Mind Space

Therapy

2011-04-01T10:56:00.001-07:00

They stared at each other with that look that dared the other to speak first. The clock moved silently on the wall, almost like it didn't want to make a sound. The dark wood furniture seemed to melt into the wood paneled walls. The diplomas stood out in stark contrast with their gold borders and silver seals. The only color that came from the room was the red couch that he sat on, and even that was a muted burgundy. He knew what the other was doing, but he didn't want to be the first to break the silence. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of winning. He had a point to prove, and speaking would negate why he remained reticent.

He thought back to the events leading up to this meeting. Why had she left again? He couldn't remember. It was only a few days ago, but it seemed like forever. He relived that moment over and over again, saw her walking out the door and it slamming behind her. He remembered the painting falling off the wall from the force of her anger. Or was it frustration? He didn't know for sure. He just knew that the one thing that had kept his life together was gone.

The other man's glasses glinted with the small amount of sunlight that came through the heavy blinds. The light in the corner was on to add illumination to the dim office, but it being the middle of the day the lamp only caused the room to seem darker than it was. He looked around the office at the shelves of books and wondered if the man with the glasses had even read half of them. He then saw the man start writing on the pad that he had been holding in his lap. The pencil scratched across the surface leaving the carbon markings in its wake. He wondered what caused the man to start writing. Was it because he looked at the books? Or because he still wasn't talking? He then thought how the other might even be doodling, just to pass the time. He didn't care. Let him write or draw whatever he wanted. He wasn't speaking. He was here against his will and no one was going to change that fact.

She was like that. She could hold her own and not back down. He always loved that quality in her and never thought that it would be one of the reasons that she would leave. He remembered at least that much. What lead up to it? That's what he wanted to know. Of course, he knew if he had asked her that she would have retorted that he should have known by now. Mind reading games were not his forte. He always wanted it straight. Don't beat around the bushes. However, whenever he would say that to her she would become more infuriated and hurt that he didn't understand her. The ironic part was that he wanted to - desperately.

The chair creaked beneath the man with the glasses as he repositioned himself. Was he getting restless? Did he want it to end already? The man smiled slightly at the other's discomfort. He hoped his butt hurt from sitting for so long. He hoped he had to go the bathroom, that he was hungry, thirsty, anything that would cause him to end this.

He wasn't naturally a spiteful person. He was usually congenial and friendly. Few were the people that met him and didn't like him. But it had slowly gone downhill. Little things had started to bug him. He began cutting people off in traffic and silently cursing out others. He saw others as moronic and incapable of a logical thought. But she could never do wrong. It wasn't that she never made mistakes, but they were always downplayed in his eyes. He quickly forgave her for any fault or error in judgment. And maybe that was where he went wrong. Maybe it was the fact that he never helped her learn to deal with her own issues that caused their separation. He was doing it again. He was taking the blame onto himself instead of allowing her to be at fault. But he had been doing it for so long that it was ingrained in him.

He looked at the clock and the man in glasses wrote. Maybe he could get the man to write things that didn't mean anything. He reached up, scratched the inside of his ear and then looked at his finger. The man in glasses watched him put the finger to his nose and sniff before wiping it off on his leg. The writing resumed. The man laughed inside at how stupid the man in the glasses was. Why did they think that everything meant something?

That's what she had done. Every little twitch that he had. Everything he said or did she felt had some meaning behind it and she questioned it. Why couldn't she realize that sometimes he did something for no reason at all? It had bugged him so much that he began watching everything he did. No longer could he just answer what was on the top of his head for fear of having to explain himself. And that was something else that frustrated her.

He looked at the man in the glasses. Hours had passed and besides the scratching of the pencil or the creaking of the seats, no sound had been made. Why was he here? Why couldn't he just go home and live his life? What was left of it, at least, now that she was gone.

The door behind him opened and two men in white coats came in.

"Well, Mr. Thompson, perhaps tomorrow we can continue?" said the man in the glasses.

He didn't respond. He didn't even move. All he could think about was her. The men in white came over and helped him up. He stood there staring at the floor. The dark carpet seemed to fit the room perfectly. "I miss her," he finally said.

"We all do," replied the man in the glasses. "But we can't get her back. What we need to do is help everyone else that misses her find a way to move on. And only you can do that." He reached out his hand and put in on the man's shoulder. "Do you want to help us?"

His mind went to the hand on his shoulder and the hands of the men in white on his arms. He wondered how easily they could break him if they wanted. He wondered if they cut their nails. He half smiled at his random thought.

The man in glasses seemed to notice this and said, "Tomorrow, then. Have a good night, Mr. Thompson."

The men in white walked him out of the room and down the hall.

"Boughten"

2010-04-08T10:04:00.001-07:00

It's not Friday, and this isn't my typical creative short story Free Write. I decided that I could channel my creativity in writing by sharing everyday occurrences in my life. After all, truth is stranger than fiction, right?

Well, yesterday wasn't strange, but as a writer, you tend to remember instances where your English skills are called into question. My excuse is that writers think well while writing, but not in the spoken word. When your fingers are furiously tapping away at a keyboard or your hand is cramped from scribbling your thoughts on paper, you still have time to think. There's no way of telling whether I spent five minutes on this post or five hours. To the reader, it is continuous. However, in conversation, if I were to pause for even ten seconds to selectively choose my words and make sure I said what I wanted, people would think I was dropped a couple of times when I was young.

Ok. Enough foreplay. By now I'm sure you're wondering what the heck I'm talking about. Yesterday I used the word "boughten" in a conversation. Would I ever use that word while writing? Of course not! I know it's not a grammatically correct word. But, as I explained maybe a little bit too much above, writers don't think so well on their feet. Why else do we have spell check, grammar check and such? (By the way, in this post I spelled channel, occurrences, continuous and grammar wrong before using the spell check function to correct my mistakes. See what I mean?)

The Traveler

2009-10-02T13:51:00.000-07:00

He held the passport in his hand. The stamps overlaid each other in a collage of ink and color showcasing his various travels.

"Business or pleasure?" asked the immigration agent with no emotion.

"Business," said the traveler in a natural tone.

The agent scanned through the passport quickly and added his stamp to the already existing montage.

"Welcome. Enjoy your stay."

The traveler flashed a wry smile before passing through the gates. He pulled out a small black book from his back pocket and flipped to a page that was earmarked. He read the name and description and then closed the book and returned it to his pocket.

He walked out of the station and onto the street. He had already visited this place many times before and the streets were familiar to him. He quickly flagged down a taxi and got in.

"Where to?" asked the driver.

"Corner of Virgil and Dante."

"Can only take you as far as Middletown St. Not authorized to go further."

The man in the back seat slipped a large bill to the drive and said, "You're authorized."

"Virgil and Dante," said the driver, taking the money and putting the car in drive.

They passed through the city and numerous apartment buildings. People milled around the streets and in and out of shops. As they drove past Middletown, the scenery quickly changed. Large buildings and clean streets became run down shacks and litter covered roads.

Arriving at their destination, the traveler exited the car and paid the driver who instantly sped off back in the direction of the city.

The traveler walked down the street until he stood before a house that barely stood on its own. The roof had gaping holes that were covered with cut pieces of plastic. The walls bled mildew and crusted paint.

He approached the door and knocked. The echo inside indicated that not much furniture occupied the empty space that was someone's living area. He heard footsteps coming to the door and then the latch turn.

The wooden door swung back and a young man stood there. His hair was disheveled and his clothes ragged. He had no shoes on and his teeth looked like they hadn't seen a toothbrush in ages.

He looked at the traveler, but didn't say anything.

Time passed with both of them staring at each other.

Finally, the young man turned and walked back inside. The traveler followed. There were two chairs in the open space besides a small table and a lamp. The young man indicated to the traveler that he could sit with a wave of his hand. He himself took the other chair.

Dust billowed from the faded fabric, but none of it seemed to settle on the traveler.

"I was wondering when you'd get here," said the young man.

"I come when I am called," replied the traveler.

"I would have preferred your visit a little earlier."

"I'm sure I would have found you in better circumstances."

"Yes. You would have. I only moved out here after I waited in the city for five years."

"Why didn't you wait longer?"

"Longer? And continue to go mad among all those hypocrites?"

"Hypocrites?"

"Yeah, you heard me. All of them talking about how they're going to be saved. I know. I used to be the same. But then I woke up and saw reality."

"And what is that?"

"That there is no salvation. There is no there. There is only here."

"You don't really believe that."

"Maybe you haven't looked around you. I think where I am speaks for my beliefs quite succinctly."

"Perhaps. Or it could be that you want others to think you believe in this."

"Yes. That must be it. I put myself through this hell just so I can convince others that I'm not a believer."

"Be careful what you call hell. You have no idea what that is."

"I don't? Ten years I've been here. Ten years! And nothing! No word, no visit, no indication of what was going to happen. Do you realize what that does to a man? What that does to his mind?"

The young man breathed heavily with his rage. The traveler gauged the man before him and then stood up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blank card and handed it over. The young man stood as well and took it. As soon as he did, it turned black.

The traveler turned and walked out of the house.

"Wait!" the young man called after him. "This can't be it!"

The traveler paid no attention to him. He quickly walked down the pathway to the street. The young man ran after him, but as soon as he reached the end of the property, he slammed into an invisible wall and fell backward. His eyes wide with fear he looked up at the traveler who stood on the broken sidewalk.

"It's too late," the traveler said. "Your soul has spoken."

The ground rumbled underneath the young man. He stood up with a wild look and tried to run through the invisible barrier again and again, each time getting more and more panicked. The ground shook so furiously that he could barely stand on his feet. Like a madman, he stumbled back toward the house. He reached the doorway and used it to hold himself up. He looked back at the traveler who stood in serene silence watching the ordeal before him.

The young man screamed when he saw the ground split open before him. Fire erupted out of the earth and soon a chasm was left before him. It continued to open until the house also began to creak and groan under its own weight. He knew now there was nothing to do. The house split and crumbled underneath him. The chasm opened fully and engulfed the entire house and the man inside.

Within a few minutes, the earth had filled itself in so that all that was left was barren dirt.

The traveler pulled out his black book and turned to the page. He checked off a small box next to the young man's name and then placed it back in his pocket.

"Welcome to hell," he said, and then walked back down the street toward the city.

New beginnings

2009-06-25T09:04:00.001-07:00

It didn't matter. Jalyn had already taken everything from him that she needed.

She turned back to look at the man laying on the bed, the sheets barely covering his body. She had enjoyed him; she couldn't deny that. It always made the job easier when the man could please her that way.

The door to the hotel room closed softly, the click of the latch silently echoing in the hall. Within seconds of leaving the room, her cell phone rang.

"Yes?" Jalyn answered.

"It is finished?" came the voice from the phone.

"Of course."

"Did you make sure?"

"Don't you trust me? This isn't my first job, you know."

"We don't want any fowl ups."

"Don't worry. He'll be dead before you can end this call." And with that, she hung up the phone.

Her high heels dug into the stiff carpet of the hall, leaving a trail of indentations as she walked. She reached the elevator and pushed the down button. It's soft green glow seemed to stand out against the beige paint on the wall. The ding of the elevator announced the arrival of the car. She looked up to see the doors open and a man inside with a gun raised at the ready.

They stood there for a second, staring at each other. Finally, she spoke.

"Matt, are you going to shoot me?"

"Hadn't planned on it," replied Matt.

"Then can you lower the gun?"

"Not just yet. Head back to the room. I'll follow."

"Really? It's going to be like this, then?"

"That's how he wants it."

She sighed and turned back down the hall. Reaching the door, she took out the key card and opened the lock. Inside, the man still laid on the bed in the same position. Nothing had moved. Matt walked around Jalyn and felt the man's pulse. Satisfied that he didn't feel anything, he opened his cell phone and hit redial.

"He's dead," he said into the phone. "Yeah, I just checked ... Ok. Got it." He hung up the phone and put away his gun.

"See?" she said. "That wasn't necessary at all."

"I trust you," said Matt, with a coy grin.

"Sure you do," she replied, matching his sarcasm. "So, may I go now? I usually don't like to hang around after the job is done."

"Of course," he said, and they walked out the door.

Back at the elevator, Matt turned to Jalyn and asked, "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Matt," she sighed. "No offense, but I don't like to mix business and pleasure."

"Really?" he smirked. "Then what do you call that back there?"

The elevator door opened and Matt entered. He turned around to see Jalyn with her gun drawn. "That was pleasure," she said. "This is business." The silencer on the gun muffled the sound of the shot, making it seem like only a cough. Matt slumped to the floor, leaving a red stain down the elevator wall.

Jalyn rushed back to the room and pulled out a small vial. She poured it into the naked man's mouth. She sat back until he coughed and sputtered. She rolled him over onto his side to help him breathe.

"Thank God," she said. "It worked."

"Of course it did," the man said. "Did he buy it?"

"I sure hope so. The call was made, but he had sent Matt to verify the kill. I didn't expect that."

"And...?"

"He's on his way down in the elevator. I'd say we have only a minute before all hell breaks loose."

"Then I'd better get dressed."

He started to get up, but she grabbed his face and embraced it with a passionate kiss. He returned it and then pulled her away before saying, "It'll work. We'll make it."

She smiled at him and got together a small duffel bag of personals while he dressed. He reached out his hand to hers and led her to the door. Just before opening it he gave her one more kiss and asked, "Ready to make history?"

"I've been ready," she said, and they left the room, headed down the back stairs and into the dark cover of night.

Confession

2009-03-19T15:13:00.000-07:00

The match hissed, coming to life and throwing the flame upward. The burning sulfur hung in the air like strong potpourri. She couldn't mistake the smell of it. Suddenly, she felt the warmth of the flame on her leg. She inhaled sharply, trying to hold in her cry of pain. She knew there would be a severe burn there, but it was nothing compared to what waited her.

"Yes, my child. That is what it will feel like all over if you don't confess," the man's voice said. "We know you for what you are, but you must give up your sins and confess to God to save your soul. If you do, we will spare you the torture and end your life quickly."

The blindfold seemed to smother the room in around her. She could have been in the grandest hall and she still would have felt like she was stuffed into a closet. "Either way, I die," she said simply.

"True, true. But one way you have the chance of obtaining forgiveness. The other will have you suffering for eternity."

She could smell the garlic on his breath. It mixed with the sweat in the air, causing her to almost vomit. "How do you know? I doubt you've been there to see."

"I believe, and it is my belief that saves me."

"What you call belief, I call superstition," she smirked.

Though she could not see it, she could feel his face go red as his rage boiled. "Heathen! You blaspheme what you do not understand! I will purge you of your unbelief." He brought the flame to her leg again and held it there. She let out a yelp of pain. The flesh reddened and bubbled under the extreme heat of the match. She tried to move her leg away, but strong cords held her bound to the chair. He removed the match and threw it on the ground. It hit the damp floor causing it to sizzle. Her head rocked forward onto her chest, the pain swelling in her leg.

"You only make this harder for yourself," he said. "Just confess, and this will all be over."

Her breaths came short and labored. "I can't confess if I've done nothing wrong," she finally said.

The back of his hand flew across her face, cutting her lip with his overly ornate ring. "Do not pretend that you are innocent. You know what you have done."

"What?" she asked through the tears. "What have I done?"

She could sense his crude smile. "If I told you, then it wouldn't be your confession. You must come forward with the truth on your own to receive the full pardon of our Lord."

"I ... I don't know," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Maybe I can refresh your memory." The sound of the knife being pulled out of its sheath caused her to flinch. She could feel the cool steel against her cheek. He guided the blade up to her ear and with a careful flick of the wrist cut off her lobe. Her scream filled him with a sense of pleasure. "You remember now? You remember how you did this to those innocent children in your lust for power?"

The blood from her ear flowed down her neck and onto her chest where it was soaked up by the tattered rags they had forced her to dress in.

"It wasn't me," she gasped out.

"Oh, no. Of course not. But having someone else do the dirty work doesn't make you any less guilty. Just tell me what you had them do and we can end your suffering."

Her mind was awhirl. She tried to think of what he wanted to hear. She knew of what he spoke. She had seen those children as well, their ears completely severed off their head in a demonstration of devotion. But she had tried to stop them, hadn't she?

Her mind flashed back to the dimly lit chapel. They stood with stoic faces watching the priest wield his knife and mumble a prayer. The blood that soaked the cloths held by the parents that had finished the ritual with their kids seemed to stand out in her memory. She remembered trying to scream, to stop it. But she had just stood by and watched.

"You were there," he said. "You were telling them what to do."

"No," she said, almost trying to convince herself. "I didn't ... I wasn't ..." She tried to see through her blindfold into her memory and grasp what really happened. She saw herself now standing before the priest. She looked down to her own son kneeling before her, waiting with bowed head and listening to the man in robes recite the prayer. The knife glinted in the sunlight that barely streamed through the stained glass windows. Stop him! she shouted to herself, but the memory played out. Before she could grasp fully what she was doing, she saw herself with the bloody rag in her hand. The gaunt image of her child looking at her with a tear-streaked face was ingrained in her memory.

"What have I done?" she sobbed.

"Yes," he said. "Confess your sin."

She didn't even hear him. Her mind was still playing out what she remembered. She wasn't sure if it was her son's face or the feeling that she had just betrayed him that sent her over the edge, but something in her snapped. She could see herself grab the knife from the priest and tackle him to the ground. The blade was swift and before anyone could react, his ear was lying in a pool of blood. A woman screamed and she turned to see others coming at her. She had stabbed one of them before they were able to get the knife from her.

Her memory faded as she felt the tears soak the blindfold. "I didn't stop him," she whispered.

"Do you confess?" asked the man.

"I confess ..." she started.

"Yes?"

"I confess to subjecting my child to torture and not trying to do anything," she finally said. She waited for the slap that she felt for sure was coming, but nothing happened.

Instead, he came close to her and whispered, "You can't stop us." He pulled off the blindfold and she gasped at the priest before her, a white bandage where his ear should be. "Guard!" he yelled. And then, more quietly to her he said, "Never go against the church."

The guard came in and the priest said, "Take this heathen away. She will pay for her sins since she refuses to confess them and let God take them for her." The guard untied her from the chair and roughly led her from the room.

"Our belief saves us," the priest said to her with a wicked smile.

The day was bright and the light hurt her eyes that had become accustomed to the dark. They pushed her forward, causing her to stumble. Rough hands forced her back on her feet and up on the platform. They tied her hands behind the post and placed the stacks of wood around her. The oil dripped from the soaked bundles.

They stood back allowing the guard with the torch to come forward. Without fanfare, he placed the flame on the wood. It instantly ingnited and soon the entire platform was ablaze. The heat beat upon her skin, slowly changing it from red to black. She screamed in pain and writhed in agony.

Then, in what seemed like a moment of sympathy from an unseen power, she could feel no more pain. She looked out through the flames and saw her son standing alone and crying. She wanted to run to him, to comfort him. But it was too late. And just before she gave in to the welcoming darkness, she saw the priest put his hand on her son's shoulder and smile.

There's another

2009-01-02T12:11:00.000-08:00

He hadn't gone far before he knew that he was in over his head. The dark street seemed to hold innumerable unseen threats and dangers. As he walked, he looked down the way at the parked cars and the light reflecting off the polished hoods from a single street light. The mist seemed to create a yellow cone just beneath it. In the center stood a figure with a long black trench coat and a black fleece hood covering its head.

He stopped walking. He knew he was there for a meeting, but something caused him to pause. It was a feeling inside that something wasn't right. He looked on either side of the street to see if someone else was there, but in the dark it was hard to tell.

Just then, it all seemed to flash before him in quick succession. He saw himself meet with the figure in black, then someone else came out of a nearby house straight towards them. They ran in opposite directions, but there was another person hiding in a car that jumped out and caught the figure in black. He saw himself turn to see a flash of light and hear a muffled pop in the same instance. The figure in black slumped to the sidewalk as the one from the house grabbed him as he stood there watching. He seemed to see it like a movie as the one from the house raised a silver gun with a silencer attached to his head and said, "We warned you," as he pulled the trigger.

The vision snapped like a dream into reality as his consciousness was brought back to the present. The figure in black still stood beneath the light, waiting.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. He listened to the ringing as he watched the one he was to meet with answer.

"They've found us," he said.

"What? How?" came a female voice on the phone.

"I don't know. But it's not safe. Don't look around, but there's one in the house next to you and another in the car just up the street."

The figure beneath the light stole a glance out of the corner of her eye at the window of the house just in time to see a blind flutter back into its position.

"If I run, they'll take me," she said.

"It's too late. They've already noticed that something is up. Run away from the car and the house. Now!"

Just as he spoke and she turned to run toward him, the door to the house flew open as the man he had seen in his vision came running down the walkway with a gun in his hand. The car that held the other man spun around in the street and started speeding toward everyone else.

As she ran away from the men, he ran toward her, pulling a gun from his jacket.

"Duck!" he yelled. She dove to the ground as he fired at the man from the house. His shot hit the man's right arm, causing him to drop his gun. She immediately jumped up and looked back as the man from the house held his bleeding arm.

"Come on!" her friend called to her as he grabbed her hand. They ran down an alley between two houses just as the man in the car drove up, almost hitting them but instead plowing into a white picket fence. He jumped out of the car and looked to his partner who waved his arm as a signal to follow them.

The dew from the evening mist lay on the ground like a thin wet blanket that would splash up from puddles as they ran. In and out of alleyways and cars they evaded their pursuer who kept right on their heels. Their lungs burned for oxygen as they breathed harder and harder, but they couldn't stop. It had been ten years that they had lived in that hell-hole and they weren't about to go back without a fight.

Turning the corner around the edge of a wood fence, he saw a loose board which he quickly picked up. Stopping just beyond the corner he listened as the agent following them came closer. Just as he saw him make the turn he swung with all the strength he had left at the man's head. The agent quickly ducked backwards, causing him to slide forward feet first. Like a baseball player coming into second, he quickly popped up and turned back around only to find the loose board coming straight at his head again. This time the agent didn't react as quickly and the force of the wood on his skull caused him to black out as his body fell against the fence.

The man dropped the board and the pair quickly left the scene. Looking around them and not finding anyone else following, they slowed down to a regular walking speed.

They were winded and their muscles hurt from so much running.

"My name is Chris," said the man. "I assume you are Desiree from the phone?"

"Yes," she said. "How did they find us?"

"They must have traced the call. I thought we were on a secure line, but it looks like they have feelers into almost every network."

"Have you found any others?"

"Not yet. You are the first, but I know there are more. There has to be."

"How long has it been since you've escaped?"

"Six months. You?"

"Four. I was about to give up on finding anyone else when you called. How did you find me?"

"I noticed you walking to the market the other day. When you bought an apple, I followed you home to see if you actually ate it."

"Damn. I thought I was more careful, but I'm almost glad I wasn't. I've always wondered why they didn't eat the apples."

"It's the pectin. It's poisonous to them."

Desiree looked at the apartment buildings looming before them on the skyline as the day was starting to break. Lights started flickering on in different units as people began to rise.

"They try so hard to look and act like us. They even keep the same night and day patterns even though they don't sleep. Look at them turning on the lights like a normal human as if they just woke up. Damn tweeters."

She spat on the ground as she said the slang term for the aliens.

"Well, we'd better get off the streets before they start coming out," Chris said. "My place is over on 5th. If we hurry, we should be able to make it. Then we can talk and figure out our next move."

"I'm just glad to have found someone else like me," she sighed.

Even though he didn't know her that well, he put his arm around her and let her lean on him as they walked. As far as they knew, they were the only two humans left on the planet that weren't in work farms. And, like her, he was just as happy to have someone else to share the day with.

"I'll make up some apple cider and we can have a piece of apple pie," he said with a smile. She smiled back at his attempt to keep the moment light.

"Sounds good," she said as they hurried into the dawn.

Unspoken words

2008-12-26T08:02:00.000-08:00

He had red hair.

It was that shade of red that causes people to turn and stare. No one really knew who he was, only that he came with Kelly. And everyone knew Kelly.

Kelly Magnolia had that type of personality that people gravitated towards. Being a famous singer and model helped, of course, but her genuine care for those around her made her even more popular. What set her apart from the other populars was that she didn't look for the publicity and paparazzi that naturally followed the altruistic deeds of the stars. She was content to silently give of her means and time without regard for public recognition.

When she had first met him, he was sitting at a coffee shop, reading the daily newspaper. She had ordered her coffee and was looking at a display of musical CD's that aired over the shops speakers. She wasn't really interested in any of them. She was just occupying her mind while she waited for her coffee.

The young man behind the counter called out her order and she stepped over to the counter to grab it. As she did, she quickly turned around and let out a small yelp of surprise as a man in a winter coat was standing right behind her. She dropped the cup of coffee and it spilled over both of their legs as the top popped off.

"I am so sorry!" she said as they both raised their hands up as if that would keep the coffee from getting on them.

"That's quite all right," he said. "I should be apologizing for standing so close to you."

He grabbed some napkins off the counter and stooped down to wipe up some of the spilled coffee. It was then that she had first noticed his vibrant red hair.

"Why were you standing so close?" she asked as he stood back up.

"Well, I thought I would be debonair and strike up a conversation about the rain in Spain and hopefully lead into asking you out for dinner, but I think I just blew the opportunity."

He smiled one of those infectious smiles that immediately intrigued her. Before she had a chance to really respond, he bid his farewells and turned to leave.

"Wait," she called to him. "I think we could work out something for dinner. As long as you promise not to be so close to me during."

He turned back around and smiled again as he said, "Agreed, as long as you don't spill anything on me."

They both laughed, and that was how their relationship had started. By the time of the gala event for the debut of her new album, they had spent the past few months acting much like any normal couple would. They enjoyed their dates and late nights in front of the fire. Except for the cameras that would follow them once in a while, they enjoyed relative solitude.

The red carpet that led up to the banquet hall seemed to match his hair perfectly. As the invited turned to watch them arrive, it almost seemed like Kelly was the guest and he the star. Everyone stared as he waved and smiled, almost seeming to fit in like he had been there before.

Kelly welcomed the change in focus. Even though she had experienced a fair share of success, she still remained humble and didn't particularly enjoy all the glitz and glamour. She loved to sing. That was it. The fact that she was beautiful was just a bonus. She would give it all up for a quiet life where she could raise a family and focus on her singing.

The night of the event went as any other. A lot of mingling and a lot of drinking. Kelly never went overboard with her liquor. She was what you might call a social drinker. As they left the party, Kelly was glad that he was similar in his consumption of alcohol. They were both in good spirits and enjoying the evening.

The limo that had brought them drove peacefully through the downtown streets. Kelly looked out the window at the passing buildings and sighed deeply, content and happy.

Suddenly, the driver turned down an alley that Kelly wasn't familiar with.

"Where are we going?" she asked the driver with a hint of worry in her voice.

"Stay calm," her companion said.

Kelly turned her head toward him with a scared look. But then her look went from scared to frightened as she saw the gun in his hand.

"What ..." she started, but he cut her off.

"Please, don't talk," he said. "You'll ruin the moment." He put a handkerchief over her mouth as she started to inhale sharply to scream. The chemical soaked into the cloth quickly entered her lungs and knocked her out. As she slumped, he bound her hands and legs and gagged her mouth. A sleeping mask was next to cover her eyes, just in case she awoke during the ride.

Having finished, he looked up to the driver and said, "To the docks."

The driver nodded and turned back onto a main street.

As they pulled onto the wharf, the wooden dock creeked under the weight of the car. The driver stopped and got out of the car. Kelly's companion followed suit and said, "Bring her into the warehouse."

The driver lifted Kelly out of the car and carried her inside, placing her onto a small cot.

As he stood up, a shot echoed through the building and the driver fell to the floor, blood coming out of the wound in his head.

The man with the red hair dragged the body to the dock and tied several weights around his ankles before dropping it into the water. He gave a small salute as it quickly sank below the surface.

After driving the limo into the warehouse and closing the door behind him, he walked over to Kelly and took off the mask. Her eyes were wide with terror as she stared at him.

"Hello, my dear. I'm going to take this nasty thing out of your mouth, but you have to promise not to scream. Not that anyone would hear you if you did. I just really don't want to hear it, ok?"

He gently untied the gag and pulled it off her mouth.

After a few seconds of waiting to see if she would make a sound, he said, "There, that's better. I'd hate to have to keep you quiet. You have such a lovely voice."

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm sorry. I thought it was obvious. I'm kidnapping you."

"Where's the driver?"

"His services were no longer required."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Ahh! There's the million dollar question. Why. I'd love to explain it to you, but I think it's much more dramatic to show you."

He reached up to his face and pulled off his hair, exposing a bald head underneath. This he dropped to the ground and then with both hands peeled off a rubber mask. Residue of the adhesive stuck to his face which he wiped off with a rag.

Kelly gasped as she recognized the man before her.

"Jerry?"

"You know," he said. "I debated whether or not you would remember me. I'm so glad you do."

"But, I still don't understand why you would do this?" she said, almost exasperated.

"Do I really have to spell it out for you? But, I guess I shouldn't have expected less from someone like you. You appear so nice to the public. You donate to charities, you help the poor, you never say a bad word about anyone. At least, that's what everyone is led to believe. What they don't realize is that deep down you're just like all the other stars that will stop at nothing to get ahead."

"I've never done anything like that!"

"Don't lie to me!" he screamed. "I'm done with your lies! Let me take you back 5 years to the beginning of your career. A small girl in the big city looking to make it. You didn't know anyone or anything, but you knew you wanted to be a star.

"You walked into my office, and I saw potential. Not the normal song and dance potential that everyone else has. No. I saw a simple, untainted girl that wanted to do what was right. That was such a refreshing find in a dirty business that I couldn't pass it up.

"I took you by the hand and helped you. I put you in touch with the right people. I made sure you were known. And what did you do to repay me? You anihilate my career as an agent."

"How? I don't remember."

"Of course you don't," he sneered. "You people never do. Let me refresh your memory." He stepped over to a nearby desk and grabbed a notebook. He opened it to a page with a newspaper article pasted onto it and set the book on her lap.

"Recognize this?" he asked.

The headline read, "New Star Rises - Look out Rita Hayworth, Kelly Magnolia's in town."

"Go ahead and skip down to paragraph seven."

Her eyes quickly darted down to the mentioned part. She began to read when he said, "Please. Aloud. I'd like to hear it from your own lips."

"When asked about her start into the music world Kelly said, 'I never thought I would make it like I did. I really owe it all to my agent, Jerry.'"

"What's so bad about what I said?" she asked.

"Nothing!" he said. "It's what you didn't say in the future." He turned page after page of newspaper clippings as he said, "Not one interview in the future mentioned my name. Not once did you give me any more credit. And then, July 21st." He turned to another clipping that had a paragraph highlighted in yellow. "Read!"

"After signing her largest contract to date, Ms. Magnolia commented, "This so amazing for me. The Lehman brothers really made this all possible."

"The Lehman brothers!" he spat. "I pushed through the mud for you and never got even a second glance. Then the Lehman brothers come in with their big pockets and fancy things and you jump ship. Not only that, you give them the credit for my success! No one would work with me after that. No one!" His faced was flushed and his eyes bulging. "They all wanted to know why the famous Kelly Magnolia wouldn't work with me. They all wondered if there was something wrong with the way I treated my clients. I couldn't even be the agent for a dog!"

"I'm so sorry," she said.

He regained his composure and said, "Yes. Now you're sorry. Now when it is too late."

"So what do I do? How can I fix this?"

"You can't," he said matter-of-factly. "But that doesn't mean I can't get my revenge."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Kill you? Heavens no! What good would that do? I'd much rather make you suffer for a lot longer. I've fooled you once, and I can do it again. You'll never be able to trust anyone you don't know, and even the ones you think you do.

"If you tell anyone, I'll be there. If you don't give every person that has helped you credit, I'll be there. Every moment of your life from now on you'll be wondering if I'm around the corner, ready to take you on another ride. And, my dear, the next time won't be as nice."

He chuckled a little as he picked up his notebook. "I wish you the best of luck. And, so that you have something to remember this little experience ..." He pulled out a knife and slowly drew it across her arm. The blood flowed easily around her skin and started soaking into the cot. Her stiffled cry did little to affect his emotions.

"And now, my love, I leave you."

He started walking out when she cried, "What am I supposed to do?"

He turned back and smiled that infectious smile. "Survive," was all he said. The closing of the metal door sent a loud echo through the warehouse, giving a finality to his words.

As he walked down the dock and got into a boat, he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call.

"Hello, yes, I have an emergency. I heard a lady screaming from one of the warehouses down on Pier 29. Please send help."

The engine roared to life as he sped away over the water, leaving Kelly Magnolia to live forever with the fear of meeting again the man with the red hair.

My child is not a hermaphrodite

2008-12-05T12:23:00.000-08:00

Just recently I was at my niece's school play with my 8-month old child. He was dressed in a button-up blue striped onesie with a collar and jean shorts. Green camouflage socks were on his feet and a fauxhawk hairstyle (courtesy of his mom) topped him off. He was as cute as a button, and many confirmed that fact with their oohs and ahhs.

As is usually customary when we go to large gatherings, parties, events, and such, I had Alexander in my arms. I love the reciprocal attention I get as I show him off. It's selfish, I know, but there's no other way to just walk into a room and have everyone falling all over you. The trick is to keep the kid in your arms. Otherwise, as soon as he is held by someone else, it's like being the small kid at school trying to get his lunchbox back from the bullies. He gets passed around so quickly that within a few seconds I go from the man with the cute baby to just another face in the crowd.

So, I had him in my arms during the intermission, and since he was a little tired his head was resting on my shoulder. With a child so active as he is, it's nice when he just winds down and snuggles. You feel like you could hold him forever. His eyes were still open and he was looking around the room at all the people milling about. Then, from behind me, I heard a comment that I get all too often.

"What a cute baby. How old is she?"

I politely corrected her and said, "He is 8 months old."

She immediately flushed a little and apologized and then continued to talk about how adorable he was before shifting her conversation to someone else nearby.

Since Alexander was born, I've had different people come up and confuse the gender of my baby. We've tried to assist them by dressing him in manly colors and clothes, but we still have the occasional sex-changing comment. Maybe I'm a little biased in my opinion, but I don't think my kid looks like a girl, and I'm hoping the comments stop so that he doesn't have a complex in the future.

Instead of assuming a child's gender, the easiest and safest way to approach a questionable situation is simply to use "baby" instead of "him" or "her." For instance, "What a cute baby." "How old is your baby?" "Look at how well your baby sits." "I love your baby's hair." By this point, the parent is usually tired of hearing "your baby" that they will respond with "He's a year old." "She's really a good baby." Or something similar. Of course, if they just aren't getting the hint that you don't know what sex their child is, then you can continue with the annoying "your baby" line, or just ask what the baby's name is. Hopefully, this will elicit a name that will lead you in the right direction as to what pronoun to use. Just watch out for those unisex names like Sam or Chris. If you get one of those, just start saying "it" instead of "him" or "her". If the parents are willing to use a non-gender specific name, then you're free to do the same.

We'll probably have to continue to clarify Alexander's sex to others, but I guess I should count myself lucky that he's as cute as everyone says he is. We'll work on his manly nature later.

Lost - part 4

2008-11-28T14:51:00.000-08:00

"I tried going home after my conversation with the boy by the tree, but it wasn't the same. I talked with my daughter and her husband about what had happened to me and all that I learned, but they did not believe me. Who would? I wouldn't have believed it either if I had not sat outside in the free air and talked with one of them.

"They tried to get me back into the hospital, but I could not go back there again. So, I left. I went into hiding and lived off whoever would help me. And that's what I've been doing for the past few months now."

The man slumped slightly after finishing his story, visibly affected by the relating of the tale as well as what he had been through. I looked at him with a new understanding and compassion, almost wanting to reach over and lift him up and take him in my arms.

"So, where is your Antonio now?" I asked.

Suddenly, a fire seemed to come into his eyes as his gaze shot up at me. "He hasn't returned," he said distinctly. "They said they always bring them back, and my Antonio hasn't returned."

"He's still not home yet?"

"No. And I will find them and find out what happened to him. And if he is not okay, they will wish their species had never been created."

I could see in his heavy breathing and determined look that he was serious about his threat.

"I must go," he said. "I have many places to look and the more time I spend sitting the harder it will be to find them." He stood and started to walk away. I rose from my seat and almost called to him to wait so that I could offer my services to help him, but something made me stop. From what seemed like thin air appeared a host of children that walked behind him, as if they were an entourage following their king.

The dark night had fallen and within a few moments they were out of my view. I began to wonder if what I had just witnessed was real, but I knew myself too well to think this a hallucination. I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder as I started walking away.

"Crazy man," came a voice at my side. I looked down to see a small boy who was walking beside me. I stopped and he looked up into my eyes. I almost gasped as I seemed to be looking into that same void that the old man had described in the boy by the tree.

"What?" I asked.

"He's a crazy man, no?"

"Sure," I said.

"Good," he said, and then walked away.

I watched him leave until he was no longer in sight. Then I turned and ran after the old man.

The end

Lost - part 3

2008-11-14T07:49:00.000-08:00

"I think he came in with one of the attendants. I don't remember seeing him ever before, and since this wasn't a place where they put insane kids, I figured he must be somebody's child. I couldn't imagine what type of parent would bring their boy into an environment like this, but I also didn't care. I was on the verge of giving up on life. I would sit in a chair in the corner and watch as men and women walked around aimlessly. I began to wonder how many of them were truly insane and how many were driven there simply from living in this place.

"My attention went back to the young boy who walked straight up to me. He stood there and held out his hand. Before being admitted into the ward, I would have asked him what he wanted. I would have tried to communicate with him. Instead, I stared at his hand, trying to decide if I really wanted to make the effort to move.

"'Do you want to know?' the boy asked.

"I looked up at him with a curious look on my face. Somehow I saw a glimmer of hope for understanding in him. Plus, what did I have to lose? I finally decided to take his hand and follow him.

"We walked towards the exit as I wondered what this boy had in mind. It wasn't until we started walking past the guard that I became nervous. However, the guard paid no attention to us, and before I knew it, we were outside in the free air. I took a deep breath and a slight shiver ran through my body as it tingled from the rush of oxygen. I could already feel my mind start to clear.

"I turned my head down to where the boy should have been to thank him, but he wasn't there. I quickly scanned around me and saw him walking away.

"'Wait!' I called. He didn't stop, but kept on walking. I ran and caught up to him and stood in his way. He waited in front of me motionless, as if I were a door that wouldn't open. I stooped down and looked into his face and was almost taken back by the emptiness in his eyes. It was almost like a void where the only visible part was the deep black of the pupil.

"'What's going on?" I asked.

"'Your time is done,' was his reply.

"'My time?" I asked. 'What do you mean?'

"'Anathoth wasn't supposed to tell you about us. We had to make it so no one would believe you if you were to talk, which you did. Now, everyone will take you for a crazy man.'

"'Who is Anathoth? I don't remember talking to him. What is it I wasn't supposed to know?'

"'Come,' he said. 'I will explain everything.' I followed him into a nearby park, and we sat under the cool shade of a tree. The grass was so soft underneath. I could barely remember ever feeling grass that soft. The years I had spent in the hard, white prison had dulled my senses. Now, everything felt more alive and vibrant than ever before.

"'We exist through you,' he started. I started to open my mouth to ask a question, but he held up his hand. 'Please do not interrupt. When I am done, you may ask.

"'We need you to live. As one of us is born, the new life is placed into one of your newborns. The two co-exist peacefully for the first several years of life. But we grow much quicker than you do. By the time your child has reached the age of 8, we have reached our maturity. Until then, the human child has complete control over his mind and body. However, once we reach our stage of adulthood, we must release ourselves from what has sustained us. It is almost like your incubators that you use for chickens. We would not survive outside a human body until we have fully developed.

"'Once we are there, we must find a way to leave. So, we take control of the child's body and go away from everyone. The process of freeing ourselves is not one to be witnessed by human eyes.

"'After the transformation is complete, the child is free to go, and we go on living our lives invisible to the rest of you around us.'

"I sat with a stunned look on my face. I couldn't tell if I was still crazy or if what I was hearing was real. I had so many questions that I didn't know where to start.

"'So, you're like parasites,' I said.

"'A harmless parasite, but yes.'

"'Harmless? Hardly. You take over a child's body, somebody's son or daughter that they love, and leave them alone somewhere in the world after you're done using their body. How is that harmless?'

"'We do not leave them there. After exiting their body, we lead them back home. That is how that girl that you ran into was able to find her parents again. She had been led back.'

"'I did not see anyone lead her to me. She seemed to come out of nowhere.'

"'We are invisible to those who do not believe. The human child's imagination is so immense that they can see us. Most adults refer to them as the child's imaginary friend, but we are as real as the kid says we are. And, when we so desire, we can make those we touch invisible as well. How else do you think we could have walked right out of that hospital?'

"'But you still look like a child.'

"'Yes, because I have not yet freed myself from him. I was instructed to come release you from your sentence beforehand. You had spent enough time in there for no one to believe what I am telling you now. I am sorry we had to do this to you, but we could not jeopardize our existence. Anathoth felt compassion for you and told you a riddle that would explain who we were. Though most adults would not have thought twice about such a thing, you did. And we could not take the chance that someone else would think the same way.'

"'You mean, Anathoth was the being that was inside my Antonio?'

"'That is correct. And it was his time to be freed. And now, it is time for me to go as well. I cannot keep this body any longer or we will both die.' He stood up and started to walk away again.

"'Wait!' I called once more. 'What do I do? Where's my Antonio?' But there was no response. He walked around a bend and was gone.

To be continued ...

Lost - part 2

2008-11-07T10:51:00.000-08:00

I missed last week because of Halloween. Had too much fun. :-) Here is the continuation of my previous post.

**************************

"I sat in the damp jail conference room. My lawyer sat opposite me, trying to make sense of what I was telling him.

"'So, you're saying that you have no idea where this girl came from, correct? That she just walked up out of nowhere and took your hand.'

"'That's right.

"'Ok. That part I can handle and probably convince the jury on because we can prove your whereabouts during the time in question. However, the next part where you say that you were on your way to the police station to give them information on your own grandson's disappearance is what I can't seem to grasp. You're claiming that children aren't being abducted, but are rather leaving on their own?'

"'I don't know if they're leaving on their own or not. I just have this feeling that something else is happening to them.'

"'And this because of what your grandson said to you before he vanished, right?'

"'Right.'

"'So, all the kids that have been found dead or mutilated or abused or whatever else really weren't abducted but just ran away?'

"'That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that maybe not all of them are abducted.'

"'You see? That's where you lose me. I could understand if you were saying that some run away instead of being abducted, because that is possible. But, when kids run away, they usually run to somewhere. They don't just disappear.'

"'I know, I know. My head tells me the same thing you're saying. But, I can't deny what my Anthony said to me. When he said it, it wasn't him. I mean, it wasn't like him. I just feel that there is something else going on here.'

"'I don't know if I can convince the jury of that.'

"He didn't. We went to trial and I sat there and watched as they found me innocent of the abduction of the little girl, but guilty of insanity as I tried to explain my theory. They lead me away to an asylum where I spent day after day explaining the same thing over and over again to different doctors and psychologists. The more they talked to me, the more I began to believe that I truly was insane.

"What a curiosity, no? I was a normal, healthy individual before I entered the psychiatric ward. And it was in a place that was supposed to help heal people from this type of condition that caused me to become crazy. I think they needed me to be crazy.

"Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Soon, a full two years passed without any hope of leaving. I tried to retract my story, saying that I made it up, but they wouldn't believe me. They said I was just saying that to try to get out. Well, I was! I couldn't be in there anymore. I was suffocating from a lack of intelligent conversation. I felt each day that the walls were closing in more and more. The sterilized white everywhere seemed to mock me as I tried to remember what the outside world looked like.

"I finally resolved that I either needed to find a way out or I was to die in there. But, I did not know how. I was no escape artist. I had no idea where to even start when it came to finding a way to leave.

"Then help came. And in a way I never would have expected."

To be continued ...

Lost

2008-10-24T10:06:00.000-07:00

I didn't know who he was. I didn't even see where he came from. All I knew was that we were now talking on the patio chairs that were left outside of the small Italian cafe. I was traveling back to my apartment after having toured several of the art museums when he stepped out of nowhere and took me by my arm.

"Have you seen them?" he asked.

"Seen who?" was all I could think of with which to respond. His white hair was slightly disheveled, but not so much that he would stand out in a crowd. I thought that he might have been homeless, but I could tell from his clothes and general appearance that he was nothing of the sort.

"They have been here for ages," he continued. "I noticed them a few years ago, but after talking with them, I found out that they were here long before we were."

I started to wonder if this elderly gentleman was either drunk or just senile. His hand was still on my arm, which was making me feel extremely uncomfortable, even being used to the Italian culture. However, when he led me to the corner cafe and had me sit in the empty chair as he sat opposite me, I began to feel even more apprehensive. For some reason, I listened as the old man related his tale.

"I was visiting my grandchildren when I first came to realize that something was different. I have known my grandkids since they were born, obviously. At least, so I thought.

"This time, when I was with little Antonio, he said something that took me back.

"'Grandpapa,' he said. 'I love you.'

"'I love you too,' I replied. This was nothing new, mind you. He had said he loved me many times. But what he said next ... Well, I'll let you hear for yourself.

"'Do not fear. I am here, but no more seen. Free and fair, yet trapped and keen. New like wind and old like time. We live forever and not at all.'

"Now, I ask you, does that sound like something a young boy would say? I thought maybe he was telling me a new nursery rhyme he learned, but it made no sense. When I asked him what it meant, he looked at me like he did not know what I was talking about. I let it go.

"The next day Antonio was nowhere to be found. My daughter and her husband were frantic. They called the police and put up missing signs. Everyone in the neighborhood looked for him, but he was gone. Reports started going around about a kidnapper, and all the parents started watching after their kids. All the children went straight home after school and did not play far from their house.

"I could not sleep. I kept thinking back to what he had said to me. Did he know he would be leaving? Was it really a kidnapping or was there something else going on? Did he tell anyone else what he told me? I tossed and turned many nights, fearful that I knew something that could help, but not understanding what it was. I finally decided to go to the police and let them know what I knew. I thought that they might be able to make some sense of it.

"As I was walking to the station, a little girl came from what seemed like nowhere and grabbed my hand. I stopped and looked down. She didn't even look up at me, but stared straight ahead.

"'Hello,' I said. 'Who are you?'

"She would not respond. I looked around and saw no one. Just then, a couple came walking around the corner ahead and saw me with the child. The woman screamed and ran toward the girl calling her name. The man cried for help and the police. Soon, neighbors came pouring out of their houses to see what the commotion was. The woman scooped the child into her arms and started crying. Before I could react, the man was upon me and had me pinned to the ground. Finally I was able to find my voice and demanded to know what this was about.

"'The police will take care of you,' the man scowled. I began to sense that if there was not a crowd, that I would have been killed by him in that instant. I could feel his hot rage as he kept me trapped there until the police came.

"'What seems to be going on here?' asked the officer as he lifted the man off me. The other officer helped me up, but still had a firm grip on my arm.

"'We found this man with our daughter, the one who has been lost for over a year," the man said, barely able to keep in his emotions.

"I did not know what to say. I stammered in disbelief as the policeman cuffed me and put me into the car. I tried to protest and plea my innocence, but they did not want to hear.

"'We'll sort this out back at the station,' was all they said. Before I knew it, I was in a cell waiting the trial for a crime I did not commit."

To be continued ...

The root of all evil

2008-10-20T15:02:00.000-07:00

The numbers meant little to him. What did they say it was? $400,000? It didn't really matter. The bills lay before him in disarray like someone had dumped a pile of leaves on the bed. As he ran his hands under and scooped the money up, it almost didn't feel real. He let the bills fall lifeless on the covers. A few cascaded down and onto the floor, mingling with the others that were there.

What he noticed the most was the smell. It was a musty odor that was unique to all the others. Some of the bills were new and crisp. Others looked like they had been in places that he didn't want to think about. But they all had the same smell. Somehow it permeated through everything. It was like it had its own pheromones, attracting to it the right being - one who would mate with it and cause it to multiply and grow.

But it wasn't meant to be. Not for him. The money held no lustful desire, no longing, no need to be accumulated and stashed away like a priceless antique. For him, it was just paper. A means to an end. He picked up a bill and held it out in front of him. A flick of the thumb ignited the lighter in his other hand. As the small flame caught the corner on fire, he pulled the lighter away and watched the paper burn. The face of the dead president stared back with unwavering attention as it was charred and disfigured by the heat. He dropped the bill into the ashtray next to the hotel bed and watched until only ash remained.

"Easy come, easy go," he whispered.

He grabbed the blue duffel bag that lay next to the bed and quietly stuffed all the money back inside. Leaving a one hundred dollar bill on the pillow, he opened the door and softly closed it behind him. He walked to the elevator and pushed the up button and waited. A soft ding preceded the opening of the doors. A young man in a stiff, red uniform stood inside.

"Going up?" he asked.

"That was the button I pushed," the man replied.

The boy cursed at the guest in his mind, but made no display of his annoyance as he politely asked, "Which floor?"

"Penthouse," the man said.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the penthouse is for registered guests only."

The man pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the young man.

"Thank you for registering," he said as he pushed the button for the top floor.

The elevator smoothly rose higher and higher as the bell dinged for each floor they passed. The man watched the green numbers change on the screen from 48 to 49 to PH for penthouse. With a barely perceptible bump, the elevator stopped and the doors opened to a large entry way.

"Have a nice stay," the young man said. "Just don't stay too long before the registered guests get here."

"Don't worry," the man said. "I'll be gone before they arrive."

The doors quietly closed and the man was left in the room alone. He walked over to the large sliding doors that led to the outside balcony. The wind rushed past him as he opened the doors. He could hear the sounds of the city flowing up from below. Looking down, he saw the cars and people moving around like small ants. Unzipping the duffel bag, he pulled out one bill and let it go into the air. It floated slowly down, spinning uncontrollably in the wind. It took several minutes before it finally hit the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. He smiled slightly as it only took a few seconds for someone to see it and pick it up. They looked around quickly and then stuffed it into their pocket before continuing on their way.

"Now for some fun," he said as he picked up the open duffel bag and dumped the contents into the air. Like confetti, the money spilled out and drifted on the currents. One by one the bills hit the street, cars, people and everything else. As they saw the money everywhere, everyone quickly ran to grab what they could. Cars screeched to a halt as pedestrians darted in front of traffic to snatch another fifty. One vehicle didn't stop quick enough and the lady bounced off the window shield, cracking it and her at the same time. Another two grabbed for a twenty at the same time and a fist fight ensued, leaving one bloody and the other $20 richer. Within only a few minutes, pandemonium had set in and what at first seemed like a gift from heaven turned into a riot.

The man watched the scene below with hardly a spark of emotion in his eyes. Then, with resolution coming across his face, he stepped up onto the railing. He looked one more time to the chaos beneath him and then stepped off. As he fell, he thought of all the people below that would forget the money as they looked at the bloody and mangled body on the street. The windows rushed past him and within a few more seconds he hit the concrete below.

The next day the headlines told of a bank that was robbed. Clear pictures showed the man that held up the teller and demanded money from the vault. In another column it had an image of the same man dead in front of the 5-star hotel downtown. The bank was trying to collect the money that was distributed from the top floor of the hotel, but no one came forward. Soon, the story of the "high-rise bank robber" was forgotten and the money was circulated back through the economic system. The boy that received the 20 dollar bill for mowing his neighbor's lawn and quickly spent it on candy would never know that it came from the suicide of a man trying to prove a point to the world.

Unworthy

2008-10-09T16:16:00.000-07:00

We walked far that day. I remember it well. There was much work to be done and we knew that the time was quickly shortening in which to do it.

The roads were dusty. They were always dusty. The dirt would billow under our sandals as we stepped, finding its way into almost every crevice imaginable. The grains of sand were so small, so seemingly insignificant, that I didn't think they would bother that much. But, as they continued to rub against the skin, blisters formed and eventually popped. The more we walked, the more my feet became accustomed to the abrasions. Soon, callouses took the place of the blisters.

Our footwear didn't help any. The thin leather sandals barely protected our soles from the hard, rocky ground. The straps wrapped tightly around the ankle and partway up the calf, almost cutting off the circulation to the foot. It was necessary this way, though. If not, the sandal would come loose and fall off.

I remember the end of that day. We were tired, but energized. We had worked hard and learned much. We came together for a special feast, for it was the Passover. I can still see the room we were in. The candles lit the walls with a glow that almost seemed angelic. The warm spring night air lightly blew in through the window causing the flames to move as if they were dancing.

The food was greatly welcomed as we hungrily filled our energy deprived bodies. I remember the conversations as if they were still playing in my mind. The words our friend spoke seemed so perfect, so true.

As we sat after the meal finished, he rose and walked over to the other side of the room. I saw him pick up a large basin, a towel and a pitcher of water. Since he was always teaching us lessons, I didn't think much of what he was doing. I was waiting for the real-life application as he put the basin down in front of me. I thought about what new insight I was about to receive as he poured the water. But then, my mind went blank as he reached for my foot.

What is he doing? I thought. Not my feet!

His hands wrapped gently around my ankle as he lifted it into the water. My mind raced as I tried to comprehend what he was doing. I couldn't let him touch my feet! They were hideous. They were dirty and calloused. They were unclean! I reached out to stop him, and he looked up at me with those loving eyes. I cared for him so much. How could I let him do such a thing? This was a job for servants or someone else of lower importance. Not him. Please, not him.

"Lord," I found myself saying. "Doest thou wash my feet?"

"What I doest thou knowest not now; but thou shat know hereafter," was his reply. There was a lesson to learn there, but I could not think straight. All I could focus on was his tender hands touching my filthy feet.

"Thou shalt never wash my feet," I said. I couldn't let him. This man of eternal power and authority could not stoop so low as to clean my feet.

"If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me," he said. I could hear the tender mercies in his voice. I started to see things a little differently. He must have been trying to cleanse me so that I could be with him and his Father. I thought back to my baptism and remembered the clean feeling I had when I came out of the river.

Maybe he's trying to cleanse me again, I thought. If that's the case, then he needs to do more than just my feet. "Lord, not my feet only," I concluded. "But also my hands and my head."

If he was going to make me clean, I needed it all.

"He that is washed needeth not save to wash his feet, but is clean every whit," were his words to me.

I sat there almost in disbelief as I watched him tenderly wipe the dirt away. Here was my teacher, my master, cleaning my dirty, filthy feet. I tried to think about the lesson he was trying to get through to me, but my mind was awhirl.

I'm sure I'll understand in time.

As he finished and moved on to the others there, I felt the now clean skin. Somehow I felt revived. I felt like I could walk a thousand miles and work a thousand years. I looked back to the loving man who had changed my life in so many ways. He looked back at me with those understanding eyes and I knew that even though I was unworthy, I would always follow him.

Freedom

2008-10-03T09:16:00.000-07:00

This post may be a little bit more risque than my normal posts, but I wanted to try it out and see what reaction I got. Most would read it and think nothing of it. But for me, it's pushing the envelope. Hopefully, you enjoy.

*********************************

"Do you hear him?"

"Shh."

The two kids sat hunched in the tall grass, barely breathing. A slight breeze rustled through the weeds, chilling slightly the sweat that beaded on their foreheads from the humid night air.

"This grass is itchy," whispered the first.

"Shh!" hissed the second.

The clear sky shone bright with the stars. A waning moon being the only light around, their eyes were dilated fully. Thin shadows moved across the ground with the wind and toyed with the kids' imaginations.

"How long do we have to wait here? Can't we just go now?"

"Look, pussy, if you want to be a wimp, you can leave by yourself and see if you don't get caught."

"I'm telling you said a bad word."

"Whatever. If you're going to tell, then go. Just shut up!"

The younger of the two boys looked out away from his brother, not wanting to show his fear. They both stared through the grass, straining their eyes to see any glimpse of their target. The heat was starting to take its toll on their patience. The younger one signed just loud enough to show his annoyance, but quiet enough to be able to deny it if his brother said anything.

Suddenly, the elder boy's muscles tensed as a man appeared down the dirt road next to the field they were in. With the little light that there was, his features seemed distorted. His gait swaggered a little as he tried to walk down the lane. Even before he got close enough for the boys to smell the alcohol, they could tell he was drunk. He approached the spot where they were hiding and stopped. They both held their breath as the man loomed over them. The younger felt convinced that he saw them. Another minute and he would have turned and ran, but his own fear kept him from moving. Neither one dared look at the other. They both stared what seemed like straight up. His shirt hung loosely on his stout frame, damp from the sweat of his body. His belly hung over the belt on his jeans, protruding like a pregnant woman.

Just then, the boys could hear a soft zip sound. They watched as something came towards them and caught some of the light from the moon. As it hit the grass and passed through to the ground in an arcing motion, they both turned their eyes toward each other with a disgusted look as they realized what was happening. The urine reeked as it hit the ground in front of them, mixing with the dry earth. As more hit the newly made puddle, it splattered up onto the arms and legs of the boys as they knelt in silence.

After what seemed like an eternity, it stopped and the man zipped back up his pants. They strained their eyes to watch him as he walked away. They waited for a few more minutes after he left before they stood up and brushed themselves off.

"That was gross!" said the younger.

"Just one of many," sighed the elder.

They both looked down the road in the direction the man headed.

"What a dick," said the younger brother.

The other raised an eyebrow as he said, "What happened to your concern for bad language?"

"Doesn't matter anymore. I'm never going back home."

"You finally see it?"

"Yeah. Dad's a loser."

The elder brother laughed. "Well, that's one way to put it." He put his hand on his brother's shoulder as they turned around and headed away.

"So what now?"

"Look around you," said the elder. "Do you see any walls or barriers? Anyone waiting to beat you for any little thing that you do?"

"No."

"That's right. The world is ours now."

"Can I be the captain?" asked the smaller boy with excitement in his voice.

The older brother looked at him with a loving smile as he remember everything that they had been through in the their lives.

"Yeah," he said. "You can be whatever you want."

Morning in the Meadow

2008-09-26T08:57:00.000-07:00

The morning mist lay on the meadow like a thin blanket. It almost seemed like there were layers in different dimensions rather than one cloud. I stretched out my hands and felt the dampness of the air pass through my fingers. I could feel the moisture collect on my skin forming tiny droplets barely visible to the eye. I breathed deep and took in the clean crisp air.

It was then that I first felt it. If it hadn't been for the peaceful state I was in, I would have passed it off for a wind chill or some other natural anomaly and kept on walking. Instead, I stopped. I noticed that it was more than just the morning breeze moving across the heather. At first I felt it in my chest, as if it had entered my heart. Then, like the blood being pumped through my veins, it radiated out to the rest of my body. My arms and hands tingled as if electricity were passing through them. I shuddered at the feeling for it almost seemed as if something was trying to enter me or already had. The air around me seemed to constrict and push in like a vice. My breathing started coming out in short rasps as it left my mouth in small clouds in the cold air. I wanted to run but felt helpless as I stoop there paralyzed.

Then, as if a small lantern were placed next to my body, I felt a warmth start to grow. It was hardly perceptible at first compared to the onslaught I was experiencing, but it was there. I could feel it. I focused on that small bit of hope and allowed it to expand and course through my body. Suddenly, I could sense the colder feeling fighting against this new force. The two unknown beings seemed to tear through my body as the unseen battle raged. I collapsed to my knees and fought to even take a breath as my mind tried to comprehend what was happening. My eyes rapidly searched the surrounding field for any sign of life to come and save me from the inevitable doom that I felt would take place. The mist seemed to thicken and darken in patches, whereas other areas caught what little light was filtering through the morning haze. They seemed to move around me and through me. I tried to cry out just to break the deafening silence, but all I could muster was a soft whimper.

Just then, when it seemed like the harsher of the two forces was going to win and conquer this fleshy tabernacle, the sun burst over the ridge and flooded the meadow with light. Rays of healing warmth shot through the fog and seemed to push it back like a knight with a magic sword. I inhaled sharp and deep as if I had been underwater for too long. I cried freely as the sun continued to rise and envelop me like a warm blanket. The cold air was gone. No longer did I feel under pressure. All I felt was a burning in my chest that extended through my whole body. I got back to my feet and stood there again, alone in the field with this pillar of fire as my only companion. I wiped the tears away from my eyes and smiled as strength entered my legs again and I walked towards the rising sun.

Unforgettable

2008-09-19T07:28:00.000-07:00

This post is entirely new. I wanted to have something fresh for this Friday instead of "cheating", as someone said I was doing, and taking previous work and posting it. As I sat with a blank writing pad in front of me trying to think of what to write, I noticed the glasses I was wearing. As I looked at them and the reflection, I started writing. I didn't know exactly where the idea would take me, but that is nothing new. Whenever I write, I start with a general idea of what I would like to put down, and then the words take me where they feel I should go. It feels more natural to me that way.

***********************

He wore glasses. The hardened plastic softly shimmered with the reflection of the world around him. In them I saw a fireplace with a log slowly burning there. The flames licked up the sides of the wood as the smoke rose into the chimney and out into the night air. On the mantle sat a frame with a picture inside of a happy couple. It was their wedding day. I knew that picture well. The dress she wore had eluded her as she spent months travelling from store to store and trying on a thousand different styles before finding the perfect one. She remembered when the photographer had snapped the picture, feeling the elation again from when she first tried it on. She knew then that everything would work out. I could barely see the frame in the reflection of the man's glasses, but I knew she was smiling, her naivete all too apparent.

Next to it hung a stocking, trimmed with red and green. The bulges in the toe and heel gave away the goodies that hid inside. I thought of the owner of this treasure chest running down the stairs, anxious with the thoughts and curiosities of what Santa brought. He probably didn't sleep at all the night before. I imagined him tearing through gifts and presents and loving every minute of it, content and oblivious to the cares and worries of life.

I turned my head and looked around the room. The motley colored tree sat in a shallow stand that only held enough water for it to slowly fade and lose its vibrancy. The needles were brittle and fell at the slightest touch. The branches bent under the weight of the festive ornaments and decorations. I felt as if it were laboring to stay alive, even though its eventual death was imminent. Soon it would lay on the street curb, waiting to be carried away to its final landfill resting place.

I looked back to the glasses and to the reflected room in them. Though I did not want to acknowledge it, everything there was mine, even this man before me. I reached out my hand and touched his cold skin, trying to remember the first time he had held me and I had felt his warmth. The glasses now acted as a barrier between what was real and alive and what was not. I wanted to jump into them and relive that world again, but it was gone. He lay so still, and though his eyes were open, they did not see anymore. I leaned over him, and with my mouth inches from his ear whispered, "I love you." A tear finally fell as the reality sunk in, and I knew that Christmas from now on would never be Merry for me again.

The restaurant scene

2008-09-12T17:53:00.000-07:00

This is an excerpt from a novel I have worked on. I could say I am currently working on it because it isn't finished, but I haven't focused on it in several years. I instead am focusing on a different novel, which will be the first one I publish.

A little background before I post ... The narrator is talking about her life as a child when her grandfather dies. She has been blind since birth and her grandfather was the only one who really understood her. This scene is in a restaurant shortly after they visited her grandfather for the last time.

*********************

The car pulled into a parking lot and I knew that we were at the road-side diner that we always stopped at on the way home. My legs ached from sitting for so long, and I was glad for the break. The loose gravel crunched under my feet as we walked toward the door. Immediately upon opening them the strong stench of burning vegetable oil violated my nose like a charging ram. I could hear the sputtering of the grease splattering off the skillets and onto the floor. My father led us over to a small booth, and we sat down. The rustle of fabric washed too many times confronted our family as a waitress placed menus before us.

“What’ll it be?” she asked in an unconcerned tone, barely audible through the gum she chewed.

“We will have two dinner specials and two children’s hamburger plates,” my father responded. The pencil of the waitress scratched furiously as she wrote our order down in her own language of shorthand. She quickly gathered the menus as she asked, “Anything to drink?”

“Just water will be fine, and maybe some milk for the kids.” The scratching pencil faded into the background as she walked off. Why my father always came to this place was beyond me. I knew my mother did not approve as she never said anything while we ate. Coming from upper-class society, she certainly did not want to be seen in such an establishment as this. However, I think my father just liked to take a risk every now and again.

The waitress came back with our drinks and set them down. As she passed, I caught the faint aroma of a perfume my grandmother wore, making me relive the memory of my grandfather. He was gone. The realization hit me again as if for the first time. I sulkily kept my head down and played with the fringe on my dress, not wanting to show the tears that were falling.

“Keep your head high and you’ll go places,” he used to say to me.

How can I, I thought. I’m too little.

“You’re never too little.”

But I’m not strong enough.

“Strength will always come when needed.”

I’m scared.

“Remember me, and I will be with you.”

I lifted my head with my eyes closed as the tears coursed down my cheeks. I let them fall freely as I opened my eyes to the darkness before me.

“Honey, are you okay?” my father asked. I could barely hear him as I let the emotions overcome me. I sat confused at what I felt. I should have felt grief, but I didn’t. I should have felt sorrow for losing him, but nothing was there.

Stop the tears. I sat silently as my mother wiped my eyes dry.

“It’s okay.”

Is it? I continued to stare out into nothing as the dark void that I saw enveloped what I felt.

No more tears. Don’t cry anymore. And I never did.

The heat of the restaurant created a stickiness between my legs and the vinyl seat in which I sat. I could feel a bead of sweat trickle down my calf. It tickled, but I didn’t touch it or wipe it away. I barely even breathed. I had no desire to move. The waitress soon arrived with our meals, and I could smell the greasy burger steaming in front of me. The stench rose up into my nose and through my cavity into my mouth as my taste buds told my brain what it was. But nothing seemed to register. It didn’t even seem like food, just a dead cow lying between two pieces of bread. More death.

“Honey, are you going to eat?”

I didn’t even acknowledge my father’s voice. I could feel all their eyes on me as I kept my own fixed on the emptiness before me.

“She doesn’t have to eat, if she doesn’t want to.” I was surprised that my mother would come to my defense, but I soon realized that it wasn’t me she was defending but rather her own desire to eat somewhere else. “I know I wouldn’t want to eat here.”

“Don’t start with that again. I’ve already explained that I just like to get away from the madness of the high life once in a while.”

“Yes, but do you have to do it in such a place? I mean, look at the floor. When do you think was the last time they mopped this place? I’m surprised they even pass inspection.”

“Look, if you want…..” My father’s voice trailed off in my consciousness as my thoughts wandered to my own grief. Thankfully, they had left me alone and turned to their own problems. The smell of the food before me drifted up to my nose once again. I could hear my brother smacking his food loudly in his mouth. I picked up a French fry and felt it in my hand. The grease seeped out of the previously frozen potato slice and ran down my finger. I couldn’t eat. I felt sick to my stomach. I put the fry down and hugged my belly, trying to make the pain stop.

Vanpool

2008-09-05T09:02:00.000-07:00

5:45am ... The alarm on my cell phone jingles to the tune of the T-Mobile commercials, bringing me out of my recent dream. I haven't been asleep for long as I got up just barely two hours ago to bring my 5-month old son to my wife so she could breastfeed him. I shut off the alarm and lay there for a second to gently ease into the day.

6:00am ... A second turns into 15 minutes as I wake up again and look at the clock on my cell phone. I literally roll out of bed so as not to jostle my wife and son who fell asleep in the bed after being fed. I jump in the shower and let the warm water slowly wake me up as I think of what I have to do for the day. I don't spend much time in there, for I have a schedule to keep.

6:30am ... I put a hand on my wife and lightly touch her. She sharply inhales and looks at me with wide eyes as if I were coming to kidnap her. Now awake, I let her know that it's time to go. I grab our son and put him in the car seat as she gets up and trudges out in her pajamas. Not caring, since she won't be seen, she puts on her slippers and says she's ready to go. We pile into the truck and take off to the meeting spot.

6:45am ... We sit in the truck waiting for the rest of them to arrive. A few are already there, but not all. I kiss my wife goodbye and head over the van. We're waiting for one more person ... again.

6:55am ... The latecomer finally arrives and the vanpool takes off for work.

The front seats hold the two self-proclaimed leaders of the vanpool because heaven forbid that they should sit further back in the van. The driver holds herself as upright as possible, as if by doing so she can show how much better she is than the rest of us. Her partner in crime sits in the passenger seat a little slouched so as not to be higher than the other. I've nicknamed them the captain and co-captain, though Hitler and Mussolini would probably be more appropriate. One day the co-captain was off work and the front passenger seat was open. It remained empty on the ride to work and back because no one dared invade her space, even when she wasn't there. The whole ride to work they talk about the passengers in the vanpool, the money everyone's saving, the days people will be off work, and anything else over which they feel they can have control.

In the middle seat sits a man who lives vicariously through his son. Any comment made about anyone else's children will elicit a response from him about his. If this conversation doesn't revolve around children or sports, then he's usually quiet. The interesting thing is that he knows this and admits freely to it. Well, at least he's honest with himself.

Behind him in the back seat sits the talker. Studies have shown that women use around 3,000 words a day, and with twin teenage daughters she must need to use up her words with us because she can't get a word in edgewise at home. I've tried to count how many seconds of silence we have, and I haven't been able to get past five.

Next to her is the late-comer. Not one day has she arrived on time or before anyone else. She's the type that will always be 5 minutes late, no matter what time she leaves her house. The dictators of the van have talked about asking her to arrive just 10 minutes earlier, but I feel that would be like asking the earth to stop spinning. If it did, everything would fly off in chaos and destruction.

Finally is the mouse of the van. I've only heard him speak twice in a day, once on the way to work and once on the way back. Even when someone tries to start a conversation with him, they only get one-word responses. I wonder if he's like that at home. His wife must do all the talking. Back to that 3,000 words a day thing again. Good thing men only need to use 500 words a day, but I wonder if he even gets there. He must use them all up at work.

4:00pm ... I leave my desk and clock out. The day has been long and work tough. I am glad to head home where I can see my beautiful wife and child again. I think about what we'll be doing that night and the funny stories I will hear about what he did today. But, before I can see them, I must endure the menagerie of personalities in the carnival ride called "The Vanpool."

Free Write

2008-09-03T08:47:00.000-07:00

In high school we were required to write in a journal each day for English class. I remember feeling like I was back in middle school having to drudge out mundane tasks just because the dictator (aka teacher) wanted it. Each day would greet us with a different topic on which to write, ranging from comparing and contrasting novels to opinions on current events. Being older and somewhat wiser now, I can see the benefits behind having us write each day. However, at the time it just sucked. The one highlight was on Friday when we were granted a small taste of freedom in what was called a "Free Write." It's interesting to note that we were still writing and yet we felt like we were given great liberties. It's like having casual Friday at work. You still have to go to work. Wearing a hideously ugly fake-Hawaiian shirt that you paid $9.99 for at WalMart doesn't change that.

At first, on my Free Write days, I wrote about nothing at all. I couldn't scribble, because we still had to turn in whatever we wrote, but I would just come up with nonsense. And then, I began describing different scenes and scenarios with vivid detail and description. Before I knew it, I was continuing with one scene from week to week that soon grew into a short story. I began to like writing. I'm sure my English teacher was reveling inside with her fiendish work to convert me to her literary side, but I didn't care. I was hooked. When summer came, I couldn't stop writing my short story. I had to finish it. This led to other short stories and ideas that grew into potential books.

This blog is to record some of my writings and post a few excerpts from my upcoming novels so that others can read my glorified Free Writes and hopefully provide some feedback, allowing me to improve and even one day get published. If I do, I promise to think of each one of you that commented as I deposit the check into my account. Heck, if you're really good I may even mention you in the Acknowledgements section (which seems to be like an Oscar's acceptance speech gone bad. Some authors get a little carried away as they start thanking everyone from their publisher to their neighbor's dog.)

I will post one entry a week on ... you guessed it ... Friday. So, come with me down the rabbit hole and where no man gone before as I try to use every possible allusion I can think of.