MATCH: Brock Lesnar vs. The Undertaker in a Hell in a Cell rubber match
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Hell in a Cell
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence, but realistically, it should be higher due to blood
GRADE: Pass
The Undertaker had been a WWE wrestler since 1990. In those multiple decades of destruction, he has won multiple world titles and created frighteningly violent moments under the gimmick of an undead wrestler. He even had an undefeated streak when it came to competing at Wrestlemania pay-per-views, winning on 21 different occasions. The Hell in a Cell match itself is considered his specialty alongside Casket matches and Buried Alive matches. Bottom line: if you were an opponent of The Undertaker’s, Rest in Peace wouldn’t have been just a meaningless catchphrase. It was your ultimate fate as this demonic warrior dragged you to hell with him.
And then The Undertaker found his ultimate poison in the form of NCAA and UFC Heavyweight Champion Brock Lesnar. They competed in Hell in a Cell and Biker Chain matches between 2002 and 2003 and Lesnar won all of these encounters. Fast forward to the year 2014, when the most shocking moment in Wrestlemania history overshadowed Daniel Bryan’s WWE Championship win. Lesnar was the one who snapped Undertaker’s undefeated streak and sent him to the hospital that same night.
Ever since that humiliating defeat, questions began to surface as to whether or not The Undertaker should retire from wrestling permanently. Not only was he pushing 50 years old, but the pictures fans took with him showed a weaker version of his former self. The man looked like he was dying from starvation and cancer at the same time. And then he returned to the 2015 Wrestlemania event with packed on muscle and a thicker hairstyle. He defeated Bray Wyatt in a match that was considered to be a classic despite Undertaker’s advanced age.
With this newfound courage, The Undertaker made yet another return at the Battleground pay-per-view when he kicked Brock Lesnar in the balls and gave him two Tombstone Piledrivers, effectively giving Lesnar his win against WWE Champion Seth Rollins via disqualification, when no title can change hands. The rivalry between Lesnar and Taker got so personal that they competed at Summer Slam, where the latter used a desperate low blow to help him achieve victory despite being a baby face.
And then we come to the 2015 Hell in a Cell pay-per-view, where the titular match between Brock Lesnar and The Undertaker would be the final chapter in their storied rivalry. No more controversy. No more shocks. No more bullshit. Just two warriors being locked in a prison cell and kicking the crap out of each other. When that cell door was closed and chained shut, the two wrestlers would put on a violent clinic that would last in the memories of everybody who watched it.
The match started out with both fighters intending to destroy each other, but ultimately finding counters for each other’s moves. Lesnar tried many times to take Undertaker to Suplex City, but the latter held onto the ropes and punched out his opponent with those huge hands.
And then the counters were over and these two just destroyed each other from this point on. Undertaker shoved Lesnar into a steel ring post and caused his forehead to drool with blood. Lesnar hit The Undertaker with heavy ass steel stairs and busted his forehead open as well. And then there were chair shots, more steel stair shots, and tosses against the chain-link cage. And then came Brock Lesnar’s F5’s and German suplexes. And then came Undertaker’s Hell’s Gate submission hold, which is really just a chokehold against the shins.
The bloody wounds on both combatants’ heads were so severe that the ringside doctor had to be called to patch them up. Undertaker was on his back and being tended to, but Brock Lesnar just wanted to beat the hell out of him some more. So what did the former UFC champion do? He grabbed that doctor and threw him around like a teddy bear. And then there were more beatings, including multiple punches from both fighters that did little to help their head wounds.
Lesnar wants to finish this match badly. He tears up the ring’s protective canvas and exposes the wooden boards underneath. He thinks he’s going to slam Undertaker on these boards and end the deadman’s career. Instead, Lesnar gets a choke slam and a Tombstone Piledriver for his efforts, but kicks out of both. Undertaker thinks he has this one in the bag and uses his throat slash taunt to show Lesnar who’s boss. And then Lesnar uses a low blow of his own and F5’s Undertaker onto the exposed wood for the match-ending three count. The 13 year feud between these two is finally over with Brock Lesnar as the victor.
Despite losing the match and laying in a broken heap, The Undertaker received adulation from everybody who watched that match. The fans were standing up and clapping for him. John Layfield, a normally heel commentator, was paying his respects to The Undertaker’s 25-year career. And me? I’m giving this match a passing grade and a TV-MA rating. The match itself was bloody, vicious, violent, and barbaric. Lesnar and Taker didn’t just have a wrestling match. They went to war with each other. If they were given AK-47’s and bazookas, you’re damn right they would have used them on each other. They would set the entire world on fire just to burn each other alive. That kind of sadism is why Undertaker got the respect he got at the Staples Center that night.
And then the ultimate act of disrespect and a candidate for Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic came when all four members of The Wyatt Family surrounded the ring with Undertaker struggling to stay standing. Bray Wyatt, Braun Strowman, Erick Rowan, and Luke Harper are all huge men north of 300 lbs. and they all ganged up on an already beaten down and bloodied Undertaker before carrying him off Jesus cross style. Everybody in the arena was sickened by this display, but none more so than the same heel commentator who praised The Undertaker the entire night, John Layfield. This is supposed to be a plot device to set up a four-on-four Survivor Series tag team elimination match between Team Undertaker and The Wyatt Family. It’s sick. It’s twisted. It’s disgusting. But it’s damn good television and doesn’t do anything to lower the passing grade. The only thing I have to say about all of this? If Hell in a Cell was hell on earth, Survivor Series is going to be the apocalypse. Run!
Friday, October 30, 2015
Getting With the Times
***GETTING WITH THE TIMES***
As someone who openly admits to being a millennial who still plays with toys, being time conscious isn’t one of my strong suits. I don’t follow trends, I don’t care if an interest of mine is dated, I don’t care what’s considered cool by other people, and I’ll wear pretty much whatever I want as long as it’s comfortable. The times may have changed, but my core values have not.
It didn’t occur to me how behind in the times I was until I was editing a short story for American Darkness called “Not Gonna Die”. In this story, there’s a party going on in the main character’s dormitory and the music that’s blasting out of the speakers is “Brass Monkey” by The Beastie Boys. I know of that song, because I was born in 1985, which means I’m twelve years older than the college kids in this story. There aren’t many 18-year-olds who know who the Beastie Boys are, so in order to have realistic cool kids who keep up with the times, I chose rap music that was a little more modern in Tech N9ne. No complaints yet.
Having an old school state of mind is easy for me because nobody has challenged me on it and anybody who did was met with the same nonconformist argument I give everyone. I actually had my brother James tell me that, “Nobody listens to Disturbed anymore.” I do. I listen to them a lot. They may have been popular in the early 2000’s, but to my way of thinking, they’ve stood the test of time in the year 2015. Obviously, my older brother is very time conscious while I couldn’t give two shits what year it is.
When it comes to my writing career, however, it should stand to reason that I have a new school state of mind, because websites like Twitter and Face Book are the future of book marketing. I do have a Face Book account under my real name of Garrison Haines-Temons. I don’t, however, have a Twitter account anymore. There were three separate occasions where I’ve had a Twitter account, but realizing it was about as useful as an asshole on my bicep, I’ve walked away several times and I have no plans to go back.
I also don’t have a smart phone like pretty much everybody does. I have a generic cell phone and even though it has texting capabilities, I don’t take advantage of them. Sending off misspelled sentences with cheesy emoticons isn’t appealing to me since I have too much respect for the English language. As far as technology goes, the only “cool” things I have are my desktop computer, Roku streaming device, and a generic MP3 player from a company that went out of business apparently.
Getting with the times isn’t something that appeals to me very much. If I want to follow a trend, I want that trend to actually have some substance to it. It’s the difference between choosing The Beastie Boys versus Lil’ Wayne or Nirvana versus…some rock band in the 2010’s I’ve never heard of before. There are things in the present day that appeal to me such as the metal bands Gemini Syndrome and Nothing More, which goes to show that it’s not about the time period something comes from, but rather the importance of its message. Rage Against the Machine is a relic from the 90’s, but their music still means something to me.
I have one last message for you all before I get into the posts about my latest artistic endeavors. Unga-bunga. Me caveman. Me want substance. Me no care about coolness! Me have ears! Me say cheers!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
The official date of this journal’s publication is October 30th, which means I still have two more days of Villains Month left. And man, do I have a villain for you guys: Ryan Brock from my most recent short story “Streetwalker”. We all know that rape is a bad thing, but Ryan Brock takes the humiliating and traumatizing act to a whole different level when he forces himself on a mage named Danielle Courtney. That’s a villain in my book!
***POISON TONGUE TALES: EDITING***
I have to be frank with you guys. Although Random.org has chosen “Death Blade” as the next short story to edit, I’m not looking forward to it at all. Don’t get me wrong, Marie’s comments never scare me. In fact, they make me laugh and feel lighthearted. It’s the actual job of editing that frightens me about “Death Blade”. It was my first official entry at the WSS Contest and Company and I wasn’t as good in late 2013 as I am now. In other words, what scares me the most…is my own unpolished writing. Maybe I’ll shelve Death Blade and choose a different one to edit for now.
***JANUARY FIRST***
I’ve been spending the past few days trying to bulldoze through another paperback book. Whenever I get in this mood, every other creative project takes a backseat with the exception of competing in WSS contests. What makes January First by Michael Schofield so special is its ability to speak to me personally. Like little Janni, I too have schizophrenia and I recognize her struggles. Watching her spiral into madness is heartbreaking and has almost brought me to tears a few times. I plan on giving this book an Extra Credit grade when I finish reading it, which it desperately needs because some troll assholes on Good Reads are peppering it with uneducated one-star reviews. I’ve heard of that kind of trolling happening to authors before, so I take good care not to believe anything those people say.
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
WYNARSKI: Excuse me, have you seen a set of keys around here?
RANDAL: No time for love, Dr. Jones.
-Clerks, a movie made in 1994 when renting movies from a video store was still “cool”-
As someone who openly admits to being a millennial who still plays with toys, being time conscious isn’t one of my strong suits. I don’t follow trends, I don’t care if an interest of mine is dated, I don’t care what’s considered cool by other people, and I’ll wear pretty much whatever I want as long as it’s comfortable. The times may have changed, but my core values have not.
It didn’t occur to me how behind in the times I was until I was editing a short story for American Darkness called “Not Gonna Die”. In this story, there’s a party going on in the main character’s dormitory and the music that’s blasting out of the speakers is “Brass Monkey” by The Beastie Boys. I know of that song, because I was born in 1985, which means I’m twelve years older than the college kids in this story. There aren’t many 18-year-olds who know who the Beastie Boys are, so in order to have realistic cool kids who keep up with the times, I chose rap music that was a little more modern in Tech N9ne. No complaints yet.
Having an old school state of mind is easy for me because nobody has challenged me on it and anybody who did was met with the same nonconformist argument I give everyone. I actually had my brother James tell me that, “Nobody listens to Disturbed anymore.” I do. I listen to them a lot. They may have been popular in the early 2000’s, but to my way of thinking, they’ve stood the test of time in the year 2015. Obviously, my older brother is very time conscious while I couldn’t give two shits what year it is.
When it comes to my writing career, however, it should stand to reason that I have a new school state of mind, because websites like Twitter and Face Book are the future of book marketing. I do have a Face Book account under my real name of Garrison Haines-Temons. I don’t, however, have a Twitter account anymore. There were three separate occasions where I’ve had a Twitter account, but realizing it was about as useful as an asshole on my bicep, I’ve walked away several times and I have no plans to go back.
I also don’t have a smart phone like pretty much everybody does. I have a generic cell phone and even though it has texting capabilities, I don’t take advantage of them. Sending off misspelled sentences with cheesy emoticons isn’t appealing to me since I have too much respect for the English language. As far as technology goes, the only “cool” things I have are my desktop computer, Roku streaming device, and a generic MP3 player from a company that went out of business apparently.
Getting with the times isn’t something that appeals to me very much. If I want to follow a trend, I want that trend to actually have some substance to it. It’s the difference between choosing The Beastie Boys versus Lil’ Wayne or Nirvana versus…some rock band in the 2010’s I’ve never heard of before. There are things in the present day that appeal to me such as the metal bands Gemini Syndrome and Nothing More, which goes to show that it’s not about the time period something comes from, but rather the importance of its message. Rage Against the Machine is a relic from the 90’s, but their music still means something to me.
I have one last message for you all before I get into the posts about my latest artistic endeavors. Unga-bunga. Me caveman. Me want substance. Me no care about coolness! Me have ears! Me say cheers!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
The official date of this journal’s publication is October 30th, which means I still have two more days of Villains Month left. And man, do I have a villain for you guys: Ryan Brock from my most recent short story “Streetwalker”. We all know that rape is a bad thing, but Ryan Brock takes the humiliating and traumatizing act to a whole different level when he forces himself on a mage named Danielle Courtney. That’s a villain in my book!
***POISON TONGUE TALES: EDITING***
I have to be frank with you guys. Although Random.org has chosen “Death Blade” as the next short story to edit, I’m not looking forward to it at all. Don’t get me wrong, Marie’s comments never scare me. In fact, they make me laugh and feel lighthearted. It’s the actual job of editing that frightens me about “Death Blade”. It was my first official entry at the WSS Contest and Company and I wasn’t as good in late 2013 as I am now. In other words, what scares me the most…is my own unpolished writing. Maybe I’ll shelve Death Blade and choose a different one to edit for now.
***JANUARY FIRST***
I’ve been spending the past few days trying to bulldoze through another paperback book. Whenever I get in this mood, every other creative project takes a backseat with the exception of competing in WSS contests. What makes January First by Michael Schofield so special is its ability to speak to me personally. Like little Janni, I too have schizophrenia and I recognize her struggles. Watching her spiral into madness is heartbreaking and has almost brought me to tears a few times. I plan on giving this book an Extra Credit grade when I finish reading it, which it desperately needs because some troll assholes on Good Reads are peppering it with uneducated one-star reviews. I’ve heard of that kind of trolling happening to authors before, so I take good care not to believe anything those people say.
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
WYNARSKI: Excuse me, have you seen a set of keys around here?
RANDAL: No time for love, Dr. Jones.
-Clerks, a movie made in 1994 when renting movies from a video store was still “cool”-
Saturday, October 24, 2015
Streetwalker
Danielle Courtney looked stunning in her wizardly dress. The predominately black overtones brought out her dark side, but it was the green and purple flame patterns that struck fear into the hearts of overzealous men. And yet, she needed the attention of as many men as possible given her nightly profession, so her mysterious dress had a long slit in her left leg and a low-cut top as well. Her outfit alone told any potential client that she could make their dreams come true, but also their nightmares if they got too frisky. With black lipstick, flowing black hair, and red ruby high heels to complete her ensemble, tonight was the perfect night for some fun.
The cool and crisp evening had been one of clear streets and loud partying from within the bars and taverns. Danielle could easily scope out clients from within those bars, but given their inebriation levels and her limited magical abilities, the night might not go according to plan. She kept walking the streets in her killer heels until she spotted a rather muscular looking man standing at the corner with his brawny arms folded and his villainous smile concentrated on her.
As soon as Danielle got closer into the light, she could make out the man’s features much more easily: a black Mohawk, clean shaven beard, and pieces of meat stuck between his teeth. This man was a celebrity in this town. He was Ryan Brock, a barbaric warrior who spent his days hunting gigantic animals in the woods and bringing the carcasses back to sell as meat to the highest bidder. Clearly, Mr. Brock was looking for a different kind of fresh meat judging from his devilish grin, which struck a little bit of fear in Danielle Courtney’s heart.
“You look stunning in that dress. Hell, you’d look stunning no matter what you were wearing. I bet you smell good too. Let me ask you something, miss: how much are you?” said Ryan. There were several other ways he could have phrased that question that would have been less offensive. “How much for your services?” would have been nice. “Can I have some company for the evening?” would have been even better. But “How much are you?” really got under Danielle’s skin. Nevertheless, she had a job to do if she wanted to stay in wizard school.
The lady of the night smiled right back at her new client and said, “One-thousand gold pieces should do just nicely.”
Ryan laughed and said, “Goddamn, you’re driving a hard bargain. If I have to pay that much money, it must mean you’ve…done this before!” There he went again with another vulgar expression that made Danielle feel cheaper than the price she was offering. Nevertheless, he tossed her a sack full of gold coins and said, “It’s a done deal.”
Danielle opened the pouch and counted her money. All one-thousand pieces were there. “Very good, Mr. Brock. I trust your meat sales are doing nicely. Come with me. There’s an inn across the way we can stay at.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” said Ryan before he gripped his new woman’s hand tightly. “I’ve got an even better place to do this. It’ll be nice and secure and you’ll…get more business out of it!”
The wizard prostitute used her free hand to cast a spark spell on the barbarian’s hand, the sharp pain forcing him to release his painfully tight grip. Both client and businesswoman shook the pain out of their hands and got some blood flowing yet again. Danielle said in a stern voice, “Let’s make one thing clear, Mr. Brock. I don’t care how much of a celebrity you are around here. I don’t care how many people you’ve killed in your so called ‘epic battles’. My rules apply to you as well as every other man who propositions me for business.”
Ryan Brock laughed out loud and said, “Alright, little lady. We’ll do things your way. But if you use any of that hocus pocus shit on me again, I might have to break more than your ‘business rules’. I’m not the kind of guy you can afford to miss if you throw one of them fireballs at me from your fucking fingertips.”
Danielle tossed the bag of money back at her now former client and said, “You know what? I don’t need this shit. I’ll find another client, probably one who isn’t anywhere near as disgusting as you!”
“Bitch, you’re in the wrong business if you think you can cherry pick your own clients,” said Ryan. “Hell, I don’t get to choose who I fight most of the time. They just come to me looking to throw down and if I don’t give them what they want, they’ll leave me bloody and bruised on the sidewalk. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Except you don’t want any part of that, because you’re too much of an arrogant bitch.”
“Here’s the deal,” said Danielle while folding her arms in contempt. “I’m going to turn around and walk away. If you come after me, I’ll have no choice but to…”
“But to what? Throw some more sparks at me? Give me a break, woman,” said Ryan while cracking his knuckles and slowly approaching the lady of the night. “This is going to be a cakewalk. I don’t normally get the chance to fight a magical bitch like you. But trust me, pumpkin: this won’t last eight rounds!”
Danielle kicked off her high-heeled shoes and ran barefoot in the other direction, but Ryan was monstrously athletic and caught up to her with so little effort. He bear hugged her kicking and screaming as the two of them went into a dark alley together. Danielle had to think of a spell to cast quickly, but she was only a novice at what she did and had a limited range of what she could cast.
Ryan threw the wizard on her back hard against the concrete, taking the wind out of her while the barbarian smiled evilly at her from above. “You want to say no to me?” he said. “We’ll see how those two little letters work out for you from here on in.” With Danielle still trying to regain her breath, the warrior laid on top of her and held her arms down with almost crippling force.
And then…her first idea for a spell came to her. She obviously couldn’t use her arms, so she shot lightning bolts out of her eyes, burning a hole in Ryan’s forehead. After he got off of her and danced around holding his wound in pain, Danielle thought she had it all figured out, that she would just get up and run away from all of this.
She was able to stand up after catching her breath, but at that same time, Ryan had said, “Just kidding!” and stopped hopping in pain. He removed his massive hand from his forehead and revealed that the ashen wound didn’t even penetrate his skull. It looked more like a cigar burn than the result of a magic spell.
Danielle clenched her fists and her teeth tightly knowing she was in a fight for her life. Orange energy swirled around her as she got the inspiration for another magic spell. Ryan continued his arrogant posturing with his sarcastic facial expression and hands on his hips. It would appear he would pay for his mockery when the wizard threw a rainstorm of fireballs, lightning bolts, and glacial spikes his way.
A multi-colored magical aura formed around Ryan like this deadly spell was going to consume him completely. Danielle continued to throw energy until she was so exhausted from doing so that she fell to her knees and panted heavily. She didn’t want to look up to see if her magic had actually worked this time. She just knelt down on the pavement and sobbed to herself.
She had even more reason to sob when she felt an ashen, yet muscular hand on her shoulder with the same gravelly voice that said, “That was a hell of a light show, honey. But you forgot one important thing. In order to cast a spell properly…you need the world’s biggest magic wand!”
With a mixture of tears, trauma, and darkness washing over her, the next few moments were a blur for Danielle Courtney. She seemed to stay in that state of numbness for eternity and she had no illusions about what Ryan Brock was doing to her. It was vile. It was disgusting. It was the longest period of misery she had ever experience. She may have had sex for a living, but being raped and molested was not part of her resume until that night.
Danielle finally came to hours after the dirty deed had been done to her. She was sore all over and her beautiful dress was torn to shreds. She was bleeding heavily from her groin and sobbing hysterically as she saw the remains of what was once a delicate flower. Even though Ryan Brock was gone and couldn’t hear her, she said in a slow whisper, “You will pay for this. You…must…die!”
The broken prostitute crawled on her hands and knees and painfully dragged herself over to where Ryan dropped several bags full of gold coins. Except he didn’t drop them on purpose. Danielle actually had a plan in mind. In her magical flurry of madness, she aimed most of those projectiles at his sash and belt, where the money was kept. He had more than one-thousand gold pieces on him. In fact, carrying that much money could have counted as strength training.
Ryan took off without ever knowing he left that much money behind. And now it all belonged to Danielle, who swore to herself that she would spend the money not only on wizard school tuition, but also for advanced and doctorate classes. By the time her studies were over, she would be the most powerful wizard on the planet. Then and only then would she be able to exact her revenge on the ultra-powerful Ryan Brock.
Learning magic of such a high degree would take years. At first Danielle didn’t think she could handle that much schooling. But after tonight, her focus was tighter than ever. She would hold the image of Ryan’s disgusting face in her mind for as long as she was attending classes. That was her motivation to graduate: knowing one day she would be a powerful enough wizard to rain Armageddon flames down upon the one man who ruined her life. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And hell was waiting patiently for Ryan Brock.
The cool and crisp evening had been one of clear streets and loud partying from within the bars and taverns. Danielle could easily scope out clients from within those bars, but given their inebriation levels and her limited magical abilities, the night might not go according to plan. She kept walking the streets in her killer heels until she spotted a rather muscular looking man standing at the corner with his brawny arms folded and his villainous smile concentrated on her.
As soon as Danielle got closer into the light, she could make out the man’s features much more easily: a black Mohawk, clean shaven beard, and pieces of meat stuck between his teeth. This man was a celebrity in this town. He was Ryan Brock, a barbaric warrior who spent his days hunting gigantic animals in the woods and bringing the carcasses back to sell as meat to the highest bidder. Clearly, Mr. Brock was looking for a different kind of fresh meat judging from his devilish grin, which struck a little bit of fear in Danielle Courtney’s heart.
“You look stunning in that dress. Hell, you’d look stunning no matter what you were wearing. I bet you smell good too. Let me ask you something, miss: how much are you?” said Ryan. There were several other ways he could have phrased that question that would have been less offensive. “How much for your services?” would have been nice. “Can I have some company for the evening?” would have been even better. But “How much are you?” really got under Danielle’s skin. Nevertheless, she had a job to do if she wanted to stay in wizard school.
The lady of the night smiled right back at her new client and said, “One-thousand gold pieces should do just nicely.”
Ryan laughed and said, “Goddamn, you’re driving a hard bargain. If I have to pay that much money, it must mean you’ve…done this before!” There he went again with another vulgar expression that made Danielle feel cheaper than the price she was offering. Nevertheless, he tossed her a sack full of gold coins and said, “It’s a done deal.”
Danielle opened the pouch and counted her money. All one-thousand pieces were there. “Very good, Mr. Brock. I trust your meat sales are doing nicely. Come with me. There’s an inn across the way we can stay at.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” said Ryan before he gripped his new woman’s hand tightly. “I’ve got an even better place to do this. It’ll be nice and secure and you’ll…get more business out of it!”
The wizard prostitute used her free hand to cast a spark spell on the barbarian’s hand, the sharp pain forcing him to release his painfully tight grip. Both client and businesswoman shook the pain out of their hands and got some blood flowing yet again. Danielle said in a stern voice, “Let’s make one thing clear, Mr. Brock. I don’t care how much of a celebrity you are around here. I don’t care how many people you’ve killed in your so called ‘epic battles’. My rules apply to you as well as every other man who propositions me for business.”
Ryan Brock laughed out loud and said, “Alright, little lady. We’ll do things your way. But if you use any of that hocus pocus shit on me again, I might have to break more than your ‘business rules’. I’m not the kind of guy you can afford to miss if you throw one of them fireballs at me from your fucking fingertips.”
Danielle tossed the bag of money back at her now former client and said, “You know what? I don’t need this shit. I’ll find another client, probably one who isn’t anywhere near as disgusting as you!”
“Bitch, you’re in the wrong business if you think you can cherry pick your own clients,” said Ryan. “Hell, I don’t get to choose who I fight most of the time. They just come to me looking to throw down and if I don’t give them what they want, they’ll leave me bloody and bruised on the sidewalk. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Except you don’t want any part of that, because you’re too much of an arrogant bitch.”
“Here’s the deal,” said Danielle while folding her arms in contempt. “I’m going to turn around and walk away. If you come after me, I’ll have no choice but to…”
“But to what? Throw some more sparks at me? Give me a break, woman,” said Ryan while cracking his knuckles and slowly approaching the lady of the night. “This is going to be a cakewalk. I don’t normally get the chance to fight a magical bitch like you. But trust me, pumpkin: this won’t last eight rounds!”
Danielle kicked off her high-heeled shoes and ran barefoot in the other direction, but Ryan was monstrously athletic and caught up to her with so little effort. He bear hugged her kicking and screaming as the two of them went into a dark alley together. Danielle had to think of a spell to cast quickly, but she was only a novice at what she did and had a limited range of what she could cast.
Ryan threw the wizard on her back hard against the concrete, taking the wind out of her while the barbarian smiled evilly at her from above. “You want to say no to me?” he said. “We’ll see how those two little letters work out for you from here on in.” With Danielle still trying to regain her breath, the warrior laid on top of her and held her arms down with almost crippling force.
And then…her first idea for a spell came to her. She obviously couldn’t use her arms, so she shot lightning bolts out of her eyes, burning a hole in Ryan’s forehead. After he got off of her and danced around holding his wound in pain, Danielle thought she had it all figured out, that she would just get up and run away from all of this.
She was able to stand up after catching her breath, but at that same time, Ryan had said, “Just kidding!” and stopped hopping in pain. He removed his massive hand from his forehead and revealed that the ashen wound didn’t even penetrate his skull. It looked more like a cigar burn than the result of a magic spell.
Danielle clenched her fists and her teeth tightly knowing she was in a fight for her life. Orange energy swirled around her as she got the inspiration for another magic spell. Ryan continued his arrogant posturing with his sarcastic facial expression and hands on his hips. It would appear he would pay for his mockery when the wizard threw a rainstorm of fireballs, lightning bolts, and glacial spikes his way.
A multi-colored magical aura formed around Ryan like this deadly spell was going to consume him completely. Danielle continued to throw energy until she was so exhausted from doing so that she fell to her knees and panted heavily. She didn’t want to look up to see if her magic had actually worked this time. She just knelt down on the pavement and sobbed to herself.
She had even more reason to sob when she felt an ashen, yet muscular hand on her shoulder with the same gravelly voice that said, “That was a hell of a light show, honey. But you forgot one important thing. In order to cast a spell properly…you need the world’s biggest magic wand!”
With a mixture of tears, trauma, and darkness washing over her, the next few moments were a blur for Danielle Courtney. She seemed to stay in that state of numbness for eternity and she had no illusions about what Ryan Brock was doing to her. It was vile. It was disgusting. It was the longest period of misery she had ever experience. She may have had sex for a living, but being raped and molested was not part of her resume until that night.
Danielle finally came to hours after the dirty deed had been done to her. She was sore all over and her beautiful dress was torn to shreds. She was bleeding heavily from her groin and sobbing hysterically as she saw the remains of what was once a delicate flower. Even though Ryan Brock was gone and couldn’t hear her, she said in a slow whisper, “You will pay for this. You…must…die!”
The broken prostitute crawled on her hands and knees and painfully dragged herself over to where Ryan dropped several bags full of gold coins. Except he didn’t drop them on purpose. Danielle actually had a plan in mind. In her magical flurry of madness, she aimed most of those projectiles at his sash and belt, where the money was kept. He had more than one-thousand gold pieces on him. In fact, carrying that much money could have counted as strength training.
Ryan took off without ever knowing he left that much money behind. And now it all belonged to Danielle, who swore to herself that she would spend the money not only on wizard school tuition, but also for advanced and doctorate classes. By the time her studies were over, she would be the most powerful wizard on the planet. Then and only then would she be able to exact her revenge on the ultra-powerful Ryan Brock.
Learning magic of such a high degree would take years. At first Danielle didn’t think she could handle that much schooling. But after tonight, her focus was tighter than ever. She would hold the image of Ryan’s disgusting face in her mind for as long as she was attending classes. That was her motivation to graduate: knowing one day she would be a powerful enough wizard to rain Armageddon flames down upon the one man who ruined her life. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And hell was waiting patiently for Ryan Brock.
Friday, October 23, 2015
New Orleans Vacation: Round Two
***NEW ORLEANS VACATION: ROUND TWO***
Next Friday, as in October 30th, the day before Halloween, Mom, Dale, and I are getting on an airplane to New Orleans for a Halloween vacation on Bourbon Street. I’ve been to New Orleans before and that was in 2011, when I was also on a cruise ship trekking through South America. The necromantic party animal culture of that city is very appealing despite me being a hardcore introvert. I’ll fit right in when I put on my navy blue jumpsuit and Slipknot mask for a night of Halloween fun. I’ve been meaning to take a selfie of me in my Slipknot costume, but I don’t have a smart phone and I haven’t been able to get anybody to take the picture using my regular camera. Don’t worry, the picture will come in due time. Plus, since I’m wearing a creepy mask, it won’t matter if I smile or not. Hehe!
Just like with any vacation I take, my time in a new city will mean time away from the internet. For Deviant Art, that means no new pieces of art will be uploaded during that time. For the WSS group on Good Reads, it means I’ll take a one-week sabbatical from the contests (though I still plan on competing in the “Patterns” prompt). For Face Book, it means my “heavy metal for the day” and “Ungrateful Mind Rewired” posts will be nonexistent (sorry, Jamie!).
But just like all good things, my vacation in New Orleans will eventually end and I’ll be back home to get the creative juices flowing yet again. I leave on Friday, October 30th and I return home on Wednesday, November 4th. As much as I love spending time with my online family, a break from the everyday grind is just what the doctor ordered. I opted out of the Steamboat Springs vacation back in September, though that was the right choice because sitting on my ass during long car rides would have driven me fucking nuts. New Orleans will be a better choice for me, so I’m definitely getting on that plane.
If you’re planning on robbing my house while I’m away, there are two things you need to know. One, you’ll never find it in a million years. Two, even if you do, you’ll have a pissed off older brother and a spitfire niece to contend with. I don’t like your odds. Hehe! We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***POISON TONGUE TALES: WRITING***
With the arrival of a new week at the WSS Contest and Company, I have a story on deck for their “patterns” prompt called “Streetwalker” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Ryan Brock, Barbarian John
Danielle Courtney, Dark Mage Prostitute
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The patterned purple and green flames on Danielle’s predominately black dress give her an aura of mysticism and magic, which her customers either find appealing or intimidating.
SYNOPSIS: In a D&D setting, Ryan is looking for a prostitute as a way of celebrating his latest brutal conquest. He finds one in Danielle, who is using the money to pay for wizard school. When Ryan becomes too aggressive with her, Danielle shows him just how powerful her magic really is.
And then there will be a short story I’ll work on independently called “Born to Die” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
India Malakar, Elf Monk
Jill Henderson, Space Mercenary
The “Born to Die” Space Mercenaries
Bartender
SYNOPSIS: Jill and her mercenary team are celebrating a completed mission where they burned down a village that refused to pay them protection money. While they’re drinking heavily at a bar, screaming loudly, and annoying the bartender, a young boy named India enters the bar seeking revenge for his fallen village brethren. There are many mercenaries and only one India Malakar. In order for the martial artist to win this battle, he has to learn to control his aggressive feelings and fight with a calm and clear mind. As long as vengeful thoughts take over his brain, he’s doomed to end up just like his fellow villagers.
***POISON TONGUE TALES: EDITING***
When I went to Random.org’s number generator and selected a short story to edit, the one it chose was…(gulp)…Death Blade. If you’re wondering why I nervously gulped just now, it’s because this short story was my first official entry at the WSS back in late 2013 and it’s the one I’m least proud of. I know we as authors always feel like our past works suck the most, but Death Blade really has me rattled. Even Marie thought it was a bizarre story and that’s saying something, because her imagination is even more colorful than mine. Wish me luck!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
In the interest of continuing the theme of Villains Month as imposed by my good friend Zero Urrea, the next drawing to come from this series will be of Michael Demonkill. You’ve never heard of him before because he’s a Blood Brawl character who doesn’t appear until the middle of the novel. He’s an orcish dark paladin who dresses in even creepier clothes and has a nastier disposition than Ivan Blackstone. Hell, those two orcs are eventually going to meet and it’s going to be an R-rated gore fest. Yikes!
***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
SUSAN: Garrison, are you laying in the dark listening to foo-foo night-night music again?
GARRISON: Yep.
SUSAN: Garrison, that’s depressing! You need to find something fun to do!
GARRISON: Like what? Drawing a picture of Elmer Fudd cutting off Bugs Bunny’s head?
SUSAN: No! No yucky pictures!
Next Friday, as in October 30th, the day before Halloween, Mom, Dale, and I are getting on an airplane to New Orleans for a Halloween vacation on Bourbon Street. I’ve been to New Orleans before and that was in 2011, when I was also on a cruise ship trekking through South America. The necromantic party animal culture of that city is very appealing despite me being a hardcore introvert. I’ll fit right in when I put on my navy blue jumpsuit and Slipknot mask for a night of Halloween fun. I’ve been meaning to take a selfie of me in my Slipknot costume, but I don’t have a smart phone and I haven’t been able to get anybody to take the picture using my regular camera. Don’t worry, the picture will come in due time. Plus, since I’m wearing a creepy mask, it won’t matter if I smile or not. Hehe!
Just like with any vacation I take, my time in a new city will mean time away from the internet. For Deviant Art, that means no new pieces of art will be uploaded during that time. For the WSS group on Good Reads, it means I’ll take a one-week sabbatical from the contests (though I still plan on competing in the “Patterns” prompt). For Face Book, it means my “heavy metal for the day” and “Ungrateful Mind Rewired” posts will be nonexistent (sorry, Jamie!).
But just like all good things, my vacation in New Orleans will eventually end and I’ll be back home to get the creative juices flowing yet again. I leave on Friday, October 30th and I return home on Wednesday, November 4th. As much as I love spending time with my online family, a break from the everyday grind is just what the doctor ordered. I opted out of the Steamboat Springs vacation back in September, though that was the right choice because sitting on my ass during long car rides would have driven me fucking nuts. New Orleans will be a better choice for me, so I’m definitely getting on that plane.
If you’re planning on robbing my house while I’m away, there are two things you need to know. One, you’ll never find it in a million years. Two, even if you do, you’ll have a pissed off older brother and a spitfire niece to contend with. I don’t like your odds. Hehe! We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***POISON TONGUE TALES: WRITING***
With the arrival of a new week at the WSS Contest and Company, I have a story on deck for their “patterns” prompt called “Streetwalker” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Ryan Brock, Barbarian John
Danielle Courtney, Dark Mage Prostitute
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The patterned purple and green flames on Danielle’s predominately black dress give her an aura of mysticism and magic, which her customers either find appealing or intimidating.
SYNOPSIS: In a D&D setting, Ryan is looking for a prostitute as a way of celebrating his latest brutal conquest. He finds one in Danielle, who is using the money to pay for wizard school. When Ryan becomes too aggressive with her, Danielle shows him just how powerful her magic really is.
And then there will be a short story I’ll work on independently called “Born to Die” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
India Malakar, Elf Monk
Jill Henderson, Space Mercenary
The “Born to Die” Space Mercenaries
Bartender
SYNOPSIS: Jill and her mercenary team are celebrating a completed mission where they burned down a village that refused to pay them protection money. While they’re drinking heavily at a bar, screaming loudly, and annoying the bartender, a young boy named India enters the bar seeking revenge for his fallen village brethren. There are many mercenaries and only one India Malakar. In order for the martial artist to win this battle, he has to learn to control his aggressive feelings and fight with a calm and clear mind. As long as vengeful thoughts take over his brain, he’s doomed to end up just like his fellow villagers.
***POISON TONGUE TALES: EDITING***
When I went to Random.org’s number generator and selected a short story to edit, the one it chose was…(gulp)…Death Blade. If you’re wondering why I nervously gulped just now, it’s because this short story was my first official entry at the WSS back in late 2013 and it’s the one I’m least proud of. I know we as authors always feel like our past works suck the most, but Death Blade really has me rattled. Even Marie thought it was a bizarre story and that’s saying something, because her imagination is even more colorful than mine. Wish me luck!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
In the interest of continuing the theme of Villains Month as imposed by my good friend Zero Urrea, the next drawing to come from this series will be of Michael Demonkill. You’ve never heard of him before because he’s a Blood Brawl character who doesn’t appear until the middle of the novel. He’s an orcish dark paladin who dresses in even creepier clothes and has a nastier disposition than Ivan Blackstone. Hell, those two orcs are eventually going to meet and it’s going to be an R-rated gore fest. Yikes!
***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
SUSAN: Garrison, are you laying in the dark listening to foo-foo night-night music again?
GARRISON: Yep.
SUSAN: Garrison, that’s depressing! You need to find something fun to do!
GARRISON: Like what? Drawing a picture of Elmer Fudd cutting off Bugs Bunny’s head?
SUSAN: No! No yucky pictures!
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Sage Against the Machine
Caitlin Sparks was a one woman wrecking crew, yet she couldn’t overthrow an entire oppressive government by herself. She wasn’t always alone. She had many comrades to help her in her quest to overthrow Dark-Law, Jr., a powerful sorcerer who unlike his father used futuristic technology rather than medieval magic to take over this world. One by one, each of Caitlin’s warriors fell by the zap of a laser, a burst of a flamethrower, or a bullet from a depleted uranium rifle. If she had a dime for every tear she cried since then, she’d be an oligarch.
Her only hope for completing her rebellion against the unjust dictatorship rested within the hands of an elderly sage named Eli Magruder. After slashing her way through several drones and armored soldiers with her oversized sword, Caitlin finally located the wise one’s temple. Except it didn’t look much like a temple. It was more like a brick compound with various runes carved into the walls, some of them spray painted like graffiti.
The rebel warrior scratched her raven pony tailed head in confusion as to whether or not she was actually at the right address. For all she knew, Eli Magruder could just be a ghost and the whole thing could be one huge trap. She shrugged her shoulders and walked tiredly across the dirt field with only lightning bolts from the gray sky to illuminate her way. It had been a long journey complete with battles, loss, and general exhaustion. There better be a fucking sage here, Caitlin thought to herself.
Once she trekked past the dirt field, she dragged herself up the stone stairs to the front entrance and knocked on the rickety wooden doors, both of which falling off with the slightest of contact. Some temple, Caitlin said in her mind. The interior of the building was pitch black until a flame path lit up in front of her, leading to a seven-foot tall mountain of a man with a scraggly white beard, a black tank top, and brown khakis. Worst of all, he was wearing a black sheep’s mask. Not what anybody would call sagely, but Caitlin Sparks decided to play long…for now.
She carefully walked along the fiery path and approached the man she perceived as the wise Eli Magruder, who was sitting in a wooden rocking chair with even more languidness than shell-shocked Caitlin. The sword slinger got on one knee and bowed to her sage in a show of respect. Or fear, depending on how creepy this man really was.
“You must be Caitlin,” said Eli in a gravelly monster voice. “You’ve come a long way just to see me. I’ve been expecting you. If you’re looking for an ally in your fight against. Dark-Law, Jr., I can’t provide you assistance with that. I may look like a titan, but I am still too old to be slinging magic spells on the battlefield with you.”
“I understand if you’re not feeling up to the task,” said Caitlin. “I didn’t come here for extra soldiers. Lord knows I’ve led many of them to their doom already. I’m here merely to seek your wisdom and counsel. Perhaps you have advice on how to combat Dark-Law, Jr. and his forces.”
“I’ve certainly seen what his minions are capable of. Too much bloodshed. Too much oppression. Too much starvation. And there’s not one person who’s been able to weaken his iron grip over this world. If you want advice on how to defeat this madman and bring peace to our world again, it’s this.” Eli took a deep breath and removed his sheep’s mask. “Fall in line. Just fall in line and nobody will get hurt.”
Caitlin stood back up and furrowed her eyebrows at the “wise advice” she was given. “That’s it? I came all this way and had many men and women die on my watch so that I could hear that? That’s your genius plan? Just let Dark-Law, Jr. do whatever the hell he wants?”
“This is clearly not what you were expecting and I can tell you’re disappointed,” said Eli. “However, this is all I have to give you. The reason your warriors have died is because you keep pushing forward in a battle you can’t win. If there were no battles, your soldiers would still be alive.”
“That’s bullshit!” screamed Caitlin. “Dark-Law, Jr. has been killing off people left and right whether they rebelled against him or not! He’s a bully! He gets off on that crap! He thinks this planet is his own personal coliseum! You may be okay with what’s going on here, but I’m too busy trying to change the world to listen to your bullshit! Fuck this, I’m out of here!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Sparks, I can’t allow you to leave,” said Eli as he stood up and clinched his fists, purple energy swirling around them.
“Old man, you’re in no position to threaten me or to give me orders!” yelled Caitlin as she drew her massive sword. “I wasted a long journey coming here and all you gave me was cereal box advice! I think I’m entitled to handle this on my own considering you have the intelligence and wisdom of a packet of ketchup!”
“You may not like it!” screamed Eli so powerfully that he knocked Caitlin back and caused her to raise her eyebrows in fear. “But that’s the way the world works. You’re welcome to stay in my temple for as long as you need to. In fact, I won’t let you go anywhere else. Not while there’s still death and destruction around.”
“You bastard!” shouted Caitlin when she ran at Eli full force and swung her oversized blade, intending to decapitate him. A green aura was protecting the elderly sage and when the sword made contact, it bounced out of the attacker’s hands and skidded across the floor into the darkness. Unable to accept the fact she was screwed, Caitlin threw wild punches and kicks at the wizard, still no effect.
“My turn, you spoiled bitch!” screamed Eli as he wrapped his massive hands around Caitlin’s throat and hoisted her in the air, her feet dangling beneath her. As she struggled for oxygen, she tried to pry his huge hands loose and even kicked him in the balls for good measure. Nothing. Not one dent. It didn’t take long before Caitlin’s lungs flattened, her neck was sore, and her vision was as black as the rest of the temple.
Caitlin was left in the dark for what seemed like days, maybe even months. In reality, it had only been hours since she was choked out by the massive Eli Magruder, who was supposedly too old for combat. When the battle-hardened woman finally came to, her throat was sore, her eyes felt like they were going to pop out, and she had a monstrous headache. She didn’t wait to fully recover when she felt around for a sense of her surroundings.
Once again, she was left in the dark, but this time for a much more disturbing reason. She was kept in a claustrophobia-inducing space with wood paneling on both sides of her, against her back, and in front of her. This could only mean one thing. The so-called “wise one” locked her in a coffin and quite possibly buried her underground.
Tears formed in Caitlin’s pain-wracked eyes as she kept saying, “No!” to herself and pounding the lid to the coffin. “Let me out of here!” she screamed in desperation. “Let me out of here, you have no right to keep me here! Please! You can’t do this to me! I’ll stay with you if you just let me out!”
Not one vocal response. She truly was all alone in that coffin. She cried several more tears as she thought about all the times she let her fellow warriors down. So many deaths. So many fathers and mothers without children. So many children without parents. So many wives without husbands. A trail of broken homes was all Caitlin Sparks left behind, even more so than Dark-Law, Jr. could have done himself. Her death by starvation in this coffin would be the final blow against a rebellion that never was. No wonder her eyes were flooding with tears.
And then she heard Eli’s voice once again, this time saying, “Okay, okay, just wait a minute! Haven’t you kids got any patience?!” The crying stopped. Her coffin was being lifted out of whatever hole it was kept in and the lid was pulled off with relative ease by the monstrous Eli Magruder, who then proceeded to pull Caitlin out of the box and show her that she had been in the backyard of the temple this whole time.
Caitlin Sparks wasn’t going to wait for an explanation. She continued to throw punches at her assailant, but these ones were more like emotional slaps than real combative blows. She screamed obscenities at him while Eli held her arms and tried to calm him down. With these words, her assault came to an end: “The drones are gone.”
“…What?”
“I gave you that crappy advice because there were drones flying over my temple. I buried you back here to make them think you were dead and done for and that I was just a crazy old man. The whole speech about conformity was a trick.”
As Caitlin looked at her new mentor in disbelief, Eli handed her back her sword and said, “As long as Dark-Law, Jr. doesn’t think you’re a threat anymore, he won’t see you coming when you finally lop off his head. You came to my temple for advice? Here it is: stealth and brains will always win over brute force and brawn. I helped you with the stealth part, now all you have to do is maintain your cover. I believe you can do it, Miss Sparks. I know you can.”
Caitlin clutched her sword handle with a newfound strength and looked into Eli’s eyes with a mixture of anger and focus. The anger wasn’t directed at him. On the contrary, she was thankful he went out of his way for her like that. The anger and rage was all for Dark-Law, Jr. She would take every ounce of that rage on him with one blow.
“Trust me when I say this, Master Magruder,” said Caitlin with newfound respect for him. “I’m bring you that son of a bitch’s head on a silver platter. Not just for me, but for you and everyone else he has slaughtered mercilessly. If I have to be slow and careful, then that’s how I’ll do it. I owe you big time, Master.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Miss Sparks…except Dark-Law, Jr.’s head!”
Her only hope for completing her rebellion against the unjust dictatorship rested within the hands of an elderly sage named Eli Magruder. After slashing her way through several drones and armored soldiers with her oversized sword, Caitlin finally located the wise one’s temple. Except it didn’t look much like a temple. It was more like a brick compound with various runes carved into the walls, some of them spray painted like graffiti.
The rebel warrior scratched her raven pony tailed head in confusion as to whether or not she was actually at the right address. For all she knew, Eli Magruder could just be a ghost and the whole thing could be one huge trap. She shrugged her shoulders and walked tiredly across the dirt field with only lightning bolts from the gray sky to illuminate her way. It had been a long journey complete with battles, loss, and general exhaustion. There better be a fucking sage here, Caitlin thought to herself.
Once she trekked past the dirt field, she dragged herself up the stone stairs to the front entrance and knocked on the rickety wooden doors, both of which falling off with the slightest of contact. Some temple, Caitlin said in her mind. The interior of the building was pitch black until a flame path lit up in front of her, leading to a seven-foot tall mountain of a man with a scraggly white beard, a black tank top, and brown khakis. Worst of all, he was wearing a black sheep’s mask. Not what anybody would call sagely, but Caitlin Sparks decided to play long…for now.
She carefully walked along the fiery path and approached the man she perceived as the wise Eli Magruder, who was sitting in a wooden rocking chair with even more languidness than shell-shocked Caitlin. The sword slinger got on one knee and bowed to her sage in a show of respect. Or fear, depending on how creepy this man really was.
“You must be Caitlin,” said Eli in a gravelly monster voice. “You’ve come a long way just to see me. I’ve been expecting you. If you’re looking for an ally in your fight against. Dark-Law, Jr., I can’t provide you assistance with that. I may look like a titan, but I am still too old to be slinging magic spells on the battlefield with you.”
“I understand if you’re not feeling up to the task,” said Caitlin. “I didn’t come here for extra soldiers. Lord knows I’ve led many of them to their doom already. I’m here merely to seek your wisdom and counsel. Perhaps you have advice on how to combat Dark-Law, Jr. and his forces.”
“I’ve certainly seen what his minions are capable of. Too much bloodshed. Too much oppression. Too much starvation. And there’s not one person who’s been able to weaken his iron grip over this world. If you want advice on how to defeat this madman and bring peace to our world again, it’s this.” Eli took a deep breath and removed his sheep’s mask. “Fall in line. Just fall in line and nobody will get hurt.”
Caitlin stood back up and furrowed her eyebrows at the “wise advice” she was given. “That’s it? I came all this way and had many men and women die on my watch so that I could hear that? That’s your genius plan? Just let Dark-Law, Jr. do whatever the hell he wants?”
“This is clearly not what you were expecting and I can tell you’re disappointed,” said Eli. “However, this is all I have to give you. The reason your warriors have died is because you keep pushing forward in a battle you can’t win. If there were no battles, your soldiers would still be alive.”
“That’s bullshit!” screamed Caitlin. “Dark-Law, Jr. has been killing off people left and right whether they rebelled against him or not! He’s a bully! He gets off on that crap! He thinks this planet is his own personal coliseum! You may be okay with what’s going on here, but I’m too busy trying to change the world to listen to your bullshit! Fuck this, I’m out of here!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Sparks, I can’t allow you to leave,” said Eli as he stood up and clinched his fists, purple energy swirling around them.
“Old man, you’re in no position to threaten me or to give me orders!” yelled Caitlin as she drew her massive sword. “I wasted a long journey coming here and all you gave me was cereal box advice! I think I’m entitled to handle this on my own considering you have the intelligence and wisdom of a packet of ketchup!”
“You may not like it!” screamed Eli so powerfully that he knocked Caitlin back and caused her to raise her eyebrows in fear. “But that’s the way the world works. You’re welcome to stay in my temple for as long as you need to. In fact, I won’t let you go anywhere else. Not while there’s still death and destruction around.”
“You bastard!” shouted Caitlin when she ran at Eli full force and swung her oversized blade, intending to decapitate him. A green aura was protecting the elderly sage and when the sword made contact, it bounced out of the attacker’s hands and skidded across the floor into the darkness. Unable to accept the fact she was screwed, Caitlin threw wild punches and kicks at the wizard, still no effect.
“My turn, you spoiled bitch!” screamed Eli as he wrapped his massive hands around Caitlin’s throat and hoisted her in the air, her feet dangling beneath her. As she struggled for oxygen, she tried to pry his huge hands loose and even kicked him in the balls for good measure. Nothing. Not one dent. It didn’t take long before Caitlin’s lungs flattened, her neck was sore, and her vision was as black as the rest of the temple.
Caitlin was left in the dark for what seemed like days, maybe even months. In reality, it had only been hours since she was choked out by the massive Eli Magruder, who was supposedly too old for combat. When the battle-hardened woman finally came to, her throat was sore, her eyes felt like they were going to pop out, and she had a monstrous headache. She didn’t wait to fully recover when she felt around for a sense of her surroundings.
Once again, she was left in the dark, but this time for a much more disturbing reason. She was kept in a claustrophobia-inducing space with wood paneling on both sides of her, against her back, and in front of her. This could only mean one thing. The so-called “wise one” locked her in a coffin and quite possibly buried her underground.
Tears formed in Caitlin’s pain-wracked eyes as she kept saying, “No!” to herself and pounding the lid to the coffin. “Let me out of here!” she screamed in desperation. “Let me out of here, you have no right to keep me here! Please! You can’t do this to me! I’ll stay with you if you just let me out!”
Not one vocal response. She truly was all alone in that coffin. She cried several more tears as she thought about all the times she let her fellow warriors down. So many deaths. So many fathers and mothers without children. So many children without parents. So many wives without husbands. A trail of broken homes was all Caitlin Sparks left behind, even more so than Dark-Law, Jr. could have done himself. Her death by starvation in this coffin would be the final blow against a rebellion that never was. No wonder her eyes were flooding with tears.
And then she heard Eli’s voice once again, this time saying, “Okay, okay, just wait a minute! Haven’t you kids got any patience?!” The crying stopped. Her coffin was being lifted out of whatever hole it was kept in and the lid was pulled off with relative ease by the monstrous Eli Magruder, who then proceeded to pull Caitlin out of the box and show her that she had been in the backyard of the temple this whole time.
Caitlin Sparks wasn’t going to wait for an explanation. She continued to throw punches at her assailant, but these ones were more like emotional slaps than real combative blows. She screamed obscenities at him while Eli held her arms and tried to calm him down. With these words, her assault came to an end: “The drones are gone.”
“…What?”
“I gave you that crappy advice because there were drones flying over my temple. I buried you back here to make them think you were dead and done for and that I was just a crazy old man. The whole speech about conformity was a trick.”
As Caitlin looked at her new mentor in disbelief, Eli handed her back her sword and said, “As long as Dark-Law, Jr. doesn’t think you’re a threat anymore, he won’t see you coming when you finally lop off his head. You came to my temple for advice? Here it is: stealth and brains will always win over brute force and brawn. I helped you with the stealth part, now all you have to do is maintain your cover. I believe you can do it, Miss Sparks. I know you can.”
Caitlin clutched her sword handle with a newfound strength and looked into Eli’s eyes with a mixture of anger and focus. The anger wasn’t directed at him. On the contrary, she was thankful he went out of his way for her like that. The anger and rage was all for Dark-Law, Jr. She would take every ounce of that rage on him with one blow.
“Trust me when I say this, Master Magruder,” said Caitlin with newfound respect for him. “I’m bring you that son of a bitch’s head on a silver platter. Not just for me, but for you and everyone else he has slaughtered mercilessly. If I have to be slow and careful, then that’s how I’ll do it. I owe you big time, Master.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Miss Sparks…except Dark-Law, Jr.’s head!”
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Treehouse of Hell
***TREEHOUSE OF HELL***
For some reason, the title of this journal sounds like a secret level in one of the Diablo computer games. I can fully imagine taking my barbarian and paladin and storming the shit out of that place, purging it of demons forever (or at least until Diablo is resurrected for the next videogame). As much as I’d like for this to happen, that’s actually not why I’m writing this journal. This review is about something much deeper: reviews.
When it comes to reviews, writing them has become over time just as much a part of my professional life as paperback copies of Occupy Wrestling, American Darkness, and Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage. Whenever I read a book, I feel obligated to write a review for it in order to help that author out no matter how famous or obscure he or she may be. I recently wrote reviews for the obscure “Girlfriend Wager” by Edward Davies and the wildly popular “Silence of the Lambs” by Thomas Harris. Both books received passing grades (four stars) and are more popular for their reviews. Then again, honestly critiquing the book does more for an author than giving the book a particular number of stars. Honesty is the best policy. Don’t bullshit people when you write your reviews. In the words of George Carlin, “It’s all bullshit and it’s bad for you.”
But that’s with books. What about TV shows? What about movies? What about wrestling or mixed-martial arts matches? I’m not a movie director or a pro-athlete by any stretch of the imagination, so I don’t have as much influence over television as I do with books. I’ll admit that there are times when I feel down about people not caring about my television reviews. But then I remember that this is the internet and people get ignored all the time. If I give up writing television reviews just because of the lack of demand, then that goes against the whole idea of writing: because it’s good creative fun.
Now that I’ve said that, I want you all to pay attention to the date October 25th, 2015. On that Sunday night at 8:00 pacific time, there will be two different shows going on at the same time. The first will be a pay-per-view event only broadcast on the WWE Network called Hell in a Cell, in which the two titular matches will be Brock Lesnar vs. The Undertaker and Roman Reigns vs. Bray Wyatt. The other TV program going on at that time will be The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror 26, which is a Halloween tradition for the Haines-Temons-Stevens-Wilson household.
Normally, I would have to choose one or the other, but thanks to the magic of my Roku streaming device, I can watch one show on that Sunday night and watch the other one at a later time at my leisure. The point of telling you the significance of the 25th? Because both TV shows will be ripe for the picking when it comes to reviews. That would lead you guys to believe why I didn’t review any matches on the NXT Takeover special called Respect. That NXT pay-per-view was so damn good top to bottom that writing praise for it would be overkill. Not so much with Hell in a Cell, where anything can and will happen.
Halloween is one of my favorite holidays for many reasons: good candy, creative costumes, kick-ass TV shows, and the all around frightening spirit of that night. I may be 30 years old, but acting my age is not one of my virtues. I’m definitely dressing up for Halloween and it’s going to be fun! We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***READING PRIORITIES***
With “The Girlfriend Wager” and “Silence of the Lambs” in my rearview mirror, it’s time for two more books to go on my currently reading shelf on Good Reads. One of those books is called “January First” by Michael Schofield, in which the author recounts his experiences with raising a daughter who was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the tender age of six. As you can tell, this has a special place in my heart since I was diagnosed at age 17. I’ve heard the other book I’m going to read has mental health implications as well. It’s called “Love Me Today, Kill Me Tomorrow” by my very own beautiful beta reader Marie Krepps. I can’t wait to get started on these!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
October has been unofficially dubbed by my good friend Zero Urrea as “villains month”. He’s been pumping out MS Paint pictures of various villains that catch his fancy and I will be doing the same with my pencil and paper drawings. The next villain on the horizon for me is Colleen Owens, the machete-wielding eco-warrior who along with a crew of pirates slashes the shit out of Riff De La Luka’s weed-smuggling crew in the short story “Bleed For Weed”. Riff already has a drawing of him online and he’s bearing resemblance to Dee Jay from Super Street Fighter II. I haven’t decided yet who I’m going to use for Colleen Owens’ reference picture model, but I’m leaning towards Brie Bella from the WWE since they both hold strong pro-environmental views. Although to be fair to Brie, she would never hack random drug smugglers to pieces with a machete…as far as I know. Hehe!
***JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: What’s Edward Davies’ favorite kind of shotgun?
A: Sod-Off.
For some reason, the title of this journal sounds like a secret level in one of the Diablo computer games. I can fully imagine taking my barbarian and paladin and storming the shit out of that place, purging it of demons forever (or at least until Diablo is resurrected for the next videogame). As much as I’d like for this to happen, that’s actually not why I’m writing this journal. This review is about something much deeper: reviews.
When it comes to reviews, writing them has become over time just as much a part of my professional life as paperback copies of Occupy Wrestling, American Darkness, and Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage. Whenever I read a book, I feel obligated to write a review for it in order to help that author out no matter how famous or obscure he or she may be. I recently wrote reviews for the obscure “Girlfriend Wager” by Edward Davies and the wildly popular “Silence of the Lambs” by Thomas Harris. Both books received passing grades (four stars) and are more popular for their reviews. Then again, honestly critiquing the book does more for an author than giving the book a particular number of stars. Honesty is the best policy. Don’t bullshit people when you write your reviews. In the words of George Carlin, “It’s all bullshit and it’s bad for you.”
But that’s with books. What about TV shows? What about movies? What about wrestling or mixed-martial arts matches? I’m not a movie director or a pro-athlete by any stretch of the imagination, so I don’t have as much influence over television as I do with books. I’ll admit that there are times when I feel down about people not caring about my television reviews. But then I remember that this is the internet and people get ignored all the time. If I give up writing television reviews just because of the lack of demand, then that goes against the whole idea of writing: because it’s good creative fun.
Now that I’ve said that, I want you all to pay attention to the date October 25th, 2015. On that Sunday night at 8:00 pacific time, there will be two different shows going on at the same time. The first will be a pay-per-view event only broadcast on the WWE Network called Hell in a Cell, in which the two titular matches will be Brock Lesnar vs. The Undertaker and Roman Reigns vs. Bray Wyatt. The other TV program going on at that time will be The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror 26, which is a Halloween tradition for the Haines-Temons-Stevens-Wilson household.
Normally, I would have to choose one or the other, but thanks to the magic of my Roku streaming device, I can watch one show on that Sunday night and watch the other one at a later time at my leisure. The point of telling you the significance of the 25th? Because both TV shows will be ripe for the picking when it comes to reviews. That would lead you guys to believe why I didn’t review any matches on the NXT Takeover special called Respect. That NXT pay-per-view was so damn good top to bottom that writing praise for it would be overkill. Not so much with Hell in a Cell, where anything can and will happen.
Halloween is one of my favorite holidays for many reasons: good candy, creative costumes, kick-ass TV shows, and the all around frightening spirit of that night. I may be 30 years old, but acting my age is not one of my virtues. I’m definitely dressing up for Halloween and it’s going to be fun! We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***READING PRIORITIES***
With “The Girlfriend Wager” and “Silence of the Lambs” in my rearview mirror, it’s time for two more books to go on my currently reading shelf on Good Reads. One of those books is called “January First” by Michael Schofield, in which the author recounts his experiences with raising a daughter who was diagnosed with schizophrenia at the tender age of six. As you can tell, this has a special place in my heart since I was diagnosed at age 17. I’ve heard the other book I’m going to read has mental health implications as well. It’s called “Love Me Today, Kill Me Tomorrow” by my very own beautiful beta reader Marie Krepps. I can’t wait to get started on these!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
October has been unofficially dubbed by my good friend Zero Urrea as “villains month”. He’s been pumping out MS Paint pictures of various villains that catch his fancy and I will be doing the same with my pencil and paper drawings. The next villain on the horizon for me is Colleen Owens, the machete-wielding eco-warrior who along with a crew of pirates slashes the shit out of Riff De La Luka’s weed-smuggling crew in the short story “Bleed For Weed”. Riff already has a drawing of him online and he’s bearing resemblance to Dee Jay from Super Street Fighter II. I haven’t decided yet who I’m going to use for Colleen Owens’ reference picture model, but I’m leaning towards Brie Bella from the WWE since they both hold strong pro-environmental views. Although to be fair to Brie, she would never hack random drug smugglers to pieces with a machete…as far as I know. Hehe!
***JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: What’s Edward Davies’ favorite kind of shotgun?
A: Sod-Off.
"The Silence of the Lambs" by Thomas Harris
BOOK TITLE: The Silence of the Lambs
AUTHOR: Thomas Harris
YEAR: 1988
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Psychological Thriller
GRADE: Pass
Newest FBI recruit Clarice Starling is thrown straight into the line of duty when her latest assignment comes in the form of capturing an elusive serial killer nicknamed Buffalo Bill. To gain insight on Bill’s whereabouts, Clarice must visit an insane asylum and have frequent chats with another serial killer, Hannibal Lecter. The more the two of them talk, the more Clarice realizes that Hannibal is playing mind games with her instead of helping her track a serial killer. He becomes increasingly stubborn when a Tennessee senator’s daughter is taken by Buffalo Bill and the victim only has a week to live, give or take, before she’s officially murdered.
Serial killing is disturbing enough on its own. Thomas Harris managed to make the villainous act even more disgusting with the addition of Buffalo Bill and Hannibal Lecter. Buffalo Bill’s claim to infamy is hunting down random women and peeling their skin off like a banana before leaving them floating in the swampy river. Hannibal Lecter isn’t any more of a humanitarian since he cannibalizes his victims with a side of fava beans and a glass of wine. These two serial killers act as though their frightening habits are normal everyday occurrences. What’s that? Peeling the skin off of a big breasted woman to make a vest? Why not act nonchalant about it? Feeding an unwitting former patient the remains of a cannibalistic supper and having that patient develop anorexia afterwards? Nope, nothing wrong here.
Luckily for the victims of both serial killers, the FBI doesn’t quit. In fact, the methods and science behind every investigation would lead me to believe that either Thomas Harris is a former investigator or he spent tireless hours on research. Either way, he makes putting the reader’s trust into Clarice Starling and other investigators that much more believable. No stone is left unturned from what clothing stores the victims shopped at to where the insects in their throats came from to what kinds of wounds Buffalo Bill is inflicting on his opponents. This brand of science reminds me of what Abby Sciuto and Ducky Mallard do on “NCIS”. But this book was written in 1988, so Clarice Starling didn’t have the benefit of Google, GPS trackers, or quick access to facial recognition software. She had to do all of this the grueling old school way.
But we know that Clarice will be okay in the end because the reader will recognize her as a strong character. She’s been though a lot in her life and most of her trauma is brought to light in her conversations with Hannibal Lecter. In addition to having a brain full of nightmare fuel, she also has to put up with authority figures not believing in her at first, which is natural for a green agent, but even more so for a woman. This is a woman with a lot to prove and when she finally puts two and two together, it was the result of hard research and a tough mind. She’s running on fumes, but every mile counts for something. She lets nothing go to waste and she never will. If you still doubt her by the end of this novel, then you’re a hard son of a bitch to please.
Silence of the Lambs has gained a reputation over the years of being disturbing and frightening to even the toughest of minds, especially now that there’s been a movie made out of it. Hannibal Lecter’s name gets used in just about every conversation about psychopaths and murderers. Hell, he was even used in a joke on “Whose Line Is it Anyway?” when the Scenes from a Hat prompt was “Things you don’t want to hear after eating dinner.” With a twisted mind and a college professor’s knowledge of what he’s writing about, Thomas Harris has created a masterpiece and a legacy that will last for generations to come, probably in the form of PTSD or schizophrenia.
AUTHOR: Thomas Harris
YEAR: 1988
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Psychological Thriller
GRADE: Pass
Newest FBI recruit Clarice Starling is thrown straight into the line of duty when her latest assignment comes in the form of capturing an elusive serial killer nicknamed Buffalo Bill. To gain insight on Bill’s whereabouts, Clarice must visit an insane asylum and have frequent chats with another serial killer, Hannibal Lecter. The more the two of them talk, the more Clarice realizes that Hannibal is playing mind games with her instead of helping her track a serial killer. He becomes increasingly stubborn when a Tennessee senator’s daughter is taken by Buffalo Bill and the victim only has a week to live, give or take, before she’s officially murdered.
Serial killing is disturbing enough on its own. Thomas Harris managed to make the villainous act even more disgusting with the addition of Buffalo Bill and Hannibal Lecter. Buffalo Bill’s claim to infamy is hunting down random women and peeling their skin off like a banana before leaving them floating in the swampy river. Hannibal Lecter isn’t any more of a humanitarian since he cannibalizes his victims with a side of fava beans and a glass of wine. These two serial killers act as though their frightening habits are normal everyday occurrences. What’s that? Peeling the skin off of a big breasted woman to make a vest? Why not act nonchalant about it? Feeding an unwitting former patient the remains of a cannibalistic supper and having that patient develop anorexia afterwards? Nope, nothing wrong here.
Luckily for the victims of both serial killers, the FBI doesn’t quit. In fact, the methods and science behind every investigation would lead me to believe that either Thomas Harris is a former investigator or he spent tireless hours on research. Either way, he makes putting the reader’s trust into Clarice Starling and other investigators that much more believable. No stone is left unturned from what clothing stores the victims shopped at to where the insects in their throats came from to what kinds of wounds Buffalo Bill is inflicting on his opponents. This brand of science reminds me of what Abby Sciuto and Ducky Mallard do on “NCIS”. But this book was written in 1988, so Clarice Starling didn’t have the benefit of Google, GPS trackers, or quick access to facial recognition software. She had to do all of this the grueling old school way.
But we know that Clarice will be okay in the end because the reader will recognize her as a strong character. She’s been though a lot in her life and most of her trauma is brought to light in her conversations with Hannibal Lecter. In addition to having a brain full of nightmare fuel, she also has to put up with authority figures not believing in her at first, which is natural for a green agent, but even more so for a woman. This is a woman with a lot to prove and when she finally puts two and two together, it was the result of hard research and a tough mind. She’s running on fumes, but every mile counts for something. She lets nothing go to waste and she never will. If you still doubt her by the end of this novel, then you’re a hard son of a bitch to please.
Silence of the Lambs has gained a reputation over the years of being disturbing and frightening to even the toughest of minds, especially now that there’s been a movie made out of it. Hannibal Lecter’s name gets used in just about every conversation about psychopaths and murderers. Hell, he was even used in a joke on “Whose Line Is it Anyway?” when the Scenes from a Hat prompt was “Things you don’t want to hear after eating dinner.” With a twisted mind and a college professor’s knowledge of what he’s writing about, Thomas Harris has created a masterpiece and a legacy that will last for generations to come, probably in the form of PTSD or schizophrenia.
Friday, October 16, 2015
I Shouldn't Have Fallen In Love With Her
Valentine’s Day, Singles Awareness Day, VD, SAD, it didn’t matter what Alex McKenzie wanted to call it, because it wouldn’t change the theme of February 14th: lovey-dovey ooey-gooey romance, something he knew little about. God, I hate this fucking day, Alex thought to himself. With the hood of his black My Darkest Days sweater pulled over his head, sunglasses over his eyes, and “Perfect” by, you guessed it, My Darkest Days playing in his ear buds, he was prepared for a long night of shopping at St. Vincent’s Drug Store.
He stepped past the automatic glass door and languidly walked up and down the isles looking for some sweet confectionary goodness to drown his sorrows. In his mind, that was the only thing Valentine’s Day was good for. Not for kisses, not for hugs, but for candy. The taste of a candy cane was much more pleasing to the tongue than a horny woman’s mouth. But candy canes were only a small portion of what he put in his shopping basket. Peanut butter cups, crunchy hearts, chocolate mints, mmm-mmm-mmm!
Alex had been shopping for so long that he lost track of time. He was so focused on the delicious candies in his basket that he failed to notice it when the clerk was calling him out. A tap on the shoulder was a better idea and it actually got Alex’s attention. He pulled the buds out of his ears and turned off his MP3 player before turning his attention to the clerk.
The clerk would have made the perfect Valentine to any lucky guy. Her raven hair flowed down her slender shoulders and her benign smile lit up just about any room she was. She may have been walking around in a clerk’s apron the whole time, but it looked good on her anyways. Her nametag read “Vicki White”, but Alex’s darkened eyes were focused solely on her gorgeous face.
“Hi there!” said Vicki in her excited college girl voice. “Can I help you find anything today?”
“No thanks,” said Alex in an uncaring tone. “I have everything I need right here.”
As the heartbroken shopper turned around to look for even more candy to stockpile, he was interrupted by Vicki calling him, “Sir!” and turned around again. She said, “We don’t allow our customers to conceal their faces in our store. It’s nothing against you personally. In fact, I kind of like that My Darkest Days sweater you’ve got on! It’s just that we’ve been robbed before and we want to make sure everybody visible to the security cameras.”
“Listen, sweetheart,” said the hooded customer. “If you think I’m not capable of paying for these treats, then we can go to the counter right now and I’ll buy them right away. I’ll be out of your hair for the rest of the night. I promise.”
“Sir, please just do as I say,” said Vicki while she maintained her sweet grin.
“No, you don’t understand.”
“What do you mean I don’t understand?” Vicki started to say in a flirty voice, perfect for Valentine’s Day. “I bet you look good underneath all of that! Come on, just humor me for a minute.”
From there the two got in an unintelligible conversation as Vicki tried to physically remove Alex’s hood and Alex tried to brush her hands away. In this somewhat playful struggle, Alex leaned backwards slightly to avoid being touched and his hood just slid off of his head. What Vicki saw took the smile right off of her face: a completely bald head with a surgical scar running from where the hairline should be to the back of his skull. The secret was further exposed when the now despondent customer took his sunglasses off and crushed them in his hands, revealing he had no eyebrows.
Vicki White held her trembling hands to her shocked face when she slowly backpedaled into the checkout counter without looking. “Sir, I’m really sorry about that. I was just following protocol. I had to make sure you weren’t suspicious.”
“Protocol, huh?” said Alex McKenzie as he paced up to the counter and dropped his overloaded basket on the scanner. “Did those security cameras get a good enough shot of me?” Vicki trembled in fear and couldn’t respond. “Did your paparazzi get a good shot of the scar on my fucking head? How about the fact that I have no goddamn hair on my head or face? That has to be the shot of the century right there! I’m sure some tabloid magazine will pay good money for that kind of footage!”
As Alex drew closer to her, Vicki sat down in the fetal position and planted her back against the checkout counter. The bald man continued his angry speech. “Brain cancer, sweetheart. Brain cancer. I’ve had it since I was a senior in high school. I’m 100% cancer free now, but I wasn’t back then when it really counted. I looked just like I do now except that I wore a hairpiece to my senior prom.”
He placed a tender hand on Vicki’s vibrating face when he said, “The girl I took to the prom looked a lot like you. Very pretty. No, she was drop-dead gorgeous. She was like an angel that descended from the heavens. Her jealous ex-boyfriend slapped me in the back of the head and knocked my hairpiece off. She saw me for what I really was: a cancer patient. She knew I could have died any moment and decided she didn’t want that on her conscience. So now she has something else on her conscience: breaking up with me the next night. Seeing me die would have been too heartbreaking for her. Seeing me lonely and humiliated, on the other hand, would have been JUST FUCKING DANDY!!”
Alex’s face was in Vicki’s as he stared intensely into her beautiful teary eyes. She was breathing heavily like she was fearing for her life. But as the ex-cancer patient backed up, he revealed himself to be just as harmless as she was, though he wasn’t done yet with his tirade. “Valentine’s Day: a day where we love each other and have mind-blowing sex until the sun comes up. Meanwhile, all the heartbroken single people can go straight to hell for all anyone else cares. I’m buying all that candy because eating is the only thing that gives me pleasure anymore. Sure, it’s not what everybody does on this special day, but it’s pretty damn good to me! So go ahead, honey-bunch: ring me up so I can get my ugly ass out of your store!”
Vicki grabbed onto the counter for support and gingerly pulled herself to a standing position with her legs shaking uncontrollably. She stumbled around the counter to the cash register and started to scan Alex’s items. Her hands were shaking as well and there were times when the price scanner didn’t register. She wasn’t scared for herself anymore. She was scared for this poor soul standing in front of her.
After scanning the same candy cane over and over again, Vicki finally got frustrated and threw it on the ground where it shattered upon impact. She breathed deeply while Alex was watching her with an angry look on his face. She said, “You say you’re 100% cancer free, right? Well, shouldn’t that be something to celebrate? By surviving that horrible disease, you showed your shallow-assed prom date that her stupid decision was all for nothing.” She wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her manicured hand and said, “You’re not ugly to me. You’re beautiful. You’re a warrior. Don’t let anybody tell you differently.”
Alex sarcastically clapped his hands and said, “Well, bravo for you! But there’s just one problem: I don’t believe a goddamn word you say. I think you’re just saying those things because you work in customer service and you don’t want to be fired. Either that, or you suddenly have the urge to feel sorry for me. You don’t have to give me sympathy, or even understanding for that matter. Just ring up my candy and I’ll be the happiest man on earth.”
Vicki picked up a package of peanut butter cups and said, “These are not good for you, especially if you’re trying to stay cancer free. I can’t in all good conscience sell these to you. Hell, I might as well give you a big ass carton of cigarettes to go with these.” A beat of emotional silence fell between them before she said, “But I can give you something else.”
“You had the chance to prove yourself to me and now you won’t even ring me up like you’re supposed to. That’s a hypocrisy if I’ve ever seen one. Seriously, what could you possibly give me right now that would show me how much you care, given the fact that I’ve got the world’s worst scar on the top of my head?!”
Instead of the sweet taste of chocolate and peanut butter, Alex McKenzie got the sweet taste of Vicki White’s lips and tongue as she pulled his face in for a deep, genuine, romantic kiss. Rather than feeling disgusted at Alex’s so-called “ugliness”, Vicki smiled her Hollywood smile for him one more time and whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”
After a while of intense contemplation, Alex said, “Happy Valentine’s Day” back and properly introduced himself by his first and last name. It was only right that Vicki give such an intense kiss to someone she knew the name of. After all, there would be plenty more where that came from!
He stepped past the automatic glass door and languidly walked up and down the isles looking for some sweet confectionary goodness to drown his sorrows. In his mind, that was the only thing Valentine’s Day was good for. Not for kisses, not for hugs, but for candy. The taste of a candy cane was much more pleasing to the tongue than a horny woman’s mouth. But candy canes were only a small portion of what he put in his shopping basket. Peanut butter cups, crunchy hearts, chocolate mints, mmm-mmm-mmm!
Alex had been shopping for so long that he lost track of time. He was so focused on the delicious candies in his basket that he failed to notice it when the clerk was calling him out. A tap on the shoulder was a better idea and it actually got Alex’s attention. He pulled the buds out of his ears and turned off his MP3 player before turning his attention to the clerk.
The clerk would have made the perfect Valentine to any lucky guy. Her raven hair flowed down her slender shoulders and her benign smile lit up just about any room she was. She may have been walking around in a clerk’s apron the whole time, but it looked good on her anyways. Her nametag read “Vicki White”, but Alex’s darkened eyes were focused solely on her gorgeous face.
“Hi there!” said Vicki in her excited college girl voice. “Can I help you find anything today?”
“No thanks,” said Alex in an uncaring tone. “I have everything I need right here.”
As the heartbroken shopper turned around to look for even more candy to stockpile, he was interrupted by Vicki calling him, “Sir!” and turned around again. She said, “We don’t allow our customers to conceal their faces in our store. It’s nothing against you personally. In fact, I kind of like that My Darkest Days sweater you’ve got on! It’s just that we’ve been robbed before and we want to make sure everybody visible to the security cameras.”
“Listen, sweetheart,” said the hooded customer. “If you think I’m not capable of paying for these treats, then we can go to the counter right now and I’ll buy them right away. I’ll be out of your hair for the rest of the night. I promise.”
“Sir, please just do as I say,” said Vicki while she maintained her sweet grin.
“No, you don’t understand.”
“What do you mean I don’t understand?” Vicki started to say in a flirty voice, perfect for Valentine’s Day. “I bet you look good underneath all of that! Come on, just humor me for a minute.”
From there the two got in an unintelligible conversation as Vicki tried to physically remove Alex’s hood and Alex tried to brush her hands away. In this somewhat playful struggle, Alex leaned backwards slightly to avoid being touched and his hood just slid off of his head. What Vicki saw took the smile right off of her face: a completely bald head with a surgical scar running from where the hairline should be to the back of his skull. The secret was further exposed when the now despondent customer took his sunglasses off and crushed them in his hands, revealing he had no eyebrows.
Vicki White held her trembling hands to her shocked face when she slowly backpedaled into the checkout counter without looking. “Sir, I’m really sorry about that. I was just following protocol. I had to make sure you weren’t suspicious.”
“Protocol, huh?” said Alex McKenzie as he paced up to the counter and dropped his overloaded basket on the scanner. “Did those security cameras get a good enough shot of me?” Vicki trembled in fear and couldn’t respond. “Did your paparazzi get a good shot of the scar on my fucking head? How about the fact that I have no goddamn hair on my head or face? That has to be the shot of the century right there! I’m sure some tabloid magazine will pay good money for that kind of footage!”
As Alex drew closer to her, Vicki sat down in the fetal position and planted her back against the checkout counter. The bald man continued his angry speech. “Brain cancer, sweetheart. Brain cancer. I’ve had it since I was a senior in high school. I’m 100% cancer free now, but I wasn’t back then when it really counted. I looked just like I do now except that I wore a hairpiece to my senior prom.”
He placed a tender hand on Vicki’s vibrating face when he said, “The girl I took to the prom looked a lot like you. Very pretty. No, she was drop-dead gorgeous. She was like an angel that descended from the heavens. Her jealous ex-boyfriend slapped me in the back of the head and knocked my hairpiece off. She saw me for what I really was: a cancer patient. She knew I could have died any moment and decided she didn’t want that on her conscience. So now she has something else on her conscience: breaking up with me the next night. Seeing me die would have been too heartbreaking for her. Seeing me lonely and humiliated, on the other hand, would have been JUST FUCKING DANDY!!”
Alex’s face was in Vicki’s as he stared intensely into her beautiful teary eyes. She was breathing heavily like she was fearing for her life. But as the ex-cancer patient backed up, he revealed himself to be just as harmless as she was, though he wasn’t done yet with his tirade. “Valentine’s Day: a day where we love each other and have mind-blowing sex until the sun comes up. Meanwhile, all the heartbroken single people can go straight to hell for all anyone else cares. I’m buying all that candy because eating is the only thing that gives me pleasure anymore. Sure, it’s not what everybody does on this special day, but it’s pretty damn good to me! So go ahead, honey-bunch: ring me up so I can get my ugly ass out of your store!”
Vicki grabbed onto the counter for support and gingerly pulled herself to a standing position with her legs shaking uncontrollably. She stumbled around the counter to the cash register and started to scan Alex’s items. Her hands were shaking as well and there were times when the price scanner didn’t register. She wasn’t scared for herself anymore. She was scared for this poor soul standing in front of her.
After scanning the same candy cane over and over again, Vicki finally got frustrated and threw it on the ground where it shattered upon impact. She breathed deeply while Alex was watching her with an angry look on his face. She said, “You say you’re 100% cancer free, right? Well, shouldn’t that be something to celebrate? By surviving that horrible disease, you showed your shallow-assed prom date that her stupid decision was all for nothing.” She wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her manicured hand and said, “You’re not ugly to me. You’re beautiful. You’re a warrior. Don’t let anybody tell you differently.”
Alex sarcastically clapped his hands and said, “Well, bravo for you! But there’s just one problem: I don’t believe a goddamn word you say. I think you’re just saying those things because you work in customer service and you don’t want to be fired. Either that, or you suddenly have the urge to feel sorry for me. You don’t have to give me sympathy, or even understanding for that matter. Just ring up my candy and I’ll be the happiest man on earth.”
Vicki picked up a package of peanut butter cups and said, “These are not good for you, especially if you’re trying to stay cancer free. I can’t in all good conscience sell these to you. Hell, I might as well give you a big ass carton of cigarettes to go with these.” A beat of emotional silence fell between them before she said, “But I can give you something else.”
“You had the chance to prove yourself to me and now you won’t even ring me up like you’re supposed to. That’s a hypocrisy if I’ve ever seen one. Seriously, what could you possibly give me right now that would show me how much you care, given the fact that I’ve got the world’s worst scar on the top of my head?!”
Instead of the sweet taste of chocolate and peanut butter, Alex McKenzie got the sweet taste of Vicki White’s lips and tongue as she pulled his face in for a deep, genuine, romantic kiss. Rather than feeling disgusted at Alex’s so-called “ugliness”, Vicki smiled her Hollywood smile for him one more time and whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”
After a while of intense contemplation, Alex said, “Happy Valentine’s Day” back and properly introduced himself by his first and last name. It was only right that Vicki give such an intense kiss to someone she knew the name of. After all, there would be plenty more where that came from!
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
"The Girlfriend Wager" by Edward Davies
BOOK TITLE: The Girlfriend Wager
AUTHOR: Edward Davies
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Sex Drama-Comedy
GRADE: Pass
In 1990’s England, five college buddies, Rob, Kent, Adrian, Jim, and Hugh, get together in a bar one night and make a wager with each other. Whoever could keep a relationship with a girl for at least three months while having sex at least once would have the rest of the group pay for his drinks after the college year was over. Girl shyness, awkward behavior, previous lovers, and many other strange obstacles get in the way of determining a true victor. Hearts are broken, embarrassments happen, and the only escape for these five friends is a giant glass of cold beer. Is anybody really a winner in this story or are these five virgins just a group of sad sops?
I’m going to start with the biggest reason why this e-book gets a passing grade. The concepts of girl shyness, social awkwardness, virginity, and fear of rejection all resonate with me on a deep level. Yes, this is intended to be funny in some places, but that doesn’t stop the book from speaking the truth from time to time. When I went to high school and college, I was one of the wallflowers who stayed in the background while being protected from the emotional despair of romance. Everyone was always saying to me, “Just ask her out! It’s no big deal! If she says no, just move on to the next one!” If love was that easy, I’d have a whole harem of girls coming after me. But as I’ve found out both from my own experiences with dating and from reading this book, it’s complicated on so many levels. I want to love and be loved, but getting my foot in the door is harder for me than it is for the five friends, and that’s saying something.
Before I get too far into a rant, I have to discuss the other reason why this book gets a passing grade: the pacing. While it is true the book is 400-plus pages long, it reads so quickly that you won’t feel bogged down by too much description. Besides, most of the descriptions come from 90’s pop culture references that I actually understand, so the pacing is even better. If you’re an author and comedy is your intended genre, you don’t want to spend too much time on funny descriptions. The jokes were delivered with such rapid-fire wit that I basically blitzed through the entire story with no potholes or traffic lights along the way. It helps that the witty aspects of this book come from the author using a lot of British vernacular like “fancy” and “bullocks”. I swear it’s like listening to a CD by The Streets, except funnier…for the most part.
There would have been a time when I considered giving this book an extra credit grade, or five stars for all of you Good Reads and Amazon junkies. However, there are certain unforgivable flaws that keep me from doing so. Try as he might to edit this story down to its last detail, Mr. Davies left behind a few glaring mistakes, such as Becca calling Hugh “Paul” and a sentence that reads “Kent glared at Kent”. But these are things Edward Davies could fix on the fly and not break too much of a sweat.
But then you have the pornographic aspects of the book which make the story seem slightly unrealistic. Yes, it’s realistic in the sense that shyness and awkwardness get in the way of a lot of good relationships. But when I say pornographic aspects, I’m talking about all of the women having large breasts, giant asses, and an easy way to get to know them. Plus, there’s a lot of talk about sticking things in their vaginas and squeezing their titties, which are also things you’d find in a cheap porn movie. Granted, this book is somewhat based on Edward Davies’ past at college and a lot of his friends really did talk like that. But even with that background realness, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to take the book seriously or jack off to it like a Playboy magazine.
I’m not going to bring the hammer down too hard on Edward, because all in all, this book earned all four of its stars. While it is true the two of us are good friends online, I’m giving him the passing grade out of respect for his book, not out of service to our friendship. I firmly believe Edward Davies has what it takes to launch his literature into the mainstream one day. He just needs to spend a little quality time with the realism and grammatical aspects of his manuscript before sending it out. Before I read “The Girlfriend Wager”, I delved into “Divine Intervention”, another book by Mr. Davies. I’d definitely say “The Girlfriend Wager” is a huge improvement from his last effort, so you’re damn right there’s hope for him. Hell, it might be a sure thing that he becomes successful!
AUTHOR: Edward Davies
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Sex Drama-Comedy
GRADE: Pass
In 1990’s England, five college buddies, Rob, Kent, Adrian, Jim, and Hugh, get together in a bar one night and make a wager with each other. Whoever could keep a relationship with a girl for at least three months while having sex at least once would have the rest of the group pay for his drinks after the college year was over. Girl shyness, awkward behavior, previous lovers, and many other strange obstacles get in the way of determining a true victor. Hearts are broken, embarrassments happen, and the only escape for these five friends is a giant glass of cold beer. Is anybody really a winner in this story or are these five virgins just a group of sad sops?
I’m going to start with the biggest reason why this e-book gets a passing grade. The concepts of girl shyness, social awkwardness, virginity, and fear of rejection all resonate with me on a deep level. Yes, this is intended to be funny in some places, but that doesn’t stop the book from speaking the truth from time to time. When I went to high school and college, I was one of the wallflowers who stayed in the background while being protected from the emotional despair of romance. Everyone was always saying to me, “Just ask her out! It’s no big deal! If she says no, just move on to the next one!” If love was that easy, I’d have a whole harem of girls coming after me. But as I’ve found out both from my own experiences with dating and from reading this book, it’s complicated on so many levels. I want to love and be loved, but getting my foot in the door is harder for me than it is for the five friends, and that’s saying something.
Before I get too far into a rant, I have to discuss the other reason why this book gets a passing grade: the pacing. While it is true the book is 400-plus pages long, it reads so quickly that you won’t feel bogged down by too much description. Besides, most of the descriptions come from 90’s pop culture references that I actually understand, so the pacing is even better. If you’re an author and comedy is your intended genre, you don’t want to spend too much time on funny descriptions. The jokes were delivered with such rapid-fire wit that I basically blitzed through the entire story with no potholes or traffic lights along the way. It helps that the witty aspects of this book come from the author using a lot of British vernacular like “fancy” and “bullocks”. I swear it’s like listening to a CD by The Streets, except funnier…for the most part.
There would have been a time when I considered giving this book an extra credit grade, or five stars for all of you Good Reads and Amazon junkies. However, there are certain unforgivable flaws that keep me from doing so. Try as he might to edit this story down to its last detail, Mr. Davies left behind a few glaring mistakes, such as Becca calling Hugh “Paul” and a sentence that reads “Kent glared at Kent”. But these are things Edward Davies could fix on the fly and not break too much of a sweat.
But then you have the pornographic aspects of the book which make the story seem slightly unrealistic. Yes, it’s realistic in the sense that shyness and awkwardness get in the way of a lot of good relationships. But when I say pornographic aspects, I’m talking about all of the women having large breasts, giant asses, and an easy way to get to know them. Plus, there’s a lot of talk about sticking things in their vaginas and squeezing their titties, which are also things you’d find in a cheap porn movie. Granted, this book is somewhat based on Edward Davies’ past at college and a lot of his friends really did talk like that. But even with that background realness, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to take the book seriously or jack off to it like a Playboy magazine.
I’m not going to bring the hammer down too hard on Edward, because all in all, this book earned all four of its stars. While it is true the two of us are good friends online, I’m giving him the passing grade out of respect for his book, not out of service to our friendship. I firmly believe Edward Davies has what it takes to launch his literature into the mainstream one day. He just needs to spend a little quality time with the realism and grammatical aspects of his manuscript before sending it out. Before I read “The Girlfriend Wager”, I delved into “Divine Intervention”, another book by Mr. Davies. I’d definitely say “The Girlfriend Wager” is a huge improvement from his last effort, so you’re damn right there’s hope for him. Hell, it might be a sure thing that he becomes successful!
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Spiritual Medicine For Schizophrenics
***SPIRITUAL MEDICINE FOR SCHIZOPHRENICS***
In shamanistic cultures, whenever a fellow tribesperson is feeling depressed, anxious, or otherwise mentally ill, he would go see the medicine man. In order to fulfill his diagnosis, the medicine man would ask the tribesperson how his reaction to music was affected. Did he not feel like dancing? Was he too upset to feel the raw energy? Was his rhythm interrupted? Music was obviously a huge part of shamanistic culture and continues to drive the modern human being in today’s world. Music isn’t just mere entertainment. It’s spiritual medicine for the soul.
But for me personally, as a schizophrenic, my heavy metal music sometimes feels like an obstacle that needs to be conquered instead of spiritual medicine. Sounds backwards, right? Heavy metal legend Max Cavalera says he uses his music as a way to cope with life’s problems, especially the death of his stepson Dana Wells. I’d like very much to have the same attitude as Max, but my brain geography doesn’t allow that to happen. When I’m in the middle of a schizophrenic episode and I’m listening to a metal song, the hurtful voices and images are waiting for me at the song’s intense moments. So instead of getting fired up on guitars and drums, I get a head full of psychological garbage. As someone whose whole creative life is based on heavy metal music, I feel like my own mind is pulling a Clockwork Orange on me.
Music isn’t the only spiritual medicine for mentally ill people such as me. Other everyday activities could qualify as well. I’m currently friends with a Good Reads author named Deepak Charles, who by his own admission uses creative writing as a way of escaping the stressful world around him. Even when he’s mentally and physically exhausted from college assignments, he never misses an opportunity to write, especially when he knows about the therapeutic effects of such. For me personally, schizophrenia interferes with my writing sometimes and like listening to metal songs, writing can feel like an obstacle instead of therapy.
In order for something to qualify as spiritual medicine for my overactive brain, it has to have a certain calming effect and it can’t require a great deal of stress control. As of today, I have three different hobbies that I consider to be spiritual medicine: watching wrestling, drawing pictures, and listening to new age music. Wrestling isn’t the most sophisticated form of entertainment, so it doesn’t require that I max out my mental energies. That’s not a knock on wrestling, that’s just the way my mind works. Drawing a picture of one of my Dark Fantasy Warriors only requires that I have good awareness skills. I use reference pictures all the time for my drawings, so I don’t have to worry about being lost in the dark.
I talk all the time about new age music and how calming and sleep-inducing it is. The reason I continually talk about it is because it is my most important form of spiritual medicine. Heavy metal music is stressful in nature, albeit positive stress that encourages an energetic response. In order for a schizophrenic mind to calm down, the music has to be calm as well. It’s not just elevator music with randomized titles. It means something deep to me. It means that one day I’ll be calm and collected enough to return to what I love: rocking out and writing kick-ass stories. If you ever need a way to calm down, then read this song list I’m about to type out. They’re all new age songs and they’re so peaceful to listen to that they too can be considered spiritual medicine.
“Always Good News” by Bruce Becvar
“Amanda” by Aisha Duo
“Arati” by Rasa
“Bibo No Aozora” by Ryuichi Sakamoto
“The Children’s Garden” by Tingstad and Rumbel
“Cristofori’s Dream” by David Lanz
“Desert Skies” by Scott August
“The Dreams of Children” by Shadowfax
“Heartsteps” by Tim Wheater
“Last Train Home” by Pat Metheny
“Longing/Love” by George Winston
“The Lotus Eaters” by Darshan Ambient
“Mare Residuelle” by Aura5
“Moon Temple” by Karunesh
“Morning Coffee with Grandma” by Donovan Johnson
“On a Bright May Morning” by Loreena McKennitt
“Places in the Heart” by David Arkenstone
“The Room of Ancillary Dreams” by Harold Budd
“Saraswati Dreams” by Ananda and Jaya Lakshmi
“Watermark” by Enya
“Wing and a Prayer” by Mike Stern
“Your Heart Can Sing” by Bruce Becvar
I took each of these songs and made two CD’s out of them for my mother. She loves them. You’ll love them too if you seek them out on You Tube or any other music distributor.
No matter what form of spiritual medicine you choose for yourself, know that you will one day realize what it means to be healed. If you don’t feel like it’s been a perfect recovery, don’t worry, because you’re perfect to me just the way you are. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***THE GIRLFRIEND WAGER***
If you follow me on Good Reads, you’ll know that in addition to “Silence of the Lambs”, I’ve also been reading “The Girlfriend Wager” by my good friend Edward Davies simultaneously. He did me a solid by reading and honestly reviewing Occupy Wrestling, so now I’m returning the favor by doing the same thing for his sex comedy. I’m 55% done with it and I originally had plans to blitz right through reading the rest of it. Why not? It’s fast-paced, easy to digest, and it’s easy on my eyes. Unfortunately, my plans took a detour when I dumbly decided to watch massage videos on You Tube instead. As much as I need a good massage, “The Girlfriend Wager” needs attention. I read 30 pages of it today, so I can definitely manage the other 45% of the book.
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
As soon as I get back into the writing groove, my next independently-written short story will be “Sage Against the Machine”. Here’s the synopsis for it:
CHARACTERS:
Eli Magruder, Hermit Sage
Caitlin Sparks, Swordfighter
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Did I not just say this will be independently-written?
SYNOPSIS: In an apocalyptic future dominated by authority, Caitlin goes to the mountains to seek advice from Eli on how to combat the oppression. The answers she gets are so unbelievable to her that she considers walking away and trying her own brand of justice. But the more time she allows Eli to speak, the more he makes sense.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Since drawing these characters is a secondary form of spiritual medicine, I think I owe the internet a nice picture of Leif Kampmann from the short story “Gates of Hell”. He’s a demon mask-wearing MMA vampire who used to be one of the lead characters to a novel I wrote in 2011 called “World of Darkness: Washington”. That novel met the same fate as every other crappy piece of literature I wrote during that time: it’s gone forever. Now Leif will have new life (see what I did there?) as a lead villain from “Gates of Hell” and in my drawing of him, he’ll be wearing his demon mask.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“A cloud of eiderdown draws around me softening the sound. Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side and she’s breathing low. And the candle dies. When night comes down, you lock the door. The book falls to the floor. As darkness falls and waves roll by, the seasons change, the wind is warm. Now wakes the owl, now sleeps the swan. Behold a dream, the dream is gone. Green fields, a cold rain is falling in a golden dawn. And deep beneath the ground, the early morning sounds and I go down. Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side and she’s breathing low. And I rise like a bird in the haze and the first rays touch the sky. And the night winds die.”
-Pink Floyd singing “A Pillow of Winds”-
In shamanistic cultures, whenever a fellow tribesperson is feeling depressed, anxious, or otherwise mentally ill, he would go see the medicine man. In order to fulfill his diagnosis, the medicine man would ask the tribesperson how his reaction to music was affected. Did he not feel like dancing? Was he too upset to feel the raw energy? Was his rhythm interrupted? Music was obviously a huge part of shamanistic culture and continues to drive the modern human being in today’s world. Music isn’t just mere entertainment. It’s spiritual medicine for the soul.
But for me personally, as a schizophrenic, my heavy metal music sometimes feels like an obstacle that needs to be conquered instead of spiritual medicine. Sounds backwards, right? Heavy metal legend Max Cavalera says he uses his music as a way to cope with life’s problems, especially the death of his stepson Dana Wells. I’d like very much to have the same attitude as Max, but my brain geography doesn’t allow that to happen. When I’m in the middle of a schizophrenic episode and I’m listening to a metal song, the hurtful voices and images are waiting for me at the song’s intense moments. So instead of getting fired up on guitars and drums, I get a head full of psychological garbage. As someone whose whole creative life is based on heavy metal music, I feel like my own mind is pulling a Clockwork Orange on me.
Music isn’t the only spiritual medicine for mentally ill people such as me. Other everyday activities could qualify as well. I’m currently friends with a Good Reads author named Deepak Charles, who by his own admission uses creative writing as a way of escaping the stressful world around him. Even when he’s mentally and physically exhausted from college assignments, he never misses an opportunity to write, especially when he knows about the therapeutic effects of such. For me personally, schizophrenia interferes with my writing sometimes and like listening to metal songs, writing can feel like an obstacle instead of therapy.
In order for something to qualify as spiritual medicine for my overactive brain, it has to have a certain calming effect and it can’t require a great deal of stress control. As of today, I have three different hobbies that I consider to be spiritual medicine: watching wrestling, drawing pictures, and listening to new age music. Wrestling isn’t the most sophisticated form of entertainment, so it doesn’t require that I max out my mental energies. That’s not a knock on wrestling, that’s just the way my mind works. Drawing a picture of one of my Dark Fantasy Warriors only requires that I have good awareness skills. I use reference pictures all the time for my drawings, so I don’t have to worry about being lost in the dark.
I talk all the time about new age music and how calming and sleep-inducing it is. The reason I continually talk about it is because it is my most important form of spiritual medicine. Heavy metal music is stressful in nature, albeit positive stress that encourages an energetic response. In order for a schizophrenic mind to calm down, the music has to be calm as well. It’s not just elevator music with randomized titles. It means something deep to me. It means that one day I’ll be calm and collected enough to return to what I love: rocking out and writing kick-ass stories. If you ever need a way to calm down, then read this song list I’m about to type out. They’re all new age songs and they’re so peaceful to listen to that they too can be considered spiritual medicine.
“Always Good News” by Bruce Becvar
“Amanda” by Aisha Duo
“Arati” by Rasa
“Bibo No Aozora” by Ryuichi Sakamoto
“The Children’s Garden” by Tingstad and Rumbel
“Cristofori’s Dream” by David Lanz
“Desert Skies” by Scott August
“The Dreams of Children” by Shadowfax
“Heartsteps” by Tim Wheater
“Last Train Home” by Pat Metheny
“Longing/Love” by George Winston
“The Lotus Eaters” by Darshan Ambient
“Mare Residuelle” by Aura5
“Moon Temple” by Karunesh
“Morning Coffee with Grandma” by Donovan Johnson
“On a Bright May Morning” by Loreena McKennitt
“Places in the Heart” by David Arkenstone
“The Room of Ancillary Dreams” by Harold Budd
“Saraswati Dreams” by Ananda and Jaya Lakshmi
“Watermark” by Enya
“Wing and a Prayer” by Mike Stern
“Your Heart Can Sing” by Bruce Becvar
I took each of these songs and made two CD’s out of them for my mother. She loves them. You’ll love them too if you seek them out on You Tube or any other music distributor.
No matter what form of spiritual medicine you choose for yourself, know that you will one day realize what it means to be healed. If you don’t feel like it’s been a perfect recovery, don’t worry, because you’re perfect to me just the way you are. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***THE GIRLFRIEND WAGER***
If you follow me on Good Reads, you’ll know that in addition to “Silence of the Lambs”, I’ve also been reading “The Girlfriend Wager” by my good friend Edward Davies simultaneously. He did me a solid by reading and honestly reviewing Occupy Wrestling, so now I’m returning the favor by doing the same thing for his sex comedy. I’m 55% done with it and I originally had plans to blitz right through reading the rest of it. Why not? It’s fast-paced, easy to digest, and it’s easy on my eyes. Unfortunately, my plans took a detour when I dumbly decided to watch massage videos on You Tube instead. As much as I need a good massage, “The Girlfriend Wager” needs attention. I read 30 pages of it today, so I can definitely manage the other 45% of the book.
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
As soon as I get back into the writing groove, my next independently-written short story will be “Sage Against the Machine”. Here’s the synopsis for it:
CHARACTERS:
Eli Magruder, Hermit Sage
Caitlin Sparks, Swordfighter
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Did I not just say this will be independently-written?
SYNOPSIS: In an apocalyptic future dominated by authority, Caitlin goes to the mountains to seek advice from Eli on how to combat the oppression. The answers she gets are so unbelievable to her that she considers walking away and trying her own brand of justice. But the more time she allows Eli to speak, the more he makes sense.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Since drawing these characters is a secondary form of spiritual medicine, I think I owe the internet a nice picture of Leif Kampmann from the short story “Gates of Hell”. He’s a demon mask-wearing MMA vampire who used to be one of the lead characters to a novel I wrote in 2011 called “World of Darkness: Washington”. That novel met the same fate as every other crappy piece of literature I wrote during that time: it’s gone forever. Now Leif will have new life (see what I did there?) as a lead villain from “Gates of Hell” and in my drawing of him, he’ll be wearing his demon mask.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“A cloud of eiderdown draws around me softening the sound. Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side and she’s breathing low. And the candle dies. When night comes down, you lock the door. The book falls to the floor. As darkness falls and waves roll by, the seasons change, the wind is warm. Now wakes the owl, now sleeps the swan. Behold a dream, the dream is gone. Green fields, a cold rain is falling in a golden dawn. And deep beneath the ground, the early morning sounds and I go down. Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side and she’s breathing low. And I rise like a bird in the haze and the first rays touch the sky. And the night winds die.”
-Pink Floyd singing “A Pillow of Winds”-
Saturday, October 10, 2015
Three New Poems
SOLD ME OUT:
CHORUS
You sold me out, you stripped me down
Put me on display for the whole damn town
You sold me out, you left me for dead
This rotten casket is what I call my bed
VERSE 1
You sold me up the river without a paddle
And now every day is like an uphill battle
A river of blood in the name of love
Mental numbness in the name of the dove
The heat was on, you got out of the kitchen
Saving your own ass was your only mission
I don’t see you as an infected wound
I see you as the broker for my own doom
CHORUS
You sold me out, you stripped me down
Put me on display for the whole damn town
You sold me out, you left me for dead
This rotten casket is what I call my bed
VERSE 2
You taunt me and tease me like it’s so damn easy
You knock me down like a wind so breezy
And yet I keep playing the role of forgiver
Hoping that one day you will soon deliver
It’s the same damn story each and every time
You give me my freedom like it’s actually mine
Then you take it away, keep my soul in chains
Doctors call you schizophrenia on the brain
EXTENDED CHORUS
You sold me out, you stripped me down
Put me on display for the whole damn town
You sold me out, you left me for dead
This rotten casket is what I call my bed
You sold me out for the lowest of prices
Left me high and dry to my own devices
You sold me out to a sadistic master
I keep on hoping my sentence goes faster
VERSE 3
I can never figure out how to take revenge
The pills and talks never take off the edge
You’re a part of me whether I like it or not
So come on, bitch, give me all you’ve got!
MICROCOSM:
VERSE 1
My own mind is telling me lies
Who to love, who to despise
I grow exhausted after so many tries
To crush them down to a smaller size
This microcosm has made me ill
The price to pay is a permanent bill
Choke down water with bitter pills
The cure has become worse than the ills
CHORUS
You’re not real
You never were
So why do I
Fucking hurt?!
VERSE 2
Invisible scars are infected with pus
Invisible monsters bathing in bloodlust
Invisible allies with the magic solution
Invisible voices still bring the pollution
CHORUS
You’re not real
You never were
So why do I
Fucking hurt?!
VERSE 3
Why do I feel so crippled and numb?
Why do I feel so distracted and dumb?
I can fool myself some of the time
The microcosm fools me all of the time
EXTENDED CHORUS
You’re not real
You never were
So why do I
Fucking hurt?!
You’re a ghost
Damned and dead
Why won’t you
Get out of my head?!
EXTREMIST:
VERSE 1
Flipping over cars because your favorite team lost
Burning down homes and looting all the shops
The dumb-ass news anchor in his cheap little suit
Says you’re just having fun as you cheer and root
CHORUS
Extremist! Extremist! Pumped full of adrenaline!
Extremist! Extremist! It’s your favorite medicine!
You poor excuse for a human fucking being!
A real sports fan is not what I’m fucking seeing!
VERSE 2
If it’s hockey, then shove that stick up your ass
If it’s wrestling, get your back slammed to the mat
If it’s football, spread your legs for a field kick
If it’s MMA, cut some weight and call in sick
CHORUS
Extremist! Extremist! Pumped full of adrenaline!
Extremist! Extremist! It’s your favorite medicine!
You poor excuse for a human fucking being!
A real sports fan is not what I’m fucking seeing!
VERSE 3
You act like a criminal when things go awry
You swing a lead pipe like you’re a samurai
You start a bon fire in order to inspire
Others to join in when it’s down to the wire
It’s only a game, people win and lose
The fans start a riot while stinking of booze
The concrete jungle has become a war zone
With the riot police ready to break some bones
EXTENDED CHORUS
Extremist! Extremist! Pumped full of adrenaline!
Extremist! Extremist! It’s your favorite medicine!
You poor excuse for a human fucking being!
A real sports fan is not what I’m fucking seeing!
Didn’t your mother teach you any respect?
Or did you throw her in the fire near the car wreck?
You’re a sociopath in the absolute worst way
All because your team sucks on their best day
CHORUS
You sold me out, you stripped me down
Put me on display for the whole damn town
You sold me out, you left me for dead
This rotten casket is what I call my bed
VERSE 1
You sold me up the river without a paddle
And now every day is like an uphill battle
A river of blood in the name of love
Mental numbness in the name of the dove
The heat was on, you got out of the kitchen
Saving your own ass was your only mission
I don’t see you as an infected wound
I see you as the broker for my own doom
CHORUS
You sold me out, you stripped me down
Put me on display for the whole damn town
You sold me out, you left me for dead
This rotten casket is what I call my bed
VERSE 2
You taunt me and tease me like it’s so damn easy
You knock me down like a wind so breezy
And yet I keep playing the role of forgiver
Hoping that one day you will soon deliver
It’s the same damn story each and every time
You give me my freedom like it’s actually mine
Then you take it away, keep my soul in chains
Doctors call you schizophrenia on the brain
EXTENDED CHORUS
You sold me out, you stripped me down
Put me on display for the whole damn town
You sold me out, you left me for dead
This rotten casket is what I call my bed
You sold me out for the lowest of prices
Left me high and dry to my own devices
You sold me out to a sadistic master
I keep on hoping my sentence goes faster
VERSE 3
I can never figure out how to take revenge
The pills and talks never take off the edge
You’re a part of me whether I like it or not
So come on, bitch, give me all you’ve got!
MICROCOSM:
VERSE 1
My own mind is telling me lies
Who to love, who to despise
I grow exhausted after so many tries
To crush them down to a smaller size
This microcosm has made me ill
The price to pay is a permanent bill
Choke down water with bitter pills
The cure has become worse than the ills
CHORUS
You’re not real
You never were
So why do I
Fucking hurt?!
VERSE 2
Invisible scars are infected with pus
Invisible monsters bathing in bloodlust
Invisible allies with the magic solution
Invisible voices still bring the pollution
CHORUS
You’re not real
You never were
So why do I
Fucking hurt?!
VERSE 3
Why do I feel so crippled and numb?
Why do I feel so distracted and dumb?
I can fool myself some of the time
The microcosm fools me all of the time
EXTENDED CHORUS
You’re not real
You never were
So why do I
Fucking hurt?!
You’re a ghost
Damned and dead
Why won’t you
Get out of my head?!
EXTREMIST:
VERSE 1
Flipping over cars because your favorite team lost
Burning down homes and looting all the shops
The dumb-ass news anchor in his cheap little suit
Says you’re just having fun as you cheer and root
CHORUS
Extremist! Extremist! Pumped full of adrenaline!
Extremist! Extremist! It’s your favorite medicine!
You poor excuse for a human fucking being!
A real sports fan is not what I’m fucking seeing!
VERSE 2
If it’s hockey, then shove that stick up your ass
If it’s wrestling, get your back slammed to the mat
If it’s football, spread your legs for a field kick
If it’s MMA, cut some weight and call in sick
CHORUS
Extremist! Extremist! Pumped full of adrenaline!
Extremist! Extremist! It’s your favorite medicine!
You poor excuse for a human fucking being!
A real sports fan is not what I’m fucking seeing!
VERSE 3
You act like a criminal when things go awry
You swing a lead pipe like you’re a samurai
You start a bon fire in order to inspire
Others to join in when it’s down to the wire
It’s only a game, people win and lose
The fans start a riot while stinking of booze
The concrete jungle has become a war zone
With the riot police ready to break some bones
EXTENDED CHORUS
Extremist! Extremist! Pumped full of adrenaline!
Extremist! Extremist! It’s your favorite medicine!
You poor excuse for a human fucking being!
A real sports fan is not what I’m fucking seeing!
Didn’t your mother teach you any respect?
Or did you throw her in the fire near the car wreck?
You’re a sociopath in the absolute worst way
All because your team sucks on their best day
Friday, October 9, 2015
The Happy Slasher
Three months of murders and rapes had passed in the wild west town of Tombstone and Sheriff Lisa Roberts was no closer to solving these crimes. The public was beginning to lose faith in her. Hell, they didn’t have much faith in her to begin with seeing as how she was Tombstone’s first female sheriff. At this point, all she wanted to do was get a cold glass of frosty beer at the saloon and forget her failures ever happened. Getting the icy treat was no problem. In fact, it tasted delicious. Passing out afterwards was a little creepier to think about.
She had every right in the world to be creeped out, especially after waking up with a monster hangover and actually having the capacity to think. She didn’t, however, have the capacity to move or talk. Her wrists and ankles were bound by leather straps to what felt like a rickety wooden torture table. Her mouth was stuffed with a red rubber ball with a strap that was nailed to the table. She tried to squirm and muscle her way out of this insidious device, but she was stuck whether she liked it or not. All she could do was listen to her own heart beat in the back of her throat while icy sweat poured down from her long auburn hair.
The room she was in was illuminated only by wall torches. There were no windows to the outside and even if there were, Lisa Roberts wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Her permanent stay in this death dungeon that reeked of mice corpses and horse shit was further cemented when she heard a familiar raspy voice in the background. “I bet you’re wondering why I’ve got you down here, Lisa!”
She knew she heard the voice somewhere before, but it wasn’t until the madman stepped into the light did she realize who this disgusting prick was. He had puffy white hair, a dreadlocked beard, a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and a blood-covered lab coat with little more than a black thong underneath. He also carried a machete that looked sharp enough to cut through steel. Lisa had seen this man before and started panicking through the ball gag once she realized who he was: Cletus Jung aka The Happy Slasher.
Cletus twirled his machete around nonchalantly as he stared into Lisa’s fearful eyes and explained himself. “You’re a tough woman to get a hold of, Miss Roberts. You’re an even tougher woman to ask on a date. It didn’t have to be this way, Lisa. You could have said yes and all would have been right with the world. But instead, you chose the path of a snooty, stuck-up mega whore. You labeled me, Lisa. You labeled me a creep! You labeled me a psychopath! And when all I wanted was a goodbye hug, you threw a beer in my face!”
The madman’s heavy breathing made Lisa perspire and tremble even more. He said, “Well, my darling. My lovely, beautiful, sexy darling. You have every right in the world to say goodbye to me. In fact, it’s your last goodbye. After tonight, you’re not going to be known as the first female sheriff of Tombstone. You’re going to be known as victim number fifty. That’s a lot of bodies to leave behind. I’ve built quite the legacy for myself, haven’t I? I thought that would have been enough to impress you.”
Tears formed in both Lisa and Cletus’ eyes, but for much different reasons. The machete-swinger said, “And this is how you repay me? By turning me down and leaving me a depressed mess? Well, I’m tired of being single, my dear. I’m tired of feeling lonely. With you strapped to that table, I don’t have to be lonely anymore. And goddamn, do you look sexy strapped to that table. I love a girl with a ball in her mouth. Now…let’s get started!”
Cletus raised his bloody blade and slowly stalked Lisa as she rocked the table back and forth with all of her desperate strength. The closer her got, the harder she rocked. The serial killer shook his head at her and said, “Bitch, please, you’re not getting away that easily.” With that said, Mr. Jung raised his machete in the air and brought it down with a powerful force. This would have been the end of many months of sexual frustration for him.
But just as the blade came down, so did the table. The wooden table crashed over on its side and Cletus ended up slashing the leather restraint on Lisa’s left hand. Once she tasted that small bit of freedom, she wasted no time in punching Cletus right in his nut sack, doubling him over in extreme pain.
That bought the sheriff a little bit of time to use her free arm to undo her restraints and ball gag as quickly as she could. The adrenaline rush caused her to fumble with the straps as she tried to untie herself and she screamed through her gag in frustration. She was quickly losing precious time since Cletus was slowly standing back up and raising his blade for yet another slash. “You goddamn bitch!” screamed the murderer when he brought down his blade for what was sure to be the final time.
Lisa had undone her restraints and gag with only microseconds to spare and rolled over on her stomach to avoid the slash. She rolled on her back and went for another low blow, but this time Cletus was ready. He caught her cowgirl booted foot and brought it to his face for a deep sniff.
“You sick pervert!” yelled Lisa before she hauled her foot back and planted a big kick right across the bridge of Cletus’ nose. The killer stumbled backward against the wall clutching his bloodied nose and screaming like a hunted animal. While Lisa used the knocked over table to try and lift herself off the ground, Cletus saw another opportunity to bring down the fierce blade.
This time the torturous weapon found its mark. Lisa’s left hand was cut off at the wrist and the cowgirl rolled around on the ground clutching her wound and crying in agony. She held the front of her shirt against the stump to try and suppress the bleeding. Cletus was bleeding too, but it was the result of a fractured nose and he didn’t care.
Instead the creepy machete warrior picked Lisa’s detached hand off the ground and fondled the fingers lovingly. “Yes…yes, this is indeed a beautiful hand, my dear. Now I won’t have to use my own anymore. You gave me a piece of your body.” Happy tears formed in Cletus’ eyes when he said, “And for that I thank you so much! You’re such an angel! At least you’re going to be by the time I’m finished with you!”
The agonized Lisa Roberts was on one knee still trying to stop the bleeding when her attacker raised his weapon and charged at her full force. The lawwoman only had seconds to react, so she decided to be just as disgusting as her opponent when she unwrapped her shirt from her stump and sprayed a stream of blood in Cletus’ eyes, blinding him and causing him to swing wildly at thin air.
“You bitch! You crazy bitch!” screamed Cletus as he was swinging and missing. “Who does that to another human being?!”
Lisa got to her feet with her stump rewrapped and answered that question with, “The same person who cuts off a woman’s hand just because she broke his damn heart. I don’t give two shits about your broken heart, Cletus. I care a lot more about your broken head!”
In the midst of Cletus’ blind slashing, he had his back turned to Lisa for only a few short moments. That was all she needed to make her move, she ran up to him and threw a flying kick to the back of his head, causing him to wobble forward and drop his weapon. He was so dizzy that he dropped to the ground on one knee reaching around for anything to support him. In case he was thinking of getting his weapon back, Lisa kicked it away from him.
She unforgiving sheriff then stepped on his spine and held him there while allowing him to bellow in agony and scream as many curse words as he could think of before the inevitable happened. While one boot was on Cletus’ back, the other boot came down multiple times on the back of his head, effectively curb stomping him out of existence. His brains and broken skull decorated the already pungent floor of the murder dungeon. Then again, so did Lisa’s stump, which was still bleeding heavily and soaking her shirt.
Escaping the dungeon and finding a doctor in time was a cakewalk compared to the battle she had with Cletus Jung. Not only did the doctor stop the bleeding, but he also attached a hook to her left arm so that she wouldn’t be completely disabled. After the injury, Lisa Roberts began to question the validity of returning to work with most of the town despising her anyways.
But after hearing about Cletus Jung’s violent death, the town didn’t feel too hostile toward her anymore. In fact, they could have voted for Lisa over and over again if they wanted to. But was she really ready to return to work with a hook on her hand and a gun in the other? Decisions, decisions.
She had every right in the world to be creeped out, especially after waking up with a monster hangover and actually having the capacity to think. She didn’t, however, have the capacity to move or talk. Her wrists and ankles were bound by leather straps to what felt like a rickety wooden torture table. Her mouth was stuffed with a red rubber ball with a strap that was nailed to the table. She tried to squirm and muscle her way out of this insidious device, but she was stuck whether she liked it or not. All she could do was listen to her own heart beat in the back of her throat while icy sweat poured down from her long auburn hair.
The room she was in was illuminated only by wall torches. There were no windows to the outside and even if there were, Lisa Roberts wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Her permanent stay in this death dungeon that reeked of mice corpses and horse shit was further cemented when she heard a familiar raspy voice in the background. “I bet you’re wondering why I’ve got you down here, Lisa!”
She knew she heard the voice somewhere before, but it wasn’t until the madman stepped into the light did she realize who this disgusting prick was. He had puffy white hair, a dreadlocked beard, a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and a blood-covered lab coat with little more than a black thong underneath. He also carried a machete that looked sharp enough to cut through steel. Lisa had seen this man before and started panicking through the ball gag once she realized who he was: Cletus Jung aka The Happy Slasher.
Cletus twirled his machete around nonchalantly as he stared into Lisa’s fearful eyes and explained himself. “You’re a tough woman to get a hold of, Miss Roberts. You’re an even tougher woman to ask on a date. It didn’t have to be this way, Lisa. You could have said yes and all would have been right with the world. But instead, you chose the path of a snooty, stuck-up mega whore. You labeled me, Lisa. You labeled me a creep! You labeled me a psychopath! And when all I wanted was a goodbye hug, you threw a beer in my face!”
The madman’s heavy breathing made Lisa perspire and tremble even more. He said, “Well, my darling. My lovely, beautiful, sexy darling. You have every right in the world to say goodbye to me. In fact, it’s your last goodbye. After tonight, you’re not going to be known as the first female sheriff of Tombstone. You’re going to be known as victim number fifty. That’s a lot of bodies to leave behind. I’ve built quite the legacy for myself, haven’t I? I thought that would have been enough to impress you.”
Tears formed in both Lisa and Cletus’ eyes, but for much different reasons. The machete-swinger said, “And this is how you repay me? By turning me down and leaving me a depressed mess? Well, I’m tired of being single, my dear. I’m tired of feeling lonely. With you strapped to that table, I don’t have to be lonely anymore. And goddamn, do you look sexy strapped to that table. I love a girl with a ball in her mouth. Now…let’s get started!”
Cletus raised his bloody blade and slowly stalked Lisa as she rocked the table back and forth with all of her desperate strength. The closer her got, the harder she rocked. The serial killer shook his head at her and said, “Bitch, please, you’re not getting away that easily.” With that said, Mr. Jung raised his machete in the air and brought it down with a powerful force. This would have been the end of many months of sexual frustration for him.
But just as the blade came down, so did the table. The wooden table crashed over on its side and Cletus ended up slashing the leather restraint on Lisa’s left hand. Once she tasted that small bit of freedom, she wasted no time in punching Cletus right in his nut sack, doubling him over in extreme pain.
That bought the sheriff a little bit of time to use her free arm to undo her restraints and ball gag as quickly as she could. The adrenaline rush caused her to fumble with the straps as she tried to untie herself and she screamed through her gag in frustration. She was quickly losing precious time since Cletus was slowly standing back up and raising his blade for yet another slash. “You goddamn bitch!” screamed the murderer when he brought down his blade for what was sure to be the final time.
Lisa had undone her restraints and gag with only microseconds to spare and rolled over on her stomach to avoid the slash. She rolled on her back and went for another low blow, but this time Cletus was ready. He caught her cowgirl booted foot and brought it to his face for a deep sniff.
“You sick pervert!” yelled Lisa before she hauled her foot back and planted a big kick right across the bridge of Cletus’ nose. The killer stumbled backward against the wall clutching his bloodied nose and screaming like a hunted animal. While Lisa used the knocked over table to try and lift herself off the ground, Cletus saw another opportunity to bring down the fierce blade.
This time the torturous weapon found its mark. Lisa’s left hand was cut off at the wrist and the cowgirl rolled around on the ground clutching her wound and crying in agony. She held the front of her shirt against the stump to try and suppress the bleeding. Cletus was bleeding too, but it was the result of a fractured nose and he didn’t care.
Instead the creepy machete warrior picked Lisa’s detached hand off the ground and fondled the fingers lovingly. “Yes…yes, this is indeed a beautiful hand, my dear. Now I won’t have to use my own anymore. You gave me a piece of your body.” Happy tears formed in Cletus’ eyes when he said, “And for that I thank you so much! You’re such an angel! At least you’re going to be by the time I’m finished with you!”
The agonized Lisa Roberts was on one knee still trying to stop the bleeding when her attacker raised his weapon and charged at her full force. The lawwoman only had seconds to react, so she decided to be just as disgusting as her opponent when she unwrapped her shirt from her stump and sprayed a stream of blood in Cletus’ eyes, blinding him and causing him to swing wildly at thin air.
“You bitch! You crazy bitch!” screamed Cletus as he was swinging and missing. “Who does that to another human being?!”
Lisa got to her feet with her stump rewrapped and answered that question with, “The same person who cuts off a woman’s hand just because she broke his damn heart. I don’t give two shits about your broken heart, Cletus. I care a lot more about your broken head!”
In the midst of Cletus’ blind slashing, he had his back turned to Lisa for only a few short moments. That was all she needed to make her move, she ran up to him and threw a flying kick to the back of his head, causing him to wobble forward and drop his weapon. He was so dizzy that he dropped to the ground on one knee reaching around for anything to support him. In case he was thinking of getting his weapon back, Lisa kicked it away from him.
She unforgiving sheriff then stepped on his spine and held him there while allowing him to bellow in agony and scream as many curse words as he could think of before the inevitable happened. While one boot was on Cletus’ back, the other boot came down multiple times on the back of his head, effectively curb stomping him out of existence. His brains and broken skull decorated the already pungent floor of the murder dungeon. Then again, so did Lisa’s stump, which was still bleeding heavily and soaking her shirt.
Escaping the dungeon and finding a doctor in time was a cakewalk compared to the battle she had with Cletus Jung. Not only did the doctor stop the bleeding, but he also attached a hook to her left arm so that she wouldn’t be completely disabled. After the injury, Lisa Roberts began to question the validity of returning to work with most of the town despising her anyways.
But after hearing about Cletus Jung’s violent death, the town didn’t feel too hostile toward her anymore. In fact, they could have voted for Lisa over and over again if they wanted to. But was she really ready to return to work with a hook on her hand and a gun in the other? Decisions, decisions.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Zombies
***ZOMBIES***
When it comes to the horror genre, the new generation is obsessed with three creatures in particular: vampires, werewolves, and zombies. The latter of those three is what this journal is about. We seem to have an unhealthy obsession with zombies these days whether it’s the zombie apocalypse, zombie strippers, or zombie lovers. What we don’t talk about, though, are the zombies who live in the real world. These zombies don’t hunger for brains. They don’t eat flesh. They’re not even necessarily dead. The only death they experience is on the inside. They’re mentally exhausted, emotionally heartbroken, and spiritually lifeless. They come in many forms whether it’s the working stiff, the mentally ill, the insomniac, or just someone who’s been dealt a shitty hand by life itself.
These are the zombies I want to talk about. Unfortunately, very few people want to talk about them with me. The zombies I empathize with are written off as “weak” and “lazy”. Those two slurs are used by the more fortune ones in our lives who don’t experience the same struggles the zombies do. There are two slurs for people like that as well: “spoiled” and “ignorant”. Do these people actually think the life of someone living in a constant haze is glorious? We all aspire to work hard and improve our situations. But if we can’t wake up from our hazy states, sometimes we have to take a step back and reevaluate things.
If you can’t get anything accomplished due to your constant state of numbness, know that you’re not alone and you’re certainly not “weak”. Your struggles don’t make you “lazy”. In the words of Maria Brink when she sings the In This Moment song “Out of Hell”, “Your struggles make you beautiful.” When you experience failures in your life that lead to emotional numbness, overcoming them is a sweet victory. But sometimes in your battles with the world, you have to lose a few. Nobody likes to lose, especially to an opponent as invisible as a mental wound.
The word “zombie” can also be a slur in and of itself, but know that when I use it, I don’t intend for it to be. In fact, giving a dark fantasy name to a modern world struggle is a good way to ignite anybody’s imagination. The thing about zombies in dark fantasy media is that it takes a lot to kill them. No matter how badly they’re beaten, they keep getting up and feasting on their opponents even more. If you’re experiencing a loss in your battles with your mind and body, know that it’s only temporary. You will have your victory in due time and when you do, it’ll be one well-earned. How’s that for being “weak”, Mr. Ignoramus?
We may be drowning in our own sorrows, but drown as we may, we know what fresh oxygen feels and tastes like. Our little victories aren’t little at all. To say otherwise would earn you the “ignorant” and “spoiled” slurs I spoke of earlier. If you’re an author who’s trying to wake up long enough to write a story, don’t beat yourself up for your story being imperfect. If you’re a mother dragging yourself along to get everything done in addition to tending to your children, then be proud of yourself no matter what the outcome. If you’re working nine to five in a call center and you fucking hate your job, don’t allow the negativity of customers to put you in a deeper slumber.
Waking up from the zombie-like state is a great victory no matter who you are. But when we wake up, it won’t be because of negative attitudes. It’ll be because we engaged this mental monster with our hearts and souls. We’ve got ears, say cheers! If for some reason you think I sound like Kevin McCarthy right now, know that I’m one of the zombies I talked about this whole time.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a new week of contests and the prompt is “The Last Goodbye”, which was something I personally harvested from my new Disturbed CD called “Immortalized”. Most of my prompt ideas come from CD’s I’ve purchased recently and being the music hunter I am, that’s a lot of goddamn prompts. I’m happy that Ryan Stone used one of mine this week. He’s an awesome guy! This week’s story will be something I originally intended to do independently, but since it fits the prompt, I’ll write it for the contest. It’s called “The Happy Slasher” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Lisa Roberts, Sheriff
Cletus Jung, Serial Killer
PROMPT CONFORMITY: After this story is over, only one of these two characters will be saying their last goodbyes while the other perishes.
SYNOPSIS: In the wild west, Lisa has been investigating a string of murders in her desert town of Tombstone. She’s ready to call it a night and heads toward the saloon for a frosty beer. After a few chugs, she passes out on the ground and wakes up bound and gagged in Cletus’ dungeon. Cletus reveals himself to be “The Happy Slasher” and the reason for his string of murders is all because he asked Lisa on a date and she “rudely” turned him down. This loser in love now plans to butcher Lisa with an overly sharpened machete.
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
The most recent story from this series I edited was “The Beautiful People”. I thought it was going to be a miserable experience and it turned out to be yet another cakewalk. The next one I plan on doing is “Conform”, which is about two necromancers who try to control a single zombie (we’ve come full circle with the zombie theme). It’ll have a new title, but the story will be the same albeit improved.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
For a novel that barely had the chance to take off, I’m sure taking a liking to drawing pictures of Blood Brawl characters. The next one I plan on doing is of Balrog Deathtrap, a Halfling monk who serves as the main villain of the demon town Aragon. Yes, his race says he’s a Halfling, but his hideous features will dictate otherwise. Hehe!
***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
RICH BRENNAN: Do you think Renee Young was giving you a hard time about not being a real Canadian?
KEVIN OWENS: I don’t know, Rich, does anybody give you a hard time about looking like Millhouse from The Simpsons?
When it comes to the horror genre, the new generation is obsessed with three creatures in particular: vampires, werewolves, and zombies. The latter of those three is what this journal is about. We seem to have an unhealthy obsession with zombies these days whether it’s the zombie apocalypse, zombie strippers, or zombie lovers. What we don’t talk about, though, are the zombies who live in the real world. These zombies don’t hunger for brains. They don’t eat flesh. They’re not even necessarily dead. The only death they experience is on the inside. They’re mentally exhausted, emotionally heartbroken, and spiritually lifeless. They come in many forms whether it’s the working stiff, the mentally ill, the insomniac, or just someone who’s been dealt a shitty hand by life itself.
These are the zombies I want to talk about. Unfortunately, very few people want to talk about them with me. The zombies I empathize with are written off as “weak” and “lazy”. Those two slurs are used by the more fortune ones in our lives who don’t experience the same struggles the zombies do. There are two slurs for people like that as well: “spoiled” and “ignorant”. Do these people actually think the life of someone living in a constant haze is glorious? We all aspire to work hard and improve our situations. But if we can’t wake up from our hazy states, sometimes we have to take a step back and reevaluate things.
If you can’t get anything accomplished due to your constant state of numbness, know that you’re not alone and you’re certainly not “weak”. Your struggles don’t make you “lazy”. In the words of Maria Brink when she sings the In This Moment song “Out of Hell”, “Your struggles make you beautiful.” When you experience failures in your life that lead to emotional numbness, overcoming them is a sweet victory. But sometimes in your battles with the world, you have to lose a few. Nobody likes to lose, especially to an opponent as invisible as a mental wound.
The word “zombie” can also be a slur in and of itself, but know that when I use it, I don’t intend for it to be. In fact, giving a dark fantasy name to a modern world struggle is a good way to ignite anybody’s imagination. The thing about zombies in dark fantasy media is that it takes a lot to kill them. No matter how badly they’re beaten, they keep getting up and feasting on their opponents even more. If you’re experiencing a loss in your battles with your mind and body, know that it’s only temporary. You will have your victory in due time and when you do, it’ll be one well-earned. How’s that for being “weak”, Mr. Ignoramus?
We may be drowning in our own sorrows, but drown as we may, we know what fresh oxygen feels and tastes like. Our little victories aren’t little at all. To say otherwise would earn you the “ignorant” and “spoiled” slurs I spoke of earlier. If you’re an author who’s trying to wake up long enough to write a story, don’t beat yourself up for your story being imperfect. If you’re a mother dragging yourself along to get everything done in addition to tending to your children, then be proud of yourself no matter what the outcome. If you’re working nine to five in a call center and you fucking hate your job, don’t allow the negativity of customers to put you in a deeper slumber.
Waking up from the zombie-like state is a great victory no matter who you are. But when we wake up, it won’t be because of negative attitudes. It’ll be because we engaged this mental monster with our hearts and souls. We’ve got ears, say cheers! If for some reason you think I sound like Kevin McCarthy right now, know that I’m one of the zombies I talked about this whole time.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a new week of contests and the prompt is “The Last Goodbye”, which was something I personally harvested from my new Disturbed CD called “Immortalized”. Most of my prompt ideas come from CD’s I’ve purchased recently and being the music hunter I am, that’s a lot of goddamn prompts. I’m happy that Ryan Stone used one of mine this week. He’s an awesome guy! This week’s story will be something I originally intended to do independently, but since it fits the prompt, I’ll write it for the contest. It’s called “The Happy Slasher” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Lisa Roberts, Sheriff
Cletus Jung, Serial Killer
PROMPT CONFORMITY: After this story is over, only one of these two characters will be saying their last goodbyes while the other perishes.
SYNOPSIS: In the wild west, Lisa has been investigating a string of murders in her desert town of Tombstone. She’s ready to call it a night and heads toward the saloon for a frosty beer. After a few chugs, she passes out on the ground and wakes up bound and gagged in Cletus’ dungeon. Cletus reveals himself to be “The Happy Slasher” and the reason for his string of murders is all because he asked Lisa on a date and she “rudely” turned him down. This loser in love now plans to butcher Lisa with an overly sharpened machete.
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
The most recent story from this series I edited was “The Beautiful People”. I thought it was going to be a miserable experience and it turned out to be yet another cakewalk. The next one I plan on doing is “Conform”, which is about two necromancers who try to control a single zombie (we’ve come full circle with the zombie theme). It’ll have a new title, but the story will be the same albeit improved.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
For a novel that barely had the chance to take off, I’m sure taking a liking to drawing pictures of Blood Brawl characters. The next one I plan on doing is of Balrog Deathtrap, a Halfling monk who serves as the main villain of the demon town Aragon. Yes, his race says he’s a Halfling, but his hideous features will dictate otherwise. Hehe!
***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
RICH BRENNAN: Do you think Renee Young was giving you a hard time about not being a real Canadian?
KEVIN OWENS: I don’t know, Rich, does anybody give you a hard time about looking like Millhouse from The Simpsons?
Saturday, October 3, 2015
WWE Live From Madison Square Garden: Brock Lesnar vs. The Big Show
MATCH: Brock Lesnar vs. The Big Show
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Live From Madison Square Garden
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
On one side of the ring, you have a seven foot tall, 450 lb. giant with multiple championships and an Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royal trophy on his resume. On the other side of the ring, you have a 6’7”, 285 lb. fighting machine with championships from the NCAA, WWE, and even the UFC to his credit. These two super heavyweights aren’t just big and burly. They’re legitimate athletes. They can steamroll any opponent put in front of them. They can put multiple people in the hospital at once. They’re fighters by nature. And even though they’re both past their primes, they keep getting bigger, stronger, meaner, nastier, and better. Only on the WWE Network will these two weapons of mass destruction be allowed to compete. What better place to hold the deadly fight than at Madison Square Garden, the world’s most famous arena and a staple of New York City?
Believe it or not, these two behemoths have survived each other’s onslaughts before. Their first recorded WWE match was in 2002 at the Survivor Series for Lesnar’s WWE Championship. 2002 was Lesnar’s rookie year and already he was dominating this turnbuckle jungle. He won the King of the Ring Tournament. He defeated The Rock to become the WWE Champion at age 25, the youngest at the time. He held multiple victories over The Undertaker. Nobody could stop this wrecking machine from hell…except for The Big Show, who with a steel chair and a little help from a treacherous Paul Heyman, pinned Brock Lesnar and won the WWE Championship.
As badly as these two men beat each other over that year, it wouldn’t compare to an episode of Smackdown in 2003, when Brock Lesnar once again had to defend his WWE Championship against The Big Show. Ass beatings were definitely in order, but the climax of the match didn’t come until Big Show was on the top rope and Lesnar had the idea of super-plexing this mega giant. Not only did Brock Lesnar have the Greek god-like strength to heave the 500 lb. man up, but when the two superstars crashed to the mat, the entire ring fell to pieces. The match was declared a draw, but that moment remained one of Smackdown’s most memorable.
Fast forward to the year 2014 when both The Big Show and Brock Lesnar had developed as brutally powerful athletes. They would meet again at that year’s Royal Rumble pay-per-view. The even itself was greeted with negativity due to Daniel Bryan’s absence from the actual Royal Rumble match, but if the fans ever needed a reason to cheer up, they got it when Brock Lesnar and Big Show’s match never got started. The reason for that being Lesnar’s vicious steel chair assault to Big Show, leaving bruises, blood, and slashes all over the giant’s body.
And now we fast forward to the year 2015 at WWE’s live event in Madison Square Garden. No more bullshit. No more draws, No more cheap shots. No more betrayal. Just straight up violence and nothing more. Though the match itself was relatively shorter than the rest of the matches on the card, it was no less brutal or deadly. It was a match that started with Lesnar attempting a double-leg takedown on Big Show and getting thrown over the top rope by Show instead.
The first few minutes of the match consisted of Lesnar trying to heave and toss around this 500 lb. warrior to no success whatsoever. Big Show decided to end it early with not one, not two, but three choke slams and a leg-hook pin. Even after falling seven feet three times, Lesnar got his shoulder up at two and the match resumed. Big Show was pissed. He was so pissed that he wanted to end it early again, this time with a knockout punch once Lesnar got to his feet.
Big Show didn’t get a KO victory, no, no, no. He got a one-way all expenses paid trip to Suplex City and Madison Square Garden was the capitol building. Brock Lesnar went behind the massive athlete, wrapped his arms around Big Show’s waist, and gave him not one, not two, not even three, but four German suplexes. Having enough strength to throw a 500 lb. man around like that says something about how much of a slayer Lesnar really is. And then this display of brutal strength was capped off with an F5 from Lesnar to Big Show, followed by a leg-hook pin for a full three count.
You think this is over? Aren’t you forgetting the bonus material? That’s right. Big Show actually got back up to his feet and flipped of his opponent. Granted, this titan was on spaghetti legs and couldn’t clear the cobwebs out of his thick skull, but he was clearly itching for another fight. Lesnar was more than happy to oblige. He got back in the ring and delivered an overhead belly-to-belly suplex to the massive ogre before picking his battered ass back up and giving another F5 for good measure. Needless to say, Brock was fully satisfied and walked away from the arena a happy man.
Big Show, on the other hand, walked to the backstage area holding his ribs and trying to maintain his equilibrium. When ringside announcer Eden Stiles said into her microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it one more time for The Big Show!”, all the seven-footer heard was a chorus of boos.
Despite the short length of this match, the multiple displays of sheer power by Brock Lesnar were awesome to watch. Having The Big Show do a job for him was the right move by WWE. And not only was it an important victory for Brock, it was a convincing one. Big Show suffered losses over his career to men much smaller than him.
But this match didn’t feel excessively scripted. This match actually felt like two big men trying to outmuscle each other. Lesnar isn’t used to being the underdog in his matches, so him being victorious in definitive fashion is a huge momentum builder for what awaits him next: a Hell in a Cell match with The Undertaker. After tossing around a man twice his size like he was medicine ball, Brock Lesnar doesn’t look like an underdog anymore, especially not against The Undertaker in a match the latter made famous.
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Live From Madison Square Garden
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
On one side of the ring, you have a seven foot tall, 450 lb. giant with multiple championships and an Andre the Giant Memorial Battle Royal trophy on his resume. On the other side of the ring, you have a 6’7”, 285 lb. fighting machine with championships from the NCAA, WWE, and even the UFC to his credit. These two super heavyweights aren’t just big and burly. They’re legitimate athletes. They can steamroll any opponent put in front of them. They can put multiple people in the hospital at once. They’re fighters by nature. And even though they’re both past their primes, they keep getting bigger, stronger, meaner, nastier, and better. Only on the WWE Network will these two weapons of mass destruction be allowed to compete. What better place to hold the deadly fight than at Madison Square Garden, the world’s most famous arena and a staple of New York City?
Believe it or not, these two behemoths have survived each other’s onslaughts before. Their first recorded WWE match was in 2002 at the Survivor Series for Lesnar’s WWE Championship. 2002 was Lesnar’s rookie year and already he was dominating this turnbuckle jungle. He won the King of the Ring Tournament. He defeated The Rock to become the WWE Champion at age 25, the youngest at the time. He held multiple victories over The Undertaker. Nobody could stop this wrecking machine from hell…except for The Big Show, who with a steel chair and a little help from a treacherous Paul Heyman, pinned Brock Lesnar and won the WWE Championship.
As badly as these two men beat each other over that year, it wouldn’t compare to an episode of Smackdown in 2003, when Brock Lesnar once again had to defend his WWE Championship against The Big Show. Ass beatings were definitely in order, but the climax of the match didn’t come until Big Show was on the top rope and Lesnar had the idea of super-plexing this mega giant. Not only did Brock Lesnar have the Greek god-like strength to heave the 500 lb. man up, but when the two superstars crashed to the mat, the entire ring fell to pieces. The match was declared a draw, but that moment remained one of Smackdown’s most memorable.
Fast forward to the year 2014 when both The Big Show and Brock Lesnar had developed as brutally powerful athletes. They would meet again at that year’s Royal Rumble pay-per-view. The even itself was greeted with negativity due to Daniel Bryan’s absence from the actual Royal Rumble match, but if the fans ever needed a reason to cheer up, they got it when Brock Lesnar and Big Show’s match never got started. The reason for that being Lesnar’s vicious steel chair assault to Big Show, leaving bruises, blood, and slashes all over the giant’s body.
And now we fast forward to the year 2015 at WWE’s live event in Madison Square Garden. No more bullshit. No more draws, No more cheap shots. No more betrayal. Just straight up violence and nothing more. Though the match itself was relatively shorter than the rest of the matches on the card, it was no less brutal or deadly. It was a match that started with Lesnar attempting a double-leg takedown on Big Show and getting thrown over the top rope by Show instead.
The first few minutes of the match consisted of Lesnar trying to heave and toss around this 500 lb. warrior to no success whatsoever. Big Show decided to end it early with not one, not two, but three choke slams and a leg-hook pin. Even after falling seven feet three times, Lesnar got his shoulder up at two and the match resumed. Big Show was pissed. He was so pissed that he wanted to end it early again, this time with a knockout punch once Lesnar got to his feet.
Big Show didn’t get a KO victory, no, no, no. He got a one-way all expenses paid trip to Suplex City and Madison Square Garden was the capitol building. Brock Lesnar went behind the massive athlete, wrapped his arms around Big Show’s waist, and gave him not one, not two, not even three, but four German suplexes. Having enough strength to throw a 500 lb. man around like that says something about how much of a slayer Lesnar really is. And then this display of brutal strength was capped off with an F5 from Lesnar to Big Show, followed by a leg-hook pin for a full three count.
You think this is over? Aren’t you forgetting the bonus material? That’s right. Big Show actually got back up to his feet and flipped of his opponent. Granted, this titan was on spaghetti legs and couldn’t clear the cobwebs out of his thick skull, but he was clearly itching for another fight. Lesnar was more than happy to oblige. He got back in the ring and delivered an overhead belly-to-belly suplex to the massive ogre before picking his battered ass back up and giving another F5 for good measure. Needless to say, Brock was fully satisfied and walked away from the arena a happy man.
Big Show, on the other hand, walked to the backstage area holding his ribs and trying to maintain his equilibrium. When ringside announcer Eden Stiles said into her microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it one more time for The Big Show!”, all the seven-footer heard was a chorus of boos.
Despite the short length of this match, the multiple displays of sheer power by Brock Lesnar were awesome to watch. Having The Big Show do a job for him was the right move by WWE. And not only was it an important victory for Brock, it was a convincing one. Big Show suffered losses over his career to men much smaller than him.
But this match didn’t feel excessively scripted. This match actually felt like two big men trying to outmuscle each other. Lesnar isn’t used to being the underdog in his matches, so him being victorious in definitive fashion is a huge momentum builder for what awaits him next: a Hell in a Cell match with The Undertaker. After tossing around a man twice his size like he was medicine ball, Brock Lesnar doesn’t look like an underdog anymore, especially not against The Undertaker in a match the latter made famous.
Harvest Moon
The orange and red harvest moon was the only thing bright about the medieval night in the city of Tristan. Everything else seemed dark, damp, and gloomy. The Red Warrior Funeral Home was no different. Yes, the bodies were preserved in neat, comfortable bedding within their casket homes. It was the living who suffered the brunt of the foul stenches, ripped curtains, and occasional mice crawling across the floor. Even the tarantulas weaving webs in the corners of this place weren’t immune to the pungent atmosphere as evidenced by their corpses being littered all over the stone floors and walls.
The only person who could take in all of this gloominess and come out of it feeling somewhat neutral was Kendra Callahan, assassin for hire. With dark robes and a hood surrounding her and only an oil lantern guiding her way, her combat boots clanked off the stone floors of the funeral home. If somebody was down here defiling the corpses, she would be the first one to notice and that person would get the shit kicked out of him or her.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she thought to herself as she made her rounds. Guarding this funeral home would have been a cakewalk and she could have had the rest of the evening to herself. How would she have filled that time? Reading? Sharpening her blades? Staying in shape? No. This evening wouldn’t afford her the luxury of a comfortable home, because someone was down here.
The sight squeak of a coffin lid put Kendra Callahan in defensive mode. She got in a fighting stance and drew her steel poison-tipped claws. This sudden racket wasn’t caused by a mere mouse or spider. The intruder was as careful as any stealth artist should be. Kendra took a few more steps and shone her lamp in the general vicinity of the noise.
As soon as the light danced in the right places, the quick and light sounds of footsteps could be heard skittering across the floor. Someone was definitely there and Kendra was determined to give this intruder a taste of her poison. She reached into her belt and chucked a shuriken in where she believed the burglar was standing.
The sounds of pierced flesh and dripping blood put a smile on Kendra’s face. She jogged over with her lamp to see just what had happened, but it wasn’t what she expected at all. A flare of green light illuminated the entire funeral home. The source of such brilliant magic was a witchdoctor dressed in a demon mask and velvet red wizard robes. He gently pulled the shuriken out of his stomach and his wound healed over as if nothing happened.
“What the hell are you doing down here, Ambrose?” said Kendra sternly. The man she was referring to was Ambrose Volta, a delightfully eccentric wizard who didn’t mind delving into his darker side every once and a while.
“Do forgive my abrupt entrance, Miss Callahan, and I shall forgive the shuriken in my stomach. You know why I’m here,” said Ambrose.
“Actually, I don’t have a single fucking clue, but I can take a wild guess and say that you’re down here to get it on with your new undead girlfriend,” said Kendra with a smart-assed smile.
“I would never do such a thing and you know that to be true, my dear,” said Ambrose. “What is true, however, is that these preserved corpses concern me. Their souls are forever trapped in these caskets, a prison for the afterlife of sorts. No more will they suffer. After I work my magic, these souls will find a new and more comfortable place to rest: the Harvest Moon. It’s what religious folks refer to as heaven up there. But the Harvest Moon welcomes everyone and gives them a second chance at peace and beauty, not just those who conform to a certain ideal.”
A confused look formed on Kendra’s face when she said, “And I’m supposed to believe all of this, why? It’s almost like you’re asking me to conform to something I don’t trust myself. Well, there’s a reason why I’m wearing these claws and there’s a reason I’m patrolling this funeral home. Intruders are to be killed on sight. Well, Ambrose, you’re an intruder, so I guess I’ll have to kill you now.”
Kendra started the battle by bolting toward Ambrose and throwing her clawed fists in every direction he planned on going. One scrape from these weapons and even a powerful mage like Ambrose would have keeled over from the poison. And yet, he dodged every slash and every roundhouse kick that followed with so much ease that Kendra hit the wooden caskets instead and knocked a few corpses over.
Ambrose wagged his finger at his nemesis and said, “Naughty, naughty!” He then stretched out his fingers and shot a ball of black sludge in Kendra’s face. The assassin rolled around on her back trying to scream and peel through the tar. The mice and tarantulas were attracted to the scent of this goop and congregated around her face to nibble and chew her snow white flesh.
“Now, where was I before you so rudely interrupted me?” said Ambrose Volta as he turned his attention to one of the corpses that got knocked over. He knelt beside what looked like a young man in his 20’s and shot two bolts of purple lightning in his face.
By this time, Kendra Callahan peeled off the sticky sludge and crushed most of the mice and spiders that were eating her face. The end result was a visage full of nasty-looking battle scars, the same visage that wore an angry expression as the clawed warrior charged at Ambrose again.
She threw rapid-fire punches and kicks at the shaman while he was in the middle of casting his spells. This time there was no easy defense. Ambrose took every slash and every bone-crunching kick and rolled over on his back bloody and beaten. This felt too much like a hollow victory for Kendra. No way it could be over that easy.
She was right. The orange soul of the young man Ambrose was working on floated out of its host body and clutched Kendra around the neck. The soul screamed in a fiery voice, “You idiot! Some of us are trying to get to the Harvest Moon! Meanwhile, all you’re worried about is some shallow payment of gold and silver!”
The soul released its grip and dropped Kendra to the ground, where she hacked and wheezed as she held her throat and tried to suck in oxygen. The soul was laid to rest once more. But it didn’t go back into its own body. The flaming spirit was orally sucked in by the now sitting up Ambrose Volta. The vile wizard stood up and dusted himself off as if he didn’t just get his ass brutally beaten.
As soon as Kendra recovered most of her oxygen and gingerly stood back up herself, she saw Ambrose standing before her with his hands on his hips shaking his head. She freaked out when she said, “No! No! That’s impossible! Why won’t you die, damn it?!” She bum rushed the wizard again, this time with even faster kicks and punches. Her strikes would have been enough to kill most people instantly, but Ambrose concocted a whirlwind cocoon around himself and felt nothing.
Once the assassin tired herself out and stood hunched over, she saw that her adversary took off his demon mask and revealed himself to be a smiling old man with stringy white hair. At least that was one side of his face. The other side held the half-visage of a rotten black skeleton with a glowing orange eye. Even though she was a hardened warrior with virtually no emotions, Kendra Callahan knew it was time to be scared and showed it by shivering violently.
“Miss Callahan,” said Ambrose Volta in a syrupy voice. “I think the two of us have had enough, wouldn’t you agree?” The wizard held out his fingertips and telepathically threw Kendra against the wall, which conveniently enough had deer antlers mounted against it. The tough bones pierced through the clawed fighter and she bled out and died instantly, never once letting out a scream because her powerful lungs were punctured like balloons. The battle was over and all that was left for Kendra’s vision was a field of darkness.
Hours had passed in this dark plain. Not a single noise. Not a single sensation. And then out of nowhere, she heard gentle voices telling her to wake up from her dream. Kendra slowly opened her eyes and allowed them to adjust to the orange morning sky. She slowly stood up and found herself in a field of multi-colored autumn leaves. The voices that comforted her were those of the corpses in the funeral home, their bodies healed and their faces gently smiling.
“Where am I?” asked a weary Kendra Callahan.
A young girl grabbed her by the hand, which no longer had a claw, but a velvet red glove. The girl smiled brightly and gently said, “You’re on the Harvest Moon. Welcome to your new home!” And what a heavenly home it was.
The only person who could take in all of this gloominess and come out of it feeling somewhat neutral was Kendra Callahan, assassin for hire. With dark robes and a hood surrounding her and only an oil lantern guiding her way, her combat boots clanked off the stone floors of the funeral home. If somebody was down here defiling the corpses, she would be the first one to notice and that person would get the shit kicked out of him or her.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she thought to herself as she made her rounds. Guarding this funeral home would have been a cakewalk and she could have had the rest of the evening to herself. How would she have filled that time? Reading? Sharpening her blades? Staying in shape? No. This evening wouldn’t afford her the luxury of a comfortable home, because someone was down here.
The sight squeak of a coffin lid put Kendra Callahan in defensive mode. She got in a fighting stance and drew her steel poison-tipped claws. This sudden racket wasn’t caused by a mere mouse or spider. The intruder was as careful as any stealth artist should be. Kendra took a few more steps and shone her lamp in the general vicinity of the noise.
As soon as the light danced in the right places, the quick and light sounds of footsteps could be heard skittering across the floor. Someone was definitely there and Kendra was determined to give this intruder a taste of her poison. She reached into her belt and chucked a shuriken in where she believed the burglar was standing.
The sounds of pierced flesh and dripping blood put a smile on Kendra’s face. She jogged over with her lamp to see just what had happened, but it wasn’t what she expected at all. A flare of green light illuminated the entire funeral home. The source of such brilliant magic was a witchdoctor dressed in a demon mask and velvet red wizard robes. He gently pulled the shuriken out of his stomach and his wound healed over as if nothing happened.
“What the hell are you doing down here, Ambrose?” said Kendra sternly. The man she was referring to was Ambrose Volta, a delightfully eccentric wizard who didn’t mind delving into his darker side every once and a while.
“Do forgive my abrupt entrance, Miss Callahan, and I shall forgive the shuriken in my stomach. You know why I’m here,” said Ambrose.
“Actually, I don’t have a single fucking clue, but I can take a wild guess and say that you’re down here to get it on with your new undead girlfriend,” said Kendra with a smart-assed smile.
“I would never do such a thing and you know that to be true, my dear,” said Ambrose. “What is true, however, is that these preserved corpses concern me. Their souls are forever trapped in these caskets, a prison for the afterlife of sorts. No more will they suffer. After I work my magic, these souls will find a new and more comfortable place to rest: the Harvest Moon. It’s what religious folks refer to as heaven up there. But the Harvest Moon welcomes everyone and gives them a second chance at peace and beauty, not just those who conform to a certain ideal.”
A confused look formed on Kendra’s face when she said, “And I’m supposed to believe all of this, why? It’s almost like you’re asking me to conform to something I don’t trust myself. Well, there’s a reason why I’m wearing these claws and there’s a reason I’m patrolling this funeral home. Intruders are to be killed on sight. Well, Ambrose, you’re an intruder, so I guess I’ll have to kill you now.”
Kendra started the battle by bolting toward Ambrose and throwing her clawed fists in every direction he planned on going. One scrape from these weapons and even a powerful mage like Ambrose would have keeled over from the poison. And yet, he dodged every slash and every roundhouse kick that followed with so much ease that Kendra hit the wooden caskets instead and knocked a few corpses over.
Ambrose wagged his finger at his nemesis and said, “Naughty, naughty!” He then stretched out his fingers and shot a ball of black sludge in Kendra’s face. The assassin rolled around on her back trying to scream and peel through the tar. The mice and tarantulas were attracted to the scent of this goop and congregated around her face to nibble and chew her snow white flesh.
“Now, where was I before you so rudely interrupted me?” said Ambrose Volta as he turned his attention to one of the corpses that got knocked over. He knelt beside what looked like a young man in his 20’s and shot two bolts of purple lightning in his face.
By this time, Kendra Callahan peeled off the sticky sludge and crushed most of the mice and spiders that were eating her face. The end result was a visage full of nasty-looking battle scars, the same visage that wore an angry expression as the clawed warrior charged at Ambrose again.
She threw rapid-fire punches and kicks at the shaman while he was in the middle of casting his spells. This time there was no easy defense. Ambrose took every slash and every bone-crunching kick and rolled over on his back bloody and beaten. This felt too much like a hollow victory for Kendra. No way it could be over that easy.
She was right. The orange soul of the young man Ambrose was working on floated out of its host body and clutched Kendra around the neck. The soul screamed in a fiery voice, “You idiot! Some of us are trying to get to the Harvest Moon! Meanwhile, all you’re worried about is some shallow payment of gold and silver!”
The soul released its grip and dropped Kendra to the ground, where she hacked and wheezed as she held her throat and tried to suck in oxygen. The soul was laid to rest once more. But it didn’t go back into its own body. The flaming spirit was orally sucked in by the now sitting up Ambrose Volta. The vile wizard stood up and dusted himself off as if he didn’t just get his ass brutally beaten.
As soon as Kendra recovered most of her oxygen and gingerly stood back up herself, she saw Ambrose standing before her with his hands on his hips shaking his head. She freaked out when she said, “No! No! That’s impossible! Why won’t you die, damn it?!” She bum rushed the wizard again, this time with even faster kicks and punches. Her strikes would have been enough to kill most people instantly, but Ambrose concocted a whirlwind cocoon around himself and felt nothing.
Once the assassin tired herself out and stood hunched over, she saw that her adversary took off his demon mask and revealed himself to be a smiling old man with stringy white hair. At least that was one side of his face. The other side held the half-visage of a rotten black skeleton with a glowing orange eye. Even though she was a hardened warrior with virtually no emotions, Kendra Callahan knew it was time to be scared and showed it by shivering violently.
“Miss Callahan,” said Ambrose Volta in a syrupy voice. “I think the two of us have had enough, wouldn’t you agree?” The wizard held out his fingertips and telepathically threw Kendra against the wall, which conveniently enough had deer antlers mounted against it. The tough bones pierced through the clawed fighter and she bled out and died instantly, never once letting out a scream because her powerful lungs were punctured like balloons. The battle was over and all that was left for Kendra’s vision was a field of darkness.
Hours had passed in this dark plain. Not a single noise. Not a single sensation. And then out of nowhere, she heard gentle voices telling her to wake up from her dream. Kendra slowly opened her eyes and allowed them to adjust to the orange morning sky. She slowly stood up and found herself in a field of multi-colored autumn leaves. The voices that comforted her were those of the corpses in the funeral home, their bodies healed and their faces gently smiling.
“Where am I?” asked a weary Kendra Callahan.
A young girl grabbed her by the hand, which no longer had a claw, but a velvet red glove. The girl smiled brightly and gently said, “You’re on the Harvest Moon. Welcome to your new home!” And what a heavenly home it was.
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