tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18439369480088788982024-02-07T19:39:05.022-05:00Chasing a Trail of Smoke and ReasonParabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-65963783473684320082009-06-28T22:16:00.001-04:002009-06-28T22:17:59.803-04:00I've moved!To anyone that may have been reading this, I have moved <a href="http://www.ronaldekingjr.com/">here.</a> I hope to see you there.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-59689203923395703522009-05-22T22:53:00.003-04:002009-05-22T23:06:02.792-04:00Updated...I did manage to survive that 'swine' flu that was going around. Yay!<br /><br />I'm taking a couple courses this semester and blah, blah, blah. Replace blah, blah, blah with work.<br /><br />In other news, the cat went into heat. That's not a euphemism for anything fun regarding humans. Literally, the cat is in heat and my cat (the male) is proving to be rather ineffective right...now. Humorously enough, there was a clip on the TV a moment ago about the "Summer of Love." The background image was, of course, a male lion standing over a lioness.<br /><br />Appropriate.<br /><br />The universe has a strange sense of humor (if you keep your eyes open and sometimes when you try to keep them closed).<br /><br />Until next time...Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-43877334255869100712009-05-05T18:54:00.001-04:002009-05-05T18:55:32.158-04:00FluThe flu is taking me out of commission. Better than being kicked in the junk though.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-16581851312174237792009-04-28T20:30:00.002-04:002009-04-28T20:30:52.530-04:00MiserableI am in a miserable mood right now. No good reason for it either. <br /><br />Stupid Tuesday feeling like a Monday. *Grumble*Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-54328779071762509872009-04-11T19:35:00.002-04:002009-04-11T19:47:37.274-04:003 Wonderful ThingsI dragged my four year old to the National Museum of Natural History this morning. We metro'ed in (which he loved because he likes trains) and then walked in the rain (which he also enjoyed because he loves puddles.<br /><br />Why the Natural History museum? Dinosaurs, of course. He is a typical boy that way, too. <br /><br />So, over the course of the day he said three wonderful things (wonderful in that I enjoyed them):<br /><br />1. When the Dark is tired, the Sun comes up.<br /><br />2. We saw BIG dinosaur teeth, BIG SHARP TEETH that will bite your fingernail off and then you'll bleed so when we see those dinosaurs, that's why we RUN. We run fast. We run into the parking lot and then into the grass and the trees and we hide. We hide from the BIG SHARP TEETH.<br /><br />3. I love you, daddy.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-48003171598537698992009-04-07T22:34:00.002-04:002009-04-07T22:39:13.730-04:00Adam's DateAdam rolls his eyes and looks away, but his exasperation is obviously all for show. <br /><br />“I met Lydia just a few nights ago. I was trying to forget the whole lot of you, actually, after your Valentine’s Day fiasco. That’s another story, though.<br /><br />“I was out dancing, having a good time although no one was catching my eye when I heard this deep boom—louder than the bass in the club. I danced my way away from the women and toward the door.<br /><br />“Outside, a big black hummer was engulfed, just completely engulfed in flames. A crowd was beginning to form and Lydia was in this crowd—though I didn’t notice her yet. I was a little preoccupied with the black giant that stepped out of the blazing hummer like the nothing was amiss. <br /><br />“Immediately, he registered as abnormal. What Shaq-tall black guy walking unfazed through fire wouldn’t though? Oh, and then there was the big-ass ninja sword he had strapped to his belt. But he just up and walked away, like the sun was shining on him and everything was peachy fucking keen. Hell, I think a butterfly landed on his nose while Mr. Bluebird rode shotgun on his shoulder and three dozen woodland creatures sung and played around his feet as only woodland creatures can. Plus, he was registering as weird; supernatural, I suppose. <br /><br />“My eyes scanned the crowd and that’s when I saw Lydia, though, I didn’t know her name yet, of course. She, too, seemed a little, off, shall we say? I noticed her, the golden hair, the slightly pale coloring, and her perfect body. I marked the way her eyes followed Shaq when he walked casually in the opposite direction. I watched as she, without noticing me, walked away from the explosion.<br /><br />“I’m not stupid; I knew she was tied to the explosion. I felt it in my gut. But I chased after Shaq first. It wasn’t until I caught him that I realized he was more Samuel fuckin’ L. Jackson than Shaquille O’Neal.<br /><br />“That dick had a MASSIVE attitude problem. Major. He didn’t want me tagging along. He threatened to kill me two—no—three times.<br /><br />“I told him I just wanted to help him out. I told him it wasn’t everyday that I saw a man climb out of a burning hummer unharmed. He told me to get lost. He told me he didn’t want to be responsible for my life.<br /><br />“It was obvious he was on some sort of mission. I figured that I might actually learn something from him. There wouldn’t be any fighting or bickering. So, I told him I’d help out—if he’d give me a weapon.<br /><br />“He argued he didn’t want to be responsible for my life. He claimed that his mysterious superiors would kill us both if I were mixed up in, well, whatever he was mixed up in. So, I dropped the only information that could have helped me through the door: I told him there was a blonde woman watching him very intently and that she seemed a little strange.<br /><br />“He spun around instantly and we stalked off toward Lydia. All the time, he told me I needed to get lost. As soon as we were close enough to see Lydia, he lost interest, spun, and went in the other direction again.<br /><br />“I figured then that my best chance at learning what had happened lied with the woman. So, I walked right up to her and slipped my arm into hers.<br /><br />“I said, ‘Where’ve you been beautiful? I’ve been looking for you all night.’ She was intrigued with my forwardness. I asked her out for a drink and she suggested we skip the formalities and just go back to her place, if I were interested.<br /><br />“With her arms covered, it was hard for me to tell just how much warmth she had. I dedicated myself to discovering what exactly she was, at the very least. So we hopped into her sports car.<br /><br />“She drove like a maniac. I slipped my hand onto her leg and made small talk. She asked me why I wasted my time with small talk. ‘A good way to pass the time,’ I said. I slipped my hand farther up the inseam of her tight, leather pants.<br /><br />“There wasn’t much heat. Probably wasn’t any heat, I thought but I couldn’t stop there. That wasn’t enough evidence. So my hand slipped farther up to where her legs met her body. Still no warmth.<br /><br />“I thought then that my life might be over. I was dedicated to see it through, though. Up the elevator we went to her hotel room. <br /><br />“We fucked all night long. Her body felt a bit different—cold, of course. She was also hard and strong and pushed me to my limits. I made sure to do the same to her. I had to keep her interested, right? <br /><br />“Not long before sun-up, her teeth began to prick at my...neck. Apparently, orgasming repetitively all night long, is just the foreplay for a vampire’s meal.” Adam smiles a little, but the smile falls away seconds later.<br /><br />“Playfully, I told her, ‘I plan on surviving this night, darling, so don’t bite too hard.’ She grabbed my shoulders, spinning me to face her on the bed. Her cold nipples were rigid as she thrust herself against me. Her arms slid down to my wrists, icy, unbreakable steel. She held my arms taught as she traced her fangs longingly against my throat. <br /><br />“Forcefully, I told her, ‘I will live to see the morning.’ She laughed, pushed me onto my back and climbed onto me, sinking around me, drawing my focus away from the cool chill of her abdomen rubbing against mine, those pert nipples against my chest and my arms, pinned. Her hips distracted me, drawing my mind from the danger and into ecstasy. <br /><br />“Her hips worked back and forth again and again, until I was moaning. The first tickles of that blonde hair fell across my neck. She was still laughing, even as my voice worked itself toward a crescendo. Her lips were the candy given to my childish neck. Her fangs, the razor-truth of reality, tore into my throat and my cry orgasm became one of pain.<br /><br />“You cannot imagine a pain like that. It was fire and lightning ravaging the inside of my body. It was glass exploding behind my eyes and frigid talons rending my heart. I only allowed it for a moment but within that moment, I lived and died a thousand times. <br /><br />“No, you cannot imagine a pain like it. It took most of my strength but I managed to imagine a barrier between myself and her. I imagined her being thrown away from me. <br /><br />“The thump of her body slamming into the wall of the hotel room brought me back to myself.<br /><br />“She hissed, ‘What are you?’.<br /><br />“I said, ‘I’m a real man, the first one you’ve ever met, and I’m still interested if you are, but I will LIVE through this night. When that sun comes up, I’ll be watching it rise.’<br /><br />“Like a broken record, she whined, ‘What are you?’<br /><br />“I told her, ‘I have no idea. Why don’t you come over here and help me find out?’ She looked skeptical. I said, ‘Seriously, fuck me now. Then help me figure it out.’ That was all the invitation she needed.” Adam chuckled and adds, “She crossed the room a little more carefully that time. But she had no qualms crawling back onto my lap. I had no qualms about having her there either.<br /><br />“She was slightly warmer those last few times. <br /><br />“Just before sun up, I exchanged cell numbers with her. We agreed to meet again later in the week—which became last night. Do I need to go over that again? Or the phone call?”<br /><br />Adam waits expectantly.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-32195563924386388712009-03-28T15:02:00.001-04:002009-03-28T15:03:45.471-04:003 A.M. # 94 - Life Story<p>I had no idea where to start. Her icy eyes pierced through me and it made me nervous. I’m a guy; I shouldn’t be nervous, but there it was. She just kept staring and I couldn’t help wishing to be elsewhere.<br /></p><p>So, I opened my lips and lied.<br /></p><p>“We were poor—couldn’t afford much when I was young. I’m an only child and my parents were working all the time.” That wasn’t exactly a lie, they did work all the time but we certainly weren’t poor. I was on the verge of poor now, but hey, that’s the cost of fucking up in life. Maybe she knew it was a lie? Those blue eyes masked everything or anything going on in her head.<br /></p><p>“Anyway, we couldn’t afford much so I had to suffer the bullying of kids. Kids are ruthless. Once, I remember, a group of us—or them circling me. Two of them had baseball bats and the rest of them just stood there, arms crossed and glaring. <br /></p><p>“Horror writers just don’t know horror. They don’t write about that, and if they knew horror that’s what they would write about. Anyway, that was my childhood. Just like everyone else’s: fucked up.” Did she catch my slip? Did she know that I had been one of the ones with a baseball bat? <br /></p><p>It does not really matter because I kept lying. I kept digging myself in further. She just sat there, smugly silent and observant. Bitch.<br /></p><p>“I survived it all, of course. Worked my ass off in school. I was loved by every teacher.” More lies. Some pitied me though, foolishly. “I made it into college only the money or scholarships wouldn’t cover everything. I dropped out, started dealing drugs.”<br /></p><p>“And now here I am, sitting on a shrink’s couch.” </p>Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-45487998102197119192009-03-13T23:26:00.002-04:002009-03-13T23:31:13.048-04:003 A.M. # 130 - MonotonyPressed against the wall, Andrew closed his eyes. They swarmed over the wood chips, the monkey bars, and the swings like tiny, barbaric apes. One bellowed then charged him.<br /><br />Andrew opened his eyes because of the cry. The brute pumped its small arms forward and back, accelerating toward terminal velocity with surprising ease. Lips parted around feral teeth.<br /><br />Chip Brewster, that one’s name is, Andrew thought. Chip was six years old, already failing class and known as the meanest red-headed bully around. Chip’s sharp teeth glimmered hungrily.<br /><br />Chip screeched; Andrew's heart leapt within his chest. The brute closed in and Andrew fell to his knees, curling up into a fetal position. The beast slammed the wall.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-38529917293530593532009-03-12T21:15:00.000-04:002009-03-12T21:16:43.394-04:00LayoutYay. New Layout. This is my first (finished) layout. Woo.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-45394912273027185092009-03-11T21:26:00.002-04:002009-03-11T21:33:38.919-04:003 A.M. #96 - One MomentWater pelted the metal sink. He stared out the window into a world bright and young. Hot water scalded his left hand but he ignored it. If the bright world looked in, it would see his nasty grimace. <br /><br />The phone in his right hand flashed. The ringing repeated ceaselessly. The click, click, clicking of the over-sized wall clock was louder. Minutes passed. Still no answer. His hand blossomed red. <br /><br />Trembling, he shut the phone off and set it down on the tiled counter. The black clashed with the grainy white of the 1950’s tile.<br /><br />Click, click, click.<br /><br />The scent of lemons and cleansing agents danced around his dark mood. His face blossomed red. He lifted the phone from the tile, clicked it on.<br /><br />Beep. He hit redial and the same malevolent, seven tones played for the eleventh—no twelfth time. <br /><br />Sore tenderness crept along the heat in his left hand. He withdrew it and the plate from the burning water. The phone rang and rang and rang. Mocking.<br /><br />He pressed the end button. <br /><br />His left hand shot out. The plate sailed across the 1950’s kitchen to smash in the living room, above the fireplace. Its white ceramic bits splashed against the stone mantle, chiming like a chorus of windchimes.<br /><br />The front door creaked open. Her heels clattered against the hardwood floors, slowly. <br /><br />His left hand reached again into the hot water. Against his battered flesh he felt the solid curve of the kitchen tile.<br /><br />Her heels tapped impatiently first on the hardwood, then on the checkerboard linoleum. He turned to her, breathing in her scent. Perfume, stale smoke, lingering alcohol, sex and death.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-27830014884695884352009-02-10T21:12:00.002-05:002009-02-10T21:19:10.575-05:00Back in BlackI was completely done with the other layout. Completely.<br /><br />It is a bit strange, I'm sure. I do not blog so often but the background really, really needed to change. I have been tinkering around with custom layouts. I'm not sure anything will come of it really.<br /><br />I suppose we'll see.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Other things on the agenda for this month:</span><br /><ul><li>Work</li><li>School (homework, yay!)</li><li>Certification testing</li><li>Crayons' birthday</li></ul>Feeling a bit cynical. See you next post.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-62084139816790975412009-02-05T11:13:00.004-05:002009-02-05T11:22:48.787-05:00The season......will be over when I say its over!<br /><br />Seriously, I'm not sure what I am waiting for. Something.<br /><br />I am around, though. I can feel this blog looming behind me like a creepy, large man with heavy, rancid, hot breath.<br /><br />Something is coming...<br /><br />In the meantime, I have kept busy with school and work. Returning to school is always awesome, of course. (Hold on one sec, I need to push my nerd glasses farther up the bridge of my nose.) <br /><br />I am hoping that work will calm down sooner rather than later. We have had layoffs (of course). Thankfully, I am in a position to avoid most of that. A vacation is needed!Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-26284172162318333272008-12-23T21:19:00.003-05:002008-12-23T21:24:03.427-05:00Tis the SeasonI have not been around very much.<br /><br />Obviously! You say.<br /><br />I have been up and down with my passion for this 'blogging' thing. Mostly down, of late. <br /><br />My passion can change on a whim though...so if anyone out there does stop in from time to time, I still plan to post on occasion...<br /><br />Happy Holidays to anyone out there.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-82397503695194215902008-11-04T11:42:00.003-05:002008-11-04T12:06:58.775-05:00VacationI have been away from work for just about two weeks now. Away from work in a physical way because I have had to remotely access the server once to fix an issue, coordinate for some meetings via email, and lend guidance to a few coworkers via phone and email. Still, all of that only wasted about an hour of my life.<br /><br />Without work, what does a Parabolist do?<br /><br />God only knows. There has been a LOT of driving. We (<a href="http://www.crayonsinthedryer.blogspot.com/">24Crayons</a>, <a href="http://itswhatsfordinner.blogspot.com/">Mr. T</a>, and myself) drove to Dallas, where we spent a few days 'relaxing' with Crayons' family. <br /><br />My 27th birthday happened to fall within that stretch of a few days. They, along with the aid of Crayons' grandmother and a friend of theirs, set up a wonderful birthday for me. The day began with a powerful massage (that masseuse's hands could apply enough pressure to bend steel, I'm sure). <br /><br />After the massage, we snacked and rushed about to make it to the <a href="http://dallasmuseumofart.org/Dallas_Museum_of_Art/index.htm">Dallas Museum of Art</a>. The museum's major exhibit right now is the <a href="http://dallasmuseumofart.org/Dallas_Museum_of_Art/View/Tut/index.htm">Tutankhamun and the Golden Age of the Pharoahs</a>. It was an impressive exhibit which, sadly, denied photography. <br /><br />Once we had wandered through the exhibit and perused the gift shop, we dove head first into Dallas commuter traffic to get all gussied up for dinner. They had reserved a table for us at <a href="http://dallasmuseumofart.org/Dallas_Museum_of_Art/View/Tut/index.htm">Nana</a>'s, a swanky restaurant on the top of the Anatole. The food was delicious and the apple martini's were loaded.<br /><br />We collapsed shortly after dinner, knowing that the next part of our journey (another drive!) would begin the next morning. <br /><br />We raced from Dallas to Searcy, Arkansas for the wedding of one very wonderful <a href="http://reagansblog.blogspot.com/">cosmopolitan, small town girl</a>. Crayons was a bridesmaid and so was very busy with all those things bridesmaids do that men can never know about. Mr. T and I, in the meantime, hung out with the groom and his men. <br /><br />It was a great ceremony--all the groomsmen were dressed in kilts. The bagpiper was absolutely amazing and everything went off without a hitch (which is as it should be). I wish the best to both of them.<br /><br />We left the morning after the ceremony to return home. That's where I am now, stretched out on a couch, trying to enjoy the rest of my time off and just relax. Work begins again soon and it'll be the busiest its been all year due to a very large project resting solely on my shoulders.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-5449403862933760812008-10-05T15:47:00.000-04:002008-10-05T19:51:49.821-04:00Company of the Burning Stag<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p class='tags'><a href='http://www.technorati.com/tag/Gaming' rel='tag'>Gaming</a>,<a href='http://www.technorati.com/tag/Dorkiness' rel='tag'>Dorkiness</a>,<a href='http://www.technorati.com/tag/DnD' rel='tag'>DnD</a>,<a href='http://www.technorati.com/tag/Art' rel='tag'>Art</a></p> <p>Hi. My name is Ron and I'm a gamer. It has been twenty hours and thirty eight minutes since my last game (as of writing this particular sentence...make that thirty nine minutes). </p> <p> </p> <p>By gamer, I am not referring to those MMORPGs. I have never managed to maintain much enthusiasm for those games (I grow bored with computer and console games LOOOOOOONG before I ever finish them). No, when I call myself a gamer, I am referring to pencil and paper role-playing games.</p> <p> </p> <p>Anyway, it doesn't really matter what I like to do with my spare time. The whole setup is to explain that the image I'm linking is actually <strong>for</strong> my gaming group. I created it, from scratch, for them. Partially, I created it because I wanted to test out some new software that I may end up using for other creative endeavors.</p> <p> </p> <p>The characters of my player are in a party they have named <strong>The Company of the Burning Stag.</strong> This is their standard: </p> <p><img height='553' width='450' alt='Standard for the Company of the Burning Stag: A fiery stag on a field of red and blue. Their Motto: Aut Viam Invenium Aut Faciam.' src='http://i230.photobucket.com/albums/ee134/parabolist/wotbs/CoBS.png'/> </p> <p>I am very proud of the way it turned out. <br/> </p></div>Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-24647427111809468172008-08-26T07:14:00.003-04:002008-08-26T07:20:49.219-04:00The Early Bird...Been up since 4:30 am. I twisted, turned, somersaulted, and did all I could but no comfort was to be had in my bed. <br /><br />So, I decided to give myself a morning. I drove out for breakfast, nowhere special, just some place with coffee, peace, and enough space to write a bit.<br /><br />I hand jotted about two pages which is a lot for me to handwrite. <br /><br />Leaving the diner, I was struck by the empty parking lot of the mall. The sun was just beginning to come up and it was as if the world had been scoured clean. A profound sense of emptiness hit me and I was reminded of all those zombie movies I've ever seen. <br /><br />Anyway, I've a couple other things to do before I subject myself to "working". <br /><br />Good morning, world!Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-67798000685773804682008-08-24T17:39:00.001-04:002008-08-24T22:18:00.087-04:00Warm up: Cat Lady<p class="MsoNormal">“Susie?<span style=""> </span>Susie?! Where are you, darling?!”<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Stengel squeaked, her left hand groping about in the darkness.<span style=""> </span>A tumultuous bellow of thunder slammed into the side of the house shaking picture frames and inciting knick-knacks to dance.<span style=""> </span>She steadied herself with one gnarled hand.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lightning erupted, illuminating the living room ahead of her.<span style=""> </span>Susie was pawing again at the front door.<span style=""> </span>Every time she slipped out of her cage, it was the same thing.<span style=""> </span>She always charged for the front door, always tried to pry it open.<span style=""> </span>Curiosity would certainly kill that cat if she made it outside.<span style=""> </span>That was why Mrs. Stengel had installed a padlock to the inside of the door.<span style=""> </span>Susie had somehow manipulated her way past the deadbolt and the chain last time!<span style=""> </span>No repeats of past mistakes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You’re just frightened by the storm, honey,” Mrs. Stengel soothed.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Susie wasn’t buying it.<span style=""> </span>Her head jerked right and left, searching for an avenue of escape.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mrs. Stengel’s right hand tightened on the metal shaft behind her.<span style=""> </span>“Come on, dear.<span style=""> </span>It’ll all be okay.<span style=""> </span>We’ll just return you to your home downstairs where you’ll be kept safe and sound away from that storm.<span style=""> </span>It certainly is a doozy!”<span style=""> </span>The thunder boomed again, emphasizing the old woman’s words.<span style=""> </span>Her old arm snapped out, bringing the net down around Susie’s head.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Susie whined and mewed as Mrs. Stengel cautiously lifted the net and clamped two fingers tightly on her ear.<span style=""> </span>More mewing.<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Stengel pinched tighter, tossing the net to the side entirely.<span style=""> </span>“Now we’ll just take you back downstairs.<span style=""> </span>You’ll see.<span style=""> </span>It’ll all be better downstairs.<span style=""> </span>You can play with the boys until this nasty storm passes.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Susie kicked and whined and clawed but Mrs. Stengel’s grip was unbreakable.<span style=""> </span>The door to the basement slammed shut with finality as they descended the staircase.<span style=""> </span>Frustrated minutes passed as the old woman slowly descended the staircase.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The boys were huddled in their own cages, faces turned away.<span style=""> </span>Susie cried out as the door swung open and she was shoved again into the cell.<span style=""> </span>Taking no chances this time, Mrs. Stengel wrapped a chain around the bars and the door and applied a heavy duty lock.<span style=""> </span>“That should keep.<span style=""> </span>No more running away, Susie.”<span style=""> </span>She turned and murmured, “the things I endure for taking in the neighborhood strays.” <span style=""> </span>Mrs. Stengel hobbled up the stairs. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">From above, another booming sound shook the house.<span style=""> </span>Once the basement door shut again, Susie burst into tears.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Don’t worry,” one of the boys—Sammy, she thought his name was—whispered.<span style=""> </span>“Our parents are coming for us.<span style=""> </span>Soon yours will, too.<span style=""> </span>I just know it.”</p>Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-30669743210089908662008-08-04T23:22:00.001-04:002008-08-04T23:23:51.677-04:00Warm-up: You Cannot RunOnly two feet away, rain drizzled into the alley, bombs bursting against the cracked asphalt, scouring the city of its filth.<span style=""> </span>Axe was lost in that photo again, dreaming of that picturesque Hallmark life, that sort of life so few ever attain.<span style=""> </span>Framed in front of a grandiose manse, three beautiful faces stared out of the photograph, a happy husband and wife and their smiling daughter. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Perfection, or at least, damn near it.<span style=""> </span>Better than this place, he knew. <span style=""> </span>The cost was high—it always was.<span style=""> </span>That is exactly why so few could reach that dream.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Axe rubbed his grubby finger along the daughter’s jaw line.<span style=""> </span>He cursed as a smear of grime was left in the wake.<span style=""> </span>He searched for a bit of newspaper, something not smelling of piss or excrement or booze, and scrubbed at the image.<span style=""> </span>Some of the color rubbed off.<span style=""> </span>A tear tugged at the corner of his eye.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Delicately, he gave the picture a kiss and slid it back into the newspaper padding beneath his shirt.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Winters were harder here.<span style=""> </span>Everything was harder here.<span style=""> </span>There was no roof above his head save for the corrugated cardboard box.<span style=""> </span>That roof would melt through tonight because of the rain, he knew.<span style=""> </span>Tomorrow would be spent scavenging for a new home or some temporary fix.<span style=""> </span>Maybe he could beg for a box from the soup kitchen.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Beg.<span style=""> </span>Once, such a low act would have made him cringe.<span style=""> </span>Once.<span style=""> </span>Now, times were different.<span style=""> </span>They said you cannot run from your past.<span style=""> </span>He had to, though.<span style=""> </span>Anonymity became necessity.<span style=""> </span>Axe cursed his fate.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What do they know anyway?” he questioned the night or the storm.<span style=""> </span>“I’ll do what I want, when I want.<span style=""> </span>Yes, I will.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A torrent of water suddenly ripped through Axe’s cardboard roof.<span style=""> </span>Startled, he leapt out of the box, slipping on his newspapers and blankets.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thunder silenced his groans and curses as he crawled to his feet in the alley.<span style=""> </span>A bolt of lightning illuminated his home and the enormous rip in its center.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Alex?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Axe straightened; the hairs on his neck immediately erect.<span style=""> </span>Cautiously, he turned his head, casting a glance at the entrance of the alley.<span style=""> </span>A shadow hovered at its edge.<span style=""> </span>“No,” he hissed, spinning.<span style=""> </span>Axe—Alex backpedaled.<span style=""> </span>The shadow stepped forward.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You cannot run, Alex.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I—I—I,” he stammered, still edging backward.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You gave us quite a bit of trouble.<span style=""> </span>Who could have guessed you, so lazy and glutted on the wealth and perfect life you once craved so desperately, would give us so many problems.”<span style=""> </span>Alex could hear the smile on the man’s face.<span style=""> </span>“Two years!<span style=""> </span>By God, you survived on the street alone and unseen!<span style=""> </span>Tenacity!<span style=""> </span>That sort of tenacity will make you a wonderful addition.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“M—M—Madeline and Joanna?<span style=""> </span>What about Madeline and Joanna?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The shadow paused its pacing and held its hands down and out to its sides in a strange manner.<span style=""> </span>“They will live out their lives mostly unmolested, unless they should seek us out as you did.<span style=""> </span>Our dealings are with you and you alone, right now, Alex.<span style=""> </span>You knew the price when you signed.<span style=""> </span>Now, it is time for us to collect.”</p>Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-88427814507468419972008-08-02T14:36:00.001-04:002008-08-02T14:37:43.639-04:00Warm-up: Wordy monologue<p class="MsoNormal">“I’ve always loved words—always.<span style=""> </span>There’s a beauty there and a rhythm and, gods, do I love rhythm.<span style=""> </span>Listen to them!<span style=""> </span>See them!<span style=""> </span>If you can, feel them.<span style=""> </span>There is nothing—almost nothing—like their caress.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Words dance around and around, a wild movement filled with vivid color and razor-edged shape.<span style=""> </span>Description, that’s where it all is.<span style=""> </span>Description is what it is.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Some people like math but I’m a words person.<span style=""> </span>Words are description!<span style=""> </span>Math is explanation.<span style=""> </span>Math speaks one language—and it’s a beautiful language in its own right because it is universal but math rarely, if ever, describes.<span style=""> </span>Math explains.<span style=""> </span>Math is the musty, monotone teacher at the head of the classroom.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Words are alive.<span style=""> </span>They’re breathing and showing and telling, too, but more often they’re just out there living and doing and being.<span style=""> </span>It’s so hard to just be, at times.<span style=""> </span>But words do that.”</p>Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-65116213194602119742008-07-31T00:36:00.005-04:002008-08-02T14:36:21.935-04:00Warm-up: Flik's FallJust a little warm-up writing (so to speak)...<br />------------------------------------------------------<br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"> He patted the beads of sweat from his forehead and reached for the water skin.<span style=""> </span>The march could not stop here; not beneath the boughs of eternal fire in this damned forest.<span style=""> </span>On all sides the withering branches burned ceaselessly.<span style=""> </span>Curiously, the bard began to compare the blistering, black branches to a child’s stick-drawings.<span style=""> </span>This artist had smeared reds and oranges and yellows across the image.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> Another bead of sweat collected on Flik’s brow.<span style=""> </span>They would not stop here, in the thick choking smoke, in the withering heat.<span style=""> </span>There must be a clearing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> The gnome gulped down a mouthful of water.<span style=""> </span>Around him, the weary faces of his companions were cast in a lurid light by the tunnel of fire.<span style=""> </span>He listened closely to the cadence in their unique rhythms and mannerisms, observing and collecting each quarter beat and each beautiful melody.<span style=""> </span>Exquisite music hid even within the ragged bickering between the Ragesians and Councilman Bower.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> A haunting tune tugged at the bard’s senses.<span style=""> </span>He snapped his eyes to the molten path ahead.<span style=""> </span>Through the haze, he could make out a patch of light—a clearing.<span style=""> </span>With a whoop, and a half-leap, Flik sprang ahead as quickly as his little feet could carry him.<span style=""> </span>The rest were not long to follow.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> The clearing was not much, just enough.<span style=""> </span>A chasm stretched across the old road, its rim lined by the ever-burning forest. <span style=""> </span>Still, the hole in the earth was large enough to pull the trees back and open the fiery tunnel.<span style=""> </span>Fresh air flowed into the clearing along with a bit of that haunting melody.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Intent on deciding the path forward, no one else seemed to notice the tune.<span style=""> </span>Flik focused on the sad key of its notes.<span style=""> </span>It was incomplete, some notes lost on the wind, but whole in its own right.<span style=""> </span>Something primal stirred within the chords, something that stoked the heart of this burning forest.<span style=""> </span>He shuddered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> “It doesn’t look safe,” advised the councilman.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> The Shahalesti elf took a long glance at the edge of the canyon.<span style=""> </span>“The burning brush hugs too tightly to the edge.<span style=""> </span>This bridge is the safest way to pass."</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Councilman Bower sighed and set his jaw with a grim determination.<span style=""> </span>“Fine.<span style=""> </span>We’ll take it slowly, though.<span style=""> </span>The cracks—"</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> “There are cracks in the bridge!” Flik chimed in.<span style=""> </span>“This will make a great tale!<span style=""> </span>Chased into the ever-burning forest of Innenotdar by the cruel fist of the Ragesian Army, the valiant heroes and heroines survived the heat and smothering smoke to find a chasm passable only via a crumbling bridge!"</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> “It’s not exactly crumbling,” corrected the elf.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> “Are we done standing around?” demanded the Ragesian woman.<span style=""> </span>She moved past the councilman, stepping onto the bridge.<span style=""> </span>Everyone watched as she walked across, edging around a sizable hole.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> “Me next!” Flik shouted.<span style=""> </span>He ran out onto the stone, his friend Arc only a few steps behind.<span style=""> </span>The view was incredible, stretching off hundreds of feet in either direction.<span style=""> </span>Eighty feet below, fires burned in the scrub brush.<span style=""> </span>The cliffs were stark, sandwiched between the oranges and reds of the flames.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> The hole in the center was large, easily large enough for a man to fall through.<span style=""> </span>Being smaller than a man, Flik clung to the railing as he passed.<span style=""> </span>His eyes searched downward, noticing a few spots that were devoid of the flames.<span style=""> </span>One of those spots was filled with water and what looked to be a broken carriage.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> The haunting tune magnified in Flik’s ears when he stared down.<span style=""> </span>He released the railing of the bridge to cover his ears.<span style=""> </span>Flapping, flickering lights poured from beneath the bridge.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> “Bats!” the bard shrieked.<span style=""> </span>“Fiery bats,” he spit as bile rose from his stomach.<span style=""> </span>Like everything else in the forest, the bats wore a skin of eternal flame.<span style=""> </span>Blisters boiled upon the gnome’s flesh as he released his ears and swatted.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> More and more of the beasts poured up from beneath the bridge, engulfing his body.<span style=""> </span>Spinning, the world lurched in Flik’s mind.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> He stepped off the bridge, into the hole.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> The bats fell away quickly, so far above.<span style=""> </span>Hanging between the bridge and the burning brush beneath, Flik could hear that strange melody beckoning to him with its primal energies just as the earth below called him to its bosom.</p>Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-57120714705566773922008-07-24T22:02:00.002-04:002008-07-24T22:43:56.366-04:00Pure Evel - ExplainedI tried to fit way too much story into two few words. My original draft was five hundred words long and I had to cut it in half for submission.<br /><br />When I first saw the picture of the motorcycle, my mind leaped instantly to daredevils and specifically Robert Craig "Evel" Knievel. I'm not an Evel Knievel or a daredevil expert at all. I did some quick internet research to give myself some basis to churn out a story.<br /><br />I decided to eulogize Evel, who passed away last year, with my story. The best way I could do that was to imagine what his arrival in heaven would be like. If I were Evel, what would I want eternity to be? Daredevil jumps, of course!<br /><br />So, I decided it would be perfect if, in heaven, God (or the boss) set aside a 'customized 'little piece of heaven' for every deserving soul. Then, he'd commission a few archangels (Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, and Raphael) to design and build upon that piece of heaven. <br /><br />All that was left was for the boss to do a final inspection and for St. Peter to bring the new arrival in. <br /><br />I thought it was a fitting eulogy. Having to cut the entry down to 250 words removed a lot of the subtle hints I gave regarding the setting. Ultimately, I feared many people would not pick up on what I was saying.<br /><br />Still, I really enjoyed entering and I had fun working past the block that has been plaguing my writing. It was definitely a fun learning experience.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-66143755758155796852008-07-21T19:37:00.002-04:002008-07-21T19:40:34.997-04:00Pure Evel (Clarity of Night)The following was my entry for the Clarity of Night competition. Sadly, I didn't place this time but there's always next time. Ultimately, I think I tried to just cram too much into too few (250!) words. In a couple days, maybe I'll explain what I was trying to do with this story.<br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />The boss shifted, his clear blue eyes taking full measure of the new highway. Contrasting the flat, scrub horizon in either direction, the asphalt arched high into the air before plummeting like a rock cast into a chasm. At a nearly impossible angle, the stretch of road fell nearly vertically before wrenching upward to end at a drop. A flashing sawhorse barricade blinked repetitively at that precipice.<br /><br />He strolled to the barrier where Mike, Yuri, Ralph, and Gabe waited patiently for praise or criticism of their work. Beyond the barricade was nothing short of a slice of heaven. “You couldn’t find any helicopters for the jump?” he teased.<br /><br />Mike chuckled. “We figured some rattlesnakes and cougars would be nostalgic for his first jump.” <br /><br />“Besides, we don’t want him to bore too easily,” Gabe interjected. “There’ll be more shows. We’ll use helicopters then.” <br /><br />“It’s well done, boys,” the boss drawled. “A bit too much light, though.” <br /><br />Yuri chimed in, “I’ll kill the lights soon as the star arrives.”<br /><br />“Perfect.” The boss glanced at his watch. “Pete will be here with the new guy soon. Usher the fans in, kill the lights, and fire up those flaming hoops.”<br /><br />“It’s your show,” Pete cheerily chimed as he handed over the helmet. Robert Craig mounted the machine, its carburetors growled beneath him. Rings of fire flared to life. Fans erupted in cheers. Craig spurred the Harley into motion, the front wheel screamed in the air as he raced toward eternity.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-57022316583564058292008-07-11T22:29:00.001-04:002008-07-11T22:32:03.081-04:00Clarity of NightHi all. I hope all is well.<br /><br />I submitted my entry for the <a href="http://clarityofnight.blogspot.com/2008/07/running-wind-short-fiction-contest.html">Clarity of Night</a> short fiction contest a moment ago. Hopefully, it'll be up by tomorrow (it is titled: Pure Evel). <br /><br />Everything else is still ... going. Finished up another big project at work and I'm looking forward to the next week or two of refocusing on my "real" job. Still P90X-ing.Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-66481781048164102082008-06-14T10:57:00.003-04:002008-06-14T11:02:46.229-04:00P90X: So Sore...SO damn sore.<br /><br />Last night was Legs and Back X followed by a round of Ab-ripper X (339 ab reps spread across 11 exercises). This morning, I woke early, set up the living room and did P90 Fat Burner (not a regular part of the P90x Lean routine) and followed it up with Kenpo X (the normal part of the routine).<br /><br />The legs and butt are soooo sore. Thankfully, tomorrow's a day off.<br /><br />Today is a game day...Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1843936948008878898.post-69635033105304871342008-06-09T22:25:00.001-04:002008-06-09T22:25:06.124-04:00Cheerleaders<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p>His name was Garrison. I didn't think about it at the time but, looking back, it was exceedingly apt. He was six-foot-six or so and easily three-hundred pounds of nearly solid muscle. He had played football in high school and college. Garrison had worked as a prison guard at a state penitentiary but decided, ultimately, upon a safer career in education when his first daughter was born.</p> <p> </p> <p> You wouldn't have imagined it by looking at him--or even dared to think it--but he was my cheerleader. </p> <p> </p> <p> It was nearly a decade ago that I was suffering through basic training. I'm only five-foot-ten, maybe five-foot-eleven on a day of light gravity when I'm blessed with a bouncy spirit. Then, I was still a very overweight two-hundred-and-fifty pounds. I had somehow survived my freshman year. Everyone else packed on fifteen. I packed on fifty and picked up smoking. </p> <p> </p> <p>Basic was trying, to say the least, and I'm not certain I could have made it through without the support of Garrison.</p> <p> </p> <p>He was my cheerleader. He knew what to say to drive me on, whether it was a simple, "Pick up the pace!" or the more wily ego-challenge, "You gonna let the drill sergeants beat you?!" </p> <p> </p> <p> He'd fall back when I slowed because I was losing my breath--because I felt like I was suffering too much, for too little. When I fell asleep in class and lost my hat, he dropped and did the push-up punishment with me. On fire-patrol, he always had my back.</p> <p> </p> <p>He was a true, great friend. Sadly, I only knew him for those three months. Wherever he is, I wish him well. </p> <p> </p> <p>This post is for all of the cheerleaders out there. Those people dear to us that have helped us or spurred us to accomplish the difficult. <br/> </p></div>Parabolisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15626544847023612125noreply@blogger.com0