0 comments on "Unchained Thoughts"

I am, very much, a night person.

*

Simon Peters is insatiably drawn to water. He finds it, and he drinks it, and he can’t be stopped.

So when he was kidnapped–(naked, cold, afraid; defiant, jutified)–he fell back on the things that comforted him. He would stand at the sink, washing dishes or just running water over his hands, for hours if they let him. There was an eerie serenity around him.

It made his captors nervous.

A. Some became rough.
B. Some became kind.
C. Some became respectful.

But all of them changed their actions when they came across him.

He could electrify a room with his presence.

*

At his recommendation, thouands of people began reading “Idlewile”, the fictional telling of a cataclysmic rise to stardom on the back of a benevolently controlling government. It was a bestseller.

Brent read the book at Simon’s insistence and was blown away. He was talking about it for weeks. And one of the people he happened to talk to was a little inventor named Professor Raymond Zebronski.

Nobody knew what the Zebronski Protocal was, but they knew that it meant he wasn’t allowed to handle his own human experimentation. All of his research had to be run through CyberAngel Industries’ Legal Office. [CAILO]. Though he was angry about it, he quickly found that they gave excellent results.

Z
Hermes Andreas was the CAILO liason to the lab and quickly earned the moniker “Ianto” from the pop-culture minded employees. (Florentine in management and Rickets in accounts receivable. It was basically just them. But oh my god, he wore sweater vests and three-piece suits and he had that accent [speech-impediment. He’d fallen off a bike when he was a kid. His parents couldn’t afford to get it fixed. He compensated adequately.] Rickets just couldn’t resist.

Florentine had grown used to being dragged about willy-nilly. She’d do so much more for her best-friend… plus they had a lot of fun. She enjoyed using her wit to get them through their various hijinks intact. She met so many different kinds of people, experiencing a culture she never would have known.) And he took it in stride.

He was Hermes Andreas. He was a professional.
Z

Prairie Fires at Amazon
0 comments on "Every person that’s reached adulthood has that moment when they wonder how their life turned out like this"

Every person that’s reached adulthood has that moment when they wonder how their life turned out like this. Mine came as I was racing down the highway trying to shoot out the tires of my drug dealer’s ’64 Impala.

I’ll be honest, I’m not much of a drug user. A little weed, a little speed, it’s enough to keep me mellow and focused depending on the day of the week. The staying skinny thing is just a perk, I promise you. I’m not an addict or anything. Though I will admit that there have been times when events have gotten a bit away from me. Like when I went on my little joy ride–weaving in and out of traffic, taking aim with my arm stuck out the window. It seems a little much when you think about it. But it was exciting too. Like being part of an action movie.

Hogfather at Amazon
0 comments on "This nightmare won’t leave me alone"

I had a dream, and even knowing that it was a dream and not real, I’m still upset. It was one of those nightmares that clings to your brain even when you’re awake and leaves you side-eying the people involved.

In my dream, there was some kind of big storm that raged all night. The next morning I went outside with the Kid to check on the damage, and we found the big tree in our yard split into pieces, branches collapsing to the ground even as we watched. It looked like cinders flying up into the air. I even said, “This looks like Hell.”

And that’s when I heard the raucous noise coming from my neighbor’s house across the street. I looked and saw that they had some kind of bonfire lit and it looked like they were cavorting around it, hooting and howling, with loud music playing in the background.

My real neighbors have done the same thing in real life. They’ve gotten frighteningly loud, with children shrieking and running around and a man singing in Spanish. In my dream, I slapped the Kid on the shoulder and said, “Let’s get inside. We don’t want the tree to fall on us. Come on.”

We went back around the house to the backdoor and the Kid went inside ahead of me. I stopped to call for the dog. He didn’t come.

I went and got the remote for his collar and hit the button that makes it beep at him. I was standing in the doorway when I saw him looking at me from the short hill leading to the garage.

“What are you doing? Come here!”

And then I saw there was someone behind him. Someone that let go of him, and my dog came running toward me and past me into the house, panting and terrified. The man came running at me. I slammed the door, managing to tell the Kid, “Call the police. Call the police!”

The man tried to get in as I held the door shut. I braced my feet against the wall to hold the door closed. I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t scream.

He was tall and thin, his arms and his hands saying he was white. His face was painted with white makeup and sweeping black lines, making him look like a demon skull. His eyes blazed with madness. I could feel the door bulging where he pushed against it, ready to swing open and let him in.

My neighbors are Hispanic. This man was white. I knew that he’d killed them, probably while we were outside. And now he was going to kill us.

Holding the door with desperate strength, I craned my neck to look at the Kid, who was standing close to the couch, not even holding the phone yet. “Get Grandpa!” I managed to rasp out through my tight throat.

And he turned his head toward his grandpa’s room and called out, not even yelling, “Grandpa, someone’s here.”

And I looked at him in disbelief. And I woke up.

Even knowing that it was a dream, I’m still boggling. “Grandpa, someone’s here”? Really?!

It makes me think that we need to go over a survival plan. Because either I don’t trust him to pull his own weight in an emergency, or my subconscious brain is telling me that something bad is coming and we all need to be on the same page. Either way, if I’m holding the door against a frightening madman with murder in his eyes, I want someone that’s able to call the police as needed or at least get the help of another adult.

Because that was pathetic.

Witch King at Amazon
0 comments on "When dreams meet reality"

He doesn’t understand why I would be upset about him buying his “dream car.” Uh, how about the fact that it only has 2 seats and there’s 3-4 people that need to be driven around in this family? How about the fact that he’s been driving like a maniac lately and I’m seriously worried he’s going to crash and kill himself in a sports car?

“I don’t want a four-door because they’re ugly.” Well, at least get one with four fucking seats, asshole.

Ugh. I’m angry and I’m upset, but I’m trying to keep it all on the inside. Because it’s his money, we’re living here under his kindness, and he’s going to do what he’s going to do.

And if that includes spending $30,000 on a car when he bitches me out every month for spending more than $300 on groceries, well, that happened. So I’ll ignore the leaky roof, the lack of good indoor heating, the emptiness of the refrigerator, and the fact that he refuses to go to the doctor because it’s too expensive, and pretend some enthusiasm for his new car.

What a fucking waste of money.