled monsters and fantastical creatures, and the way they played these occupational and familial roles, it was hard sometimes not to humanize them in one’s mind. They did not have the same capacities as true living human beings but they acted in ways similar to our own.
After she was done with us, the gigantic humanlike child made of plastic and nylon would turn off the lights in the room and shut the door, leaving us in total darkness. This was nighttime for us now. There were no windows in the playroom for light from the outside world to grace us. We had no way of telling time, with the exception of how we felt. We were left in an indefinite darkness until the young master decided to return to play with us again.
In the end, I suppose our way of life prior to becoming the toys of the artificial masters wasn’t much better. We already acted out assigned roles, working in the same routines, many of us rarely seeking to better ourselves, and only being used as tools in a system. We waged wars, robbed neighbors, abandoned children, and destroyed ourselves with bad habits. Given the power of choice by our own Creator may have actually been a curse on us, letting us fall to self-destruction rather than acting out a perfected plot crafted by Him. Humans had played with human lives for far too long. Toy masters now used and abused us, until they grew bored or until we broke.
When mankind is the plaything, when our very lives are played with, manipulated, and discarded by our own kind so easily, it’s no wonder that other things can toy with us so.
My “wife” met me at the door and stooped down to help me to my feet. She put one of my arms over her shoulder and supported me as we walked to the bathroom. The tub was already filled with the bright green liquid that would be my salvation. The woman, sometimes called Asia, who I’d only been housed with for a few days now, would help me into the tub, fully clothed.
As I slid into the basin, completely submerging my body, the liquid seeped into my wounds and my body was instantly healed and my energy was restored as if I’d had a month’s worth of relaxation and fine dining. The blood was also instantly lifted from my clothes. When I finally got out of the basin, my clothes would dry instantly.
All of this was routine in my life. This was the routine of every human life.
We didn’t have real jobs. Our only “real job” was to act out the machinations of our masters in whatever poorly plotted story someone “ages five and up” could design. We didn’t get to have real families because our spouses and homes were selected for us and could change on the whim of the master. We didn’t eat real food, because our masters, whose bodies were made of cloth, plastic, wood and various other artificial materials had no need for it, and all we needed to survive was the green liquid we were provided so that we could rejuvenate our broken and bloodied bodies after what some might call “a hard day’s work” and go back to do it all over again.
We were only allowed to do two real things with our lives. The first real thing we were allowed to do was speak to the people we interacted with, as long as there was no talk of rebellions and as long as the conversations didn’t deviate too far from the masters’ plot. Rebellion was out of the question anyway since it’s hard to defeat creatures that are ten times larger than you and can’t feel pain. Many of us learned this the hard way. To revolt against the masters would be suicide. The second real thing we were allowed to do was procreate. Sex was the only good thing we had going for us. Because of the ability to create more “playthings” for the masters, women were not played with as frequently as men. Unlike our masters, we had no need for an assembly line to improve our numbers. No one could refuse to have children. The masters were frequently watching us through the windows of our “dollhouses”, being the perverts that they were. It was also difficult to fall in love, given the capricious ways of the masters and their tendencies to place us with different mates. Also, there was always the very real chance that any of us could die during a regular “playtime”. The green liquid could heal us and clean us. But it could not bring us back from the dead. Dead humans were just discarded to the garbage, as we once discarded broken toys that were beyond repair.
The older masters at least had enough compassion to place laws to prevent the use of our infants and children under a certain age in the dangerous play times. At least in this way our progeny would have a few years (I assumed) of freedom, though they were usually confined to the houses since they were not being played with.
Outside of my own home I could hear a larger door opening and bright light pooled in through my windows from the lights of the outer hall that led into the master’s playroom. A large shadow fell over our home as the mother of the plastic giant entered the room.
She was taller than the plastic one, but instead of plastic her body was made of cloth and her hair was like red yarn. Where her eyes would be, there were only large black buttons comparable to the size of tires, yet she could see like no other. Her mouth never moved when she formed words, because it too was made of yarn and sewn into the shape of a permanent smile.
“Barbie, it’s time to put your toys away,” the mother said. “You know that they’re frail and they need time to heal or they’ll break permanently.”
“Yes, Mama…”the smaller one replied, pushing our small house into the corner of her playroom where it was usually stored while in disuse. I would hear the moans and screams of my friends shortly after as they were replaced in their homes to recuperate from our long day’s work.
It was odd to label these beings as if they truly had genders and ages, but given their appearances, with the exception of those that resembled monsters and fantastical creatures, and the way they played these occupational and familial roles, it was hard sometimes not to humanize them in one’s mind. They did not have the same capacities as true living human beings but they acted in ways similar to our own.
After she was done with us, the gigantic humanlike child made of plastic and nylon would turn off the lights in the room and shut the door, leaving us in total darkness. This was nighttime for us now. There were no windows in the playroom for light from the outside world to grace us. We had no way of telling time, with the exception of how we felt. We were left in an indefinite darkness until the young master decided to return to play with us again.
In the end, I suppose our way of life prior to becoming the toys of the artificial masters wasn’t much better. We already acted out assigned roles, working in the same routines, many of us rarely seeking to better ourselves, and only being used as tools in a system. We waged wars, robbed neighbors, abandoned children, and destroyed ourselves with bad habits. Given the power of choice by our own Creator may have actually been a curse on us, letting us fall to self-destruction rather than acting out a perfected plot crafted by Him. Humans had played with human lives for far too long. Toy masters now used and abused us, until they grew bored or until we broke.
When mankind is the plaything, when our very lives are played with, manipulated, and discarded by our own kind so easily, it’s no wonder that other things can toy with us so.
A Valentine For Christina J. (February 2014)
Christina J. was trapped in a game with her own heart to give but torn in twain
Two suitors sought her love and still it made Christina very ill
Among the suitors, one she knew and desired him to be her boo
But uncommitted and immature this suitor made her too unsure
And while he lived in Germany they hoped by summertime to see
If sparks would fly in lover’s chests, to lay uncertainty to rest.
But still her family did not approve of this particular young dude.
And the second of the suitors here her family held him very dear.
An eye doctor, a gentleman, with her he prepared family plans,
He actively pursued his Belle to make intentions clear to tell.
But she could not return his vim, because she had no past with him.
And for a proper sign she’d look to see which prince she better hook,
She’d text, and call, and snapchat both, and even checked her horoscope.
For council she would ask her friends, but found her dilemma would never end.
And so she’s at a loss for signs of which to call her Valentine…
Two suitors sought her love and still it made Christina very ill
Among the suitors, one she knew and desired him to be her boo
But uncommitted and immature this suitor made her too unsure
And while he lived in Germany they hoped by summertime to see
If sparks would fly in lover’s chests, to lay uncertainty to rest.
But still her family did not approve of this particular young dude.
And the second of the suitors here her family held him very dear.
An eye doctor, a gentleman, with her he prepared family plans,
He actively pursued his Belle to make intentions clear to tell.
But she could not return his vim, because she had no past with him.
And for a proper sign she’d look to see which prince she better hook,
She’d text, and call, and snapchat both, and even checked her horoscope.
For council she would ask her friends, but found her dilemma would never end.
And so she’s at a loss for signs of which to call her Valentine…
An Accidental Hero (January 2014)
My name is Casey Cordero. And today I’m kind of a big deal. Here I am, thrust in the spotlight, an overnight celebrity. I’m surrounded by news reporters, soldiers, politicians and my fellow Average Joes, all vying for my attention. And to think that only a few days ago I was a simple sandwich delivery guy…
It all started as just a regular day of work for me at Sammie’s Sammiches. However, because of the fact that my manager is a total jerk and a womanizer, half of our staff had quit the previous day and I was pulling double shifts and rushing to make sandwiches in the kitchen and deliveries on my bike.
Just as a disclaimer, I’m frequently told by friends and family members that I have the attention span of a squirrel, so multitasking and doing things in quick succession are not listed among my skill sets. In fact, my only skills are probably video gaming, chugging beers, even though I’m a small guy at only 130 pounds, and reciting lyrics from every song by Maroon 5 (I love those guys!). I’ve nearly been run over by cars several times, burned on the stove more times than I can count, and misplaced my fair share of food orders. It’s a wonder I still have a job, or that I’m even alive for that matter!
On this particular day, it just so happened that I got a call from a rather scary sounding gentleman with an accent I could not place who only asked for one thing—a triple-layer chicken Caesar sandwich on wheat bread. I was actually on my lunch break when the call came, enjoying a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I had just made in the restaurant kitchen, but there was a kind of urgency and a menace to this man’s voice that made me completely forget about enjoying my own sandwich and hop to work on preparing his.
As the only person on staff, I rushed to fix the sandwich and to get on my bike still dressed in apron and cap. As with most fast food delivery services, Sammie’s has a policy to deliver in 30 minutes or less or it’s free, but I had already decided I wasn’t going to be late with this man’s order. Plus, I was trying to save up on my tip money to buy a new game system. I was peddling with all of my might, darting through traffic and skirting across the highways, only having about three close calls with death on wheels, which is a record low for me when I’m rushing.
After a dash across an old train yard and a run down a dark alley I finally found myself at the destination. The address the mystery man gave was apparently some old apartment complex that appeared to be a remodeled hotel. I was kind of scared to go into this particular end of town with all of the gang violence and terrorist mindsets people have these days. I felt like I was walking into what could become a potential hostage situation already. But at the same time I felt like kind of a roughneck, like John McClane from the Die Hard movies.
I hesitated at the front door of the building for a few moments before I finally worked up some real gusto to actually enter. The building was pretty old and extremely hot in the lobby, even for it to be the middle of fall. There was no one in the lobby to direct me or stall me, which was just as well, because I did not need anyone slowing me down other than myself. But at the same time, I would have felt a little safer if there were a security guard in the place.
I had high hopes that the old residence had a functioning elevator, but to my dismay, the elevator just happened to be out of order and I had to climb about 16 flights of stairs! With all of my hours logged onto the good old Xbox, I was seriously reconsidering my ex-girlfriend’s suggestion to invest in a Kinect just for the sake of playing some fitness games, because biking alone was not cutting it for me in these situations. My drive to get a decent tip and avoid the wrath of the owner of the menacing voice who awaited me on the highest floor of the apartment building both allowed me to persevere until I reached the final floor.
As I stumbled down the long hallway, I was already panting a little and feeling sweat running everywhere, from my forehead to my butt crack. The bag containing the sandwich was held out to my side so I would avoid swinging it against my leg. When I finally arrived at the correct door, I took the time to straighten up a bit before knocking. I took a quick glance at my watch and did my best to hold back my grin. I still had more than 5 minutes to spare!
I could hear some shuffling and some loud conversation in another language on other side of the door before it was thrown open to reveal a hulking figure that would make Andre the Giant or even Lurch weak in the knees. The tall and heavily muscled man had the darkest eyes I’d ever seen on a human being and scars all over his olive skin that made him resemble a road map. He wore a tank top and pants that would have been too long on me but stopped just below the knee for him. I would’ve hated to see this guy in shorts. Cargo shorts for me would have looked like daisy dukes or boxers on him!
The huge man grunted once at me after one awkward moment of silence and staring, and stepped to one side, gesturing for me to come in. I hesitated to move across the threshold, obviously scared for my life. I could sense the giant greeter’s annoyance at my hesitation and noticed him shift as if to grab me and pull me in so I immediately stepped forward on my own volition into the apartment.
I felt a slight chill run down my spine after hearing the door slam shut behind me and finding the gazes of several mean-looking men, all seated around a table covered with playing cards, fixed on me. One man got up from the table and strutted toward me. Compared to the others, he was certainly the least intimidating in stature, by visage, and definitely in style,—I mean, would you be afraid of a man less than five feet tall who looks like he could be your grandfather wearing a Hawaiian shirt and cowboy boots—but when the man spoke, I immediately knew he was the same one who I spoke to on the phone.
The short man looked me over and grunted once before snatching the sandwich bag from my grasp. He peered inside the bag, pulled the sandwich out and took a huge bite out of the corner of it while keeping his gaze on me. “This tastes terrible,” he said with his mouth still full, and splattering bits from the contents of it on me, mostly on my shirt, since he only came up to below my chest. “And you got here late too. I’m not paying.”
At first, I admit, I was still a little intimidated by the look of the guys around me and in shock that this imp had the audacity to spit on me, but I eventually found my nerve to speak up. “No way! I was definitely here with five minutes to spare and I made that sandwich myself—”
“Which is probably why it’s disgusting,” the short man retorted as he returned to his seat at the table and took another bite of the sandwich. “But I’m hungry. Now get out!” He waved me away and before I could issue a comeback, I felt the large shadow looming over me. Then I felt the large hands that gripped my shoulders and lifted me off of the ground. Then I felt dizziness and pain as I was spun around and tossed through the open doorway into the closed door across the hall. Apparently, there was no one in the neighboring apartment or maybe just no one cared enough to investigate the loud bang my head made against the wooden barrier.
Once I managed to get to my feet I stumbled down the hallway and back down the stairwell with a little more difficulty than I had before, now bearing physical pain and frustration along with the tiredness I felt. I distracted myself a little bit by muttering curses and retorts to myself that I would have possibly said to that hobbit before his goon grabbed me. I stomped through the lobby toward the exit door, slightly happy just to be finally leaving the place, but pissed that I didn’t even get the tip I worked for. Just as I threw the door open, I found myself in the doorway with several camouflaged armed men all staring at me down the barrels of their rifles. I didn’t dare blink and it was all I could do to keep from wetting myself.
Apparently, the group of men I saw in the apartment were some kind of Neo-Nazi terrorist group responsible for several bombings and assaults, but I lack interest in keeping track of news and I’d have had no idea. It turns out the leader of this group was already dead by the time the strike force got to him. Me and my total incompetence had killed him. In my haste to make and deliver his sandwich I failed to properly clean the knife that I had made my PB&J with. It just so happened, that the man was highly allergic to peanuts.
And so here I stand no longer as just one of America’s hugest slackers, thought to never amount to anything, but now America’s accidental hero. Life is sweet! But I could really use a good PB&J.
It all started as just a regular day of work for me at Sammie’s Sammiches. However, because of the fact that my manager is a total jerk and a womanizer, half of our staff had quit the previous day and I was pulling double shifts and rushing to make sandwiches in the kitchen and deliveries on my bike.
Just as a disclaimer, I’m frequently told by friends and family members that I have the attention span of a squirrel, so multitasking and doing things in quick succession are not listed among my skill sets. In fact, my only skills are probably video gaming, chugging beers, even though I’m a small guy at only 130 pounds, and reciting lyrics from every song by Maroon 5 (I love those guys!). I’ve nearly been run over by cars several times, burned on the stove more times than I can count, and misplaced my fair share of food orders. It’s a wonder I still have a job, or that I’m even alive for that matter!
On this particular day, it just so happened that I got a call from a rather scary sounding gentleman with an accent I could not place who only asked for one thing—a triple-layer chicken Caesar sandwich on wheat bread. I was actually on my lunch break when the call came, enjoying a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I had just made in the restaurant kitchen, but there was a kind of urgency and a menace to this man’s voice that made me completely forget about enjoying my own sandwich and hop to work on preparing his.
As the only person on staff, I rushed to fix the sandwich and to get on my bike still dressed in apron and cap. As with most fast food delivery services, Sammie’s has a policy to deliver in 30 minutes or less or it’s free, but I had already decided I wasn’t going to be late with this man’s order. Plus, I was trying to save up on my tip money to buy a new game system. I was peddling with all of my might, darting through traffic and skirting across the highways, only having about three close calls with death on wheels, which is a record low for me when I’m rushing.
After a dash across an old train yard and a run down a dark alley I finally found myself at the destination. The address the mystery man gave was apparently some old apartment complex that appeared to be a remodeled hotel. I was kind of scared to go into this particular end of town with all of the gang violence and terrorist mindsets people have these days. I felt like I was walking into what could become a potential hostage situation already. But at the same time I felt like kind of a roughneck, like John McClane from the Die Hard movies.
I hesitated at the front door of the building for a few moments before I finally worked up some real gusto to actually enter. The building was pretty old and extremely hot in the lobby, even for it to be the middle of fall. There was no one in the lobby to direct me or stall me, which was just as well, because I did not need anyone slowing me down other than myself. But at the same time, I would have felt a little safer if there were a security guard in the place.
I had high hopes that the old residence had a functioning elevator, but to my dismay, the elevator just happened to be out of order and I had to climb about 16 flights of stairs! With all of my hours logged onto the good old Xbox, I was seriously reconsidering my ex-girlfriend’s suggestion to invest in a Kinect just for the sake of playing some fitness games, because biking alone was not cutting it for me in these situations. My drive to get a decent tip and avoid the wrath of the owner of the menacing voice who awaited me on the highest floor of the apartment building both allowed me to persevere until I reached the final floor.
As I stumbled down the long hallway, I was already panting a little and feeling sweat running everywhere, from my forehead to my butt crack. The bag containing the sandwich was held out to my side so I would avoid swinging it against my leg. When I finally arrived at the correct door, I took the time to straighten up a bit before knocking. I took a quick glance at my watch and did my best to hold back my grin. I still had more than 5 minutes to spare!
I could hear some shuffling and some loud conversation in another language on other side of the door before it was thrown open to reveal a hulking figure that would make Andre the Giant or even Lurch weak in the knees. The tall and heavily muscled man had the darkest eyes I’d ever seen on a human being and scars all over his olive skin that made him resemble a road map. He wore a tank top and pants that would have been too long on me but stopped just below the knee for him. I would’ve hated to see this guy in shorts. Cargo shorts for me would have looked like daisy dukes or boxers on him!
The huge man grunted once at me after one awkward moment of silence and staring, and stepped to one side, gesturing for me to come in. I hesitated to move across the threshold, obviously scared for my life. I could sense the giant greeter’s annoyance at my hesitation and noticed him shift as if to grab me and pull me in so I immediately stepped forward on my own volition into the apartment.
I felt a slight chill run down my spine after hearing the door slam shut behind me and finding the gazes of several mean-looking men, all seated around a table covered with playing cards, fixed on me. One man got up from the table and strutted toward me. Compared to the others, he was certainly the least intimidating in stature, by visage, and definitely in style,—I mean, would you be afraid of a man less than five feet tall who looks like he could be your grandfather wearing a Hawaiian shirt and cowboy boots—but when the man spoke, I immediately knew he was the same one who I spoke to on the phone.
The short man looked me over and grunted once before snatching the sandwich bag from my grasp. He peered inside the bag, pulled the sandwich out and took a huge bite out of the corner of it while keeping his gaze on me. “This tastes terrible,” he said with his mouth still full, and splattering bits from the contents of it on me, mostly on my shirt, since he only came up to below my chest. “And you got here late too. I’m not paying.”
At first, I admit, I was still a little intimidated by the look of the guys around me and in shock that this imp had the audacity to spit on me, but I eventually found my nerve to speak up. “No way! I was definitely here with five minutes to spare and I made that sandwich myself—”
“Which is probably why it’s disgusting,” the short man retorted as he returned to his seat at the table and took another bite of the sandwich. “But I’m hungry. Now get out!” He waved me away and before I could issue a comeback, I felt the large shadow looming over me. Then I felt the large hands that gripped my shoulders and lifted me off of the ground. Then I felt dizziness and pain as I was spun around and tossed through the open doorway into the closed door across the hall. Apparently, there was no one in the neighboring apartment or maybe just no one cared enough to investigate the loud bang my head made against the wooden barrier.
Once I managed to get to my feet I stumbled down the hallway and back down the stairwell with a little more difficulty than I had before, now bearing physical pain and frustration along with the tiredness I felt. I distracted myself a little bit by muttering curses and retorts to myself that I would have possibly said to that hobbit before his goon grabbed me. I stomped through the lobby toward the exit door, slightly happy just to be finally leaving the place, but pissed that I didn’t even get the tip I worked for. Just as I threw the door open, I found myself in the doorway with several camouflaged armed men all staring at me down the barrels of their rifles. I didn’t dare blink and it was all I could do to keep from wetting myself.
Apparently, the group of men I saw in the apartment were some kind of Neo-Nazi terrorist group responsible for several bombings and assaults, but I lack interest in keeping track of news and I’d have had no idea. It turns out the leader of this group was already dead by the time the strike force got to him. Me and my total incompetence had killed him. In my haste to make and deliver his sandwich I failed to properly clean the knife that I had made my PB&J with. It just so happened, that the man was highly allergic to peanuts.
And so here I stand no longer as just one of America’s hugest slackers, thought to never amount to anything, but now America’s accidental hero. Life is sweet! But I could really use a good PB&J.
Ambrosia (July 2011)
“Without a little chaos, what would people have to look forward to?”
These were the last words I spoke to my best friend, Keith Watts, before he died a little over two years ago. In retrospect it was a poor choice of words on my part looking at where my life was now. After that one statement, it seemed like my whole life had turned into nothing but chaos. But this life would all be over soon…because I was about to be executed within the next few minutes.
Lethal injection was the chosen method. Not by me of course. If I’d had my way I would have died in a harem being tended by the most beautiful women in the world, but sadly that’s too humane for the American justice system. I suppose it would also be too good of a death for a man who supposedly slaughtered his best friend’s entire family; a family who had taken him in when he was facing hard times and treated him like their own flesh and blood. For as long as Keith and I knew each other we might as well have been pulled from the same womb. Perhaps if I had pleaded insanity I could have lived a little longer. The evidence stacked against me proved beyond a reasonable doubt that I was the culprit, but I knew to the contrary: I was innocent.
I’d been sleeping on the couch in Keith’s living room when the murder took place but I’d woken up in his youngest daughter’s bedroom in a puddle of blood. The police had already arrived by the time I’d gained consciousness with a knife lying in each hand and scratches on my face. Apparently, my DNA was found under the fingernails of Keith’s wife, Anna, and there were signs of a struggle in their bedroom.
Keith had three daughters named Asia, Egypt, and Eden, ages 4, 10 and 12 respectively. Three of the prettiest, smartest, and most charming sweethearts you could ever meet. If anyone had ever hurt one of those girls in anyway, I would personally want them dead myself. This was probably why the jury didn’t need much time to find me guilty. Not that my defense attorney (provided by the state, of course) was too convincing in his appeal anyway.
I knew I wasn’t a sleepwalker or some freak with a secret hatred for my friend. Of course, he had the perfect life with a beautiful family, a great home and a dream job as a corporate exec for one of the largest advertising agencies in the country, but I didn’t loathe him for living the “American dream”. I admired the man and I loved him and his family probably more than my own kin. But there was someone out there who did want Keith’s family dead or someone who just happened to have a grudge against me. Whoever that someone was would soon have their ultimate victory though…
I was already strapped into a small chair in the dimly lit room with the single window that only gave me a view of my own reflection. There was an armed guard standing by the only door of the room. He reminded me of a buffer version of Doctor Phil. I already knew that the onlookers on the other side of the window who barely contained their deep-seated contempt of treacherous, women-and-children-killing scum like me were probably anxious to see the grand finale of my life. Too bad I couldn’t go out with fireworks and a full parade to really satisfy everyone.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not taking this as lightheartedly as I try to appear to be. I’m actually feeling fear, anger, sadness, and every other negative emotion any human being could feel after experiencing a tragedy and falling into a predicament like my own. I’d been feeling all of these emotions since that night…
My executioner, a small balding man who resembled an older, more refined John C. Reilly (I’m just seeing celebrities everywhere on my death-day) finally entered with a small cart that had three needles placed neatly on a tray and a Bible lying next to them. I guess most people would call that irony.
I already knew how the cocktail was mixed: The first vial would be the sodium thiopental, or possibly pentobarbital, which would cause sedation, followed by pancuronium bromide to induce paralysis, and finally potassium chloride to stop my heart. I know, it’s sick that I know all of this, but I just happen to read a lot of books, and chemistry was my favorite subject in high school and college.
The executioner, who I affectionately dubbed “John”, nodded to me and greeted me with a smile. I think there was more malice in the smile than amity, but maybe I was just seeing everyone as an enemy in these final moments. He picked up the Bible and read a few scriptures from the Book of John (again, irony) before he prayed. Who would think that an executioner could double as a minister? If I’d actually taken advantage of a last request I might’ve asked to have T.D. Jakes personally send me off to be judged at the pearly gates.
After replacing the Bible on the cart, he proceeded to tightening an additional strap that I hadn’t noticed before around my arm. His frail frame belied the strength he really possessed. I think there was far more gentleness in his smile than his handling of me. He didn’t have any trouble finding a vein, and I knew that it would be time for the juice soon enough.
As “John” turned his back to me to pick up the first of the needles, my mind began to scream at me to struggle, to break free. I was clearly panicking now that my death was so close at hand. Needless to say that that didn’t last long after the first needle found my vein. I was completely calm then. Next, the second needle followed, but I didn’t even feel it. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything at this point. Finally, I saw the last needle removed from the tray and all I could think was, Well here it comes…
The final needle went into my arm and it was over. Or so I thought…
I couldn’t feel my heart beating but I did feel something. It felt like a rush of adrenaline, a surge of energy that was coursing through my body. What ever this sensation was, it felt unnatural.
This must be what death feels like for people who go to heaven, I thought. But that’s when the pain shot through me. It was like I was hit by a freight truck that was traveling at 200 miles per hour. All at once I felt every nerve in my body screaming. My body began to convulse. I was arching my back and surprisingly I didn’t feel much resistance from my bonds.
I had shut my eyes earlier without realizing it, but now both of my peepers snapped open. I saw that “John” was now backing away and screaming something, but I couldn’t really understand him. His voice sounded amplified and distorted, like he was screaming into a megaphone right in my face. I saw the guard, also known as “Phil”, now drawing his firearm from the holster and stepping forward while “John” stared back at me in horror and stumbled toward the door. They both seemed to be using exaggerated movements. It was like they were moving in slow motion.
“Phil” finally had his gun fully drawn now after what seemed like five minutes to me (of course, I exaggerate) and he was screaming and pointing his weapon right at my head. “Don’t move!” he said.
I was glad I could hear again, but I honestly had no idea how he expected me to move anyway after he’d seen me get bolted down to the chair. I figured security only sees so much action and he was looking for an excuse to use his gun. Being able to say you capped a guy always gets some level of interest from the ladies.
I soon noticed that my body had already stopped convulsing. I cut my eyes down and I saw what had happened now. In my throes of pain, I had somehow managed to break my restraints. What looked like a bruise, or maybe even a birthmark, had formed over the place on my arm where I had been inoculated. I flexed my arm and then I heard the explosion which I automatically assumed was the guard’s weapon being fired. I looked up and confirmed my assumptions. In fact, I could literally see the bullet moving straight toward me. Oddly enough, the guard couldn’t have been standing more than eight feet from me.
Instinctively, I leaned to the right to evade the projectile. I guess at this point it was no surprise that I succeeded. I heard two more explosions and this time I also saw the bullets immediately as they were discharged from the handgun. The guard appeared to be panicking because the consecutive shots were flying in odd angles, but they were still directed to me. I was still sitting down at the moment I saw the bullets. The first shot would have hit me in my neck but I was on my feet in an instant and I twisted just enough to dodge it easily, but I didn’t have as much luck with the second shot. The bullet hit me squarely in the center of my chest. I flinched, but it tickled.
The guard was backpedalling to the door now, his eyes wide and his shots going awry. I didn’t mean to cause panic, but I didn’t want to let him get out with a weapon in hand while he was clearly spooked. In about three steps I covered the distance between myself and the guard, managing to dodge or deflect his shots. I reached for the gun just as the guard was crossing the threshold and as my fingers closed over the muzzle of his weapon I saw and felt the cold metal bend at my touch.
“Phil” released his weapon and fell back through the door. After he hit the floor on his back he quickly got his hands underneath him and began to do a comical crabwalk down the hallway before me. My eyes followed him until he got a few feet back and I noticed several more armed guards with rifles pouring through a door at the end of the hall. A silent alarm must have been raised or cameras must have caught everything that had happened.
I already knew that a fight wouldn’t end well for anyone, especially my armed adversaries at the end of the hall. I stepped back into the small room and slammed the door before the first shot could be fired. I reached up and yanked the handle off for good measure. My only way out now was the small window. No tough choices there.
Naturally, I stepped back, took two steps forward and leapt with my fists first through the glass. My feet literally left the ground and in the moment before I collided with the window I saw my reflection and faintly smiled to myself as I thought, Superman style. The glass fell away easily and I hit the floor on the other side smoothly, only to roll once and fall clumsily across a chair. I automatically had to look around to make sure no one saw that… Unfortunately, someone did.
The room was completely vacant with the exception of a single man wearing glasses, a blue dress shirt with a candy-striped blue and white tie and black slacks, who remained seated at the back of the room. He appeared to be middle-aged and Middle Eastern. He was sitting cross-legged and stared expectantly at me.
“Hello, Riley,” he said to me. “Are you ready to go?”
“Ready to go where?” I asked. “Who are you?”
“Are you ready to go with me,” he said simply. “And as to who I am, I’d rather not explain that here. Besides, we really should go quickly. The ambrosia’s effects are often unpredictable.”
“Ambrosia?”
“Yes. Ambrosia. The nectar of the gods. It was the name given to the superhuman serum that was administered to you.”
“But how—” I started as I got on my feet.
“We really should go,” he said interrupting me and standing to his own feet. “Now.”
Two of the things I hate most in this world are people who boss me around and people who interrupt me when I’m speaking. I was going to let it slide this time though.
The man was turning on his heels toward a door to his left. “You should probably go ahead first,” he said without looking back. “I will be behind you shortly.” He opened the door and made a quick bow with a sweeping gesture as if to say “after you”. He had a smirk on his face and a mischievous glint in his eye when he finally looked back in my direction. I think I could grow to like this guy or potentially hate him depending on what answers he offered me later. It seemed like I was stepping into a new world of chaos.
Chaos, I thought. Ha! I guess with a new lease on life I have a lot to look forward to.
I leapt over the chairs and sprinted past the man and through the door, not completely sure of what was on the other side. I was sure of one thing though: If I could make it through this alive, whoever set me up and killed my friend and his family would pay.
These were the last words I spoke to my best friend, Keith Watts, before he died a little over two years ago. In retrospect it was a poor choice of words on my part looking at where my life was now. After that one statement, it seemed like my whole life had turned into nothing but chaos. But this life would all be over soon…because I was about to be executed within the next few minutes.
Lethal injection was the chosen method. Not by me of course. If I’d had my way I would have died in a harem being tended by the most beautiful women in the world, but sadly that’s too humane for the American justice system. I suppose it would also be too good of a death for a man who supposedly slaughtered his best friend’s entire family; a family who had taken him in when he was facing hard times and treated him like their own flesh and blood. For as long as Keith and I knew each other we might as well have been pulled from the same womb. Perhaps if I had pleaded insanity I could have lived a little longer. The evidence stacked against me proved beyond a reasonable doubt that I was the culprit, but I knew to the contrary: I was innocent.
I’d been sleeping on the couch in Keith’s living room when the murder took place but I’d woken up in his youngest daughter’s bedroom in a puddle of blood. The police had already arrived by the time I’d gained consciousness with a knife lying in each hand and scratches on my face. Apparently, my DNA was found under the fingernails of Keith’s wife, Anna, and there were signs of a struggle in their bedroom.
Keith had three daughters named Asia, Egypt, and Eden, ages 4, 10 and 12 respectively. Three of the prettiest, smartest, and most charming sweethearts you could ever meet. If anyone had ever hurt one of those girls in anyway, I would personally want them dead myself. This was probably why the jury didn’t need much time to find me guilty. Not that my defense attorney (provided by the state, of course) was too convincing in his appeal anyway.
I knew I wasn’t a sleepwalker or some freak with a secret hatred for my friend. Of course, he had the perfect life with a beautiful family, a great home and a dream job as a corporate exec for one of the largest advertising agencies in the country, but I didn’t loathe him for living the “American dream”. I admired the man and I loved him and his family probably more than my own kin. But there was someone out there who did want Keith’s family dead or someone who just happened to have a grudge against me. Whoever that someone was would soon have their ultimate victory though…
I was already strapped into a small chair in the dimly lit room with the single window that only gave me a view of my own reflection. There was an armed guard standing by the only door of the room. He reminded me of a buffer version of Doctor Phil. I already knew that the onlookers on the other side of the window who barely contained their deep-seated contempt of treacherous, women-and-children-killing scum like me were probably anxious to see the grand finale of my life. Too bad I couldn’t go out with fireworks and a full parade to really satisfy everyone.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not taking this as lightheartedly as I try to appear to be. I’m actually feeling fear, anger, sadness, and every other negative emotion any human being could feel after experiencing a tragedy and falling into a predicament like my own. I’d been feeling all of these emotions since that night…
My executioner, a small balding man who resembled an older, more refined John C. Reilly (I’m just seeing celebrities everywhere on my death-day) finally entered with a small cart that had three needles placed neatly on a tray and a Bible lying next to them. I guess most people would call that irony.
I already knew how the cocktail was mixed: The first vial would be the sodium thiopental, or possibly pentobarbital, which would cause sedation, followed by pancuronium bromide to induce paralysis, and finally potassium chloride to stop my heart. I know, it’s sick that I know all of this, but I just happen to read a lot of books, and chemistry was my favorite subject in high school and college.
The executioner, who I affectionately dubbed “John”, nodded to me and greeted me with a smile. I think there was more malice in the smile than amity, but maybe I was just seeing everyone as an enemy in these final moments. He picked up the Bible and read a few scriptures from the Book of John (again, irony) before he prayed. Who would think that an executioner could double as a minister? If I’d actually taken advantage of a last request I might’ve asked to have T.D. Jakes personally send me off to be judged at the pearly gates.
After replacing the Bible on the cart, he proceeded to tightening an additional strap that I hadn’t noticed before around my arm. His frail frame belied the strength he really possessed. I think there was far more gentleness in his smile than his handling of me. He didn’t have any trouble finding a vein, and I knew that it would be time for the juice soon enough.
As “John” turned his back to me to pick up the first of the needles, my mind began to scream at me to struggle, to break free. I was clearly panicking now that my death was so close at hand. Needless to say that that didn’t last long after the first needle found my vein. I was completely calm then. Next, the second needle followed, but I didn’t even feel it. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything at this point. Finally, I saw the last needle removed from the tray and all I could think was, Well here it comes…
The final needle went into my arm and it was over. Or so I thought…
I couldn’t feel my heart beating but I did feel something. It felt like a rush of adrenaline, a surge of energy that was coursing through my body. What ever this sensation was, it felt unnatural.
This must be what death feels like for people who go to heaven, I thought. But that’s when the pain shot through me. It was like I was hit by a freight truck that was traveling at 200 miles per hour. All at once I felt every nerve in my body screaming. My body began to convulse. I was arching my back and surprisingly I didn’t feel much resistance from my bonds.
I had shut my eyes earlier without realizing it, but now both of my peepers snapped open. I saw that “John” was now backing away and screaming something, but I couldn’t really understand him. His voice sounded amplified and distorted, like he was screaming into a megaphone right in my face. I saw the guard, also known as “Phil”, now drawing his firearm from the holster and stepping forward while “John” stared back at me in horror and stumbled toward the door. They both seemed to be using exaggerated movements. It was like they were moving in slow motion.
“Phil” finally had his gun fully drawn now after what seemed like five minutes to me (of course, I exaggerate) and he was screaming and pointing his weapon right at my head. “Don’t move!” he said.
I was glad I could hear again, but I honestly had no idea how he expected me to move anyway after he’d seen me get bolted down to the chair. I figured security only sees so much action and he was looking for an excuse to use his gun. Being able to say you capped a guy always gets some level of interest from the ladies.
I soon noticed that my body had already stopped convulsing. I cut my eyes down and I saw what had happened now. In my throes of pain, I had somehow managed to break my restraints. What looked like a bruise, or maybe even a birthmark, had formed over the place on my arm where I had been inoculated. I flexed my arm and then I heard the explosion which I automatically assumed was the guard’s weapon being fired. I looked up and confirmed my assumptions. In fact, I could literally see the bullet moving straight toward me. Oddly enough, the guard couldn’t have been standing more than eight feet from me.
Instinctively, I leaned to the right to evade the projectile. I guess at this point it was no surprise that I succeeded. I heard two more explosions and this time I also saw the bullets immediately as they were discharged from the handgun. The guard appeared to be panicking because the consecutive shots were flying in odd angles, but they were still directed to me. I was still sitting down at the moment I saw the bullets. The first shot would have hit me in my neck but I was on my feet in an instant and I twisted just enough to dodge it easily, but I didn’t have as much luck with the second shot. The bullet hit me squarely in the center of my chest. I flinched, but it tickled.
The guard was backpedalling to the door now, his eyes wide and his shots going awry. I didn’t mean to cause panic, but I didn’t want to let him get out with a weapon in hand while he was clearly spooked. In about three steps I covered the distance between myself and the guard, managing to dodge or deflect his shots. I reached for the gun just as the guard was crossing the threshold and as my fingers closed over the muzzle of his weapon I saw and felt the cold metal bend at my touch.
“Phil” released his weapon and fell back through the door. After he hit the floor on his back he quickly got his hands underneath him and began to do a comical crabwalk down the hallway before me. My eyes followed him until he got a few feet back and I noticed several more armed guards with rifles pouring through a door at the end of the hall. A silent alarm must have been raised or cameras must have caught everything that had happened.
I already knew that a fight wouldn’t end well for anyone, especially my armed adversaries at the end of the hall. I stepped back into the small room and slammed the door before the first shot could be fired. I reached up and yanked the handle off for good measure. My only way out now was the small window. No tough choices there.
Naturally, I stepped back, took two steps forward and leapt with my fists first through the glass. My feet literally left the ground and in the moment before I collided with the window I saw my reflection and faintly smiled to myself as I thought, Superman style. The glass fell away easily and I hit the floor on the other side smoothly, only to roll once and fall clumsily across a chair. I automatically had to look around to make sure no one saw that… Unfortunately, someone did.
The room was completely vacant with the exception of a single man wearing glasses, a blue dress shirt with a candy-striped blue and white tie and black slacks, who remained seated at the back of the room. He appeared to be middle-aged and Middle Eastern. He was sitting cross-legged and stared expectantly at me.
“Hello, Riley,” he said to me. “Are you ready to go?”
“Ready to go where?” I asked. “Who are you?”
“Are you ready to go with me,” he said simply. “And as to who I am, I’d rather not explain that here. Besides, we really should go quickly. The ambrosia’s effects are often unpredictable.”
“Ambrosia?”
“Yes. Ambrosia. The nectar of the gods. It was the name given to the superhuman serum that was administered to you.”
“But how—” I started as I got on my feet.
“We really should go,” he said interrupting me and standing to his own feet. “Now.”
Two of the things I hate most in this world are people who boss me around and people who interrupt me when I’m speaking. I was going to let it slide this time though.
The man was turning on his heels toward a door to his left. “You should probably go ahead first,” he said without looking back. “I will be behind you shortly.” He opened the door and made a quick bow with a sweeping gesture as if to say “after you”. He had a smirk on his face and a mischievous glint in his eye when he finally looked back in my direction. I think I could grow to like this guy or potentially hate him depending on what answers he offered me later. It seemed like I was stepping into a new world of chaos.
Chaos, I thought. Ha! I guess with a new lease on life I have a lot to look forward to.
I leapt over the chairs and sprinted past the man and through the door, not completely sure of what was on the other side. I was sure of one thing though: If I could make it through this alive, whoever set me up and killed my friend and his family would pay.
Xero (June 2011)
I was alone in the dark, yet I could see everything beyond the curtain clearly with these eyes that were not my own…
The dark-suited man approached the podium, clearing his throat and straightening his tie, making sure to maintain a brisk pace and a façade of confidence as he prepared to take his place on the stage. At that time he made sure not to acknowledge the thousands of pairs of eyes attached to the anxious and angry faces that followed him to his destination at the center of the stage. He placed his hands on the sides of the platform and took a moment to look out upon his audience before he began. It was a classic bit of showmanship. Prolonging the silence for a little longer and staring gravely into the masses for dramatic effect.
“We live in a dying world, gentlemen,” he began. “This world, which over the millennia, has been polluted and has had its resources exhausted by mankind. We have caused the extinction of myriads of species of plants and animals, and now it is our turn to suffer the same fate! What I offer is an opportunity to save not just ourselves, but what is left of our planet. I am not playing advocate to the Devil nor am I attempting to play God. No one did this to us… We have done this to ourselves!”
He was clearly creating tension in the room. Heads were turning, a few scattered murmurs could be heard, and chairs were creaking as people began to shift in their seats uncomfortably. He had their attention now.
“Imagine a world void of sickness or famine; a world where not only humans, but all sentient life can achieve immortality; a world where the mechanical can unite with the organic and contain a human soul. The world that I am proposing to you gentlemen today is not just a vision to be achieved in the next half century or even the next decade; no, the world that I propose is in our grasp now! With the technology we have available to us we have successfully merged man and machine!”
The curtain was finally lifted and I stood there, naked and on display before the shocked onlookers, like a new attraction at a carnival. Some of them were clearly expecting this part of the presentation, but many more appeared horrified by my appearance. I couldn’t blame them.
I was once a five-foot-six, fair-skinned, red-headed man of average build and some would say below average attractiveness. I was a middle-aged, lonely, humdrum banker. I always wished to be a greater man. I wanted to be faster, stronger, smarter, and better looking. But now, as I stood locked in place by the titanium restraints onto the magnetized platform that had been inserted into the floor specifically for me, preventing me from turning and fleeing from the invasive, critical stares, I longed to be me again. To be who I once was. To be what I once was.
I now stood at eight feet tall with armored plates and joints merged with various parts of my pale flesh, amber orbs fit into my eye sockets, and small metal spikes protruding from my chest, chin, and neck. I was thankful that I was at least given some boxers to cover my now deformed genitals. I felt like Frankenstein’s monster, and judging from the tension from the crowd (which I could literally see from the bio-scans that were feeding through my new eyes), I believed that the people who looked upon me could very well turn into an angry mob…
“This is not just grafting mechanical prosthetics to a man or another man in a mechanized suit,” the man in the suit continued. “This is the future of what we call the ‘cybernetic organism’. What I’m talking about is an organic being and cybernetics being combined in not just the basic physical sense on the surface, but on every level—including cellular and psychological. Using nanotechnology, we have fused probes with the nuclei of human cells that are capable of replicating at a geometric rate to basically transform the body inside of a mechanical shell into a perfect machine. While the cells of the human body are engineered to divide only a finite number of times before the body begins to break down, the probe allows newly developed ‘cyber organic’ cells to be produced infinitely which means the human body can then be sustained forever. The machine on the outside becomes an extension of the mind and body of the person on the inside.
“While the man benefits from the machine by being nearly invulnerable to any form of physical or biological attack and becoming instantly adaptable to any environment, the machine benefits from the man by gaining a permanent sentient mind to guide it and allow it to function properly in any environment, in addition to a permanent power source, an organic fuel, if you will. Gentlemen, I’m saying that this can in fact become a true symbiosis of man and machine.”
The murmur among the crowd grew louder now and the penetrating stares from the thousands of pairs of eyes before me were all trained on Yours Truly even as the dark-suited man continued to speak. I caught snatches of the whispered conversations with the words “monster” and “aberration” filling every other sentence.
“These temporary bodies of flesh and blood were bestowed upon us by our Creator as temporary vessels for our souls. It has often been said that it is the human spirit that makes man superior to machine, while it is the calculated precision and immeasurable power of the machine that often trumps man. But I am asking, why can’t we have both?”
There were no guards or ushers at the doors. Groups of people were leaving the auditorium now. They were filing out quickly, some silently and others in clear outrage. There were more shouts of “I refuse to live if not as a real human!” and “To die is the natural order, but that thing is neither natural nor supernatural. It’s simply horrible!”. These people were only in the minority though. Hundreds more remained in there seats, both intrigued by the presenter’s words and disturbed by my presence.
“There is no need to turn away from this blessing. Our God-given powers of choice and ingenuity have been our greatest weapons, but now these same powers could become our salvation. If you so choose, this masterpiece of man’s own ingenuity could save not just the human race, but the world! All life as we know it can be saved starting here, gentlemen! You can fund our research and be given the keys to immortality for yourselves, as well as your wives, sons, and daughters.”
I suddenly felt relief as the restraints loosened and the magnetized platform’s resistance disappeared. I was able to move freely again! This must have been planned for some kind of demonstration. Apparently, seeing me in action was enough to illicit audible gasps and more whispers from the crowd.
I simply rolled my shoulders and neck and flexed my arms. The “cyber organic” cells had already spread throughout most of my body, but the human muscles still remained…for now. I’d only gone through the procedure about a month ago. I was changing faster than I’d expected. Faster than the suits who’d convinced me to participate in their “secret, revolutionary research” had even anticipated.
“This may be viewed as a ‘monster’ now, but inevitably this could be a model for the future of all life on Planet Earth. As you can see, this brave, noble individual who you see before you is among the first of many who will continue to carry the legacy of the first Adam and transform the world so that it may thrive into a new Eden for all. We can have peace and everlasting life here on Earth. This is not a revolution for U.S. military technology, but a revolution for all that live. This is a solution that has been desired by not just the men at our company but by all—”
And that’s when the first of several gunshots rang out. I should have been able to detect the gun, but I didn’t. I was able to see the first bullet as it soared toward the man behind the podium and I was fast enough to react but… I just didn’t know what to do. Indecision was the only invisible force that caught me, but it was fear that encircled every other person in the room. Everyone in the room instinctively ducked and scattered; everyone in the room except the single armed man who stood in one aisle of the auditorium and me.
My head darted in the direction of the shooter’s intended target. The man in the dark suit was squatting and leaning against the podium. He was low enough and slim enough to be completely hidden from the assailant’s sight, but he was not protected by the wooden piece of furniture between him and the weapon. Not that it mattered.
I could see the blood running at the corner of his mouth and I could tell he was breathing irregularly. With the bionics that now replaced my eyes, I could see the bullet inside of him that had penetrated the right side of his chest and the one that had punctured his lung. He didn’t have long. He turned his head in my direction and our eyes met. It was odd, but seeing a stranger dying was enough to move me.
I looked out into the crowd as the shooter was preparing to turn and flee. In a single bound I cleared the stage and half of the auditorium, landing gracefully in the aisle where the attacker had stood only a few seconds before. In two more steps I closed the distance between myself and the fleeing man. In one swift motion, I grabbed him by the back of his collar with my right hand and twisted him around to face me. Before he had time to raise his weapon again my left hand snapped up and caught hold of his wrist, snapping it as my strengthened fingers tightened around the flesh and bone. The gun clattered to the floor. I then drew my left arm back, tightened my hand into a fist and struck the man squarely in the center of his chest. The bones of his chest collapsed in from the impact before he was launched backward through the open doorway. He was dead before he hit the ground on the other side of the threshold. I saw the fear reflected in his eyes, my own reflection, just before that final blow. I didn’t really care.
It was my human side that compelled me to act in that instance. To feel rage and to desire justice for a murder was clearly human. But it was something else that was a part of me now that allowed me to do what I did.
Chaos ensued around me. While some of the people stopped to draw their camera phones out to snap one final close-up of me, myriads of them flooded the other aisles, making sure to avoid me as they pushed through the exits.
They were trampling the body of the deceased shooter in their panic. Only a few paused long enough in the doorway to step over the man I had killed, but no one bothered to try to identify him. Not one of them stopped to inspect the dying the man onstage.
These people had seen all that they needed to see. And so had I. What I was observing now was human weakness in the form of fear. This same weakness that overrides the strength of human compassion and justice in the most dire of situations. This same weakness that would compel others to become the very thing that they had learned to fear on this day… me.
In the coming days, the media would label me and others like me. Just as God had named the first man He created, so man would name their newest creation. We were not just a product, but a new race. We could no longer be called “Adams” because we were more than human. We transcended beyond the common weaknesses of men. Our relationship to machines would inspire the name from binary code. Our new race would be called the “Xeros”.
The dark-suited man approached the podium, clearing his throat and straightening his tie, making sure to maintain a brisk pace and a façade of confidence as he prepared to take his place on the stage. At that time he made sure not to acknowledge the thousands of pairs of eyes attached to the anxious and angry faces that followed him to his destination at the center of the stage. He placed his hands on the sides of the platform and took a moment to look out upon his audience before he began. It was a classic bit of showmanship. Prolonging the silence for a little longer and staring gravely into the masses for dramatic effect.
“We live in a dying world, gentlemen,” he began. “This world, which over the millennia, has been polluted and has had its resources exhausted by mankind. We have caused the extinction of myriads of species of plants and animals, and now it is our turn to suffer the same fate! What I offer is an opportunity to save not just ourselves, but what is left of our planet. I am not playing advocate to the Devil nor am I attempting to play God. No one did this to us… We have done this to ourselves!”
He was clearly creating tension in the room. Heads were turning, a few scattered murmurs could be heard, and chairs were creaking as people began to shift in their seats uncomfortably. He had their attention now.
“Imagine a world void of sickness or famine; a world where not only humans, but all sentient life can achieve immortality; a world where the mechanical can unite with the organic and contain a human soul. The world that I am proposing to you gentlemen today is not just a vision to be achieved in the next half century or even the next decade; no, the world that I propose is in our grasp now! With the technology we have available to us we have successfully merged man and machine!”
The curtain was finally lifted and I stood there, naked and on display before the shocked onlookers, like a new attraction at a carnival. Some of them were clearly expecting this part of the presentation, but many more appeared horrified by my appearance. I couldn’t blame them.
I was once a five-foot-six, fair-skinned, red-headed man of average build and some would say below average attractiveness. I was a middle-aged, lonely, humdrum banker. I always wished to be a greater man. I wanted to be faster, stronger, smarter, and better looking. But now, as I stood locked in place by the titanium restraints onto the magnetized platform that had been inserted into the floor specifically for me, preventing me from turning and fleeing from the invasive, critical stares, I longed to be me again. To be who I once was. To be what I once was.
I now stood at eight feet tall with armored plates and joints merged with various parts of my pale flesh, amber orbs fit into my eye sockets, and small metal spikes protruding from my chest, chin, and neck. I was thankful that I was at least given some boxers to cover my now deformed genitals. I felt like Frankenstein’s monster, and judging from the tension from the crowd (which I could literally see from the bio-scans that were feeding through my new eyes), I believed that the people who looked upon me could very well turn into an angry mob…
“This is not just grafting mechanical prosthetics to a man or another man in a mechanized suit,” the man in the suit continued. “This is the future of what we call the ‘cybernetic organism’. What I’m talking about is an organic being and cybernetics being combined in not just the basic physical sense on the surface, but on every level—including cellular and psychological. Using nanotechnology, we have fused probes with the nuclei of human cells that are capable of replicating at a geometric rate to basically transform the body inside of a mechanical shell into a perfect machine. While the cells of the human body are engineered to divide only a finite number of times before the body begins to break down, the probe allows newly developed ‘cyber organic’ cells to be produced infinitely which means the human body can then be sustained forever. The machine on the outside becomes an extension of the mind and body of the person on the inside.
“While the man benefits from the machine by being nearly invulnerable to any form of physical or biological attack and becoming instantly adaptable to any environment, the machine benefits from the man by gaining a permanent sentient mind to guide it and allow it to function properly in any environment, in addition to a permanent power source, an organic fuel, if you will. Gentlemen, I’m saying that this can in fact become a true symbiosis of man and machine.”
The murmur among the crowd grew louder now and the penetrating stares from the thousands of pairs of eyes before me were all trained on Yours Truly even as the dark-suited man continued to speak. I caught snatches of the whispered conversations with the words “monster” and “aberration” filling every other sentence.
“These temporary bodies of flesh and blood were bestowed upon us by our Creator as temporary vessels for our souls. It has often been said that it is the human spirit that makes man superior to machine, while it is the calculated precision and immeasurable power of the machine that often trumps man. But I am asking, why can’t we have both?”
There were no guards or ushers at the doors. Groups of people were leaving the auditorium now. They were filing out quickly, some silently and others in clear outrage. There were more shouts of “I refuse to live if not as a real human!” and “To die is the natural order, but that thing is neither natural nor supernatural. It’s simply horrible!”. These people were only in the minority though. Hundreds more remained in there seats, both intrigued by the presenter’s words and disturbed by my presence.
“There is no need to turn away from this blessing. Our God-given powers of choice and ingenuity have been our greatest weapons, but now these same powers could become our salvation. If you so choose, this masterpiece of man’s own ingenuity could save not just the human race, but the world! All life as we know it can be saved starting here, gentlemen! You can fund our research and be given the keys to immortality for yourselves, as well as your wives, sons, and daughters.”
I suddenly felt relief as the restraints loosened and the magnetized platform’s resistance disappeared. I was able to move freely again! This must have been planned for some kind of demonstration. Apparently, seeing me in action was enough to illicit audible gasps and more whispers from the crowd.
I simply rolled my shoulders and neck and flexed my arms. The “cyber organic” cells had already spread throughout most of my body, but the human muscles still remained…for now. I’d only gone through the procedure about a month ago. I was changing faster than I’d expected. Faster than the suits who’d convinced me to participate in their “secret, revolutionary research” had even anticipated.
“This may be viewed as a ‘monster’ now, but inevitably this could be a model for the future of all life on Planet Earth. As you can see, this brave, noble individual who you see before you is among the first of many who will continue to carry the legacy of the first Adam and transform the world so that it may thrive into a new Eden for all. We can have peace and everlasting life here on Earth. This is not a revolution for U.S. military technology, but a revolution for all that live. This is a solution that has been desired by not just the men at our company but by all—”
And that’s when the first of several gunshots rang out. I should have been able to detect the gun, but I didn’t. I was able to see the first bullet as it soared toward the man behind the podium and I was fast enough to react but… I just didn’t know what to do. Indecision was the only invisible force that caught me, but it was fear that encircled every other person in the room. Everyone in the room instinctively ducked and scattered; everyone in the room except the single armed man who stood in one aisle of the auditorium and me.
My head darted in the direction of the shooter’s intended target. The man in the dark suit was squatting and leaning against the podium. He was low enough and slim enough to be completely hidden from the assailant’s sight, but he was not protected by the wooden piece of furniture between him and the weapon. Not that it mattered.
I could see the blood running at the corner of his mouth and I could tell he was breathing irregularly. With the bionics that now replaced my eyes, I could see the bullet inside of him that had penetrated the right side of his chest and the one that had punctured his lung. He didn’t have long. He turned his head in my direction and our eyes met. It was odd, but seeing a stranger dying was enough to move me.
I looked out into the crowd as the shooter was preparing to turn and flee. In a single bound I cleared the stage and half of the auditorium, landing gracefully in the aisle where the attacker had stood only a few seconds before. In two more steps I closed the distance between myself and the fleeing man. In one swift motion, I grabbed him by the back of his collar with my right hand and twisted him around to face me. Before he had time to raise his weapon again my left hand snapped up and caught hold of his wrist, snapping it as my strengthened fingers tightened around the flesh and bone. The gun clattered to the floor. I then drew my left arm back, tightened my hand into a fist and struck the man squarely in the center of his chest. The bones of his chest collapsed in from the impact before he was launched backward through the open doorway. He was dead before he hit the ground on the other side of the threshold. I saw the fear reflected in his eyes, my own reflection, just before that final blow. I didn’t really care.
It was my human side that compelled me to act in that instance. To feel rage and to desire justice for a murder was clearly human. But it was something else that was a part of me now that allowed me to do what I did.
Chaos ensued around me. While some of the people stopped to draw their camera phones out to snap one final close-up of me, myriads of them flooded the other aisles, making sure to avoid me as they pushed through the exits.
They were trampling the body of the deceased shooter in their panic. Only a few paused long enough in the doorway to step over the man I had killed, but no one bothered to try to identify him. Not one of them stopped to inspect the dying the man onstage.
These people had seen all that they needed to see. And so had I. What I was observing now was human weakness in the form of fear. This same weakness that overrides the strength of human compassion and justice in the most dire of situations. This same weakness that would compel others to become the very thing that they had learned to fear on this day… me.
In the coming days, the media would label me and others like me. Just as God had named the first man He created, so man would name their newest creation. We were not just a product, but a new race. We could no longer be called “Adams” because we were more than human. We transcended beyond the common weaknesses of men. Our relationship to machines would inspire the name from binary code. Our new race would be called the “Xeros”.
Born Dead (May 2011)
My name is Ellie Wyse.
Today is April 6, 2071.
And it is my sixteenth birthday.
Of course, to be born into this world is nothing worth celebrating, in my own personal opinion. It’s a pretty dull and unfulfilling existence. Nothing really seems like it’s worth doing on a day to day basis… other than surviving, which often feels like a pointless task in itself. It’s difficult to find food that our stomachs won’t reject or even drinkable water and decent shelter. The earth is a dead planet, nothing like it was in days long ago… Not that I would know personally, but I’ve heard plenty of stories. After all, the plague and then the apocalypse both came long before I was born…
They say that in the days before, the skies were still blue by day, lit by a glorious golden orb called the sun. I’ve actually never seen a “sun” myself, because our skies have been darkened by a veil of red gases for as long as I can remember. Mom used to tell me that one day, once the government got the world back in order, the skies would be cleared and I would be able to see a “sun” for the first time. She said that the “sun” would cure the world, and more plants would grow and things would be beautiful again. She said that people like us could live a normal life again… but for me, the life that I know is normal. And miserable.
Right now, it doesn’t seem like an established government will ever be created, and with no government, the monsters will never go away. I hate the monsters. They look like us, but they have black armored skin, large, shiny red plates over their eyes and they carry weapons. They hunt people like us down and burn or chop up our bodies. Because of them, Mom and I have had to leave our original home and keep moving around. Mom said that Dad was killed a long time ago by the monsters.
Mom was always an optimist. And she always cheered me up when we talked about the future. But Mom hasn’t been able to talk for a long time now. And because of the condition I was born with I may not be able to talk in a few years either.
Mom used to tell me that my birth was a miracle, considering that there have not been very many births of humans or beasts on Earth since the plague spread. She would say that my generation would carry the future of the world on our shoulders and we would be the ones to change it for the better. I’ve never even seen another child in the last 16 years, except one boy… but he was killed a long time ago too when he got sick and the monsters found him.
I’ve seen some pictures of what children my own age used to look like. They all looked so different from each other, except they always appeared to be so happy. Even with all of the diversity in their appearance, not one of the children in the pictures I’ve found looked anything like me. None of them had my gray, mottled skin, or my yellow eyes, and even young boys had such nice hair, just like Mom used to have.
I’ve never had hair that I could comb or brush for minutes at a time but I used to always pretend I did, sometimes even to the point I would make my scalp bleed. Mom would let me play with her hair too, but that was before she started to change and hers began to fall out as well. Mom has changed a lot since we’ve moved into this old, secluded house.
She used to be so pretty just like the women in the pictures that she used to show me, but now her appearance is much like my own. She would always tell me that I was beautiful as well, but I never felt that way.
I hear mom screaming and some booming noises downstairs. Those monsters with the armored skins must have found us again.
I ran down the stairs two at a time, and hit the bottom step just in time to see two of the monsters entering from the front living room of the house into Mom’s bedroom, just to the right of the stairs. They hadn’t noticed me yet. The front door directly in front of me had been knocked completely off of its hinges, and now laid in the center of the living room floor. I could have just as easily run for it, but I had to save Mom.
I could hear Mom’s screams over the sounds of the monsters’ weapons discharging and the savage cries of the monsters themselves. I covered the distance from the stairs to the bedroom in a few short strides and I leapt through the door onto the back of one of the armored monsters who stood in the doorway. I immediately grabbed for his head and locked my legs around his waist to keep my hold on him.
From over his shoulder I could see the second monster standing at the center of the room with a smaller weapon in his right hand pointed down. At his feet, I could see Mom slumped against the wall, unconscious. There was blood running all over her blouse and her right knee was bleeding badly as well. She had been shot multiple times already and they were preparing to finish her off.
I could feel my rage flowing. I could feel…hunger.
The monster I attacked flailed about and fired his weapon wildly. He was screaming something along the lines of “Get her off before she infects me!”
I grabbed at his face and tried to dig my nails in, but rather than break through the armor on his head, the armor simply lifted off. The elongated black face, the rounded crown, and red plating over his eyes fell off easily into my hands as I tried to rip into the creature. Then I could see the flesh of the monster beneath for the first time in my life. I would have been fascinated by the thing before me, but at the moment I was too enraged. Rather than marvel at it, I struck.
I tossed aside the armor and dug the nails of both of my hands into the exposed soft flesh of the face. Clawing at him simply wasn’t enough though. These things had hurt my mother, and I wanted vengeance. I wanted satisfaction. I wanted to eat. I leaned in and bit viciously into the monster’s cheek.
The second monster, who had already ceased in his attack on my mother since I first entered the room, was aiming his weapon toward me now. He was obviously having difficulty with this though, as his comrade staggered clumsily around the room to free himself from my grip.
The armored faces of the monsters remain expressionless, like the robots that I read about in some old books I found, but I could tell that the ally of the one I attacked was resolved in what he wanted to do. I could tell from the stance he took that he wasn’t going to hesitate any longer. A resounding bang rang out through the room just as I released the first monster and leapt clear. The projectile from the weapon went straight through the first monster’s temple just as my feet touched down on the floor. Some blood splattered on me only a few seconds before the first monster collapsed to the floor, dead.
I screamed and ran at the remaining monster now. He was fast though and he fired his weapon twice. Both of his shots struck me in my chest. Neither shot could stop me or even slow me down. I’ve never really been able to feel pain. Mom used to say that that was one of my “superpowers”.
The monster repositioned his weapon and prepared to fire. This one was aimed for my head. I assumed it wouldn’t hurt me any more than the other shots. Luckily, I wouldn’t have to find out.
The monster’s shot missed me completely. The monster had staggered slightly before his attack and then he fell completely to the floor. The weapon fell from the monster’s grip and landed only a few feet away near a wall. I immediately saw why and I felt some relief.
Mom screamed as she grabbed at the armored creature’s legs. The monster was struggling to get back up, but she was already upon him. I closed the distance and ripped the armor from the monster’s head, as I had done to the other. The monster’s long, dark hair, which was concealed beneath the armor over his crown, fell to the floor. Not a he, but a she.
Somehow, I felt a tinge of both jealousy and contempt when this creature looked up into my yellowed eyes with her soft blue ones. I stared into her beautiful face and she screamed. I don’t know if I felt such emotions because of the beauty I saw in the beasts that I had loathed for so long or simply because I would be the one to pass judgment on this thing that I had only truly seen for the first time.
The female was attempting to kick at Mom to free herself while Mom pulled herself up further along her body. I stood there for only a brief moment, only able to watch. The creatures with the armored skins that Mom had told me were just murderous monsters were in fact the beautiful, “normal” people who I had observed in photos and who I desired to be. My hunger was slightly alleviated, but my head was pounding fiercely now from the conflicting thoughts racing at once in my mind.
“I won’t let myself be eliminated by you freaks!” the woman screamed, as she attempted to shove Mom’s face away with one hand while she reached for her weapon with the other. “You zombies! Monsters!”
The last word is what cleared my head and moved me action. The weapon that the woman had dropped was only a few inches from her reach, but I kicked it away from her into a far corner. I then turned and glared down at her, smirking slightly as I replied, “We’re not the monsters. You are.”
And then we ate.
I had all of our things packed and Mom and I left the house in a matter of hours. Mom was staggering from her wounds, but as long as she hadn’t been wounded in the head, she would function just fine. We hadn’t been outside much except when we were moving around but today was my birthday. It just seemed so right to be outside again. There was no “sun”. There were no beautiful plants or cute animals like in the pictures I’d seen. Outside of our home there was only a dried wasteland and the red skies. It was not my first time seeing it all, but for once, I looked up to the dark red sky and thought to myself, How beautiful.
The things that I had once longed for were irrelevant now. The world as I saw it didn’t seem as flawed anymore. It is, after all, the world I was born into. And I have survived another day in it, which means that I have a future.
Mom was always the optimist and she would often say that “Without hope for a future and faith in greater things to come in life, we are essentially dead inside.” I would say that I was born dead, but today I live.
Today is April 6, 2071.
And it is my sixteenth birthday.
Of course, to be born into this world is nothing worth celebrating, in my own personal opinion. It’s a pretty dull and unfulfilling existence. Nothing really seems like it’s worth doing on a day to day basis… other than surviving, which often feels like a pointless task in itself. It’s difficult to find food that our stomachs won’t reject or even drinkable water and decent shelter. The earth is a dead planet, nothing like it was in days long ago… Not that I would know personally, but I’ve heard plenty of stories. After all, the plague and then the apocalypse both came long before I was born…
They say that in the days before, the skies were still blue by day, lit by a glorious golden orb called the sun. I’ve actually never seen a “sun” myself, because our skies have been darkened by a veil of red gases for as long as I can remember. Mom used to tell me that one day, once the government got the world back in order, the skies would be cleared and I would be able to see a “sun” for the first time. She said that the “sun” would cure the world, and more plants would grow and things would be beautiful again. She said that people like us could live a normal life again… but for me, the life that I know is normal. And miserable.
Right now, it doesn’t seem like an established government will ever be created, and with no government, the monsters will never go away. I hate the monsters. They look like us, but they have black armored skin, large, shiny red plates over their eyes and they carry weapons. They hunt people like us down and burn or chop up our bodies. Because of them, Mom and I have had to leave our original home and keep moving around. Mom said that Dad was killed a long time ago by the monsters.
Mom was always an optimist. And she always cheered me up when we talked about the future. But Mom hasn’t been able to talk for a long time now. And because of the condition I was born with I may not be able to talk in a few years either.
Mom used to tell me that my birth was a miracle, considering that there have not been very many births of humans or beasts on Earth since the plague spread. She would say that my generation would carry the future of the world on our shoulders and we would be the ones to change it for the better. I’ve never even seen another child in the last 16 years, except one boy… but he was killed a long time ago too when he got sick and the monsters found him.
I’ve seen some pictures of what children my own age used to look like. They all looked so different from each other, except they always appeared to be so happy. Even with all of the diversity in their appearance, not one of the children in the pictures I’ve found looked anything like me. None of them had my gray, mottled skin, or my yellow eyes, and even young boys had such nice hair, just like Mom used to have.
I’ve never had hair that I could comb or brush for minutes at a time but I used to always pretend I did, sometimes even to the point I would make my scalp bleed. Mom would let me play with her hair too, but that was before she started to change and hers began to fall out as well. Mom has changed a lot since we’ve moved into this old, secluded house.
She used to be so pretty just like the women in the pictures that she used to show me, but now her appearance is much like my own. She would always tell me that I was beautiful as well, but I never felt that way.
I hear mom screaming and some booming noises downstairs. Those monsters with the armored skins must have found us again.
I ran down the stairs two at a time, and hit the bottom step just in time to see two of the monsters entering from the front living room of the house into Mom’s bedroom, just to the right of the stairs. They hadn’t noticed me yet. The front door directly in front of me had been knocked completely off of its hinges, and now laid in the center of the living room floor. I could have just as easily run for it, but I had to save Mom.
I could hear Mom’s screams over the sounds of the monsters’ weapons discharging and the savage cries of the monsters themselves. I covered the distance from the stairs to the bedroom in a few short strides and I leapt through the door onto the back of one of the armored monsters who stood in the doorway. I immediately grabbed for his head and locked my legs around his waist to keep my hold on him.
From over his shoulder I could see the second monster standing at the center of the room with a smaller weapon in his right hand pointed down. At his feet, I could see Mom slumped against the wall, unconscious. There was blood running all over her blouse and her right knee was bleeding badly as well. She had been shot multiple times already and they were preparing to finish her off.
I could feel my rage flowing. I could feel…hunger.
The monster I attacked flailed about and fired his weapon wildly. He was screaming something along the lines of “Get her off before she infects me!”
I grabbed at his face and tried to dig my nails in, but rather than break through the armor on his head, the armor simply lifted off. The elongated black face, the rounded crown, and red plating over his eyes fell off easily into my hands as I tried to rip into the creature. Then I could see the flesh of the monster beneath for the first time in my life. I would have been fascinated by the thing before me, but at the moment I was too enraged. Rather than marvel at it, I struck.
I tossed aside the armor and dug the nails of both of my hands into the exposed soft flesh of the face. Clawing at him simply wasn’t enough though. These things had hurt my mother, and I wanted vengeance. I wanted satisfaction. I wanted to eat. I leaned in and bit viciously into the monster’s cheek.
The second monster, who had already ceased in his attack on my mother since I first entered the room, was aiming his weapon toward me now. He was obviously having difficulty with this though, as his comrade staggered clumsily around the room to free himself from my grip.
The armored faces of the monsters remain expressionless, like the robots that I read about in some old books I found, but I could tell that the ally of the one I attacked was resolved in what he wanted to do. I could tell from the stance he took that he wasn’t going to hesitate any longer. A resounding bang rang out through the room just as I released the first monster and leapt clear. The projectile from the weapon went straight through the first monster’s temple just as my feet touched down on the floor. Some blood splattered on me only a few seconds before the first monster collapsed to the floor, dead.
I screamed and ran at the remaining monster now. He was fast though and he fired his weapon twice. Both of his shots struck me in my chest. Neither shot could stop me or even slow me down. I’ve never really been able to feel pain. Mom used to say that that was one of my “superpowers”.
The monster repositioned his weapon and prepared to fire. This one was aimed for my head. I assumed it wouldn’t hurt me any more than the other shots. Luckily, I wouldn’t have to find out.
The monster’s shot missed me completely. The monster had staggered slightly before his attack and then he fell completely to the floor. The weapon fell from the monster’s grip and landed only a few feet away near a wall. I immediately saw why and I felt some relief.
Mom screamed as she grabbed at the armored creature’s legs. The monster was struggling to get back up, but she was already upon him. I closed the distance and ripped the armor from the monster’s head, as I had done to the other. The monster’s long, dark hair, which was concealed beneath the armor over his crown, fell to the floor. Not a he, but a she.
Somehow, I felt a tinge of both jealousy and contempt when this creature looked up into my yellowed eyes with her soft blue ones. I stared into her beautiful face and she screamed. I don’t know if I felt such emotions because of the beauty I saw in the beasts that I had loathed for so long or simply because I would be the one to pass judgment on this thing that I had only truly seen for the first time.
The female was attempting to kick at Mom to free herself while Mom pulled herself up further along her body. I stood there for only a brief moment, only able to watch. The creatures with the armored skins that Mom had told me were just murderous monsters were in fact the beautiful, “normal” people who I had observed in photos and who I desired to be. My hunger was slightly alleviated, but my head was pounding fiercely now from the conflicting thoughts racing at once in my mind.
“I won’t let myself be eliminated by you freaks!” the woman screamed, as she attempted to shove Mom’s face away with one hand while she reached for her weapon with the other. “You zombies! Monsters!”
The last word is what cleared my head and moved me action. The weapon that the woman had dropped was only a few inches from her reach, but I kicked it away from her into a far corner. I then turned and glared down at her, smirking slightly as I replied, “We’re not the monsters. You are.”
And then we ate.
I had all of our things packed and Mom and I left the house in a matter of hours. Mom was staggering from her wounds, but as long as she hadn’t been wounded in the head, she would function just fine. We hadn’t been outside much except when we were moving around but today was my birthday. It just seemed so right to be outside again. There was no “sun”. There were no beautiful plants or cute animals like in the pictures I’d seen. Outside of our home there was only a dried wasteland and the red skies. It was not my first time seeing it all, but for once, I looked up to the dark red sky and thought to myself, How beautiful.
The things that I had once longed for were irrelevant now. The world as I saw it didn’t seem as flawed anymore. It is, after all, the world I was born into. And I have survived another day in it, which means that I have a future.
Mom was always the optimist and she would often say that “Without hope for a future and faith in greater things to come in life, we are essentially dead inside.” I would say that I was born dead, but today I live.
Prayers for A Son (May 2010)
Jaliel Roads shoved in the door to his new home. The dilapidated apartment that his brother, Michael, had found for him as a “temporary residence” was probably far more welcoming than the prison cell he had lived in for these past eight years. As soon as he stepped across the threshold with his duffle bags in hand, a faint smell of ammonia wafted to his nose. Dust was settled across the kitchen countertop and tiny rat droppings and dead insects were scattered across the small floor space.
After sharing a cell with a convicted rapist who constantly asked him questions like “Do you remember what it felt like?” or “What do you think they are doing with their lives now?”, any place could make him feel at home though. And after having to fight for his life at least a hundred times in the last eight years while just working out in the yard or eating his dinner, anything could make him feel at peace.
To think I am reduced to living like this, all for her… all for nothing now, he thought to himself.
He had actually found himself thinking this exact thought many times over in the years he spent imprisoned. He probably thought this very thought every night as he lay awake on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, kept awake by the endless cackling and pounding of the other inmates and the taunts of the prison guards.
“You would be lucky to survive your full sentence here, Pretty Boy,” Samson, the nightshift guard had said when he had first arrived. “You don’t look like the type to be hangin’ with this lot and normally ‘round here your kind gets easily broken. In more ways than one…”
Samson had an annoying habit of laughing at his own jokes and his hoarse guffawing was an even greater annoyance. Of course Jaliel never found him to be very amusing, but their conversations together were often informative. The talks of the guards and the occasional bit of T.V. viewing the inmates were allowed were their only connection to knowing what was going on outside. That and the visits… Like the very same visit that broke his heart.
Jaliel remembered that day. He couldn’t remember the exact date or even the season but he remembered everything else from the outfit she wore that complimented her so well as she sat on the other side of window, to the look in her face as she looked him in the eyes and told him it was over…
All for her…
His mother had always told him that the girl was trouble, but he had grown up with her since childhood and he knew her better than anyone. And plus, he was in…. lust.
It felt like love to him especially after so many other relationships he had been through where he would use a girl for the moment and leave her, but somehow Shay was different. He couldn’t leave her out of some form of deep-seated emotions but it was more of a physical connection they had and an understanding. She got him in ways that no one else could, not even his own mother or his brother.
From his teen years to adulthood, when he was out clubbing, hustling, or just trying to find some kind of high, his family would be in church. His mother was never oppressive. In fact, she was pretty laidback with her parenting style. Compared to most church mothers she was, in a sense, pretty cool. But she would always admonish him on his actions, saying that he would “lead his life to ruin on his own but only with Jesus could he be saved.” Jaliel would always laugh silently to himself at that and merely declined on her offers to go with him into prayer. His brother was always the good child, the one willing to do whatever their mother said, and always the overachiever. Jaliel always mused that that must have been the reason his brother was the one with the gorgeous wife, two kids, and the little house with the white picket fence in the white neighborhood. It was a wonder that they were twins.
In fact, his brother had been with him on that night at the bar. Neither Michael nor his wife was a drinker but they were cool people to hang out with in some settings. Shay was also with him, as they were attempting to double date.
Shay, of course, was not “wifey material” in any sense of the word but she was always great to have around. Except in that particular instance when Claudius, or C.J. as he was better known, came around and things turned for the worse pretty fast.
At first he and Shay were enjoying their drinks and laughing it up with his brother and sister-in-law, and then Claudius came over to their table out of nowhere trying to instigate a fight. Claudius had been Shay’s ex and possibly her “other boo” during her time with Jaliel. He was over possessive and often confrontational, and being built like a professional offensive lineman he could easily intimidate any other male in the neighborhood. Jaliel had had a number of run-ins with C.J. in the past, but this particular one went too far.
Claudius was apparently inebriated and angry to see Shay with Jaliel that night. After interrupting their conversation and making a few derogatory remarks to Shay and Michael’s wife, Asia, he attempted to drag Shay out of the bar. Jaliel had instantly reacted by swinging a bottle over Claudius’ head which only caused him to stumble. Jaliel had attempted to leave quickly after that but Shay decided to stay to look over Claudius which only led to the two of them arguing right outside the doors.
Michael had attempted to persuade him to leave without her, but Jaliel was not the type to lose a girl to another man. In the short time that they stood outside debating over the next plan of action, Claudius had regained consciousness and charged outside to tackle Jaliel to the ground and pound on him.
Jaliel remembered the feeling of suffocation with Claudius’ weight upon him and his fist slamming into his face and chest. He remembered his brother attempting to pry Claudius off of him while Asia and Shay stood over them screaming. He remembered the feeling of the cold steel of his army knife between his fingers as he slipped it out of his back pocket. He remembered the blood pouring out of the multiple stab wounds he had inflicted running over his fingers and the blade. He remembered the look in Shay’s eyes as the police arrived to arrest him…
Without even realizing it, being trapped in his daze by the flooding memories had caused him to wander right into the tiny bathroom of his new living space. It was surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the place. It had a small bathtub with a shower head, a green tiled floor, a small dingy sink and an average-sized mirror that hung open to show the small medicine cabinet which had two small purple pills still left on the tiny shelves from the previous owner, who must have left in rush from the looks of the place.
Jaliel closed the cabinet to examine himself in the mirror. He was clean shaven now, a clear complexion, low-cut hair, broad shouldered, basically the type of man women would swoon for. The eight years imprisoned had dulled the luster of his eyes though. He no longer had the youthful, mischievous look that had allured so many in his prime. He seemed aged now, broken… Just like old Samson had said.
He chuckled slightly to himself at the thoughts that were beginning to invade his mind now and at the same time a small tear ran down his cheek, and then another, but he quickly wiped them away and looked back to the mirror.
“If this is what life is for me now there’s no reason feeling sorry for myself,” Jaliel found himself saying out loud not even knowing who he was talking to. “I could have taken my life plenty of times but I know I have too much to live for. There is purpose in all of this.”
Without even bothering to go back to the living room to retrieve his duffle bags, Jaliel made his way into the dark bedroom where an old bed was already made up for him. His old bed from his mother’s house. It was the only piece of furniture in the whole place. Michael had said that the rest of his things would be brought in during the week. Jaliel understood why Asia wouldn’t allow him to stay in their home with the kids around, but his own mother? This must have been her way of getting him on his own feet by his own means. He couldn’t blame her. In truth, she probably understood him better than anyone else his whole life...
He collapsed on the bed, his head was spinning slightly. He was feeling exhausted just from thinking now, but he couldn’t go right to sleep. So, he sat up and knelt down beside his bed, folded his hands and bowed his head down. His mother had always said it helped, and during his time in the pen it truly did. The words flowed out of his mouth as he prayed out loud, alone in the dark with no one to hear his words but God…
After sharing a cell with a convicted rapist who constantly asked him questions like “Do you remember what it felt like?” or “What do you think they are doing with their lives now?”, any place could make him feel at home though. And after having to fight for his life at least a hundred times in the last eight years while just working out in the yard or eating his dinner, anything could make him feel at peace.
To think I am reduced to living like this, all for her… all for nothing now, he thought to himself.
He had actually found himself thinking this exact thought many times over in the years he spent imprisoned. He probably thought this very thought every night as he lay awake on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, kept awake by the endless cackling and pounding of the other inmates and the taunts of the prison guards.
“You would be lucky to survive your full sentence here, Pretty Boy,” Samson, the nightshift guard had said when he had first arrived. “You don’t look like the type to be hangin’ with this lot and normally ‘round here your kind gets easily broken. In more ways than one…”
Samson had an annoying habit of laughing at his own jokes and his hoarse guffawing was an even greater annoyance. Of course Jaliel never found him to be very amusing, but their conversations together were often informative. The talks of the guards and the occasional bit of T.V. viewing the inmates were allowed were their only connection to knowing what was going on outside. That and the visits… Like the very same visit that broke his heart.
Jaliel remembered that day. He couldn’t remember the exact date or even the season but he remembered everything else from the outfit she wore that complimented her so well as she sat on the other side of window, to the look in her face as she looked him in the eyes and told him it was over…
All for her…
His mother had always told him that the girl was trouble, but he had grown up with her since childhood and he knew her better than anyone. And plus, he was in…. lust.
It felt like love to him especially after so many other relationships he had been through where he would use a girl for the moment and leave her, but somehow Shay was different. He couldn’t leave her out of some form of deep-seated emotions but it was more of a physical connection they had and an understanding. She got him in ways that no one else could, not even his own mother or his brother.
From his teen years to adulthood, when he was out clubbing, hustling, or just trying to find some kind of high, his family would be in church. His mother was never oppressive. In fact, she was pretty laidback with her parenting style. Compared to most church mothers she was, in a sense, pretty cool. But she would always admonish him on his actions, saying that he would “lead his life to ruin on his own but only with Jesus could he be saved.” Jaliel would always laugh silently to himself at that and merely declined on her offers to go with him into prayer. His brother was always the good child, the one willing to do whatever their mother said, and always the overachiever. Jaliel always mused that that must have been the reason his brother was the one with the gorgeous wife, two kids, and the little house with the white picket fence in the white neighborhood. It was a wonder that they were twins.
In fact, his brother had been with him on that night at the bar. Neither Michael nor his wife was a drinker but they were cool people to hang out with in some settings. Shay was also with him, as they were attempting to double date.
Shay, of course, was not “wifey material” in any sense of the word but she was always great to have around. Except in that particular instance when Claudius, or C.J. as he was better known, came around and things turned for the worse pretty fast.
At first he and Shay were enjoying their drinks and laughing it up with his brother and sister-in-law, and then Claudius came over to their table out of nowhere trying to instigate a fight. Claudius had been Shay’s ex and possibly her “other boo” during her time with Jaliel. He was over possessive and often confrontational, and being built like a professional offensive lineman he could easily intimidate any other male in the neighborhood. Jaliel had had a number of run-ins with C.J. in the past, but this particular one went too far.
Claudius was apparently inebriated and angry to see Shay with Jaliel that night. After interrupting their conversation and making a few derogatory remarks to Shay and Michael’s wife, Asia, he attempted to drag Shay out of the bar. Jaliel had instantly reacted by swinging a bottle over Claudius’ head which only caused him to stumble. Jaliel had attempted to leave quickly after that but Shay decided to stay to look over Claudius which only led to the two of them arguing right outside the doors.
Michael had attempted to persuade him to leave without her, but Jaliel was not the type to lose a girl to another man. In the short time that they stood outside debating over the next plan of action, Claudius had regained consciousness and charged outside to tackle Jaliel to the ground and pound on him.
Jaliel remembered the feeling of suffocation with Claudius’ weight upon him and his fist slamming into his face and chest. He remembered his brother attempting to pry Claudius off of him while Asia and Shay stood over them screaming. He remembered the feeling of the cold steel of his army knife between his fingers as he slipped it out of his back pocket. He remembered the blood pouring out of the multiple stab wounds he had inflicted running over his fingers and the blade. He remembered the look in Shay’s eyes as the police arrived to arrest him…
Without even realizing it, being trapped in his daze by the flooding memories had caused him to wander right into the tiny bathroom of his new living space. It was surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the place. It had a small bathtub with a shower head, a green tiled floor, a small dingy sink and an average-sized mirror that hung open to show the small medicine cabinet which had two small purple pills still left on the tiny shelves from the previous owner, who must have left in rush from the looks of the place.
Jaliel closed the cabinet to examine himself in the mirror. He was clean shaven now, a clear complexion, low-cut hair, broad shouldered, basically the type of man women would swoon for. The eight years imprisoned had dulled the luster of his eyes though. He no longer had the youthful, mischievous look that had allured so many in his prime. He seemed aged now, broken… Just like old Samson had said.
He chuckled slightly to himself at the thoughts that were beginning to invade his mind now and at the same time a small tear ran down his cheek, and then another, but he quickly wiped them away and looked back to the mirror.
“If this is what life is for me now there’s no reason feeling sorry for myself,” Jaliel found himself saying out loud not even knowing who he was talking to. “I could have taken my life plenty of times but I know I have too much to live for. There is purpose in all of this.”
Without even bothering to go back to the living room to retrieve his duffle bags, Jaliel made his way into the dark bedroom where an old bed was already made up for him. His old bed from his mother’s house. It was the only piece of furniture in the whole place. Michael had said that the rest of his things would be brought in during the week. Jaliel understood why Asia wouldn’t allow him to stay in their home with the kids around, but his own mother? This must have been her way of getting him on his own feet by his own means. He couldn’t blame her. In truth, she probably understood him better than anyone else his whole life...
He collapsed on the bed, his head was spinning slightly. He was feeling exhausted just from thinking now, but he couldn’t go right to sleep. So, he sat up and knelt down beside his bed, folded his hands and bowed his head down. His mother had always said it helped, and during his time in the pen it truly did. The words flowed out of his mouth as he prayed out loud, alone in the dark with no one to hear his words but God…
The Tale of the Week Before Christmas (December 2010)
T’was the week before Christmas, and wouldn’t you know
There was rustling and bustling around the North Pole.
The elves were all busied with Saint Nick’s preparations
They’d packed stuff and stacked stuff with quick calculations.
With Christmas so near, no elf had the time to take any relaxers
Except for Lanette, the famous elf slacker.
She wondered and pondered about trivial things,
While playing on Facebook and writing her dreams.
When one elf inquired why she didn’t assist them,
She yawned in his face and simply dismissed him.
But after her nap on this one wintry day,
Lanette then decided she had much more to say.
She approached her fellow elves who worked in good cheer,
Hopped on a table and yelled loud for all to hear,
“What’s great about Christmas? We toil and slay
But what do we get except a ride in the sleigh?”
“Oh, pipe down, you drone” one yelled from the masses,
“A slacker like you works as slow as molasses!
You barely do work, you’re on Facebook all day
You’d be lucky to get even a ride in the sleigh!”
The others agreed and they returned to their work
But not Miss Lanette who’s feelings were hurt.
She went to her room and packed all her stuff
“Screw Christmas!” she said, “I’ve had ‘bout enough!”
And so she set out to find her own holiday cheer
“Adios, you ol’ bums! I might see ya next year!”
She ventured across the icy pole plains
But brain freeze afflicted her poor elfin brains.
She grew dizzy and weak and a storm rumbled in
And the icy cold weather was freezing her skin
Icicles hung low from her long elfin nostrils
And resembling horns, they made her look hostile.
Even polar bears avoided her sight
But this made it easier to find room for the night.
She found a nice cave and built a warm fire,
And pulled out her laptop when feeling inspired
She wrote on the Walls of some good Facebook friends,
Some elves, some yeti, some reindeer and penguins.
“I like it away from the stupid North Pole,
But inside this cave it’s lonely and cold”
She regretted her words to her co-workers and fam
“I wish I had a chance to say how sorry I am.”
And then in the distance she saw a red light.
A reindeer we all know came near in half-flight.
He prompted her to ride on his back to their home.
She accepted with ease and soon off they had flown.
Santa had worried for Lanette she had heard
And a party was sent to search for her.
She was welcomed with open arms from elf, deer and Claus
As well as the Most Famous Reindeer of All
And seeing the love of her family and friends,
She saw what was great about Christmas right then.
It’s not about presents or sleigh rides at all,
It’s about sharing moments with guys like you all.
And soon Christmas came and on her first flight,
Lanette screamed “MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!”
There was rustling and bustling around the North Pole.
The elves were all busied with Saint Nick’s preparations
They’d packed stuff and stacked stuff with quick calculations.
With Christmas so near, no elf had the time to take any relaxers
Except for Lanette, the famous elf slacker.
She wondered and pondered about trivial things,
While playing on Facebook and writing her dreams.
When one elf inquired why she didn’t assist them,
She yawned in his face and simply dismissed him.
But after her nap on this one wintry day,
Lanette then decided she had much more to say.
She approached her fellow elves who worked in good cheer,
Hopped on a table and yelled loud for all to hear,
“What’s great about Christmas? We toil and slay
But what do we get except a ride in the sleigh?”
“Oh, pipe down, you drone” one yelled from the masses,
“A slacker like you works as slow as molasses!
You barely do work, you’re on Facebook all day
You’d be lucky to get even a ride in the sleigh!”
The others agreed and they returned to their work
But not Miss Lanette who’s feelings were hurt.
She went to her room and packed all her stuff
“Screw Christmas!” she said, “I’ve had ‘bout enough!”
And so she set out to find her own holiday cheer
“Adios, you ol’ bums! I might see ya next year!”
She ventured across the icy pole plains
But brain freeze afflicted her poor elfin brains.
She grew dizzy and weak and a storm rumbled in
And the icy cold weather was freezing her skin
Icicles hung low from her long elfin nostrils
And resembling horns, they made her look hostile.
Even polar bears avoided her sight
But this made it easier to find room for the night.
She found a nice cave and built a warm fire,
And pulled out her laptop when feeling inspired
She wrote on the Walls of some good Facebook friends,
Some elves, some yeti, some reindeer and penguins.
“I like it away from the stupid North Pole,
But inside this cave it’s lonely and cold”
She regretted her words to her co-workers and fam
“I wish I had a chance to say how sorry I am.”
And then in the distance she saw a red light.
A reindeer we all know came near in half-flight.
He prompted her to ride on his back to their home.
She accepted with ease and soon off they had flown.
Santa had worried for Lanette she had heard
And a party was sent to search for her.
She was welcomed with open arms from elf, deer and Claus
As well as the Most Famous Reindeer of All
And seeing the love of her family and friends,
She saw what was great about Christmas right then.
It’s not about presents or sleigh rides at all,
It’s about sharing moments with guys like you all.
And soon Christmas came and on her first flight,
Lanette screamed “MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!”
The Color Line: An Essay (February 2008)
Race is a term only used in American culture. The Kerner Report was started after a group of African Americans in the Watts community severely beat Carl Flemming, a white reporter from Wilson, N.C. As W.E. Dubois said, the problem of the 20th century was the problem of the color line. Unfortunately, the issue of the color line is still prevalent in the U.S. today as well. Some of the prime examples of racism in this day and age are in the cases of the Jena 6 and Grimsley High students.
The color line of this generation is defined as “money green” though, rather than black and white. Racism is still an issue for our generation, especially in the corporate world. There is a double-standard that must be met in order for African Americans and other minorities to achieve the same level of success as the average Caucasian male. No matter how professionally any minority should present himself in the workplace, no matter what credentials he may have, the tone of the skin is the first thing that people always notice. One should not judge by race though, but by an individual’s deeds.
It is stated that even though you are not responsible for the actions of your ancestors, they are still a part of you. Slavery can not be erased from America’s history but the detrimental effects of it can still be seen today. The fact that the “N” word still stands and is used lightly in the African American community is an example of internal racism. The use of terms about “good hair versus bad hair” and “light skin versus dark skin” were implicated to destroy the black community. Leaders like Barack Obama have really blurred the color line. Obama symbolizes the insignificance of race because despite his color, he does not let racist views impede him.
Leaders of the 20th century such as MLK, Rosa Parks, and Dubois used what they had to bring about change, as did so many who came way before them, who are not specifically recognized today. One major advantage that this generation has is the advancement of technology. With tools such as the Internet, that can potentially influence change, our generation has become both empowered and weakened in this technological age.
To be a leader in this age means that an individual must be more afraid of missing out on opportunity, than stepping out of the crowd. A leader must challenge his followers to step up. A leader must seek to understand before seeking to be understood. And most of all a leader must be passionate about their work. The color line will always exist to some degree in America, but the leaders of today and future leaders who work to maximize their individual potential are the ones who can influence change to better society.
The color line of this generation is defined as “money green” though, rather than black and white. Racism is still an issue for our generation, especially in the corporate world. There is a double-standard that must be met in order for African Americans and other minorities to achieve the same level of success as the average Caucasian male. No matter how professionally any minority should present himself in the workplace, no matter what credentials he may have, the tone of the skin is the first thing that people always notice. One should not judge by race though, but by an individual’s deeds.
It is stated that even though you are not responsible for the actions of your ancestors, they are still a part of you. Slavery can not be erased from America’s history but the detrimental effects of it can still be seen today. The fact that the “N” word still stands and is used lightly in the African American community is an example of internal racism. The use of terms about “good hair versus bad hair” and “light skin versus dark skin” were implicated to destroy the black community. Leaders like Barack Obama have really blurred the color line. Obama symbolizes the insignificance of race because despite his color, he does not let racist views impede him.
Leaders of the 20th century such as MLK, Rosa Parks, and Dubois used what they had to bring about change, as did so many who came way before them, who are not specifically recognized today. One major advantage that this generation has is the advancement of technology. With tools such as the Internet, that can potentially influence change, our generation has become both empowered and weakened in this technological age.
To be a leader in this age means that an individual must be more afraid of missing out on opportunity, than stepping out of the crowd. A leader must challenge his followers to step up. A leader must seek to understand before seeking to be understood. And most of all a leader must be passionate about their work. The color line will always exist to some degree in America, but the leaders of today and future leaders who work to maximize their individual potential are the ones who can influence change to better society.
Idealism: An Essay (September 2007)
Perfection is subjective. The idea of achieving perfection in oneself or creating something that is perfect has been imprinted in the brain of every man, but no one can agree on what truly qualifies as “perfect”. From this one idea the philosophy of idealism has been created. Idealism is the practice of living by the highest or most exceptional standards, and because it is human nature to create labels of status and set goals, it is no wonder that this philosophy is so prevalent.
Every society has its own set of rules for what is acceptable, and it is these social standards that tend to influence individual perceptions of what is ideal. In ancient Greek culture, artists had the greatest influence on society’s perception of the ideal anatomy of a man. Detailed Greek paintings and sculptures provided the greatest visual representation of the “perfect man” or “perfect woman” in Greek society. Symmetry of the face, proportions of the body, and definition of the muscles were the most significant features to determining beauty in Greece. The same standards apply to American perceptions of beauty as well. In art and in the media, American culture tends to favor people such as Angelina Jolie, Beyonce Knowles, Brad Pitt, and Will Smith.
Due to mental conditioning in society through the media, every individual looks for culturally accepted ideal traits in a mate. The concept of the ideal mate comes not just from what is presented in the media though, but also from individual experiences. It is from growing up, having different relationships, and observing the world that humans decide what the ideal mate for them may be. However, looking at the statistics on divorce rates in America, one could deduce that the ideal mate is rarely found.
Overall, idealism helps people to set goals and create guidelines. If no one had an idea of what the perfect government official should be, then societies would not progress because no one would ever know that they were under control of a terrible government when the situation arose. By having a model of perfection people can identify what is beneficial or detrimental to them, however, what we perceive as perfect may never be attained. The definition of perfect is supposedly only found in the realm of Heaven. Only in Heaven could we find a perfect circle of 360 degrees that is equidistant from the center in every direction. Nothing in this world can be created perfect or become truly perfect. Idealism, however, keeps mankind hopeful for what is to come in the future.
Every society has its own set of rules for what is acceptable, and it is these social standards that tend to influence individual perceptions of what is ideal. In ancient Greek culture, artists had the greatest influence on society’s perception of the ideal anatomy of a man. Detailed Greek paintings and sculptures provided the greatest visual representation of the “perfect man” or “perfect woman” in Greek society. Symmetry of the face, proportions of the body, and definition of the muscles were the most significant features to determining beauty in Greece. The same standards apply to American perceptions of beauty as well. In art and in the media, American culture tends to favor people such as Angelina Jolie, Beyonce Knowles, Brad Pitt, and Will Smith.
Due to mental conditioning in society through the media, every individual looks for culturally accepted ideal traits in a mate. The concept of the ideal mate comes not just from what is presented in the media though, but also from individual experiences. It is from growing up, having different relationships, and observing the world that humans decide what the ideal mate for them may be. However, looking at the statistics on divorce rates in America, one could deduce that the ideal mate is rarely found.
Overall, idealism helps people to set goals and create guidelines. If no one had an idea of what the perfect government official should be, then societies would not progress because no one would ever know that they were under control of a terrible government when the situation arose. By having a model of perfection people can identify what is beneficial or detrimental to them, however, what we perceive as perfect may never be attained. The definition of perfect is supposedly only found in the realm of Heaven. Only in Heaven could we find a perfect circle of 360 degrees that is equidistant from the center in every direction. Nothing in this world can be created perfect or become truly perfect. Idealism, however, keeps mankind hopeful for what is to come in the future.