My Life as a Smurf.

My Life as a Smurf.

            “The people come and go, this way and that; all passing through my panoramic view of the world. My job is forced voyeurism, non-participant always expectant. I sit within hearing of this world’s footfalls of the pedestrian traffic, the clicking heels on the marble amidst the rustle of clothing in friction. I am yet isolated to their nervous smiles from the women as they notice me and the stares of the men who happen to look in my direction. They don’t want me here but are secretly grateful I am.

            Almost no one talks to me except for civility’s sake or for directions to classes, study rooms, bathrooms and elevators. Most simply offer a polite nod, a forced smile or some stupid attempt to show off that they don’t fear me. They fear what I represent. Observing this they skirt my area, not knowing what to say. I let them slip by not knowing how to reply to what they would say. They are almost always surprised to see this sign of acceptance and intelligence as I am dumbfounded by their lack thereof.”

                                                                                                Michael van Dudekof

                                                                                                Library Security Guard.

            We sit there at the desk in the entrance hall of the monumental main floor of the university library. We are the boys in blue, the unarmed security guards, with our clip on ties and big name tags that identify us as such. We sit and observe all the day long only holding conversations among ourselves, our radio bricks on our belts popping with occasional static. A pen in a palid blue uniform shirt nestled next to a notepad that contains our police call cheat sheet. We have police belts for our radio and small regulation flashlights instead of the billyclub flashlights the real cops are expected to have. A pager for the circulation desk rests beside the flashlight. Our black pants scratchy and our black sneakers dull.          

            The desk is our shield against the students and homeless vagrants who come wandering in and out. Its broad wood surface contains a couple of newspapers, a report book, and a telephone that is supposed to be kept inside a locked drawer in the desk.

The library staff hate the desk, one day they will get rid of it and probably make us stand but for now we guards can hide behind its wall from this weird world.

            Today is Thursday, nothing special, save that it is the end of the week for us, the last night that the library stays open all night. Tonight is when we get the freaks and weirdos jumping out of everyone of the racks. Tonight is when the desperate lovers want to make mooky in the study cubicles and the perverts go hunting late night sleepers and bring optical zoom lens cameras to catch a quickie of the women’s dorm across the way. I am with the pervs on that last one sometimes it is quite entertaining to remind the young woman that striping in front of dorm windows without blinds is unwise. We flash our torches at them and they shriek when it dawns on them where we are.

            What gets me is that the library admins hate us but cannot live without us. They give us no respect and take every opportunity to boss us around and tell us what we are not supposed to do all day long. Night-shift is the only time for us to relax into our jobs and not have to look over our shoulders. Night shift we get call our own shots and go where we like- not that we don’t anyway but we don’t have to look like we aren’t trying on the late shift.

The question of the day, is should I keep writing on this one?

first lines

Fist lines for possible stories:

• The cold of sweat wet the back of his ears as he crouched, uncomfortably, waiting for the signal that the surprise attack was to begin
• The winds came across the stone hills in a rush of murmuring whispers of some lost soul crying in the approaching darkness.
• She stood on top of the craggy cleft for a long time screaming her lungs dry, calling her sister’s name over and over again until her voice broke in lamentable despair.
• How preposterous is it to suggest that stories can be settled with death defying races, two fools dueling it out to almost certain death?
• Life isn’t perfect even in virtual reality, Max E knew this fact all too well having had his digits and bits rearranged one too many times of late.
• The Ion engines roared to life and the flux turbines whined into a scream of pure power as the Vex Guardian, a first wave snub fighter prepped for its first combat launch.
• The War chief sat her horse among the amber blades of wane on the hillside and looked down at the rank and file of the ever-victorious Tiberian Army
• The thug looked down at the blood as it congealed on the stony steps outside the Shady Grove Café, it was his blood.
• The sword sang its song of crimson death in the light of the fading sun; for slaughter of men it had been lovingly made and skillfully wielded.
• The moon’s white disc floated out into the heavens high above Amarron, Seluna the white hunter, followed by Diss, her almost invisible twin.
• The light in the stone circle intensified until the stone around it began to emanate an audible hum, Scott felt heat coming from the monolith he leaned against and wondered again if coming had been in his best interests.
• As the prayers for the dead continued, Steven added his own for Margaret’s life- knowing all the while he should be praying for her soul instead.
• Scimida stood by her friend, Akaeshiel, and looked on as Oxbo walked his mount up to join as they watched the sun set over the ruins of Lorderan.
• Jen walked down the flight of stairs to the marble topped ballroom, her dress a swathe with a thousand shining stars on the deep blue silk riding her hips.
• How could a farm girl from Kansas end up flying in a outdated Flying Fortress across the impossible landscape of an equally impossible world; she knew the answer every time she asked it, it had all started when she met the man named Quest and gave him a ride in her father’s Chevy truck.
•  

Remembering Wendy Jordan

Remembering Wendy Jordan

            During my time in high school, I fell for all the wrong girls… Wrong may be harsh, it is not meant to imply that the girls were in and of themselves wrong, but rather just not right for me. I wouldn’t say that there was any one girl that was “right” for me but surely there were several that could have been closer. I fell for any girl who spoke nicely to me, paid me any attention at all. In short, I was a Napoleon Dynamite Dork.

            Then there was Wendy. I remember sitting in the movie theater watching There’s Something about Mary and thinking about Wendy. Wendy Jordan was Benny Jordan’s little sister. Benny Jordan was the all time biggest and oddly nicest football player I have ever known. He was like all Jock and heart; he called me- the ultra-dork, Buddy. Benny never made fun of me and there was a lot of me to make fun of. His resilience and friendliness made him one of my heroes in high school. This put his all too beautiful sister, Wendy, in a position of awe for me.

            Wendy, was and is in my memory, a beautiful blond girl in a her brother’s letter jacket and 80’s blue jeans with soft skin and bright eyes surrounded by late afternoon sunlight that makes her glow. A fantasy I know but I always held her above sexual fantasy and base daydreams. Why? Because she was always the best person she could be around me. Like her brother, never an unkind word for me and what’s more I felt like I existed in her universe as opposed to the other girls of whom I thought I was in love with at the time.

            I should have fallen in love with Wendy when I was with her, instead of my memories of her. Memories tend to soften the blow that reality that reality brings. With trepidation I returned to Knoxville and ultimately to the ten year high school reunion. It was at once great and disastrous. First, I chose the worst clothes for the reunion- a shirt and pants ensemble- that apparently unbeknownst to me made me look like I had joined the clergy. Second, despite a promising start, the reunion boiled down into the cliques of the old days with the in (and married) crowd on one side and the out (and single or otherwise undesirable) crowd on the other. My friend Don, a successful Netscape programmer, left in disgust at what happened. And there I was on the outside again voted “the most unchanged” since high school which translated as “gee Mike, you are still a loser and a dork” award. Needless to say I was put out.

            Then she walked in. Wendy Jordan still had “it” and what is more she had much, much more. She had grown from the soft sweet all American girl into the most beautiful and mature woman I had seen since the tabloids. Of course, I had allowed myself to be regulated back to the loser table so I just sat in awe feeling like that damnable dork I was in high school. I later left in disgust and defeat at what became a sad disappointment of a reunion. Later, I heard that things Wendy did not bond with her former classmates either which pleased that petty part of me.

            Now having said all that let me explain a few things. No one deliberately separated me from the others or labeled me as a loser or dork. We all just fell back into old patterns as we began to socialize again with each other. Don was too impatient having grown a lot since high school and expecting everyone else to do the same. I was, at that point in my life, lost. I had fully realized my generation X potential- which of course, was nothing, nowhere, and no how. I didn’t know who I was or what I had really wanted and when paired up with people who seemed at least to know who they were and their spouses and children are, I paled by comparison .

            Things I wish I had done in high school:

1. Gotten into football: sounds weird coming from the ex-Dungeons and Dragons Dungeon Master, but after hearing about it from various people over the years it would have done me some good:
1. gotten me into shape
2. probably gotten some grudging respect from the jocks
3. gotten to be better friends with Benny Jordan
4. allowed me to get even with Chris Lusby on the field in many inventive and creative ways
5. built some real confidence that I have sadly lacked all my life
2. Quit Horticulture after my freshman or sophomore year. I wasn’t a redneck and had a even more worse time trying to be one than I would have had trying to be a cheerleader. Boy! I miss all that spitting and dipping and cussing and slouching and spitting- did I say spitting?
3. Paid more attention to English and Academics than Art (turns out I am not an artist!) and Horticulture (not a farmer either). I actually kind of cheated at drawing to make up for lacking real talent. All that drawing should have been writing instead as I am a much better writer than I ever was an artist.
4. Not fallen for Wendy Shearer- she later became a good friend, but she was a mess in high school. Not fallen for Coco Easterbrook- she was married! Not fallen for Sandra Collins- look how she turned out sleeping with a former customer of mine who is at least 10 years her junior! How could I compete with that? Not fallen for Beth Tipton who was so small and thin and cute that I would have broken her in two just like her overly jealous boyfriends would do to me when they caught me mooning at her in health class. Not fallen for Meshelle Conners who was having every other guy in the art supply room. Not falling for Sheri Brooks, and THAT is a LONG story right there, nor Stacey Boomers who was engaged to a guy in college, not falling for Christy Davenport who I had relentlessly teased with cruel names and references then held out the doozey poem of all time The Knight of the Lost Rose- a real award winning sappy despairing poem of lost unrequited love and sadness and death- and thank god I left that silly pretentious knight far, FAR behind both for me and for poor Christy who didn’t do anything wrong but grow into a beautiful woman. There were others but most were passing, although I will hand it to Julie Carabia for the most interesting date of all time. That was the one where her and her Jehovah’s Witnesses Minister came over for tea and interviewed me as a possible convert and date material. There was no second date however. I have run scared of Miss Carabia ever since.
5. Started writing for real, I feel like I missed story after story and opportunities by thinking I was some great artist. At best I was a mediocre artist and a great faker. I learned to trace earlier and illustrate well, give me a model and I could transform it into something wondrous- I have a file cabinet full of models and tracings of them.
6. Gone somewhere for summer break, I was too much of a coward to leave home and go anywhere. I had a real fear of abandonment at that point having had my father walk out on my mother and me my freshman year. I was so sure, unconsciously for sure, that my mother was waiting for a chance to split as well. My hat’s off to her for sticking around to see me spiral out of control,
7. Had a girlfriend- even if she had been a ultra nerd- of course I must remind myself there were no girl nerds I knew of until the idea became more popular. There were the nerds and all the other women- problem was all the smart girls I knew tended to act really dumb to appeal to the stunningly handsome but incredibly dumb jocks- you guys know who you are. I needed someone to suffer through my teens with, I had friends who were girls but none ever crossed over for me. Of course I was a lovesick dork, so that’s no surprise. I had no clue what American girls were like except what I saw in the movies- and all of those girls were from L.A. imaginations not East Tennessee.

            So now I look at another reunion coming along twenty years later and ask myself what has changed? There will be those of us who will come so that we can hold up all that we have accomplished against everyone as if to measure and compare to see if our lives have been better or more successful than everyone else’s. They will come armed with proof that they haven’t wasted the last ten years and need reassurance that they made the right decisions. People will come for various reasons ranging from curiosity to boredom and some may come for a chance for redemption for the past. Most will come for the nostalgia of those long gone days and a chance to renew old acquaintance.

            I will come with all those reasons, but I come this time without guile. I don’t need that approval, I know who I am now and I am not what I once was. I have found completion in the knowledge that I can evolve and grow further. I know now that I will observe and record all that happens and is said with the idea of writing about it later. I am a writer, it’s what I am, it is what I am going to do.

            I am coming to see all of you, the good, the bad- if you decide to show your faces- you know who you are- that is, and the unfortunate. I am coming to see one of the original Ziggy customers; I am coming to the greatest country music star I have never heard of; I am coming to see the parents of my future fans; I am coming to see the man who chases a chef a round Knoxville with a camera all week; I am coming to see if anyone remembers me; and I am coming to see you- I hope- Wendy Jordan, perhaps for the first time ever.

A Dog Story

            The dog first found the man bleeding in the snow on the lower slopes of the McKenzie Mountains late one spring. The dog, an Alaskan Husky mutt watched the man as he knelt in the snow the crimson stain before him. The man stared off down the slope towards the town at the bottom- its lights ablaze in the late evening dusk. The man did not move save for an occasional shudder between his shoulders.

            The dog peered at the man curiously wondering why the man had come all the way upslope to bleed and die so far from his pack. Cautiously the dog circled around the man on the left where he would between the man and the woods if he needed to run. The man made no move nor gave no sign that he had picked up the dog’s scent. As the dog came around to the front of the man, he could see that the man shuddered in sorrowful sobs not in the death throes of the dying. Hot tears steamed on the man’s face running down until they froze on his beard.

            The dog wondered what it must be like to cry with tears as he sat his haunches to study the man and his sorrow. This man was large like the lumberjacks that had come north in the fall, but not burly with the saw-cut muscles that marked that breed. His beard was new and thin not thick like the pan handlers that clung to the streams for the gold rock. The man’s eyes were haunted like the fur traders that returned south with empty traps smelling foul and defeated.

            The dog noticed the feathers clutched in the man’s right hand and the shreds of the silk cloth in the other. Blood smell was thick on both, the dog decided that the blood he thought’s was this man’s was another’s than. The man continued to weep unabashedly into the cold of the night. The two of them sat there a long time until the dog decided against all of his newfound instinct to pad over to the man and lick his tears away.

            The man jerked at the warm wet contact and turned and stared hard at the dog for a moment before throwing his arms around him and burying his face into the dog’s fur coat. The Dog was very surprised and somewhat pleased by this renewed contact with the member of his former masters. He realized he had missed the touch of man since his own had slipped beneath the ice so many moons ago. He had learned to run with the wolves and fight and eat with them. He had even found a pack mate to run with on the long nights under the star filled skies.

            

The end had come

            The end had come before anyone could anticipate or do anything about preparing for it. The Prometheus was outbound on its maiden voyage, the first colony ship to be launched in the Genesis Protocol Program when the attack came. It had to be an attack the survivors reasoned. One moment, amidst fanfare and televid coverage, the great ship was pulling out of terran parking orbit and then the next a blinding flash of light filled all the screens on the ship and the vids went dead.

            The explosion of the impact on the Earth was tremendous and silent from space. Captain Weis and her bridge crew stood in stunned silence as the vidcom crackled in static and the earth burned. There were other ships but few could go anywhere. On the doomed planet the fires raged, as the impact zone glowed as hot as the sun. At first Weis just stood there not able to comprehend what had just happened; then she was barking orders trying to stop the Prometheus’ outbound trajectory knowing that the coordinates were locked and the run up to light-speed unstoppable.

Weis looked at her communications officer who was frantically trying to contact Genesis base. Harry looked terribly pale as he tried one channel after another with no response. With dread, Weis looked over to Sarah, as she stared at the geo scanner looking for survivors. Sarah looked determined even as the tears ran down her face.

“Captain?”

Weis looked over her right shoulder at the speaker, Ray. He had just come up from hibernation control. He was smiling.

“All colonists and support crew tucked away and ready for light speed.”

She stared at his pleased Indian face, not hearing his words clearly.

“Captain?” He said slowly and then saw the panic on the faces of the rest of the crew who were scrambling around the captain.

“What is it? What is wrong?”

“Ray- The Earth… it’s gone.”

            Time passed on the Prometheus as it accelerated to light speed, two hours and twenty one minutes to be precise, but to the human denizen’s time went by in years as the crew tried to find some chance of hope. Ray sat on the entry gangway and wept. Weis and Sarah stared hard at the Geo readouts and hoped. Sarah cried openly now as she desperately ran and reran checks on her equipment. Harry sat listening to the noisy static in abject silence.

            The Astro-navigators looked over from their pilot chairs forward in the bridge from time to time and shook there heads. For the two, there was only one direction that required their attention and it was the run to light speed. She could and would thank them for focusing on their tasks instead of panicking like Rick, the Crew Medic who had to be given a soother and tended to by Petty officer Clark. Clark held the now sleepily calm Rick as he sat on an acceleration couch like a small child instead of a grown man.

            Weis straightened and looked around, knowing there was no more time for tears. She gathered herself together and stood up and walked to her command chair behind the Astro-Navs and sat down. She engaged the gel grips in the chair before swiveling around to face the command crew.

            “Sarah, pull your self together and lock down the sensor array.”

            “But Captain.” Sarah began, then stopped and did as she was told.

            “Status Harry.”

            “All clear, sir.”

            When she looked at him he was shutting down the com system and making light speed adjustments even knowing that there was little hope that they would ever hear from the Earth again.

            “Ray?”

            Ray looked up and wiped at his streaked face.

            “Go aft and apprise the hiber crew of Earth status and prep for cold sleep, we will be along shortly.”

            He stood up, tried to say something and failed and then turned and stumbled back down the ramp in slow deliberation. She hoped he would be okay. She silently prayed that there would be no suicides before they reached their destination at Centaury Alpha Six, but there would most likely be at least one attempt. She looked around and each of them gave thumbs up. Weis spun her chair.

            “Let’s do this.”

            Greg, one of the Astro-navs on the right held out his right fist and Mike the other Astro-nav knocked it with his left.

            “Light speed in five.” Mike said.

            “Four.” Greg responded.

            “Three.” Mike again.

            “Two.” Greg.

            She was about to tell them to shut up when the light speed transfer occurred and the light spectrum flashed into vision and the Prometheus quietly slipped away into the starry night.

            Light speed felt like a dream as everything froze in place as what was real to the observer stopped and stretched until the mind sped up to comprehend the transition. To the untrained participant the transition would often ruin the mind as it often failed to make the transition in relativity. Thus only those trained in high speed transfers were permitted to stay conscious through the transitions in speed. Too many vegetables were strewn along the timeline of the history of high speed space travel.

            Weis had done the light speed transition twelve times in six missions not including the regime of short trips during academy training; all told though she had made the transition twenty two times if she included her training. Transitions always occurred in pairs, acceleration and deceleration- one could not occur without the other safely. Once a relative object achieved light speed inertia was almost limitless and in the human understanding eternal, though one would eventually slow down. What high speed space travel had achieved was faster than light speeds.

            This was what the Astro-navs were for, only they were capable of handling the speeds and navigation that faster than light speed travel entailed. They were like the athletes of the spacing community, not only were they genetically prepped for the rigors of conscious space travel but also mentally capable of making the additional transitions. They would remain awake as the Prometheus continued its acceleration into slipspeed while the command crew would join the colonist in deep sleep until deceleration back to sub light speeds.

            As relativity took hold again inside the great ship, Weis opened her eyes becoming aware she had clenched them shut as they had raced into light speed. She blinked them rapidly assimilating her vision to the emergence lighting on the bridge. She gazed around the bridge taking inventory of her crew. Satisfied she looked over at the Astro-navs who were slapping each other on the shoulders. Smiling at their tenacity, she shook her head and Mike gave her the thumbs up signal.

            She leaned back in her acceleration couch and released the gel grips and stood. Greg gave her the five units hand signal as he and Mike turned back to their consoles to start the calculations for slipspeed. Weis turned back to face her crew.

            “25 minutes folks until we must get to bed, so let’s get locked down and out to the sleep sphere.” Weis nodded at her crewmate’s one at a time.

            Sarah had recovered from her earlier shock though her bottom lip still trembled from time to time. She meticulously entered the lockdown codes into her input board. Her finger danced lithely across the keys as she found solace in her work.

            Clark helped Rick to his feet and together they staggered off the bridge and out to the sleep sphere. Rick was ashen as he leaned on Clark’s narrow shoulder. Clark only looked a shade better as the two men walked away. Weis worried about them briefly before she reminded herself that she had work to do.

            Harry and his two support officers finalized setting the auto recall dish although it seemed pointless as the likelihood of any communication ever coming through it was close to nil. Harry spoke in low undertones to his aids, Kim and Gerry, in hopes of not intruding on the grief or duties of the other bridge officers.

            Steven the aeronautics science officer joined Sarah as she finished locking down her station before walking off the bridge followed by Harry and his two aids. Three units had passed since the crew had begun the lockdown procedures. Only Weis, the two Astro-navs and Charlie the weapons officer were left on the bridge. The Astro-navs finished their work and glanced back at Weis, grinning, obviously impressed with themselves. Charlie leaned against the bulk head and sighed.

            “Are you sure, I can’t talk you into staying up with us?” Charlie asked as she pushed her black hair back from her angular face.

            “Nope, not trained for Slipspace, Charlie.” She said, “Sorry, guess you will have to manage with just these two.”

            “Geez, I should have never taken the Astro-nav training.” Charlie said as Mike joined them.

            “What are we discussing?” he asked.

            “I was hoping I could talk the captain in helping me fend you to guys off me.” She said giving Weis a hopeful look.

            “If it was a little kinky sex you wanted…” Gregg chirped in as he stood and stretched trying to show off his body.

            “Oh no, no you don’t.” Charlie exclaimed stepping back behind Weis as the Astro-nav took an eager step forward. Weis held up her hands, taken aback by his approach.

            Mike reached over and restrained Gregg with one arm.

            “Good night Captain.” Mike said pulling Greg back towards their station. He winked at her as he turned. Weis felt a surge of excitement at the attraction but quickly suppressed it as she gave Charlie curt nod as she strode out the portal towards the sleep sphere.

            Charlie gave a sigh and strode up to her secondary station at life support. She climbed into the chair quickly preferring to avoid delaying the inevitable and set the gel straps to the slip speed level. She readied her station and was about to report when she realized that Greg was leaning over her shoulder. She gave a jump and scowled as Gregg grinned at her.

            “Get your own chair Greg.” She snarled.

            “But yours looks warm and comfy.” He quipped.

            She reached up and gave his face a gentle shove with one hand.

            “Don’t you have some things to do?”

            He went back to the fore peering over his shoulder while flexing his buttocks as her. She tried to stifle the giggle but to no avail. Her snorts of laughter only encouraged him to strut around some more. She finally forced herself to stop long enough to report that all life functions were locked in. Greg climbed into his slip harness and settled in for final calculations before the Prometheus would be ready to slip. All that was needed now was word from the sleep sphere.

           

            When Weis entered the sleep sphere she observed that almost all of the bridge crew was ready to enter the sleep chambers. Ray and his aids were putting them to “bed” in pairs. Many of the crew would sleep together is each pod. The idea was that humans needed companionship in hibernation sleep over extended periods. The tests had shown that when drawn out of extended periods of hiber-sleep that pairs woke more fully cognent and sane than singles.

            Many of the crew had been sold on the research, especially since it encouraged coupling and companionship with crewmates and eased tensions when facing extended periods of hiber-sleep. Harry and one of his aids were entering their collective pod as Weis came up. He sheepishly grinned at her over his pretty companions shoulder as she passed him. She absently gave him a nod wondering who he was sleeping with now

Fairly Tale

Fairly Tale

            It was a tale of revenge and romance; it was a story with a beginning and an end; it was plot full of angst and anger; it was about teenagers. It had to be told by a fool fallen out of luck who had once been wise beyond his years although he had missed most of them. It could have been fiction but the truth was in this case better, it could have been entirely based on real people but the threat of the following lawsuits scared the teller into changing all of the names even his own. He wants us to call him Mike.

            Mike’s story start in a small town in a small county in a shady state somewhere in the south- we are going to call the town Knoxville and pretend it is located in Tennessee. Now Tennessee is in the South but it is not so much south that you don’t find regular things such as cell phones and republicans. In fact, this town is teeming with the GOP. This little town also has features of other towns like gas stations and rabid sports fans. Knoxville which is a metaphor for our story since every sane person should realize is just the fictional setting for this town is really a much nicer place to live filled with much nicer and thus more civilized and rational people than those found in this story. But I digress.

            Knoxville was where Mike grew up and went to school, however this story concerns Mike’s life in high school and not the fact that he may have grown up in this fictional version of Knoxville. Mike is a pretty normal sort of fellow, in fact he could be said to be a frantic, pimple pushing, always horny, badly dressed young man which would in truth not make him stick out at all from his fellow teenagers. What made Mike different is that he truly knew about life and loss. He had no idea why or how and that made him assume that all teenagers knew the same thing as him. It took him awhile to figure out that despite claims to the contrary teenagers are basically clueless to such concepts like life and loss.

            When Mike realized this at fourteen he felt alienated and left out as his fellows blissfully sped by him on their semi immortal happy course like bottle rockets in the autumn twilight. This was scarcely odd though since almost all teenagers feel alienated and left out though many discover ways to hide or ignore the feelings. Mike could not would not and did not, thus his days were bleak with truth and despair. That was until he met Rebecca…

            The morning light was warm on the bed in the small room in which he slept, the bed clothes and white sheets were tangled around his body. He slept with absolute stillness in the early hours opposite to the restless hours in darkness troubled by dreams of another life he could almost remember but never quite grasp. His face had taken an almost serene expression with only the corners of his mouth recalling the disturbances from hours before. The boy’s name was Mike.

            He was a tallish boy who tended to slouch enough as if life was constantly dragging him down. His shoulders had yet to take on the rounded shape of true slouchers that would have made him like the slackers who gloomed in and out of A building at DHS. He had shaggy brown hair and a lopsided smile that only appeared at odd times when nothing was funny to anyone but himself. His eyebrows were thick and unplucked like most boys who were clueless as to their own appearances.

            Mike was on the verge of turning sixteen that year, literally in two months and fourteen days and three hours which he may have been aware of if he had been a girl or an idiot savant. All Mike knew was that soon he would be able to drive and freedom would be his at last! Although this would not be completely true since he had no car nor would be getting one soon. What was worse, his parents weren’t inclined to give him one or let him use theirs as they had been exposed to car insurance commercials and MADD commercials displaying what would most likely happen if they let Mike out on the roads on his own. Still, they had allowed him to drive them places on his learner’s. Maybe he could talk his buddy, Ken into letting him drive Ken’s Jalopy- even if the car was older than any of his friends and most likely their parents to boot.

            The alarm on the night stand shrieked to life with a shrilling ping like an insane game of breakout. Mike sat bolt upright in bed scaring the cat that had been asleep in his armpit. The small white and black cat popped shot out like a gray bullet streaking from the bed across the room and out the cat flap in Mike’s bedroom door. Mike yawned and stretched as the alarm continued to scream.

            “Mike, shut that damned thing off already!” His sister, Mercy, screamed from the next room before pounding on the wall between them.

            Mike gazed blankly at the shaking wall until he blinked and turned around and shut off the alarm. A new silence followed in the wake of the loud little machine.

            “Your welcome.” Mike mumbled as he slowly climbed out of his bed and stumbled towards the bathroom.

            He paused in the middle of the room to stretch and yawn before continuing into the small bathroom he shared with his sister. There he washed his face and shaved what would barely pass for stubble, but that he took great pride in doing every time the bits of hair appeared.

            He was rubbing his jaw and considering brushing his teeth when he became acutely aware that the other door had opened and his sister was scowling at him from it. He looked over at her, despite her scowl, Mercy was quite beautiful even at fourteen. Tall and willowy and thin she was just coming into her own body- she also spent time grooming her few blessings but seemed to believe that Mike had known worth wasting time on. He gave her a lopsided grin and shuffled sideways as he grabbed his toothbrush and made for the Crest.

            She marched over to stand next to him and glowered as she took stock of her near flawless image in the mirror. I say near flawless because there was, of course, one major flaw- a pimple. Mercy’s glowered darkened as she gathered her forces to do battle with the cursed invader to her near perfect skin. Her hands involuntarily gripped the sides of the sink and she grimaced as she prepared to let the little bastard have it.

            “Yoush couldsh coversh its with a bandagesh” Mike said around his toothbrush as his lazily brushed.

            Mercy turned her glower upon him and snarled. Yes, she actually snarled- which unfortunately for her was quite cute- since beautiful girls can never carry of a snarl with anything but a clownish expression. Mike choked on his toothpaste and had to spit it out in the toilet while stifling his laughter. When he returned Mercy’s was still half snarling and almost on the verge of tears. She would gather her reserves and reach up to touch the wicked thing it white cap shining only to jerk back at the shock of pain it caused her.

            Mike decided that after watching this drama for two days that he must act and act swiftly or this battle could drag on all week. He put a comforting arm around his sister and hugged her gently. She relaxed a little and slowly, guiltily looked over at him.

            “Sis, I am about to do you a favor, one that will end your pain and mine as well.”

            “What? Are you going to move to Mongolia and I can finally get some sleep?”

            “Better.”

            “What? Are you going to admit that I was right about the D&D and let me play?”

            “Almost as good.” He turned to look into her suspiciously hopeful eyes.

            “What is it then?” Mercy said a pout forming on her lips.

            “I am going to do…” and he place both hands on her shoulders “this!”

            And with that he swiftly clasped her head with both hands and like his vicious uncaring mother had demonstrated on his own poor head time and time again, he placed his thumbs on either side of the pimple and squeezed. Mercy squealed in panic and tried to pull away much like he had when their mother had first pulled this dirty trick on him, but he held on until the entire thing was out and the red blood flowed. Then Mercy punched like she had be taught by their equally uncool father and Mike let go.

            “You! You! You!” She screamed as spittle flew from her lips. Mike wisely backed away wiping his hands on his tee shirt as he went.

            “Someday you will thank me.” He said as he got out the other door and closed and locked it as something large slammed into it. There were screams of frustration, anger and hurt then some silence in which Mike wrongly assumed that all was well, then sobs of despair and pain. Mike felt rotten about it- he had gotten over his mother remonstrations to his face quickly each time and realized that it was better that way despite the pain and embarrassment. Obviously, Mercy, did not share in this enlightenment, maybe she would come around to it.

            “Michael Isaac Benjamin? Are you fighting with Mercedes Angelina Grace again?” He hated how his father used their full names when he addressed them about anything important.

            “No dad, just a minor misunderstanding.” He replied as he crossed to his closet to consider his wardrobe options for the coming school day. Should he wear jeans and a clean tee shirt or jeans and the shirt he slept in. He looked down to see Mercy’s goo and considered briefly off washing it off but decided on a cleaner tee instead.

An end to short stories and a beginning to story starts and writers blocks

What you will start seeing here is a line up of story ideas and starts and outlines that I started and stopped for various reasons over the years. I would welcome some feedback on them. I will one day be looking at rewriting & reworking the whole lot of them. This is due in part to have uploaded all the short stories that I have on PC at this time, not having time to transcribe anymore and feeling the need to feed this blog. Now on with the countdown to awesomeness