Rainbow Ranch, Chapter 5

The top octave was alive with buzzing noises that prickled Lucy’s ear hairs. Must have been another lightning spell that King Harrison was conjuring up. Must have been how this story was going to end: the same way King Harrison’s life ended before he had stolen Loki as a bodily vessel. This was Lucy the Hammer’s destiny: a half-wiener dog cooked like the piece of meat she was named after. She held her friends tightly as if her armor was enough to shield them from a visit from the Angel of Death. If they were leaving Rainbow Ranch together, they’d cross the Rainbow Bridge together. The silver lining in that cloud? They’d never have to see King Harrison again and they’d never have to fight another pointless war against forces they couldn’t understand.

 

“Out of my face, you annoying tart!” belted Harrison. The buzzing continued, but was now accompanied by sounds of heavy swatting. “Go on, get out of here! Move it!”

 

Confusion didn’t weigh on Lucy’s heart nearly as heavily as grief and despair. She welcomed the new emotion as she turned to see what was up. The buzzing was not from a new lightning spell that would send them into the nothing. It was but an amethyst-colored fly flapping its little wings around Harrison’s face, a ghost of sorts. For someone who loved animals, he was quick to annoy when the lifeforms were slightly uglier than a puppy.

 

Harrison continued to swat at the ghost fly and the “annoying tart” dodged and weaved out of the way with minimal effort. His teeth gnashed together and his fists tightened as this microscopic creature got under…whatever was left of his skin. Even when the ghost fly tried to swoop out of Ozzie’s humble abode, Harrison, visibly frustrated, floated after the little dickens and swatted some more while grumbling and groaning through his slime-covered teeth.

 

Lucy, Ozzie, Callie, and Loki looked at each other with their heads tilted in perplexity. Lucy shrugged her shoulders before the four of them leapt to their feet and pitter-pattered outside to see what was going on. Lucy’s eyes widened and her tiny jaw dropped at the sight of their saviors. “Wow…it can’t be…I don’t believe it…” she whispered.

 

On one side of the snowy hill floated the ghost of King Harrison, a disgraced politician and sorcerer who couldn’t let go of his own demons, even at the expense of those who loved him. On the other side of the hill…King James stood with folded arms and a death stare scrawled across his bearded face. And speaking of death stares, nobody did them better than his necromancer confidant himself, Razor Ripley, whose magic was used to resurrect the fly and cause the momentary distraction. With a flick of Ripley’s bony finger, the magic left the fly’s body and drifted into the dark of space.

 

Both sides of this confrontation stared at each other with murderous intentions, fists clenched, lungs expanding and contracting with raspy flows, and deadly eyes that could have been weapons by themselves if not for the necessity of forged steel. Still in Ozzie’s doorway were the four animals who were responsible for exorcising Harrison’s ghost from Loki’s body. Razor Ripley knew they bore the responsibility and gave an ashen-eyed wink at Lucy, which instead of reassuring her, caused her to gulp and shiver. She could never get used to how creepy the necromancer looked even during moments of happiness.

 

King James uncrossed his arms and took a few steps forward, his steel boots crunching in the thick snow. His eyes never disengaged with Harrison’s furious gaze. “It’s over, brother,” said James. “Your quest for revenge was never going anywhere to begin with…and it has nowhere to go now. This whole conflict was little more than a waste of our time and resources. You could have ruled Rainbow Ranch with a kind heart and a wise mind. You could have asked for help if you needed it. And yet…you continued down your self-destructive path. For what reason, dear brother? Why did this need to happen?” No answer from Harrison, only fury. “Answer me, damn it!”

 

“And how exactly did you plan on helping me?” asked Harrison. “What could you have done to make this pain more bearable? I know! You could reach inside my head and pull out every demon that has ever spoken to me and told me this was a good idea! You can still do it now even as my physical form has turned to rotten waste! What are you waiting for, dear brother?! Do it! It’s the only way!”

 

Razor Ripley took a few steps forward until he was side-by-side with his royal master. “This sarcasm is unbecoming of you, Harrison. You bloody well knew what you needed to do. Talk through it all. Identify your emotions. Process the worst parts of your trauma. The healing would have been most difficult, but not impossible. All that being equal…you couldn’t be bothered to participate in your own rescue. That’s why you’re a ghost and everyone else is alive. And I do mean…everyone.”

 

From the bottom of the mountain, Lucy the Hammer’s old squad mates marched up the hill with weapons in hand and stoicism plastered on their jowly visages. Granted, they didn’t quite dry off from being washed down the power station, they were dogs and hygiene was at least the fourth or fifth item on their list of priorities. As Lucy’s heart dropped to her guts, she clutched her chest, smiled weakly, and tried to stifle a flood of tears that would for sure recreate what happened at the power station. Loki licked her face and got a giggle out of her. The tears would have to wait.

 

“As I said before, brother man…it’s over. Your worthless crusade is over,” said James.

 

The ghost of King Harrison cupped his hands and gathered an ample amount of fire energy, which swirled all around him, igniting a furious passion that was par for the course for a man with his demons. “Nothing is over until I say it’s over! This war will continue whether you’re too lazy to continue it or not!”

 

And just like that, Lucy had enough of this arrogant posturing. She proved him wrong before and she would do it again. She furrowed her eyebrows, set her hammer down, and rolled a snowball into her paws before launching it at the back of Harrison’s head.

 

“Ouch! You stupid dog!” bellowed Harrison.

 

“Death Rattle! FIRE!” commanded Razor Ripley. The snowball strike distracted Harrison long enough that he failed to defend himself from the one spell that could send a ghost into the endless void forever: the Death Rattle. That poor fly’s spirit floated away in short order, may his sacrifice never be forgotten. And after a jagged mini-tornado zipped across the hill, the Death Rattle spell found its mark.

 

Harrison’s ghostly essence contorted and twisted into multiple positions as it struggled to resist its inevitable fate. The morphing proved to make Lucy’s eyes widen and heart race faster than actual combat with this foe just moments earlier. Harrison’s head expanded like a balloon. His arms were growing and shrinking willy-nilly. His legs twisted up in a little knot. His stomach gurgled and boiled audibly enough to gag the dogs standing behind Ripley and King James. And then…Harrison’s ghostly body stretched and thinned out as it expanded to the sky. It stretched…and stretched…and stretched…until it was too thin to even exist anymore. And then…POOF! The glowing energy snuffed out and Harrison was but a distant memory. Such a shame he couldn’t get a proper send-off with his own funeral service, but coming back to life and fighting a meaningless war was a decision he made by himself…and one he would carry with him to eternity.

 

Silence took over the battlefield as everyone involved slowed down to process everything they just went through and saw for themselves. Lucy’s heartbeat steadied. Her eyes dried out and returned to normal size. Her heavy breathing had grown shallow. Everyone stood there and let the moment sink in. No more pointless revenge quests. No more insanity. No more wasted motion. Just a land of animals called Rainbow Ranch, where the abandoned and unloved could finally have a community of their own.

 

After a while of taking it all in, Lucy’s smile started to grow and she let out a few giggles. She picked up her oversized hammer and leapt into the air holding it overhead. “We did it!” The Shut Up Stupid Dogs squadron cheered, barked, and howled at the realization that this brutal struggle was over. Ozzie and Callie hugged each other and rekindled the love that was lost so long ago. Loki rushed over to his true owner and licked his bony toes while King James patted him on the head. Lucy continued to run, jump, and play while swinging her hammer in the air. “We did it! We did it, everyone! We gave that mean old man the old One, Two, Buckle Your Shoe!”

 

In her overexcitement, Lucy swung her hammer in the same spinning motion that caused her to belly flop at the power station. But this time…she landed on her feet. Silence overtook the mountain once again as everyone stared at Lucy’s celebratory dance. She actually did it. She landed on her feet. This just made her smile, spin, and dance even more. Wasn’t that what life in Rainbow Ranch was supposed to be about? Smiling, spinning, and dancing? Running, jumping, wrestling, and playing?

 

But now looking at the weapon of war in her hand, Lucy had a decision to make. She had grown comfortable enough in her role as a soldier protecting Rainbow Ranch from the worst of the worst. At the same time, she longed for the feeling of a tennis ball in her mouth, long-nailed hands scratching her belly, and eating sausages that exploded with juice in every bite. This wouldn’t be a decision she could make lightly, but it was one worth considering now that King Harrison was in the rear view.

Ghost

CHORUS 1

You’re just a ghost

With no love to boast

Gone with the wind

Are all of your sins

The shit in the past

Is never built to last

You’re just a ghost

Whose ass is toast

VERSE 1

If I wanted ghost stories, I’d sit at the campfire

Instead all I’m listening to is a fucking bad liar

Twisting the truth like the arms of your victims

Turning the strongest men into prison bitches

A haunted house isn’t good enough for you

A dark cemetery is where you’ll forever stew

Banging on the gates in search of your freedom

As if somewhere beyond is the Garden of Eden

CHORUS 1

You’re just a ghost

With no love to boast

Gone with the wind

Are all of your sins

The shit in the past

Is never built to last

You’re just a ghost

Whose ass is toast

VERSE 2

The spiritual realm has been calling your name

Like a chorus of boos stripping you of your fame

Like a necromantic chant in a sacrificial ritual

Like a street corner sermon of a sick individual

Consider this your one and only eviction notice

It’s extermination time for the swarm of locusts

There’s nothing left here for you to feed on

No more tortured souls for you to beat on

BRIDGE

If there’s something strange in your neighborhood

Burn it to the ground with gasoline and wood

If there’s a ghost in your brain that’s causing you pain

Flush that shit out and watch it swirl down the drain

CHORUS 2

You’re just a ghost

A parasite to the host

Gone with the wind

Let the new wave begin

The shit in the past

Is never coming back

You’re just a ghost

With no bail to post

FINAL LINES

You’re just a ghost!

You’re just a ghost!

Of all the hatred I could give

You deserve it the most!

In Perfect Harmony

***IN PERFECT HARMONY***

I have no idea why, but the lyrics to the Within Temptation song “In Perfect Harmony” made me dewy eyed when I read them online. That’s not the same is full-fledged crying, but it was close. I still hold the 2007 record for the last time I bawled like a baby. But if you all want to know what these lyrics are, keep reading. You might get dewy eyed too.


VERSE 1
In a world so far away
At the end of a closing day
A little child was born and raised
Deep in the forest on a hidden place
Mother never saw his face

CHORUS
Ancient spirits of the forest
Made him king of elves and trees
He was the only human being
Who lived in harmony
In perfect harmony

VERSE 2
The woods protected, fulfilled his needs
Fruit by birds, honey by bees
He found shelter under trees
He grew up in their company
They became his family

VERSE 3
A thousand seasons
They passed him by
So many times, have said goodbye
And when the spirits called out his name
To join forever, forever to stay
A forest spirit he became


The question of the day is: did anybody else become teary when they read that or am I just fluff and stuff? We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

A new week means a new prompt. This time we’ve got “cabin” as our keyword and it turns out only one of my synopses fits the prompt. My story this week will be called “Cemetery Gates” (named after the Pantera song) and it goes like this:


CHARACTERS:

AJ Robbins, Traumatized Boyfriend
Eve Mills, Loving Girlfriend

PROMPT CONFORMITY: AJ and Eve are spending a weekend together in a cabin.

SYNOPSIS: AJ and Eve have been a couple for a long time now and all of the sudden Eve feels like her boyfriend is keeping secrets from her. When the two of them eat dinner together, she presses him about it and AJ becomes defensive. The secrets he’s been keeping are too traumatic for him to talk about and he prefers to keep those memories buried forever. AJ even refers to his mind as a cemetery gate since it keeps a graveyard of buried secrets underneath. The argument between this couple is a classic debate between having no secrets and respecting traumatic privacy.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

The last drawing I did was of Levi Lincoln, who’s basically Bray Wyatt in a British Guard shako. Up next? Marcus Edge from “Stardust”, who’s basically Clinton “Skink” Tyree from Carl Hiaasen’s novels with druidic magic and a hotter temper. Mitch O’Connor (space mercenary from “Stardust”) could have worn all the armor he wanted to, but his ass was lunch meat the minute Marcus Edge laid eyes on him. Yikes!


***OCCUPY WRESTLING***

I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t been moving any faster than a snail’s pace when editing these chapters. But getting them edited I’ve been doing and it will continue with chapter six and seven, where the police get a nasty surprise in the form of hooded druids with snake masks and magical powers. Where the hell is Marcus Edge when you need him? Better yet, where the hell is Mitch McLeod when Debra Winter needs him?!


***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do pop music and scissors have in common?
A: Rock beats both of them.

Shadow-Pie

For Lance Bradley, driving out to the Ophidian Valley Desert was the longest journey he had ever embarked on. It had nothing to do with how much gas his white Honda used to get there. It had everything to do with his mind racing even faster than his vehicle. With his father’s ashes in a golden urn in the back seat, why wouldn’t his mind be racing at a hundred miles per hour. His pale face hadn’t seen a smile since the day his father passed. His pony tailed brown hair was a disheveled mess. His black rimmed glasses did a piss poor job of blurring out the tears forming in his eyes.

It was a thirty minute drive to the desert with a lifetime of sorrowful thoughts and heartache to go with it. When he parked by the side of the road, he shook and staggered his way to the back seat to get his father’s ashes. Stepping out into the desert sand was even more of a chore for his aching body. Who knew depression could hurt so badly in more places than just the mind. After a while of dragging his heavy feet, Lance finally dropped to his knees and let the urn crash onto the ground, though the soft sand kept the golden container from breaking. The tears were coming much more rapidly and his face was turning beet red.

“You must be Lance Bradley,” said a sagely voice. The grieving son picked his burdensome head up and saw that an elderly black dog with hints of gray fur and an Indian head dress was the source of that voice. Lance had the urge to go over and give her endless belly rubs and ear scratches. Hearing her actually form words with her dog muzzle made him reconsider. This wasn’t an ordinary animal. This was the shaman of the Ophidian Valley Desert, Shadow-Pie.

The sagely dog went on to say, “My condolences for your loss, Mr. Bradley. I’m sure he was very special to you.” The pawl bearer cringed and shivered as he stood up with the golden urn in hand. Shadow tilted her head to the side and asked, “Did I say something offensive?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that…well…I wasn’t expecting a dog to carry out this ritual. No offense,” said Lance without making eye contact with Shadow.

“None taken, my child. I get that kind of reaction no matter who comes out here. That golden urn of yours. Bring it here so that I may perform the ritual. I take it you don’t want to spend the whole day out here. Let’s get this done so that you can go home and rest,” suggested Shadow.

Lance stumbled over to the talking dog with the urn clutched to his chest like a child’s teddy bear. Something was bothering him other than the fact that his father was dead. Not even a wise being like Shadow could make out what it was. The pawl bearer set the urn down in front of the sweet-hearted beast and unscrewed the lid.

“Are you absolutely sure you’re okay, Mr. Bradley? Is it just grief from the loss of your father or is it something else?” asked Shadow.

An agitated Lance said, “I told you, Shadow, everything is fine!”

The elderly dog barked at her charge and said in a stern voice, “That’s not the way you talk to a shaman, young man. I was merely trying to figure out if everything was okay. You don’t need to take your aggression out on an animal spirit like me!”

Lance stuffed his hands in his tan khaki pockets, looked down at his feet sheepishly, and said, “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“If it means so much to you, then we can discuss this later. Until then, I have a ritual to perform. Stand as far back as you can, because the air is about to get dusty. Wouldn’t want a fine young man like you to have a sore throat,” said Shadow.

After the grieving son stepped backwards as he was told, Shadow stuck her snout into the urn and breathed in the ashes deep within her system. A few more deep breaths later and the ritual was underway, which consisted of her blowing the ashes out into the desert in the form of a high speed wind. The black cloud eventually turned green. The high winds became even more powerful. Spiritual chanting could be heard from Shadow’s throat as she simultaneously blew the ashes.

The green smoke began to form a dark circle around Shadow and Lance, making the latter of the two shiver and dart his eyes from side to side. If he wasn’t scared before, he was now that the shaman dog’s eyes were dark red and her currently razor sharp teeth were trembling in anger.

Lance tried to talk down the normally friendly dog by saying, “Good girl. She’s a good girl. Would you like a belly rub?” The possessed Shadow barked angrily at her charge and growled at him with white spittle running down her jowls. “Okay, um…how about some beef jerky! I have a whole bag of it in my car!”

The diplomacy of the dead man’s son was unconvincing to the ferocious beast as she leapt through the air and landed on Lance’s chest, pinning him down and barking relentlessly in his screaming face. Lance stopped screaming for a moment when Shadow spoke to him in his father’s gruff voice: “It’s about time you dragged me out here, little boy. There’s nobody around here to save you this time. No cops. No social workers. Not even your clueless mother! I’m going to enjoy every single bit of this torture I have planned for you. The first thing I’m going to do is bite off each of your little fingers one at a time!”

As Shadow slowly went for the first bite, Lance’s pants-pissing fear was replaced with a berserker’s courage. “Screw you, Dad!” he yelled as he landed a palm strike on the possessed dog’s nose. Shadow stumbled backwards long enough for Lance to stand up and put his dukes up.

But this wasn’t going to be an epic fight to the death. A dog’s nose was the most sensitive part of the beast’s body. Instead of charging at the dead man’s son with bloodlust, Shadow began to suck in air quickly before sneezing a hurricane of green spiritual energy. Lance was blown backwards into his car, where the back of his head bounced off of the hood and knocked him temporarily unconscious. As his vision was going black, all he could see was the green energy of his dead father cursing at him with venom in his voice.

It felt like an entire year had passed since this incident took place, but only because Lance Bradley had a monstrous headache as he awakened from his TKO at the hands of Shadow. The sky was a dark blue and the golden sun was setting underneath the horizon. Just exactly how much time did pass? Lance didn’t care. He rubbed the back of his sore head as he was coming around. He had a little bit of a bump there, but nothing more.

Shadow seemed a bit wobbly herself as she waddled over to her client, who sat against his car door with his butt on the desert ground. Shadow also seemed a little upset with Lance as she stared into his eyes with a little bit of a furrow in her brows. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Mr. Bradley? Is there a reason why the spirit of your ‘loving’ father caused me to nearly kill both of us? I want answers, Lance. I want them now!”

“I can’t talk about it, Shadow. I just can’t,” said a whimpering Lance.

“Listen to me, son,” said the sagely dog. “You came all the way out to this desert for a reason. Someone obviously sent you out here to carry out your father’s final wishes. But your father’s final wishes weren’t necessarily yours, were they, Lance? You don’t have to give me all the details of your father’s sins, but maybe a surface-level description would satisfy me. I need to know why I transformed into that horrible beast.”

A teary silence befell Lance before he finally mustered up the strength to say, “I was…I was…”

“You were what? Don’t run away from your past, my dear. Face it head on and create a better future. You were almost denied that future when I inhaled your father’s spirit. Are you going to let him do this to you from beyond the grave?” said Shadow.

After taking a few deep breaths, Lance Bradley spilled the beans on his father’s transgressions. “I was only eight years old. You don’t make an eight year old do those things. You don’t make him taste those tastes. You don’t make him feel embarrassed like that. You don’t touch your own son that way!” The last sentence was shouted with all of Lance’s pent up frustrations. The tears were pouring like rain at this point.

“Do you feel that?” asked Shadow. “Inside each of those tears is the spiritual energy of your past agony. They’ve stayed within you for so long. You were afraid to let them out for fear of reliving those days. I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to live those days anymore, my son. The truth set you free. You set your father’s soul free. And I am right here beside you. I always will be. Dogs like me were put on this earth to give comfort to those who need it. I am giving all of my comfort to you. Keep those floodgates open and learn to love again.”

Shadow nuzzled her soft head against Lance’s chest while the sobbing son wrapped his trembling arms around his new doggie. “Your fur is so soft. I could pet you all day long. Is it okay if I pet you?” asked Lance.

“You don’t have to ask me, my child. You can pet me for as long as you want to. Take your time and don’t let up until you’re ready to hit the road again,” said the loving Shadow-Pie.

The petting session, the flowing tears, and the heartache of it all lasted for hours that night. The sun had gone to sleep for the day and the full moon glowed brightly for the sagely animal and her new owner Lance. Peace and tranquility had come to Ophidian Valley once more.

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”-

"So...I Met a Vampire" by Paul McAvoy

BOOK TITLE: So…I Met a Vampire
AUTHOR: Paul McAvoy
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Creature Horror
GRADE: Fail


A young lady named Jessie James started off by going on a school field trip and ended up in the spirit world after dying in a drowning accident. And now in order to get a second chance at life, she must extract a vampire’s blood and bring it to the grim reaper within a limited time frame. Once the time limit is over, if she has not completed her task, she will be stuck in the spiritual realm forever. With the help of vampire expert Charles Devon, it appears as though a return to the mortal realm is at hand. But even with all the expertise in the world, this won’t be an easy task for someone as young and naïve as Jessie.

On the surface, this race-against-time plot seems like it could work in just about any scenario. We like the feeling of adrenaline rushes, especially when combined with supernatural elements. But it’s hard to be excited about the plot when the awkward writing style gets in the way of what would have otherwise been an enjoyable story. Unrealistic dialogue, obvious statements, a robotic narrator, and excessively short sentences are the best ways to describe the overall writing style Mr. McAvoy has employed with this novel. I know this book is geared toward a younger audience and younger readers aren’t as nitpicky as adults. But I can’t help but feel they too would be uncomfortable with the way this book is written.

The name of the main character also needs some analysis: Jessie James. The last time we heard about someone with this name, it was to describe a dangerous outlaw from wild west narratives. Ever since then, we’ve heard about other characters and celebrities with that name as well. We’ve heard about Sandra Bullock’s ex-boyfriend being named Jesse James as well as a female country singer with that name too. Hell, there was a WWE wrestler in the 1990’s named “Road Dogg” Jesse James. The name has been used so many times that it’s been beaten to death. The main protagonist of this story is just one more club to the dead horse’s body. Plus, it feels too obvious to name somebody that.

One more gripe about this story and then I’ll be finished with this review. The characters in this story seem too accepting towards supernatural elements. What’s that? A vampire? Meh. A ghost? Please. The grim reaper? Oh, that’s cool. These normally dangerous and imposing figures are just brushed off like nobody cares. In a dystopian society, this would be believable. But this just seems like an everyday modern community. Easily giving into supernatural phenomenon sounds too convenient, as if the author was trying to bypass the problem of having a protagonist whom nobody believes.

When Mr. McAvoy reads this review, I don’t want him to feel badly about what he’s produced. I want him to learn things and develop. That is my ultimate goal as a reviewer: to praise the author when necessary and hold him or her accountable when it matters most. This book may receive a failing grade (two stars) from little old me, but I assure you this is not Paul McAvoy’s last dance. The race-against-time plot is one that has a lot of truth to it. If it was better executed, then the complaints would be minimal. I hope Mr. McAvoy does learn something from this experience and I hope his next project will give him a chance to rise from the ashes like the phoenix he was meant to be.

Ottie-Doo

The Skull Hammer Cult walked the Earth in search of the ultimate paradise and somehow landed in the backwoods area of Paulson City. Their official church was an old schoolhouse from the 1800’s, a one-classroom compound with broken pieces of wood holding it together and stale red paint coming off in flakes. There used to be a beautiful golden bell at the top of the steeple, but it had since been replaced by the symbol of the Skull Hammer Cult, which was an iron skull minus a jaw with a sledgehammer going through its cranium.

Inside this official church, children ranging from little ones to teenagers were sitting in their desks praying and dancing around like creepy little puppets, waiting for their master to return. Randy Fender, the cult master in question, dredged through the front door carrying what appeared to be a dead cat. Its mouth was bleeding and one eye was hanging out of its socket. Instead of being frightened by this, the children’s eyes lit up like Christmas bulbs as they clapped their hands happily at their masters arrival.

Randy, dressed in a smelly blue mechanic’s jumpsuit and a black demon mask, approached the center of the schoolhouse and laid the dead cat on the altar, its rancid corpse making the ugly Skull Hammer symbol even worse to look at.

Mr. Fender looked among the children and said, “Do you see this? This, my brothers and sisters, is what we’ve been looking for this whole time. Not just a source of tonight’s delicious meal, but this wicked creature holds our key to salvation. This cat is imbued with magical powers, powers that once possessed can make us stronger than we’ve ever been. No mere mortal shall stand in our way to paradise. Wait no longer, children. Take the first bite!”

The hypnotized children waved and wiggled their fingers over the cat’s corpse, as if to anticipate how this magical feast will taste to their young palettes. And then the cat’s body began to glow in a mystical purple aura, which made the little ones even more excited than they already were.

They were forced to take a few steps backward, however, when the cat corpse came to life and stood on all four paws. After letting out a long-winded yawn and popping her eyeball back in its socket with her fuzzy paw, the kitty looked around the schoolhouse to see what all the hubbub was about.

“Yes! This is exactly the proof we needed!” shouted an exhilarated Randy. “I knew I picked the right one! I knew it the minute I laid eyes on this poor tortured pussycat!”

The cat gave a confused look and said, “What the hell are you talking about, you whack job? I’m not a poor tortured pussycat. I’m the kitty sage Ottie-Doo. Call me Ottie for short.”

“Wow!” said one of the children. “She can talk!”

Randy grabbed the kid by the back of the neck and sternly warned him, “Remember what I said when I first met you: don’t speak until spoken to, little one!”

“Put that boy down, you monster!” yelled Ottie before she waved her paw and threw a green lightning bolt at Randy Fender’s hand, the sharp pain causing him to yelp and let go.

“So, you’re not only a magical kitty who can talk, but when you do talk, you’re a total smart-ass! I don’t like your attitude, little kitten. These children know better than anybody what happens to little smarmy-mouthed wise-asses in my Skull Hammer Cult. Children? Show this precious feline what I’m talking about!”

“Wait!” shouted Ottie. “Do you children really want to listen to this man? Look at him! He’s less than human! I’m a dingy old cat myself, so that’s saying a lot! Seriously, what do you young ones see in this disgusting man?!”

No response from the children, only wild red eyes and drooling mouths. Randy said, “You were saying, little kitten?”

“Do what you wish to me, demon man, but no harm shall come to these children!” threatened Ottie-Doo.

The kids laughed in throaty, monstrous voices as they closed in on the kitty with their arms stretched out like zombies. The witch kitty floated in the air with pink stardust fluttering underneath her. The kids stared in awe as she flew around the schoolhouse showing off her magical powers. Her biggest trick yet was forming a ball of orange electrical and fiery energy in her paws and chucking it at Randy Fender’s demonic face.

If the cocky cult leader wasn’t wearing a mask, he would be showing off his creepy confidence as he grabbed a nearby child and used him as a human shield. The magical ball exploded the small child, but not into blood and guts. Instead the little boy turned into a pile of maggots, worms, and beetles. It was a sight that made Ottie-Doo watch on in shock and horror as she floated near the ceiling.

“You can’t save these children, witch cat,” said Randy. “They’ve been converted to my minions a long time ago. So many tearful parents are wondering right now if they’ll ever get their children back. Maybe they will someday. But then again, when your body is loaded with parasitic creatures, would any parent want you back in the first place?” The evil cult leader laughed his head off.

The louder and throatier Randy laughed, the angrier it made Ottie-Doo. Her fuzzy paws were curled into fists of fury and her old lady teeth were cracking underneath her jaws. A cyclone of blue lightning and wind encircled her as she prepared for her next magic spell. Randy was already one step ahead of her when he knelt down to peel back a floor board and pulled out a gigantic battleaxe, which was also glowing with blue energy.

“Just to show you how far gone these children are, Miss Ottie-Doo, let me show you just how much they’re willing to sacrifice to make me stronger!” With that said, Randy held out the glowing battleaxe and one by one the children dissolved into a puddle of worms. The worms crawled all around Randy and were gathering around the metal axe, the blade absorbing their spiritual essences. This horrific sight struck even more fear and doubt in the heart of Ottie-Doo as her magical energy was dwindling and she was sinking to the ground below.

She hung her elderly kitty head feeling like a failure to these poor children. Then again, if they were made of worms and maggots, maybe their childlike forms were merely a mind game. So many thoughts raced through her mind as she tried to wrap her head around what this Randy Fender asshole was doing.

She couldn’t take too long to think, however, as she dodged out of the way in the nick of time when the blade came crashing down. Big Randy swung that battleaxe like a berserker, shattering every piece of wood he hit into sawdust. Ottie bounced around and dodged every single shot. She even found herself running along the walls just to avoid getting slashed with this magical weapon.

“You’re gonna die, bitch! You’re gonna die badly!” screamed Randy when he took off his demon mask and revealed the face of a hideously scarred and tattooed psychopath. The sight of his hideous face made Ottie curl up into a ball of fear as her eyes leaked with salty tears. She didn’t feel like she could fight such a monster anymore. He was too big, too fast, and too monstrous. Ottie was just an elderly cat who literally slept like a corpse.

Randy charged over to a cornered Ottie with the blade held high. With one final swing, he was going to break this “annoying” cat into a million pieces. But just as the blade came crashing down, Ottie had one last hope for victory. Randy’s attacks were relying solely on reckless momentum. Therefore, Ottie used telekinesis to use his own momentum against him. Instead of cutting through the elderly witch kitty, the axe took a magical detour into Randy’s stomach.

The cult master never saw this coming behind his own rage. The spirits of dead children were flying out of his body and out of his axe while the ultra-evil Randy Fender melted into a puddle of maggots and worms himself. The parasites dissolved into little puddles of blood and the last of the children spirits flew away into the night sky. With just one small opening, Ottie-Doo ended this battle.

But at what price? Those kids were beyond help. Whatever Randy Fender did to them would put a strain on the parents forever. All Ottie could do was tuck her head and meow softly to herself. She won the battle, but lost the war.

Just when she was about to spend this evening in a crying slumber, she felt a gentle touch on top of her kitty head. Ottie looked up and saw one of the spirit children smiling a beautiful smile at her, just like all children should. In no uncertain terms, the child spirit had only one thing to say to her savior: “Thank you!”