Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Trapped

I used to have these visions of being free, doing what I wanted to do. In these visions, I would be in interesting places, talking to interesting people about relevant and fascinating subjects. I wasn’t the center of attention, but I wasn’t so marginalized that my thoughts and feelings were negligent. These dreams would keep me going, keep me writing, keep me on “my grind” but lately, there’s nothing to grind. Any edge I had has been worn down to a dull point, so that instead of piercing through things like I used to, I’m finding myself having to bludgeon my way through obstacles. And I’m tired. I’m worn down. I’m close to giving up and throwing my hands skyward.

I know I don’t do anything all day, at least by your standards. I’m not sitting on a fat account. There are no houses or properties that I will be closing ESCROW on any time soon. Just student-loan debt, cell phone bills, and the daily need to feed myself. I’d rather go without food, to be honest, with my stomach as messed up as it is, and all the stress tearing at my insides making me feel like food falls right through me. But I go through the motions anyways. I think the realization has hit me that I won’t ever be anything. You’ll never read my words and gain inspiration, I’ll never feel that life fulfillment that comes with being good at something. Doubt and anxiety are my companions through it all, and as needy as I may be, I can’t think of two sensations I’ve felt a need for less than those two. I know the seriousness of my situation. I know that if I don’t land a serious job/career here in a little bit, my life will be perma-fucked, and I’ll be lucky to one day have a house to call my own. It’s frustrating to know how wonderful this world could be, how many opportunities could be waiting for me, but with how far away everything seems, I can’t help but admit I’m drowning and there’s no way out but to drown.

Maybe I can swim to safety. Maybe someone will throw me a life preserver. I hate this feeling. I hate this hopeless sensation that is overwhelming me and taking me over. I hate how weak you make me feel and how eagerly you remind me how fucked I am. Everyday I awake to this burning deep in the core of me. This thing that tells me hurry, move, get your ass up and move or these flames will take you over and reduce you to a pile of ash. I’ve been burning for I don’t know how long so maybe a dive into the deep end will do me good. That’s what I keep telling myself through all of this. This is good for you, you need to be reminded how things can be, how things are. And for awhile, it was enough to keep me motivated and positive, keep me pushing and wading through the daily mountain of bullshit you have to wade through just to keep your sanity. But lately, day by day, incidence by incidence, it’s like there is nothing sacred anymore. There is no sure thing, there is no clear path as to what you’re supposed to do or who you’re supposed to become. I used to so clearly know exactly who I wanted to be and how I wanted to be that person, but now, I just feel like I don’t have the tools to do anything that I really want to do.

Let’s say I really did want to write as a profession; where would I even start? Just write, they say. Don’t stop writing. Live, eat, and breathe writing. Don’t put the pen down. But I don’t even know what to write. Does this count? Is this inane rambling good enough to qualify as writing? I honestly don’t think it is. I don’t think anyone cares, honestly, what I have to say or how I say it. I don’t think anyone but me wants to me to succeed at this. Call me selfish. Call me a loser who can’t acknowledge the people supporting him and holding him up. But you know what you won’t do? You won’t tell me how much you enjoyed my writing and how disappointed you are that I don’t write anymore. You won’t tell me that you can’t WAIT for me to end this story I’m writing, or how you need to know how it ends. People tell me I write brilliantly, but, what exactly am I writing? To me, this feels like some pre-pubescent’s high school diary, complaining about how this isn’t working or that person isn’t feeling them. I want to tell myself to get the fuck over it. Who the fuck cares what people do to support or not support your writing. You didn’t start writing because people like it. You didn’t start writing because you wanted people to read what you wrote. You started writing because YOU enjoyed it, and it was a release for you to explain what was going on in that chaotic little head of yours. So why does the need for a plot or story change that? Why can’t I just do this and enjoy it? Why do I have to become successful or known from this? Is it because I fear working a dead end job for the rest of my life? Am i afraid that I’m destined to be a blue collar worker for the rest of my life, surviving in between odd jobs and favors?  I know next saturday I’ll be bouncing just because I need income. I know that the degree I earned, that I EARNED, won’t be used during that 8+ hour shift of yelling at co-eds to keep their drinks off arcade games or cleaning puke out of a bathroom stall. All that degree does is remind me of what I should be doing with my life, how much money I should be earning, and how much I gambled with on those to assumptions.

So fuck. My girlfriend wants to tell me about her boss and how they know each other so well that he can finish a story of hers two words in, how they can hang out at a lake where she can grab a dip in the water while he presumably watches and perhaps even joins her. I don’t think she’s cheating on me, I hope she isn’t, but for fuck’s sake, how often do I have to be reminded of how much I don’t know you or how I’m not someone else in her life. I swear to god I feel like I know her ex better than I know myself sometimes. But she’s a sweet girl, and she’s young. She treats me right and she doesn’t have that superficial vibe that I can’t cater to at the moment. Yeah babe I’d love to buy you a house and car to go with that diamond ring but my loan payment is too high and I need enough money to feed myself so, how about some subway instead? 

Feelin’ some hopeless
Tryin’ to smoke the dope less
But without the smoke, I feel a mess
An angry monster in distress

It don’t matter, no one cares
From the bottom, its a long flight of stares
Full of self doubting and despair
Like you want to sit down but life’s already pulled that chair

So whatever, who’s got time to sit?
Never enough time to deal with all this shit
And this drama, like a tight shirt that don’t fit
Chokin’ on the stale air feelin like a misfit

Cause freedom tastes so fresh and sweet
Serfdom done ruined my feet,
Blistered broken and ready to bleed
Sometimes I wish you’d just end me

Stop making me suffer through this endless charade
No relief in sight, all night and day
Just pain, which you pay to play
Can’t stand it? That’s okay.

This too shall pass, they say
But then comes the next day, with the same fate
The same problems just a different date
Yet all you want is a little escape

A little relief from the disappointment, the shame
Knowing you’re fucked but what’s to blame?
You, and your lack of fame?
Your inability to conquer and lay claim?

What you want isn’t coming to you
Instead of rolling in green, you drown in the blue
Depression, anxiety, misunderstandings to name a few
Searching for answers, all you need is a clue

A reason, a path, an adventure to start
These cloudy skies will one day part
And the light will you hit you so bright it’s blinding
Embrace the warmth til it’s binding

These days won’t last
Your pain will be your past
So, before you denounce man and become an outcast
Look up to the sky kid, life can be a blast

-SJD

Saturday, November 3, 2012

11-3-2012

He woke up confused and disoriented. It was still dark out, so he knew there was no way he’d gotten more than a couple hours of sleep. A soft snoring sound was coming from his travel companion, the Princess on the Run, as he had heard her been called. While looking over her angelic features, he couldn’t help but notice how soft and vulnerable she looked. The expensive fabric of her gown clung to her curves accenting all the features that made his blood rush and his mind race, feeling the mark on his head slightly pulsate, as a red deep, red glow dimly lit the immediate area around him. Quickly, he brought his hand up to his head, covering the mark from illuminating their campsite. Then, he felt a gentle but firm grip overtake his wrist, and slowly his hand drifted away from the mark.

“It’s beautiful.”

She sounded a little tired still, but enchanted by the mark on his head. To this day he still felt self-conscious and embarrassed, and turned away from her, bringing his hand back up to his forehead, until the mark changed color to a royal purple, so dark that it dampened what little light shown in from the canopy above them, making it harder for anyone or anything to see the knight and the princess.

“I don’t think so. It gets me into more trouble than it’s worth,” He absent-mindedly rolled his eyes down to his feet, feeling his thoughts go way back. Back to a room with jars, bottles, candlesticks, and cobwebs as far as the eye could see. The sharp cold stuck with him, and a shiver ran up his spine.

“What is it?” She looked concerned.

Now the mark on his head was glowing a sickly green.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about me. We should go back to bed.”

Her hand reached forward and then she pulled it back, placing it neatly in her lap.

“It’s okay to tell me things, you know that right?” Now he looked confused, and the mark switched to a swirling grey.

“Tell you things? Like what kind of things?”

She bit her lip a little, trying to phrase her words delicately.

“Like, who you are, or why you’re helping me. We’ve been travelling for several days together and I know nothing about you, other than you’re a decent man who has saved my life on multiple occasions. But you ask for not money, or power, or recognition, or…” Her fingers ran up her legs,
“Favors. You simply do as I command and never ask for anything in return. What sort of man has no wants or needs?”

He’d never thought about himself that way. Survival had been more important than earthly pleasures like fine silk or costly women, but that didn’t mean he was indifferent towards it all. Sure he wanted nice things and to feel the warm touch of a good woman, but he decided that wasn’t for him to choose the time and place. You don’t simply go to the market and pick up the love of your life, especially when you had as much going on as he did, but he had to admit, he often times dreamed of living a normal existence in which he was a married man with a loving, loyal wife and an armful of children to make his hair gray. But, after some time, and reflection, he realized that life wasn’t for him. His path lead him down to a different journey: a journey that had brought him here, to this forest, with this princess.

“The sort of man who has no need for needs. As a young man, sure, I lusted, and chased after women, if only in my mind, but I realized soon thereafter the more I wanted something, the more impossible it became to achieve or have whatever it is my heart cherished. So, I decide to live without wants or desires. If the world puts someone or something in my way that needs help, I will help it, or die trying. I don’t live for myself, and sometimes wonder if I’d rather not live at all.”

She gasped. “Don’t ever say that. I have not ever met a man like you.”

The knight smiled. “Lucky you. Go back to bed, Princess.” His mark shifted back from purple into a soft, scarlet, as he covered the princess with a roll from his pack.

“You have my thanks, sir.”

The knight nodded. “Aye. And you have mine. Now close your eyes.”

She wondered what he possibly could thank her for as her mind drifted back to sleep.

#sjd 

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Reoccurring dream

9.18.2012

The dream had been the same as many nights as he could remember. He was looking for someone, a girl, possibly, maybe a friend, maybe a lover. All he knew was that she was missing and that he had to find her. Everything depended on it. He pushed his way through a crowded cobblestone street, eyes sweeping the streets back and forth. Nothing, no sign of her anywhere. For an instant, he thought he had her scent, and he was following it inside some kind of apparel store. There were women populated throughout the store, all of them different looking, with different hair styles, and different mannerisms, but he could tell none of them was the one he was looking for. Still, he searched the rest of the store, checking every corner, and coming up empty, decided to wander back out to the streets, which were now empty. He looked back inside the apparel store; it was closed. The seemingly bright and beautiful day was now dark and cold; his eyes spied many different alley ways and avenues. Deciding it was best to go back to the hotel, he jogged back, seeing shadows form along the walls around him before he burst through the hotel’s double doors and into the hotel lobby. There was a gaunt man standing behind the lobby desk with a rim-less cap and a tightly fighting uniform that looked impeccable. Clearly the man was too busy or important to be bothered, so he continued from the lobby into the elevator and hit a button. The elevator began to rise, quickly, and all around him, the world rushed past him. He could see out onto the hotel’s roof where a single pool was. It was overcast out, which made it hard to determine what time of day it was exactly, but he could tell there were more than a few people surrounding the water. They were all in various stages of lounging around or lazily swimming in the pool, barely causing so much as a ripple in the water. While the elevator was shooting up to the 95th floor, he could see that whoever he was looking for was also not by the pool. He sighed, frustrated, by his lack of progress. Ding. The doors opened behind him and he saw a giant hallway going left and right. He went left, following it all the way to room 9519, where he tried the handle, pushed in his keycard, and then pushed the door open. An empty, sterile, clean hotel room lay before him. No one was in it, and he approached the window looking over the city directly in front of him. He started unbuttoning his shirt, feeling it fall to the floor. The cool air from the aid conditioning unit felt nice against his warm skin. Again, he sighed.
“Hey, you.” The voice was definitely female, and definitely belonged to the woman he was looking for. He turned around, in time to see her dark hair and her dark eyes before he snapped awake from his dream, covered in sweat and gasping for air. He was so close to seeing her face and knowing who she was. But it wasn’t time yet. He rolled over and went back to sleep knowing that time was swiftly approaching.

-SJD

Saturday, September 8, 2012

The Man and the Princess (pt 2)

9.8.2012

They were a safe distance away from their pursuers when the Man decided to slow down His steed, and set up camp for the night. However, the Princess wasted no time jumping off the animal’s back and onto the ground, landing softly and gracefully as one might expect of a Princess. She also looked quite angry with Her brow furrowed and Her tiny little fists clenched at Her side. Seeing this as He was tying His horse to a nearby tree, He asked Her, “Something a matter, Your Highness?”

“The nerve on You, Sir, I’ll have You know I had that situation handled until you came swooping in and damn near destroyed the place!”

The Man finished tying a not, securing His steed from fleeing while they slept, and turned to face the Princess directly. “I apologize for nothing; we were both in danger, and I got us out of it.”

The Princess scoffed, “A few men with pitchforks? And a lone giant with a couple blades? How weak do you take me? I could have handled them, just fine! But nooo, the big strong man has to come in and save me from myself! Well I don’t need any saving!”

Seeing She was upset, but for more than obvious reasons, He approached Her slowly, extending His hand no more than a foot away from Her. “No one is saying you couldn’t have dealt with that on your own, Your Highness, but when I walked out front to get our horses, there was a group of ten to fifteen armed soldiers bearing the mark of the Blue scanning all around for you and me. It was only a matter of time before the Giant went outside and alerted them. Fleeing out the back was our only option. You could have disarmed and disabled every man in that tavern, true, but what of the fifteen armed, trained soldiers outside? What of them, Princess?”

She looked down at His hand and backed away, bringing Her hands up to Her chest, clutching them closely. “But, the mark of the Blue, that’s only for…”

Now the Man stepped closer, finishing Her sentence, “For fugitives they tend to capture and execute ON SITE! If they would have found us, we would have both been slaughtered on the street, like rabid animals!”

“Impossible!” She exclaimed. “My father would NEVER allow harm to come to me,”

Hearing this, the Man winced. He had heard something terrible and tragic had befallen Her father, but now was clearly not the time to tell Her.

“What is it?” She sensed something was wrong; the mark on his forehead flashed a solemn grey.
“Your body reveals You, Sir.” Her finger pointed at the scar on His forehead.

Now, he turned away, and went back to his horse, unloading the gear that was on it. “I couldn’t get to most of our equipment, but these sleeping rolls and rations should suffice, for now. Good night Princess.”

The Man unrolled his mat by his steed, petted her twice, then laid down and closed His eyes. The Princess watched, sighed, grabbed Her mat, unrolled it on the other side of the steed, and laid down. They both slept angry that night.

-SJD

Thursday, September 6, 2012

The Man and the Princess

9.6.2012

“You have no right to speak to us in that manner!” She exclaimed as the Man that accompanied Her nervously glanced around the room, eyeing all the large men with diminished glasses of liquor and beer in front of them. “Erm, Your Highness, maybe we should,”
“Non sense!” She brushed His hand off Her shoulder. “If you have any mind about you at all, you’ll steer clear and let us out.”
“Not so fast,” A booming voice came from behind the crowding group of men, loud enough to make the chandeliers quake and the tables’ contents rattle in their various bowls and containers.
“She’s wanted, although I could care less about the likes of you,” the larger man said, pointing his knife’s tip at the Man standing next to the Princess, who was now nervously looking around the room and behind Him.
“That’s fine, sir, because in all honesty I could care less to make your acquaintance as well,” the Man said, and started to slink away from the Princess’ side.
“Hey, wait a second, where do you think You’re going!” She yelled at the Man, as the crowd didn’t budge one way or another once He got to the line of drunken, heavy breathing men.
“Let him through, he’s one of those weird whatchamacallsits. You can tell by the mark on his head and how it’s starting ta glow…”
Sure enough there was a light scar on the Man’s forehead, almost smack dead in the center, that was starting to warm up and illuminate a dark purple color. It was as subtle as a light on the middle of one’s forehead can be, but as soon as the men saw it darkening, they stepped aside, and let Him through. Immediately the Man walked straight out the door, and was gone.
The crowd turned back, to look at the Princess, who was standing tall and proud, but a little bit more vulnerable and naked without the Man at Her side.

“So is it going to be the easy way, Princess?” The large man said, stepping forward, only feet from Her, extending his hand outwards.
“Or the hard way?”
The Princess looked up at him and half snarled before spitting in the overgrown man’s face.
“I will NOT cower to bully’s tactics, SIR!”
He half laughed as he brought his claw like hand to his face, wiping the spittle from his cheek.
“That’s fine. If we’re going to start telling truths, then I wanted to do it the hard way, anyways” His laughter sounded a little more evil and full of pleasure while his hand made its way to his sheath.
A dull, purple tendril snuck in through the window directly behind and overhead the Princess. Shooting across the room like a whip it snatched the man’s wrist and yanked it upwards, causing the swing of the blade to send the men on either side of him backwards for fear of losing an eye, or a nose, or even worse, their heads, while also crashing into the rafters above him. A large snapping sound gave way as the structural support collapsed, somewhere, causing parts of the second story to come crashing down around the large man and the Princess. Behind the princess, a section of the wall cut away, and in the pale light of the exposed moon She was able to spot Him, Her Man, atop the horse that had accompanied them to town. “Come on, Princess, let’s go!” He extended His hand and helped Her up onto the steed. They raced off away from the town as men came piling out of the tavern coughing, groaning, and cursing the Man and the Princess as they disappeared into the night.

-SJD 

Monday, September 3, 2012

Labor Day

9.3.2012

I don’t know what I am doing anymore. I used to have this vision, where if I did A and B, then C was going to be coming my way, but that’s not the way the world works, and there are so many unknown unknowns that it makes it virtually impossible for me to follow one game plan all the way through, so what I have done, is become better at being versatile: not great at anything, but decent at almost everything. When I was younger, I already felt so different from everyone, I never felt the need to stand out anymore by striving to be the number one student. I don’t exactly remember what triggered the change, but there was a moment where I decided I was going to give everything I had to being the best student I could be, and then, the next day at class, after I spent pretty much my whole night reading and studying, I was more than prepared for the teacher’s line of questioning. Only, when she asked, I was the only student that raised their hand. I don’t remember the answers, or the questions, other than it was material related to U.S. history, I think, and I remember the feeling of every single student’s eye on me as I correctly answered question after question. Towards the beginning, there were other students to be called upon, students raising their arms and waving them eagerly as if to show that the answer was loaded and painfully ready to come out. However, as the questioning went on, and it became apparent that I was prepared for the day and others weren’t, I felt something greater than the thrill of success and accomplishment: I felt the sting of jealousy and envy. My classmates didn’t like that I was the only one answering questions, and that the teacher seemed to like that, engaging me with a warm smile and complimenting me on my effort for the day. I remember thinking if I ever wanted to succeed, I was going to have to do my damndest not to stand out, but why? Were other people’s negative feelings and thoughts to me so palpable that I could literally feel them without a single spoken word or gesture?  Maybe I am more susceptible to negativity than I am positivity, which is a frightening prospect. For the life of me, I don’t understand or can’t admit why I am so fond of escaping success. Do I plan to live my life as a loser forever? Living with mom and dad uncomfortably until they kick me out or move away or some other disastrous series of events happen forcing me away from heart and home?

Now that I think about it, there are other sides to this picture. There’s a little boy who wants to please his mother and father. A little boy who is sensitive and scared, and knows that his scarier, meaner, and older brother would not like the little boy being more successful than he was. A little boy who knew that if he stood out too much or grew too fast, his brother would be there to chop him down at the roots, or throw him back down to the ground. (Microsoft is telling me the last two sentences are fragments. That’s how those parts of my life feel so I’m leaving it.) I can admit now that I was terrified of my brother and what he could or would do to my sister and me if he ever became so enraged or jealous that his actions were no longer his own. In a way, I’ve let his jealous and shallow actions force and shape my life in such a way that I am not who I was supposed to be. It’s painful to admit. Extremely painful. As I hear news of him and his wife settling down into their first house and proclaiming they’re thinking about starting a family, I stop and pause.

I am alone. I have no family. My parents watch over me, they feed me, they help me out financially when I absolutely need it, but emotionally we’re worlds apart. My father will come home from work, and I’ll inquire about his day. He’ll either tell me his day was long, or busy. And that’s about it. Then, lately, he’ll do this thing where he asks me how my night at work was, and then, when I start to tell him, he’ll close his eyes, stop moving, stick out his hand like he’s telling me to pause, then suddenly open his eyes, say “Okay!” and then go back to whatever it was he was doing before we were talking. It’s kind of a rude dick move and it drives me crazy, but he thinks he’s a silly jokester, and I’m living underneath his roof, so who am I to say anything. I am content to spend most my time in my room, like a confined prison cell, dreaming of a free world in which I get to do the things that I want to do, and not the things that are placed before me.

Of course it could always be worse, and I don’t mean to sound greedy or spiteful. Is it too much to ask to have someone tell you they’re proud of you every once in awhile? Would it be too much to ask for them to just ask how I am doing and listen to me talk for five minutes once a month, or every other month? They have such disregard for how I am and what I am going through, it’s just so painfully obvious they don’t want to know what I am doing and they don’t care, unless it’s something they can make fun of me for, or something that’s bringing in money. I thought it would be nice, spending this time with my parents in their twilight years where they can still have fun and go out and do stuff like give me advice and wisdom before it escapes their minds, but they’re old enough to let loose and live a little before slipping into walkers and pills and all that other bullshit that comes with aging. But no, they would rather sit home and catch up with Dancing with the Stars because the lives and the struggles of the characters and stars on the screen are that much more interesting than mine, I guess.

So I guess it’s time for me to try to be a little bit more interesting. Do I have YOUR attention yet? No? Well I guess I was a little too good at staying under the radar. I guess it’s time for me to rise.

Batman style.

Alright that rant felt good. Now I feel like I can breathe again. It’s Monday, Labor Day, and I have no plans, really. Finished Breaking Bad with Candace last night but now, I’m not sure what to do. I’d like to finish the Henchman. It’s just a difficult/challenging story for me to write because I know how much I suck at writing formulaic stories; I’m better at this straight from the gut stuff…

My Sister: “What are you writing?”
Me: “Stuff.”
My Sister: “Oh, okay.” *shuts door to room*

Yup. Let’s write some stuff.

Happy Labor Day folks. Be safe, drink responsibly.

-SJD

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

I think i’ll write something sexy…

I’ve always wanted to dabble with erotica but never really had the proverbial balls to do so. Maybe i’ll try my hand at it, again, no pun intended. Hopefully it doesn’t get me fired or put amongst a fine group of people that IS megan’s law.

We shall see. I literally have nothing else to do today; too injured to work out, too poor to go out, there’s smoke in the air so there’s a health advisory warning, so literally everything i know is telling me to stay inside and just do whatever i want today. So long as i stay at home and inside. 

What else IS there to do? I can’t think of any games i want to play. Battlefield 3 doesn’t work… It just keeps saying its updating itself but it never lets me play it. Thanks EA. League of Legends is fun but when i’m playing it by myself i like blackout and then all of a sudden it’s dinner time or midnight. In Day Z me and steve finally got our characters together, in the same spot, both with loaded guns and relatively full health so i dont want to leave lest we decide to play that game again and i have to meet back up with him. So, no Day Z, i beat Deus Ex, no LoL, no BF3… I’ve beaten L4D/2 so many times… I’ve gone back to counter-strike only to discover i’m not the player i used to be.. And its not fun getting mopped over and over and over (i guess thats my come-uppance for all the domination i was laying down as a teenager. what goes around… *sigh*). Never really got into TF2..  Starcraft 2 leaves me feeling shakey and strung out, like coming off an adrenaline rush. I want a game i can sit back and just… build. Like a SimCity, or some such. I remember playing SimCity 2000 as a kid and building like the perfect city. I didn’t have to borrow any money or cheat; i just took my time, developed an even balance of residential, commercial, and industrial areas, tied them together with well-kept roads and highways. Got a nice wharf/marina going, as well as building an artificial waterway to neighboring areas to bring in business. Eventually made enough to establish an airport. At one point, everything was running so perfectly and i had so much money coming in, i was able to turn everything into like a bio-dome, where everyone lived in a perfect habitat and harmony. I had run out of things to do, which was okay because either my mom or my brother’s friend Corey had accidentally deleted my game, and i had to start over. I never got back to that perfect city, but… I think i’m willing to try at something else again.

Couple of things i want to do: start an online group to re-connect existing and curious role-players to an on-going dynamic world that i would have to create and run. Itd take a lot of work, and i can’t get my mind around all the details i would have to flush out. My horoscope says to start with the small things first so, first thing i would need is a system to run everything on: character creation, stats, perks/flaws, rules for combat/dice-rolling, etc… If i’m using a system that is going to be for multiple people that can’t necessarily see one another and is turned base, i don’t need it to be fast moving, i need it to be fair and accurate, as well as expansive because players will have some time to think about what they want to do, and they will get creative in their spare time, as players are want to do. In my head i’m thinking maybe Ars Magicka, but they start as normal people in a modern setting, this way there will be some familiarity in the world, as well as pre-conceived expectations on how other characters/NPCs in the world would react. Only, this world would give way to the possibility of magic, and magical entities, which would allow me, the story teller, quite some freedom as to what elements i introduce to push the story along. But right now, in my head, i’m thinking ars magicka is the way to go.

So i’ll have them all take some time to make characters and tell them they can be whatever they want to be, they just have to explain to me their character background, give me their stats, perks, and flaws, and then tell me which city they want to be in. I think i’ll have five cities to start from: a port city, a country/rural city, a city “south” of the border, a main/capitol city with a vast population, and then maybe a city across the sea on another continent. 

Well, this has helped me tremendously. I could really care less if you enjoyed it or not lol. Just kidding, as always i appreciate your attention span and your continued support, but i have some work to do, and i think i just set myself off in the right path. 

Oh, and the other thing i want to do is write some steamy erotica which is basically literary porn. Stay tuned! :D

-SJD 

And the Frustration begins to Set in…

8.14.2012

I’ll admit it: I’m frustrated. Irritable. Upset. Angry. Impatient. I am all of these things, but why? I have the whole day ahead of me to do whatever I want, and yet there is nothing I really want to do. For one, I know that the empty fuel light has activated in my car. I know I have six dollars in my wallet, and thirty in my checking account. At some point I’ll get hungry, soon, but I know that just about anything I eat will end up making me feel uncomfortable and probably even a little bit of pain, too. I know that the first story I really motivated myself to publish isn’t worth publishing because I didn’t do it the right way and people can’t understand what it’s about. I never meant it to be a serious novel of sorts, but rather a glimpse into the life of five or six twenty something’s as we experienced an alternate reality together. Or maybe I was going to leave us out of it and let the story carry itself, but it would seem the story wasn’t good enough, or I wasn’t good enough at connecting the dots and drawing interest from my audience. Either way, we can chalk that story up as another loss. To date, I’ve written about 66,000 words of unreadable bullshit. 66,000 wasted words that won’t ever reach the audience I was hoping they would, but that’s okay. Maybe I’m not ready to have a large audience yet.

I’m frustrated because all my life I decided it would be more advantageous to me to stay in the dark and not be noticed then to make a big show of things and be the alpha dog. I don’t know if its because of my anxiety or because I was the middle child, but for some reason attention and the spotlight always made me feel uncomfortable. I never felt like I was worthy of all the attention. There are so many other wonderful things; why would anyone take the time to stop and admire me? There was nothing all that admirable about me. And I guess that’s the way I wanted it but lately…

The loneliness is worse than the discomfort. At night, I find myself questioning why bother writing if I am the only one who is going to read it? Isn’t that just the same as taking a thousand pictures of yourself, in a mirror, and then posting them to a social networking website? AKA narcissism? Only, instead of a snapshot of what I look like and what brand names I’m wearing, or what style I happen to have my hair in at the time, it’s an instance of what I am thinking, what I am feeling, and what I am trying to express. They say fashion is an expression of oneself, don’t they? The point I’m trying to make is it feels incredibly selfish to write these mundane blog postings expressing how things are going on in my world when I can’t even find cause enough to care. Things are the same. I am still broke. I am still single. I am still living at my parents’ home. I still drive the same silver Honda with dings on the side, which causes other drives to inform me that my gas cap is undone, to which I always reply, thanks, I know. I wear the same clothes. Have the same job. Play the same played-out video games. Occasionally I play basketball with some friends. I went out last Tuesday spur of the moment because I was tired of wasting my life away behind the empty glow of a monitor. I felt so disconnected, and I just wanted to feel relevant to something, again.

There was a day, it feels like, where I could set my mind on something, and I was invincible. Didn’t matter what kind of obstacles were in the way, if I decided I was going to be the best at something, I sat down, and worked at it, until I was. Video games, Lego’s, homework assignments, learning how to dance, learning how to drive, etc… I put the time and effort in, and as a result, when it came to things like Counter-Strike and/or Halo, I was pretty untouchable, Counter-Strike moreso than Halo because I was a surgeon with the mouse and keyboard. I would go whole rounds sweeping out the opposing team’s opponents, round after round, with whatever weapons I could get my hands on: TMP, scout rifle, desert eagle, pump shotgun, m4a1, ak-47… I was a virtuoso, and even spent some time with the Metal Elephants Clan which had this guy named No-Quero-Morir, who was just as good as I was, if not moreso, but he used the AWP/M and could one shot a whole team at will, if he wanted to, it felt like. But at some point the thrill and fun from that faded, and it was some other game that captured my attention but…

I’m out of games. I’m out of stories to lose myself in. I’m not sure what to devote my time and energies into. I suppose I should feel lucky that I have as much freedom as I do but I don’t feel very free at the moment. I feel locked down. Like life won’t let me progress until I figure out whatever it is I’m supposed to figure out. I don’t know. I refuse to let myself stop writing though, as frustrated and as down as I get. If it seems selfish, then I apologize, but right now, writing is all I got.

That feels a little better, I suppose.

-SJD

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

No Energy

7.18.2012

Feelin super depleted.

Not necessarily defeated.

Just like ive given all i got
Not that it’s all been for naught

But not is all i got right now
There has to be some way, some how

I’ve crawled to every corner, 
Gettin’ hot but mostly gettin colder,
From the deaf ear to the cold shoulder
Its like a boulder

On my back, but i cant carry
Im too weary
And the end seems so far away
And i know i wont find it today,

But, i keep on tryin anyway
Even if today’s NOT the day.

Because even if i have no energy
If i stop trying it will be the end of me.


-SJD 

Friday, July 13, 2012

Flash Fiction Month: Entry 13 (LUCKY 13 BABY!)

I don’t have a lot of time because wedding things are moving very quickly all around me, so, here’s my prompt, which I was GIDDY upon reading:

               
Flash Fiction Month - July 13, 2012

Challenge #6

Today is another double challenge. In addition to incorporating two theme, like you have for the previous two challenges, you’ll have to incorporate a specific character archetype. If you need help, don’t be afraid to head on over to the official Flash Fiction Month 
Chat Room, where one of our volunteers will help you as best they can.

Write a story that includes the 
themes of failure and conformity, and where one of the characters is a Cloudcuckoolander.

Failure  refers to the state or condition of not meeting a desirable or intended objective, and may be viewed as the opposite of success.

Conformity is the act of matching attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors to group norms.

A Cloudcuckoolander is someone with there head in the clouds. They are strangely oblivious to things that everyone else takes for granted, such as social conventions, like wearing clothing, being polite, or obeying the law. However, cloudcuckoolanders are very rarely malicious.

Shoot for the moon. That was the easy part, I had told myself. All I had to do was dream big, think big, and then boom, magically before my eyes, the world would present to me what I was dreaming. All I had to do was just be completely honest, and so I was. Every time I took a dump, I recorded it and uploaded it. Every time I decided I was feeling a little ornery and wanted to rub one out, I filmed it and hosted it with absolutely no censorship, start to finish. People were going to love this, I kept telling myself. I know I love it.

Gaining some popularity, albeit slowly and not with the crowd you’d necessarily think (think older men between the ages of forty five and sixty five; not the twenty something females we all secretly wish for), I decide it was time to up things a notch, and post the world’s first twenty-four/seven cam access where users and followers were able to interact and view me at all times of the day. It was brilliant. Putting on some flip flops, a tank top with a mustard stain, which was weird because I didn’t even like mustard, to go with a pair of neon green shorts and I was ready to hit the streets. Luckily technology was so advanced that most people couldn’t even tell I was filming myself, even though there was an object attached to my hat, filming the whole thing. I sparked up the joint I was hiding behind my ear and stepped into a particular eating establishment I wanted to try. Immediately, a line of ten people turned to look at me as I stepped into the lobby. Furrowing my brows, and looking concerned, I stepped back outside, wiped my sandals off on the doormat, and then stepped back into the lobby, taking a nice slow drag off the joint resting between my lips.

“There, is that better?” I half-mumbled, half-inquired as the smoke filled the space in front of me, and a few people nearby fanned the air around their faces, and darted past me on their way out the door.

“Geeze, what was their problem,” I asked a couple standing at the back of the line that gave me a somewhat confused, somewhat angry look in response, “And hey, what’s good here?” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see someone behind the counter pointing at me, and then a couple of men in uniforms and boots fast approached me and escorted me out of the building, one of them grabbing the joint out of my mouth, tossing it to the ground, and extinguishing it with his boot heel before the other one through me into the back of their tiny, mall security truck..

What had I done now, I wondered. And how do they both fit in here? This truck is tiny.

The proceedings were pretty nasty. They said I was breaking some strange civil or penal law that I still refuse to acknowledge. And because I refuse to acknowledge what I had done, the state had decided to shut down my site, take all my cameras, and force me to pee in a cup every few days for some odd reason. Maybe they want to make sure there’s nothing wrong with my blood.

Now, I get to work a wonderful job, where I stand around all day, pretending I am making a difference or living out my dream, like the universe once whispered to me while I lay sleeping at nights, dreaming of possibilities and realities where I did everything I wanted to and everyone loved me for being exactly who I was. And then my boss yelled at me for not paying attention. So, I got back to work. I’m sure you know the rest of the story. All I had to do was shoot for the moon. That part was easy.

The falling face first on my way back down to earth was not. Oh well. At least they pay me to stand around and act bored now. I shrugged and told my boss I’d do whatever he wanted, so long as he got his fat gut out of my face. He didn’t like that but, I didn’t really care. I was just another man in a uniform doing a job he wasn’t suited for; failure was a feeling I would soon not forget. But for now, I scrubbed as hard as my back would let me.
_________________

link: http://aabiedoobie.deviantart.com/journal/Flash-Fiction-Month-Entry-Thirteen-Lucky-13-314492101 

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Flash Fiction Month Entry Number Twelve!

Prompt #12

“He screamed across dimensions.” It had all been going so well, though. It first started when he was at home, doing some homework while he watched his parents cook dinner and read the newspaper, respectively, before there was a sudden disturbance at the door. Three men came piling into the room, wielding guns, and screaming for them all to not move and to get on the ground. He had no idea what was going on. He was scared, at first. One of the men brought the grip of his pistol down on his mother’s head, collapsing her to the ground. His first reaction had been to scream and charge at the men. His father yelled “No!”, and all three men turned, and began firing at the same time. He pushed back, sending out a wave of force that stopped the bullets dead in their tracks, also stunning the men. Suddenly, one of the shotguns was pointing at the ground, floating in the air, before firing and blowing away one of the intruder’s feet. The man, missing a foot, began screaming hysterically and dropped to the ground as the blood started to come rushing out.

The other two looked at one another, and came charging at the teenager, now looking different, with his eyes missing any color besides white, and a strange but powerful current swirling about him. Now, the boy lashed out, with his power, and snatched one of the men by the ankle, forcing him to the ground; he motioned with his other hand, slapping the air in front of him, which in turn caused a current of air/force to slam the other man into the wall in the kitchen, by his mother, so that he collapsed next to his mother’s quivering, sobbing body. Now, the boy dragged the other man to him, looking him dead in the eye.

“No, don’t,” the man pleaded. The boy’s eyes returned a fiery brown, as he pierced through the intruder’s worried gaze.

The rest happened in a flash: the cops came, took all the evidence and criminals, while the man without a foot was carted off in an ambulance. After that, came another series of men in suits, but these men didn’t ask questions, they just took the boy, and whisked him away in the back of a black sedan.

Due to the nature of the “first outbreak of power”, as they called it, where he was going, they decided to sedate the boy for the duration of the journey.

He woke up, alone, in a chair, seated at a lone table in an empty room. Blackness surrounded him. Then, a door, before him, opened, and a man walked in.

“Hello, hi, I’m sure you must have a lot of questions but we don’t have a lot of time here,” the man seemed to be in a hurry.
“You possess magical powers. Its evolution. However, there’s a malicious force out there, and if they know you’re here, they will come for you, and they will take you.”
The boy gulped.
“Are you serious? Is this for real?”
The man in the suit looked grim.
“Afraid so. But no worries. We’ve found somewhere safe for you to hide, although, you will not be able to contact your family until we tell you it is okay to do so. Please enjoy your new life,” and with that, a portal opened below the boy’s chair.
He screamed as he fell across dimensions, before finding himself seated in an open field with a beautiful view of trees, grass, and other wildlife running freely and openly before him. Someone clasped his shoulder, and startled him. He turned around in his seat to see a man, in a full plate of armor, standing behind him with sword in sheath.
“Welcome, my young lord. Right this way. The academy will be thrilled to have another student,”
And with that, the boy stood up, and followed the knight, starting his path towards understanding what new power flowed through him.

-SJD

http://my.deviantart.com/messages/#/d56ya2y  

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

FFM Entry Number 11

Flash Fiction Month Entry Number ELEVEN:

Flash Fiction Month - July 11, 2012

Challenge #5

Write a story that includes the themes of power and gender roles.

Power is the ability to influence the behavior of others with or without resistance.

Gender Roles are the social and behavioural norms that are considered appropriate for either men or women. For example, in the American nuclear family, men were tasked with working, and women were tasked with housekeeping and child care.

Remember, a theme is a topic, subject, or concept the writer is trying to point out to the reader. 

Prompt:{
 When Sarah/Samuel is mortally wounded in a motor vehicle accident, the only way for the surgeons to save her/him is to transfer her/his brain to a robot body. The only problem is, the hospital only has male/female robot bodies in supply.} <— fuck robots though.

___________________________________
"The Accident" by SJD


He had it all: six-figure salary, black book full of ‘dtf’ girls just waiting for his call, more sports cars and motorcycles than a Ferrari and Ducati aficionado could dream of, to go along with his stunning features and chiseled body. His phone rang. It was one of the woman he had hoped to liason with tonight. Hopefully, he could bypass the dinner and the movie, and just get right into the sex. Between working and working out, he had already had a long, full day, and didn’t think he had it in him to put up with all the talking and feelings crap, so, he waited until the last minute, and finally texted her back that he was on his way, and that he was sorry that he was late, but he’d be driving his motorcycle over to get there before she passed out and went to bed. No way was he driving all that way to put it in some dead fish.


Pushing his brown hair out of his eyes, and back behind his ears, he placed his helmet on, stepped onto the motorcycle, revved the engine, and sped off into the night. The vibrating from the vehicle against his crotch was increasing his arousal and he couldn’t wait to see this chick. He gunned it all the way down the highway, off the off-ramp, and stopped at a four way stop light. 

His bike crept forward, egging the light to change. In his right rear view mirror, he could see some idiot on a cell phone. “Fucking people,” he muttered inside his helmet, looking up at the light. It still wasn’t changing even though he was the only one there. Off to his right, he could make out a cop car some fifty feet away. Shit, he didn’t want to get a ticket, especially downtown, in this construction area, where fines are double. He looked in the rearview mirror again, the guy still wasn’t looking up from behind the wheel. Now, he gripped his hands to the accelerator, and he was preparing to gun it. The texter in the truck wasn’t going to look up, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to break in time to avoid hitting his one-of-a-kind motorcycle, so he gunned the accelerator, away from the truck fast approaching him, and straight into the intersection with a multi-ton construction vehicle zooming through. There wasn’t much time to react to the bright lights that filled his helmet just before he blacked out, and everything went numb.

His eyes shot open. There wasn’t any part of his body he could move. He tried to move his head but, it seemed like everything was locked into place. 

"Woah, there, easy, easy," said someone in a doctor’s coat, walking over to place his arms on top of the figure in the full body cast.
"Look, I know you have lots of questions, but right now, you just need to relax. Your body," the doctor cleared his throat, "Your old body, that is, was destroyed in that horrible accident months ago, but thanks to groundbreaking technology and miraculous advancements in medical breakthroughs, we were able to transplant your brain, into a new body," the doctor seemed to have a smile creep across his face. "Now, because this technology is so new, the boys in the lab were only experimenting with female bodies, for their own personal amusement, you know how cooped up men are, so unfortunately, the only bodies we had available were female."
"Mwhat!" Even his tone sounded higher when the muffled word escaped his lips. Oh no. This had to be a nightmare. It was time to wake up, time to wake up, he told himself, shutting his eyes, and squirming as hard as he could. Offset to his, or, her side, a machine started beeping, loudly, and faster.

"Oop! Looks like someone’s getting a little overexcited there. Well, no worries, the meds should automatically kick in, and we’ll be back in a little bit to talk about what changes you should expect moving forward," The doctor started to walk out of the office as the man-in-the-woman’s body passed out once again.

She had lost everything due to the accident: her old job replaced her with some new, fresh-out-of-college hot shot, and, due to the excessive nature of the injuries and medical operations incurred, her bank account had been wiped out completely. She was starting from scratch, and, even though she was unable to get her old job back, and now living in an apartment in the city, paycheck-to-paycheck, she was told she was offered a position as an administrative assistant for the person taking her old job. 

All day long, she practically did her old job, as well as setting up appointments and meetings, as well as dealing with the advances of all the men she was now surrounded by, gawking at her every time she passed through the hall way, some even so bold as to slap her on her pear shaped butt as she walked by. It was disgusting, humiliating, and she had no idea how any woman put up with it. She wanted her old life back, and bad. But for now, she sighed to herself, as the copy machine swept back and forward, printing out copy after copy for her new boss.

-SJD 

FFM Number 10

Prompt #10
They had only ever talked to each other online. They both knew one of them didn’t exist. Trouble was, they didn’t know which one.

It was maddening, not because the possibility of being artificial or synthetic was terrifying, to either one, but because it mean that the connection they shared was somehow… flawed. How could he be in love with her if she didn’t really exist? How could she go on and on to her mother about amazing he was if he as all just made up and in her head? And yet, still, every night, they would sit at their respective consoles and communicate with one another thru webcam. She would show him the newspaper; he would show her the weather outside, and even though the dates seemingly added up, something was off.

But what? They could not tell, and until they found out, there was nothing else either could think of. Eventually they reached the conclusion that they would have to establish a meeting point, somewhere in the world, where they would both show up, at the exact same time. She lived across the sea, and he was in the States, but they decided a tropical island somewhere between the middle would be the best solution, and then, they would justify their trips to their loved ones by saying they needed a vacation from all the stress they were going under.

Never had either one been so nervous. The hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and before either one could wait any longer, they were both boarding their respective flights, luggage in hand, lumps in throats. Her flight had an unruly drunk in the back complaining about how long the airplane was on the tarmac; he had a flight attended completely lose their cool and have to be escorted off by police almost an hour later.

And then, all of a sudden, the planes were taking off, and things were moving in one direction: towards each other. Passengers on both planes drifted off into various books, naps, or electronic devices. He decided he’d have a jack and coke to relax; she decided she’d listen to some music and put her head back.

And then the plane bumped, and both their eyes shot open. The first bump was enough to wake anyone up who was sleeping, and cause a few children to look worried, but the second and third bumps, caused a couple of overhead carriage containers to pop open and have suitcases come pouring out. The captains came over the intercom and warned of turbulence.

He knew he would never get to meet her. I must be the fake one, he thought.
It’s all coming to an end. He was too good to be true, but if I’m the one about to perish, then I must have been the made up one all along, she thought.

And before each of their eyes appeared a giant triangle made of glimmering, golden rays of light intertwined around one another. It was entrancing, it was hypnotic, and it was the most beautiful thing either one had ever seen. Then there was a sudden crash, and explosion, and they both shot up from their chairs, with exasperated looks on their faces. He turned to his left, and saw her stunned face. She reflected the exact look he was giving her, shock and disbelief, slowly turning into amazed excitement.

“I just had the most awful dream!” She said. They swung their legs around to face each other, and embraced, wrapping their arms around one another for all to see on the populated beach with tourists and women clad in bikinis running up and down the shore line.
“Me too,” he said, “But it’s all over. We have each other.” And they kissed.

http://flash-fic-month.deviantart.com/#/d56prds

Friday, July 6, 2012

Flash Fiction Month Entry NUMBER SIX!

7.6.2012

Flash fiction month entry Number 6:
Write a story that incorporates elements from detective fiction and speculative fiction, and where the protagonist is aByronic Hero.

Detective fiction describes a story where an investigator, either professional or amateur, investigates a crime.

Speculative fiction describe a work that contains one or more impossible elements, and encompasses science fiction, fantasy, horror, weird fiction, supernatural fiction, superhero fiction, utopian and dystopian fiction, apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction, and alternate history. Anything is possible in speculative fiction.

Byronic Heroes are deeply flawed individuals who may act in ways that are socially reprehensible. Some of their attitudes and actions may be considered immoral, and their bad actions may be as numerous as those which are heroic, but never are they evil for evil’s sake.

He took a long drag off the joint placed between his lips. The lit end flared, quickly, until suddenly, even in this dark room, he could see the faces of two women chained together and seated on chairs. It had taken him quite some time to find this location: several cars he had to tail, a couple bartenders whose elbows’ needed rubbing, and even one bouncer that had to be subdued with a blast to the kidneys. Luckily no one noticed, and the place was so low tech, he doubted there were any cameras to catch what he did. In any case, this is where his final lead had brought him: two barely-legals, half naked, chained to a stripper pole in some dirty basement somewhere, whimpering and cowering with their hair in nasty mats across their shoulders and foreheads. Holding the smoke in long enough, he slowly exhaled, letting the strong scent find its way out his nose, and filing the immediate space around him. “Where’d he go?”  His voice was raspy, and even as the professional that he was, he still had to suppress a cough towards the end of his question. The girls on the floor turned, looked up at him, and immediately started thriving and squirming in their bonds. “Mmm! Bom May! Be bim bat may!” one of them muffled through their gag. “Thanks,” the man said, placing the joint down on the table a few feet from the distressed women. There was another door, on the other side of the room, with just a bit of light peaking through the crack. Besides light, the man, now walking towards the door, could tell there was some kind of music or noise also coming from that room. His shoulders sagged, his eyes closed. Off set behind him and to his right, he could hear the two chained together still calling out and moaning towards him; in front of him he could sense two people, with one, seemingly assaulting the other. His motions were instinctual: his hand dipped into his waistband and produced a pistol, bringing it up about shoulder height, pointing it towards the ceiling, as he brought his right leg up, and out, bringing the weight of his body into the door. Immediately the man assaulting the woman he was looking for stood up, pistol in hand. The man did not hesitate, placing one round between the attacker’s forehead. To the pervert’s credit, he got one round off, firing into the ceiling, before he crashed back down to the bed, and fell backwards, over the naked woman, who was now screaming and wailing even louder. There was a camera to the right, still filming; the man quickly gathered it up, and slipped it in his trench coat. He pulled the fresh corpse off the screaming woman with his left hand, and then discharged another round in his chest, over his heart, just to be sure. Disgusting pieces of shit like that didn’t deserve the presumption of death. He looked at the woman, he looked at the dead man, and then looked up at the ceiling. He could see the lone lamp start to shake as something above him started to rumble.

Three men, crept down the basement, with two brandishing handguns, and one sweeping a shotgun back and forth. They saw the two women still chained to the pole, but there were no signs of their boss, anywhere, except that his door seemed to be open, more so than usual. The man with the shotgun ordered the man with the pistol forward, who in turn approached the door, and then pressed it open, slowly with his off hand. When he saw the gruesome mess before his eyes, he turned to warn his allies. At that moment, the man with the coat came from behind the man with the shotgun, grabbed his weapon with both arms, and in one swift move, turned it towards the man at the door, and pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening in these close quarters, and the distance between the shotgun and the man at the door couldn’t have been more than ten feet, leaving the man’s gut and torso exposed to a powerful blast, dropping him instantly. Without hesitating, the other man with a handgun turned towards the blast and began firing, shooting his own associate a good three to four times before the man with the coat displaced a round through his final attacker’s throat. All three men were now on the floor, dead, or dying. Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. “Yes, I found her, and upon reception of my fee, I will give you her location. I can assure you she’s safe and in good health. Yes, they were eliminated, as you requested.” An app on his phone informed him the money had just gone through. He smiled, picking up his joint, still on the table, stepping over the man with the bleeding throat to do so. Looking at the girls he wondered how much he could get for them, as they were not a part of the arrangement he had with his client. Again, he took a long, heavy, drag, deciding what he wanted to do. The man undid their chains and helped them off the chairs; however, he left them cuffed at the wrists, bound, and gagged, as he lead them outside, away from this sex slave den, and into his vehicle. With a firm shove, he closed the door behind them, finishing one last drag on his joint before tossing it to the ground, and scanning the scene ahead of him. Sirens and lights, from quite a ways away, and he would be long gone before they got here. “I love my job,” he said, as he extinguished his joint with the boot of his heel, stepped into his black SUV, and took off into the city night.

FFM #6 page (if you wanna jump in and start participating): http://flash-fic-month.deviantart.com/art/FFM-July-6-2012-312767809

-SJD 

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Flash Fiction Month Entry Number 5!

7.5.2012

I kinda forgot/didn’t have energy for the FFM #4 entry, so I just copy n pasted a story I had written awhile go. Kinda cheating, I know, but I spent all day with my family yesterday, and my sister being just as high strung as I am was super stressed out and it kinda wore on me. No exc uses, play like a champion, I know, its just that I really wanted to do all 30-31 days of this thing, and I regret missing a day, already. Oh well, just gotta keep going. We’re all human, we all make mistakes. I chose to do this prompt for today to make up for it, because it will be challenging and show that it is of course original, because I just found out about the prompt five minutes ago. Here it is: (also five is my lucky number, traditionally)

"The earth really did open up and swallow him," she told the reporter. 

Sally turned and looked back at her cameraman, Mike, who shrugged at her, as if to say, so what, keep going, which in turn made Sally clear her throat and turn back to the woman standing in front of her. Behind the woman was a scene straight out of a post-apocalyptic horror movie: ambulances, cop cars, helicopters, news vans and reporters running everywhere, not to mention the park that was once voted the most beautiful metropolitan park in all of the country now looked like a war zone covered in explosions, craters, and firemen eagerly trying to put out the spreading fires.

“What happened, exactly?” The reporter asked, offering an extremely serious and hard look. The woman looked down at her feet, and began to recount her story:

It was a beautiful day at the park, and her boyfriend, Leo, was taking her out for a stroll in the park. He had always loved being around nature, hiking, exploring, but most importantly, being with me. And I couldn’t imagine myself without him. Leo always had such a warmth to him. In any case, we were walking through the park when someone behind us called out Leo’s name, loudly, shouting it. It was so loud, I covered my ears, and I could feel my hair whipping all around my face. Leo, at that very moment, let go of my hand, told me to run, and started charging towards the stranger.

The reporter interjected, “What did this, Stranger, look like?” She titled her head, a bit, for effect. The woman startled that the reporter interrupter her story, looked up, and said, “Dark. He was very dark. And I don’t mean skin color. I would never consider myself a racist person at all, but this man was so black, I could make out no discernible features, including his eyes, which appeared to be two empty sockets with clouds of smoke swirling about inside. He wore a leather biker’s jacket, to go with jeans, and boots. I don’t know how he found us or where he came from, but all of a sudden he was there, and all of a sudden, Leo and him were fighting.”

“Fighting, how?” The reporter asked, hoping to finally get some details. The woman looked up again, solemn as ever.

“With fire. And light. And darkness. And magic. And their fists. I know you’ll think me crazy, but look around; how else would destruction on this level exist without some sort of…”

“Magic.” The reporter said, flatly, as if this story all of a sudden became irrelevant.

“Call it what you want. The stranger struck Leo with a chain made of purple fire, and threw him into the trees behind him so hard, he burned a hole through the trunk before punching a hole through the ground so deep I heard they’re still searching in it. Ignoring me completely, the stranger vanished before my eyes, and was on top of Leo again. I didn’t see what Leo did from where he was, he flew some distance, but there was a bright ray of light, so bright I had to look away or else I feared I might go blind, and then, I could hear an inhumane, monster like growl as the Stranger was launched into the air. Leo got him good, that time.” The woman smiled.

The reporter, semi-interested, semi-just-going-through-the-motions, followed up with, “And then what happened?”

“And then,” The woman continued, “I saw Leo leap from the hole he was put in, and spread wings I didn’t know he had.”

Now the reporter had clearly stopped believing this woman, “Wings? You saw your boyfriend sprout wings and fly?”

She nodded. “Yes, as hard as it may be to believe. I had always told him he was my guardian angel, but today, he was. With his outstretched wings, and a lance made of golden light, he flew, straight at the Stranger, like a hawk diving from up high to snatch up its prey. Only,”

Now the woman looked upset.

“What? Do you need a tissue?” The reporter turned to look at Mike, and yelled at him to get a tissue box from the van. Mike sighed, loudly, and started running all the way back to the van. Sally shook her head, and turned back to look at the woman, whose eyes were now pitch black. She tried to scream, but before she could, there was a thick, black ichor that covered her mouth, and was seeping in through her throat, and her eyes, and her nose. It sounded like she was choking, and her body shook, as her eyes rolled back into her head, and the woman, now looking more like the Stranger, spread a slow smile across her face, as it watched Sally suffer and contort. After a few seconds, the Stranger was done with the reporter and dropper her body to the ground, in a heap. Seconds passed, as the stranger reverted his form, and the reporter, Sally, slowly rose from the ground, just in time to have Mike come back with a box of tissues. He offered one to the woman being interviewed, who thanked him, graciously. Mike looked at Sally; it looked like they had a heart-to-heart, and even Sally looked a little disheveled. “Are you okay, Sally? Is that a rap?”

Sally, the reporter, turned to look at Mike, and for just a second, he thought he saw a swirl of blackness in her normally gorgeous hazel eye color.

“No, I am fine. Let us continue the interview. Three, two, one,” Mike struggled to keep up with her, hoisting the camera back to his shoulder and pressing the record button.

“And then what happened?” Sally asked, more serious and straight toned than Mike had heard before.

“And then the earth opened up, and swallowed him,” The woman said.

link to FFM5 entry page: http://flash-fic-month.deviantart.com/art/FFM-July-5-2012-312551811