The Fly

 
I found it while getting ready to sweep, lying on its back with legs curled skyward. Next to the sliding glass door, mere inches away from the freedom of outside. 

Dead.

What's the lifespan of a fly? A quick online search tells me a couple weeks to a month. Maybe up to 50 days, at most. I give up, closing the browser as my brain starts doing the weird thing it does from time to time, treading a path to places I don't care for, yet find myself in nonetheless. 

50 days? That sounded a bit optimistic... we'll say a month. Average. How long was this nuisance careening through the apartment, randomly dive-bombing my son and I while we went through our day? Well, definitely more than a week... little man is with me 50% of the time, 7 days on and 7 off, and it had been annoying me for a while before that.

Okay, so the fucker spent at least half of its life in the prison of my shitty bachelor pad.

But it's just a fly, right? 

Who cares?


Except...

What was that story about fate and time travel? The series of events that snowballed, cascading from virtually irrelevant to world changing just by stepping on a butterfly while the characters explored a prehistoric Earth?

This dead little husk could have flown into the mouth of someone on their way to work, causing them to plow into a pedestrian on their morning walk, altering both lives forever.

Damn, that's a grim thought. 

What about if it was that little bit of extra food a lizard needed to survive long enough to be found and kept as the 'greatest pet ever' for some lonely child, desperate for connection, a life for that kid to care for in the exact moment they needed it most?

...or maybe just to be swept up and forgotten, decaying in my garbage, never having had the opportunity to serve its sole purpose in life.

What.

The.

Fuck.

I need to stop typing and do something else.

A Sky full of Ghosts

 A Sky full of Ghosts

Vertigo washes over me when I look up. Before my eyes is something so vast it can only be described as... eternity.

Awe, bone deep and absolute, springs from a long abandoned place of my mind, some nook reserved for things long forgotten.

I took my early years for granted, the sheer magnificence of the night sky was simply part of rural life. The darkness was sharp, the sky a pristine black devoid of clouds... like an open window to the endless ocean of stars beyond.

I watched a youtube video once that said many stars we see are actually dead, their light nothing more than a glimpse into the past when they still lived. The astronomer William Herschel referred to the universe as "a sky full of ghosts".

I guess it really is eternity.

Authentic

 

Authentic

~

Whenever I hear 'Authentic' I'm drawn back to the memory of a very specific point in my life... the (at the time) burning wreckage of what had previously been known as my marriage. As my ex and I had been painfully untangling our lives, one of the phrases she had been fond of using was that she "had to be true to herself... to be Authentic”.

So here's what I consider Authentic.

~

I called the doctor’s office frantically searching for an appointment slot, only to find out my usual primary care physician had the day off. In a delightfully chipper voice the receptionist informed me there was an opening with the doctor who happened to be available. Same day. Due to the circumstances I accepted. 

My stomach twisted in knots as I waited. The hands on the nearby wall clock hovered in a state of suspended animation, defying any expectation to move onward. The phenomenon was my only distraction from the nausea building in my gut. One by one, others in the waiting room who had been ahead of me were called and exchanged pleasantries with their respective nurses before being ushered away to the smaller rooms in back.

The stupid clock was beginning to frustrate me. There was simply no way only a handful of moments had passed since I was seated. At one point, I swear I saw the seconds hand tick backward before continuing its march onward.

“Thomas?”

Snapped out from my thoughts, I was suddenly aware of the rolling in my stomach again. I stood, forced a brief smile, then followed the nurse through the door and down a hallway to the new waiting area. At some point during the walk she had started some light banter which I was totally oblivious to. In the new room she cycled through the usual tests... blood pressure, eyes, heart, all while asking the normal questions I did my best to answer.

"The doctor will be with you shortly." she said finally. She left and I was alone again with my thoughts.

There wasn't a clock in the small, unadorned room, but nonetheless it was obviously susceptible to the same  maddening time dilation effect. I stood and waited. I sat and waited. Waited some more. Stood back up. Started pacing. My stomach threatened to revolt.

Eventually there was a knock. The pleasant features of a slender, middle aged woman peaked from around the door. She introduced herself but her name still eludes me even now. Meanwhile my guts screamed bloody murder.

"What brings you in today?" She asked.

It was time.

"I would like to be tested for..." I felt heat rising in my cheeks. "...possible STD's."

She seemed completely un-phased by the request. A dash of embarrassment mixed with my growing emotional cocktail. Of course she wasn't surprised, this was just another day at the office. I don't remember details after that, but eventually conversation turned to the discoloration on my dick and she asked to see it.

It was like an out of body experience. As she examined me I heard myself beginning to spout all the things I'd promised myself to keep close to my heart. 

"...apparently she was with multiple men..."

"...the condom broke with one of them..."

My throat choked and I began stumbling over the words. When I felt my eyes beginning to betray me as well, I fought back with everything I had in me. I stood in front of this woman I'd just met, struggling not to break down with my pants and underwear around my ankles, while she held my rashy cock in a gloved hand. It was the single worst, most humiliating thing I'd ever experienced. 

When I met her eyes, the look she gave in return was one of simple, pure human empathy.

"I'm so sorry."

In that moment, it was the only thing I needed.

Anyway, come to find out it was nothing more than a simple skin allergy. After some medication it was gone in a few days. It turns out my unfortunate skin sensitivities broke the truth of my marriage wide open, and sent my life spiraling in an entirely different direction.  

So now, when I think of 'Authentic', I think of that room... and that pitying look on the doctors face.

the Mirror

    I take a good look in the mirror. It takes moment to fully reconcile what's in front of me, so I stand with arms on the counter and soak it in. 

It's a surreal disconnect between the oblivious image I hold of myself and the person everyone sees. The sensation washes over me. Perpetually slumped shoulders and creases of worry etching my forehead betray my story long before the lips could. It's the look of an pathetically average man in the midst of learning one of life's many cruel lessons. 

Life isn't clean. It's not some paint-by-numbers, laid out for easy consumption cliché as portrayed in some romance drama or made-for-tv movie. No... it's messy, cut with jagged corners from scissors held in shaking hands. A hard lesson, but one needing learning. 

Oh well, time to go to work.

Depression sucks

It's been coming back more frequently now. A loathing, vile taint... pointing mocking fingers at my inadequacies and wiping shit on the occasional moments of happiness I have.

I know it's coming. Every time I know. It announces its presence, whispering hateful insinuations that turn into screamed insults blocking out all good things.

It's been this way for as long as I can remember, a long time cleverly concealed by the drug and alcohol abuse of my younger years. Now that I'm older, without the reliance of that crutch, it's been increasingly hard to keep my emotions under control. I'm running out of the tape needed to fix my paper thin skin.

I don't write this as some veiled attempt for pity, nor is it a suicide note. I love my wife and my son more than the world, more than anything, and will carry on as long as I can for them as well as for myself. I live for those shining moments which make it all worth while.

Instead, this is strictly for anyone who may feel the same, other souls who endlessly trudge the cliffs of happiness, only to tumble painfully down the mountains into sorrow. 

Know that you are not alone.

9 out of 10 ain't bad

Somewhere between late last year and early this one, a lump began growing between the first and second knuckle of my right index finger. This freaked me the hell out because I'm a left handed guitar player... that finger means a lot to me! I put off going to the doctor for longer than I should have, thinking the issue would resolve itself, like a wound that needed time to heal.

But it didn't.

The thing just kept growing and growing, making basic techniques like barre chords all but impossible. So after some prompting from my wife, I made the doctors appointment, and my worst fear was realized... they recommended operation.

Look, I know where my bread is buttered. I work in the tech field and guitar playing is very much a hobby and secondary to the important things in my life, like family and paying the bills. That being said, I've played since I was 15 years old, over half of my life, so the decision was hard. So sometime in August, I had the procedure done.

It didn't hurt all that bad, the meds they selected for me did their job quite well. When the time came and I took off the bandage, I got as close to fainting as I think I ever have.

My main fretting finger was a horror show.

After a few days, when the bruising started getting better, I got a bit more optimistic. There was very little pain, more of a dull ache, and I had the use of the rest of my hand.

Now, for the last year or so I have become obsessed with a lesser known genre of guitar known as "percussive fingerstyle". It has reinvigorated my playing and made guitar new for me again. I am but a child toddling in the world of percussive fingerstyle, but that doesn't matter, each week brings something new to me and I am always learning.

Until the finger thing.

So, after a week or so past, I came up with an idea. An arrangement that needed the index finger as little as possible. I practiced it daily, tweaking the tune and honing it as I healed. It gave me a guitar based goal to keep focused on.

Well, my finger is pretty much fine now... a little stiff at times but all in all not too bad. And I have this song to show for it. I play it with all ten fingers now, but nine-tenths is what I called it initially, so it stuck.

Here it is:

Psss... I've got a secret to tell you...

Sometimes I feel like I've caught a glimpse into the meaning of life, what I believe to be the true point of a person's existence in modern society.

And it seems we've all been fooled into believing it's something it's not.

Allow me to explain.

From an early age, we are taken from our homes... collected and organized into neat little columns and rows, eager and impressionable young minds.

The molding begins. Enforcing ideals of productivity and skill. We are tested and we are graded, groomed by intelligence, abilities... and all the while instilled with the reminder that competition is important.

Vital.

We are separated into groups, spending the majority of our prime days performing tasks we've been told we love, based on the meager praise and monetary incentive we receive.

Meanwhile, the precious moments of the one life we have melts away, lying in the background forgotten.

If you perform well enough, for long enough, you'll be rewarded with the ability to live out the remainder of your days, but unfortunately you will be too old, feeble and broken to enjoy it.




This is the secret my friends.

This world, with its multitude of wonders meant to be explored, is done so by only a select few...


while the rest of us rot away in the dust.

Story from my now defunct second blog: The Old Switcheroo

The Abysm blog is gone. I am not nearly a good enough writer to put out a decent chunk of material each week or couple of weeks and keep it going. There's no quality control that way. So I deleted the parts which were already posted and I am continuing on it in my own time. My delusional mind thinks there may be a full book in those few thousand words. This was a short story I posted on that site before I went off the grid.

Hope you like it.

The Old Switcheroo



The dirt road seemed to stretch on endlessly, a glaring scar across the face of an otherwise beautiful landscape. It had been hours since they’d seen the last signs of civilization, and the once maintained road had now devolved into little more than a glorified forest trail. In his haste to get to the cabin, Tony had been speeding with little concern for any nearby cops... he knew small towns like this and hardly thought any would be out here in the middle of nowhere. But when they took the last turn and headed off-road, the car started rocking wildly over various humps and divots in the path. He then decided to ease up on the gas... slightly.

He looked over at Bethany, wanting to catch another glimpse of that body in the outfit she’d chosen for the trip. The shorts were just the right kind of short, and her tight fitting top was good, too good in fact. He felt his foot get heavy on the gas pedal again.

She was staring out the passenger side window quietly, like she had been for much of the trip. It wasn't unusual, Bethany wasn't much of a talker anyway. That was fine, what he was hoping for in this little getaway didn't require talking. "You okay?" He asked, trying to strike up a conversation. She turned her head and flashed that heated smile of hers that turned his stomach to knots. "Yeah, just eager to get to the cabin." The stirrings in his own body told him he was pretty damn eager too, and he refocused his efforts to driving fast as he was able on the uneven terrain.

As time passed and so did his patience, each twist and turn of the seemingly endless path bringing pangs of disappointment. "How much further is it?" He tried masking his eagerness but had trouble. Bobby told him just the other day that being too eager was a turn off to girls, and ‘that ya had to be... cool’. There was a moment of silence, his question hung in the air long enough that Tony thought she hadn't heard him.

"Not much farther." she replied finally, her eyes never leaving the passing scenery outside.

Fate must had heard the prayer he’d been mumbling, because around the next turn a small cabin came into view. Confusion settled in when he got a good look at the place, or more specifically the LACK of. To call the run-down shack a cabin would be optimistic, and a ‘weekend destination' downright delusional. The poor old structure looked like it was about to fall over, its long faded paint peeling, and loosely nailed porch dangerously lopsided. Tony’s heart sank at the sight,. He turned to Bethany ready to express his dismay, but she was staring right back with a sultry smile painted across her flawless face. Suddenly the place didn't seem so bad after all.

"We're here." She said, using a voice that cut his restraint like warm butter. Heat crept into his face at the prospects of this night and he looked away with an embarrassed smile. So much for playing it cool. Who cares what Bobby had to say anyways, Bethany was here with HIM. He watched her carefully as she climbed out of the old el camino, and she made the process a worthwhile viewing experience. He was out of the car in a flash, virtually launching himself into the small clearing surrounding the cabin. He spun in a quick circle, taking a silent inventory of the area. ‘It’s so remote’, he thought, ‘it would take the better part of a day to get back if something happened to the old camino. There was a brief flash of uneasiness in his stomach, when he looked back over to Bethany, the feeling south of his belly took over and he shrugged the thought away. ‘Well, there’s a lot worse things than being stuck out here with her’.  Another smile crept in at the thought.

When he looked over, she was already heading toward the shack. He jogged over to catch her. “Hey, wait up!” he shouted, grabbing her hand. Even though it was going to be a warm summer’s night, her hand was noticeably cold to the touch. “But I want to show you the cabin.” She said, her voice suddenly coy. He glanced at the place again and grimaced. “Really? This is the place? It looks like a dump.” She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him coldly. He realized the mistake, and scrambled to rephrase his words. “Bea...” He said softly, grabbing her around her waist and drawing her close, “...I just meant that you deserve a much nicer place than this. I’ll take you to the finest hotel we can find. The camino still has over half a tank of...”

She held a cool finger to his lips, stopping him mid-sentence. “Tony, I want to be HERE.” The way she said it closed the argument, right then and there. If this was the place she wanted to be alone with him in, then here was where they’d stay. “Sure, okay. Show me around.” She entwined her fingers with his and lead him to the door, which looked to be barely held on by its ancient, rusty hinges. The weathered boards creaked loudly as they stepped onto the porch, making him shake his head dismissively. She let go of his hand and and dug into her pocket, removing a single key that she held up in the quickly diminishing light. Hanging from the shabbily maintained door was a thick, heavy duty lock that stood out of place drastically from its surroundings. She carefully guided the key to its home and turned her wrist, looking back to him as it popped open with a resounding click.

There was very little light in the single room, and Tony had to strain his eyes to make out the dimensions. There were no interior walls in the unfurnished room, only a single wooden chair sitting in the center. As he looked around, he noticed a length of coiled rope near an empty bottle lying the corner. And that was it. His unease returned, stronger this time, clenching his bowels and causing him to stop in the doorway. This was not the place where two people were intimate, it was a place where someone was tortured.

Bethany didn’t hesitate however, stepping into the room and making herself at home. She walked slowly around the chair, holding her arms up high as though showing off some elaborate game show prize. “Don’t you like it?” She whispered coyly, shooting him a teasing smile.

“Do you want me to be honest?” He caught himself saying then cut himself short. He didn’t want to get himself into any more trouble. “Oh, come on now,” She whispered, walking to the pile of rope and reaching down, her eyes locked with his the whole time, “It isn’t that bad.” She picked up the rope and he got a another flash of warning, strong enough to put aside other urges. “Wait a minute,” he shouted, “you’re not planning to tie me up with that are you?”

She stared blankly at him a moment, her face totally unreadable. The rational part of his brain was working overtime, taking account of every piece of the situation. He barely knew this girl, having only met her a few short weeks ago. She'd been overly nice to him and over the last few days very aggressive about taking this trip with him. Suddenly it dawned on him. In his mind he saw the scenario clear as day, her boyfriend and all of his buddies, lying in wait while she tied him up and robbed him. They’d take his money and his car, then leave him stranded in the middle of nowhere, to walk home humiliated. Deep down he knew it was too good to be true. He opened his mouth to confront her when she said something that stopped the logical thinking cold.

“No, I want you to tie ME up.”

He was stunned. What she just suggested was something different entirely. His irrational fear vanished and he found himself grinning like an idiot. Wow, this girl was something else. She stood, swinging the end of the rope and patiently awaiting an answer. The look she gave him spoke volumes, and it was a book he desperately wanted to flip though.

"Well?" She teased. He saw that she was toying with him, and it excited him all the more. He stepped over to her and reached for the rope, sliding his fingertips over the back of her hand while taking it. “You have to say ‘Please’ first.” He whispered, doing his best to cover his increasing excitement. She flashed a quick smile then stepped over to the chair and sat, her eyes never leaving him. She sat upright, arching her back and sticking her chest out. Then she placed both hands behind the chair, lacing her fingers together in preparation.

“Please.”

Tony’s hands trembled ever so slightly, betraying his pent-up desire. He let out a slow breath and walked around behind where she patiently waited, and began looping the rope carefully around her wrists. “No,” She said, stopping him in place. “Tie it tightly. I don’t want any chance of getting out.” He paused, speechless at the request. After making a thick loop he slid her hands between, drawing it closed with a firm pull. The little moan she let out told him it was satisfactory. This was going to be a night he would never forget.

After forming two firm knots he began coiling the rope around her body, watching her chest rise and fall with rapid breathing. The desire to draw her close and pull her down on the old wood floor was overwhelming.He paused to enjoy the moment as he re-positioned the rope up close under the swell of her breasts. Suddenly from the corner of his eye he thought he caught movement, but when he turned to look there was only a single wisp of black smoke floating lazily by. As it faded into nothingness he repeated the loop three more times, layering the rope down her body until he was sure that she wouldn’t be able to move at all.

When he looked down and drank in the sight, he could barely contain himself. There she sat, eagerly awaiting while him, totally under his control. Whatever was going to happen next would be soon. “I have one more request.” She breathed heavily, her lips trembling as they formed the words.

“Okay,” he found himself mumbling, “what?”

“One kiss.”

He stared, his mind razor focused on only one thing... her.  He fell to one knee and inched in, his eyes following the gentle curve of her cheek, the shape of her lips, the sultry slope of her neckline. He moved close, savoring the moment. As he neared she suddenly opened her mouth wide, ready to accept him. Then it spread wider than any human mouth should. Black smoke poured forth in great, voluminous waves. He recoiled, startled, but it was already too late.

The world turned to nothingness.

There was no Bethany. There was no cabin. No woods, nor sky, or world. Only emptiness, a null negative space he found himself floating in. When he tried turning his head to get his bearings, he realized he had no neck to use. His brain willed a scream, but there was no mouth for it to come from. No arms to flail, no legs to run with from the growing nightmare. It was the pure and utter feeling of absence, an endless void that he was adrift in. Panic crushed his consciousness, encompassed all thought. Waves of disorientation came from all directions simultaneously. What happened? Where was he?

He had the sensation of being watched. Some strange sixth sense, laying long dormant in modern, evolved humans awoke, a defense system warning him of some nearby presence. The sensation was terrible, claustrophobic. He had no way to fight back against any invisible threat, no way to turn and run. He was locked in his mind, waiting motionless for the inevitable to happen.

It was then that he saw the eyes... terrible, inhuman eyes. Vaguely shaped, they seemed to hold their own light, illuminating in the unyielding blackness from within. Then they grew. Something made of fire knew he was there, and it was approaching him. Fear squeezed his heart, or the space where his heart should be. His logical mind slipped, threatening to tear him kicking and screaming from the world of sanity. There was no logic to what was happening.

Another pair opened. Then another. Two by two, unnatural gazes trained their sights on him, began moving towards the intruder to their unholy domain. Terror choked as he felt their approach, knowing the sound of scaly flesh rubbing against itself was in actuality the limbs of gigantic creatures unfurling.

Then he saw it.

Even without vision in the traditional sense, he knew what lay before him. By the light of the monsters own insidious eyes he caught a glimpse of the beasts, and with that, the last meager thread tethering him to the world snapped... rational thought slipped away. When it reached him it didn’t touch, it enveloped, swallowing the entirety of his being at once. The touch brought pain, a type of searing agony that human nerves could not feel. It burned his brain, his personality... his soul.

Then it was gone, only black once again. The echo of pain remained, a reminder of the reality of what had happened. His skin felt sensitive to the air in the room, the light breeze simultaneously tickling and burning. That was when he knew he HAD skin once more. His hands ached, as did his chest. For a second he savored the feel, because he knew it was real. The dull throbbing in the front of his head was actually coming from his eyes, which were squeezed tightly shut sometime during the ordeal. As he opened them the world swam into view, to see the haphazard old boards of the cabin. He was back on the silly, ignorant Earth, floating lazily in the oblivious universe. It offered no relief to know he was back, because he had seen the other side... been to the place that no human being should go. Some nightmare that lie quietly just past our reach but existed nonetheless.

An annoying droning sound reminded him of having ears. It was incessant, an unending tone that paused randomly, only to start once again. In a vague realization he realized it was actually him, screaming. It was comforting to have a voice again, even though it sounded strange. It didn’t matter if he screamed or not, the things on the other side could find him either way. Some blurry shape stood in the corner of the room, he squinted and blinked to clear his vision. When they came in focus, he stopped.

It was him.

The tall frame he’d seen countless times in store mirrors. The coat he’d been given as MVP last semester. Those pants he’d bought even though the cost was way too much. Everything that made him Tony stood before him. Was he seeing things?  Some strange after effect due to the traumatic events? He flinched but found he couldn’t move, his arms and legs were bound and immobile.

Surprised, he looked down to see a pair of too short shorts. He dropped his chin to his chest, and it fell onto the too tight shirt Bethany had been wearing, still looking just as good as it had an eternity ago... when the world still made sense. The pain in his chest and hands were hers, just like the body it belonged to. He was not himself anymore, he was a trespasser.

Then who was in his body?

The Tony-Thing turned to face him, as though reading his thoughts. “It had to be done.” It spoke with a low voice, so familiar yet now completely devoid of emotion. “That flesh was broken and will die soon. The girl never even knew her own ailment.” The Tony-Thing stepped up and glared, the face looking down at him becoming a mask of twisted disdain. “So I needed a new home. Yours will suffice.”

Homes mattered very little to him, nothing did anymore. It amused him to know he’d begun screaming again, but couldn’t remember exactly when. Perhaps he’d never stopped. The Tony-Thing squatted slowly and looked him right in the eye. “So this will be your end.” When he looked into its eye he thought he caught a perceived movement. The pupil was the blackest of blacks, so dark it seemed to contain infinity within. He stared intently, concentrating on witnessing the movement when something there slithered.

A window into the other side of eternity.

The Tony-Thing laughed and slapped him on Bethany’s shoulder. “Never let it be said that I am not merciful...” He stood up and stretched, testing his new home. His gaze drifted up into the corner of the room, like he was talking to someone far out in the heavens. “...For I will allow you to live. Enjoy the gift for it is fleeting, and when you step over again, the Others will be looking for you.”

The real Tony sat in the chair and screamed, his throat so raw the sound was a nothing more than a raspy squeal. Still, he screamed as he watched himself shut the door, heard the lock carefully snap, and eventually the el camino start. He was still screaming as the purr of the motor had long drifted into nothingness from the night air.

The Well

A short story I posted a while back on a second blog. 
I stopped keeping up on it so this story will sit here instead. 
I hope you enjoy. 
If you do, let me know... I could use the ego boost.

The Well

Bobby struggled to keep the wheel straight, but the hill had other ideas. Various rocks and other pitfalls littering the embankment were taking their toll on the poor Nissan, which he ironically had lowered last week. Great timing. “Hold tight!” He shouted to Leo, who already had an iron grip the passenger side dashboard. Why did they decide today of all days to skip? Oh yeah... Mr. Harrison. The guy was such a tool, always going on about 'solving for y'. After lunch, Bobby turned to Leo and said ‘why not?’

They cut class, got some beer and went on a road trip, laughing the whole time.

The problem was, rain had been constant the last 3 days and the frigid November nights cold enough for residual ice to start sticking on the roads. He should have slowed down on that last turn.

The Nissan caught a rotten tree trunk and went airborne. Bobby came out of his seat, thankfully the belt which had been digging into his shoulder earlier now kept him from flying around painfully in the car. He watched as the scenery outside the windshield tilted sickeningly.

The car was going to tip.

He turned the wheel with every bit of energy he had before realizing he wasn't sure which direction he needed it to go. Luckily, he chose the right way... the tires found their way back to solid ground, and the roller coaster ride down the mountain continued. Instinctively, he slammed his left foot on his right, like the force of both together would work the brakes better than one. The pedal was already smashed to the floor.

By some miraculous twist of fate the car did come to rest safely, after one last resounding bounce. Bobby was happy to be alive. He sat quietly, enjoying the calm while catching his breath. That’s when he realized Leo was groaning and turned to see why.

At some point he must have connected with the dashboard, because an ugly lump was already forming directly in the center of his forehead. He blinked absently while a trickle of crimson made its way down his nose. “Dude,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes, “...that sucked.” Leo blinked as though waking from a deep sleep. “I’m driving back.”

Bobby shook his head, taking inventory of their situation. No way he’d Leo drive, the guy probably had a concussion. And that was even if the Nissan would run, which it probably wouldn’t. Smoke poured from under the hood in thick waves. They were screwed.

Bobby glanced at the hill, trying to judge how far up the road was. Pretty damn far. They had rolled a good distance... there was no way the two of them could get the car back up to it. It was pointless anyhow, the whole trip they hadn't seen any other cars, not one. Chances were slim they could flag someone down, especially since it would be dark soon. The road was a dead end.

“I can’t climb it.” Leo whispered, reading his mind. The poor guy looked terrible. Bobby heard the stress in his voice and clapped him on the shoulder for comfort. “It’s cool,” he said, “we can look for firewood and come back when it gets dark.” He hooked a thumb to the back seat. “We still got beer, we’ll camp here tonight and hitch a ride back first thing tomorrow.”

Leo rubbed his temples with relief and nodded.

Later, while searching for suitable firewood, Bobby noticed a clearing nestled behind a thick patch of trees he previously overlooked. With curiosity piqued, he jogged over to check it out further. A path, barely distinguishable under years of grass and various other vegetation weaved its way through the woods. The two lanes of bare earth carving their way through the vegetation could be none other than an old abandoned carriage road. It appeared easy going, a straight line extending some distance ahead, eventually curving to the right and out of sight.

“Leo! Come check this out!”

After reaching an agreement, that’s exactly what they did.

The sun was low on the horizon by the time they saw something ahead. Once again, Bobby’s curiosity got the better of him, so jogged ahead to investigate. When he reached the trail’s border he became lost in confusion... before him was nothing more than half a dozen hastily made shacks surrounding a large concrete platform. His attention was drawn to the ornate construction and how it differed from its shabby surroundings. Hand carved steps lead to a large well, situated at the very top. The overall effect seemed reminiscent of some exotic Egyptian pyramid dropped randomly in some farmers back yard.

Leo stumbled behind him at the edge of the trail, catching his attention. “This doesn’t make sense!” He threw his hands up in confusion, “My parents and I have camped all over these parts and I’ve never heard of this place before.” Bobby liked to think himself knowledgeable of the area also, but this was new to him too. “Well, it’s here.” He spoke slowly, straining to see in the waning light. “It’s almost dark. We could stay in one of these huts, or head back to the car. Your call.”

Leo shook his head and leaned on a nearby tree. “I need a minute to rest before we start back.” Bobby didn't want to say anything, but he was growing more and more concerned about his friend. He needed medical attention soon, and there was nothing he could do, except keep a close eye on him and do his best to get to a hospital first thing tomorrow.

Leo pointed a shaking finger to the well. “Hey, does that have any water in it?” Bobby blinked. A cool drink did sound good. But thirst turned to unease when he began walking up the stairs. Nothing about it made sense, the construction was distinctly intricate, especially when compared to the poorly built huts surrounding it. Strange, hand carved symbols filled the entirety of the surface, which seemed far too wide for a simple well. There were no signs of a bucket to draw water up. In the virtually nonexistent light he walked around it, until he ran into a bench previously hidden on the far side.

Still wincing and rubbing his shin, he ran his other hand along the smooth surface, searching for identifying characteristics. Engraved on the outward facing side were markings, different from the random symbols on the well itself. They were spaced and phrased like words, similar to some primitive language. He squatted to look closer, noting absently that the thick cloud cover began to split, cleaving an almost perfect circle of moonlight through the clouds above. It cut through the inky night like a razor, illuminating the well and bench beneath.

He recognized the words so he mouthed them quietly, thinking that hearing them aloud could shed more insight than simply reading.

Right as he finished there was a thump.

Actually, more like a deep, muted vibration... emanating from underground. It was more felt more than heard. “Bobby, what was that?” Leo asked, heading up the steps. "I... don’t know." He said. It was true, but he did know something was wrong. Very wrong. Then, his fears were confirmed.

Something rose from the well.

For a split second he didn’t know what he was looking at. An exotic animal’s head? Some kind of snake? maybe? Whatever it was, it poked from the mouth of stone pit, twisting wildly in the moonlight. The way it whipped around, like a tentacle or tail...

Except, it wasn’t a head. It was part of some much larger beast, buried deep below the ground. With horror, he watched as it shot upward, hundreds of feet, until stopped by the confines of its own girth. The well groaned as stone met flesh, impact taking his feet out from under him. He stumbled down the steps and connected painfully with hard ground as he did.

Leo gawked at the sight, frozen between the well and the bench. When the thing shot forward again the ground shook, sending him backward. His legs hit the stone behind and he sat down on it with a thump. The movement piqued the creatures attention, it swung at the bench in one fluid motion, like a whip. The scaly limb came down on the stone seat with terrific force, and Leo was gone, somewhere beneath the massive appendage. Slowly, it constricted around his form and slunk back into the well.

Suddenly, he was alone in the still night.

He shot into the forest, screaming madly and running blind. There was no thought to where he was going, only desperation to get away. A stump hooked his foot and he fell, sprawling awkwardly on the cold earth. He had just witnessed a nightmare made real... some terrible thing claiming its sacrifice.

It wasn’t a bench, it was some kind of altar.

Observation time...

So lemme get his straight:

the holiday celebrating the birth of some old religious icon turns into 'trample each other to death to get the best Wal-mart savings' day.

the death of that same icon turned into 'find the eggs a giant mutant rabbit $#!+ out' day.

the anniversary of the independence of this country turns into 'let's blow $#!+ up and look at the pretty lights for a week straight while our government monitors us' day.

I'm noticing a pattern here...

I just like to watch...

Oh, hello there. I just wanted to ventilate about something that's been bothering me lately.

I remember back in a much simpler time when I was a young and impressionable child, for some reason that only she knows, my loving Mother would freak me out with scary tales of this nefarious hidden government called Big Brother. She would inadvertently twist my under-developed mind, telling me things like 'Big brother is watching you' and 'careful, you are being watched by Big Brother', then leave me to stew in my own proverbial juices, imagining this dark and sinister organization that for some unknown reason secretly observed and documented everything that the American population, and me in particular, did on a day to day basis.

Now days, the name 'Big Brother' is synonomous with a generic reality show, so obviously the concept was more far reaching than the imagination of my Mother. But the concept behind it remains the same to the tin-foil hat wearing conspiracy theorists of today. I have not sat down to watch it, but I have heard of a movie called "1984" that has gained a certain cult status as a disturbing look into this idea. A quick google search found the wiki that shows this is where the concept grew popularity.

1984... FUN TIMES


The reason for me saying all this seemingly regurgitated paranoid ranting is this... as I had mentioned before, I am a delivery driver for a company located in the Northwest. Lately I have been exceedingly conscious of the amount of times that I encounter cameras of various types on a daily basis. Cameras at work, cameras at the stops where I make my deliveries, cameras on the roads and stop lights of the streets and freeways, a cameras at the ATM where I cash my paycheck, cameras at the store where I pick up my gum and chips and whatnot after cashing my check, etc. etc. etc.

I try to think of myself as a FAIRLY reasonable person, I consider myself more of a REALIST than a pessimist / optimist, but I find it unsettling how surveillance has crept so thoroughly into our daily lives. If I remember correctly, one of the Die Hard movies dealt with this topic as well, of course in a malicious fashion... I mean come on, how else would it be used? Now with reports of unmanned drone prototypes being tested... maybe its best to not think about it.

Sheeple Walk in perfect little circles...

   I am currently a driver for a delivery company, so I am on the road driving around often and get a chance to see the behavior of other people when they are behind the wheel on a daily basis.
 
I live and work in the northwest, so much of this time spent is on the local freeway I-5. The other day I was in the Olympia area and came across the lanes incredibly backed up, almost to a stand still. This happens pretty frequently, so no big deal.

   As we all move along in little 5 mile an hour bursts only to stop and wait, I have plenty of time to let my mind wander, as well as observe the other drivers, because the vehicle I am in is higher up than the average car, and I look down at them in my delusional throne of self righteousness.

   Except in this case, my normal pessimistic view is, in my opinion, somewhat justified in this case... let me explain:
   In this span of 5 to 10 minutes of stop and go traffic I witnessed the obligatory girl doing make up while driving, a man reading a cut out clip of newspaper taped to the center of his steering wheel (which raises so many questions in my mind... like 'is the clipping a motivational excerpt?' 'if he needs to read it  that many times, hasn't he memorized it?' 'is it part of the DAILY paper?' 'if it is, isn't it a very INEFFICIENT way of reading the paper?' etc. etc. etc.) and of course the COUNTLESS others in various states of cell phone usage.

   As we all approach the the reason of the traffic bottleneck, many things quickly become clear to me: 1: the reason for the slowdown is a common fender bending accident, with two faced paced up and coming business types exchanging a dialog with a police officer, who's interceptor is all a glow with official red and blue lights on... 2: the ACTUAL slow down is people craning their necks to get a glimpse of this apparently awe inspiring drama unfolding on the shoulder of the road... 3: as traffic passes the scene and picks up, many drivers speed by me recklessly, probably to make up this lost 5 minutes of commute time to get back to their incredibly important lives... 4: this fast paced swerving,  repeated lane changing and tailgating will probably result in another similar accident a mile or two down the road...

   Just typing this out here fills me with the same sullen depression that I felt that day, are most people really that ingrained in their little ruts that they can't step back and see the big picture? Or will they continuously fill the mold that they themselves complain about?

   Meh whatever... I'm going to wrap this up and read a book :)