Dustin's ranting

E-Cigarettes! or, the ultimate in Vapor ware.

2008-04-28T08:20:00.000-07:00

(Image copyright of somebody, but not me. Ruyan china i think)

So... Many of you that know me, know that i am a smoker. I enjoy smoking, but i know it is bad for me.

My friend Mike was stumbling along the internet and came across a product that neither of us had ever seen. This device was being hailed as the healthy way to smoke. Here is how it works and why i think it is awesome.

The image above is someone smoking an e-cigarette. He isn't really smoking at all, but inhaling and exhaling vapor. basically there is nicotine in a water and propylene glycol solution.

The solution is head up by an atomizer which is somewhat like a really hot piece of steel wool. the Atomizer vaporizes the solution which then looks like smoke.

The vapor is inhaled and then exhaled. A smoker gets the nicotine and the tactile feel of a cigarette.

I won't lie and say that it is identical to a normal cigarette, but i think it is a very close approximation. Cost isn't too bad once you buy the e-cig. there are refill cartridges that are required, but can be sourced very cheaply.

Here are a few sites to check out if you want more info for yourself or your friends.

e-cigarette-forum.com
This site is the resource for all things e-cig. This is just a big group of users who are ready and willing to help each other out. If you are interested, i highly recommend going here and reading up.

Below are all distributors. njoy and crown7 are both in the USA. I bought from Njoy and have been very happy. fast shipping and great support.
njoy.com
crown7.com
e-cig.com

Feel free to ask anything.

Cheers,
-Dusty-

I need to start doing updates again.

2007-12-12T12:06:00.001-08:00

None of this will be writing related.

So... Life... Love it... Hate it... It's all the same...

I've been doing wedding photography as an apprentice for a little while now and am looking for a studio to call my home for the 9-5. I just need to get on with life.

I'm about to revise "Frank" for the last time. I printed it all up, but have yet to read any of it. Once i get off of my ass and get it revised, i think i will try to get it published finally. I don't know if it is any good, i would like to think so, but it is really hard to critique my own writing and believe it is amazing.

All of the stuff i wrote last month will just sit around for a long while until i have the time and courage to actually read it again. I don't think it was anything amazing, but then again, who knows.

Anyway, Just figured i should start updating my blogs and what not.

Cheers,
-Dusty-

I’m Done!!!! if you are reading this, scroll down to day 25 to get the ending of the story

2007-11-26T00:27:00.001-08:00

With the sun setting earlier in the horizon it becomes very hard to gauge the time. I know there have been many nights when i looked up at the clock to discover that it was 4:40 in the morning. Those mornings were good. It meant that i had busted ass and poured my heart onto the page.

Then there were the times that i looked up and it was 8:15 in the evening. I was already exhausted and had probably only written a few words. Those are the days that i loathed.

Regardless, i pushed on, even when i felt that there was nothing to talk about. Nothing interesting to say. Story line really made no sense. And here i am. I don’t know if any of those things were corrected, but in a few months when i sit down to read my book, with a fresh pair of eyes, hopefully i can correct any of my mental lapses.

So any of you who have been following my progress, i just want to say thanks. comment my blogs. Let me know if it was worth doing in the way i did. I would have written the book, but believing that people were expecting, or demanding, and update every night ensured that i would sit down, even if it was only for 5 minutes, and write.

So thanks. I’m gonna go recover for a while before i start my next venture.

Until then,
Cheers.
-Dusty-

Day 25 (goal met. Ending posted. Enjoy)

2007-11-26T00:07:00.000-08:00

Skip back a few years to where this all began. To where everything started. A few years after Pyro was born, and a few years before he went to war. A few years after his parents died. About the time he was going to his second foster home.

Foster care was not a good fit for him. He was a normal rambunctious youth, except for a few oddities that he had. Up to that point he had managed to keep most things secret. There was a reason for his going to a second foster home. The first one he lived at had been nice. The married couple that ran it were great, but some of the invalid youth that they took in were not agreeable to Pyro’s way of life. To his views. After spending a year with these children, he was tired. He was tired of people trying to bully him around. Tired of being picked on. They had no idea the power that brewed inside him, and he wanted to keep it that way.

His parent’s had known about his “special” abilities and had taught him, or at least tried to, not to use it. Not here or there. Not ever. If he was going to be a fully functional adult, then he would just have to play the game and act normal. There were a few exceptions that they allowed though. For his birthday, after the lighter was found dead in the bottom of a drawer, they did let him light the cake. Lacking fine control of his fire, he managed to set the candles, cake, and tablecloth on fire. His dad had been smart enough to have the fire extinguisher handy so the blaze was easily contained. Versus letting him practice in the back yard and hone his skills, they banned it’s use all together. He tried his hardest to abide by their rules, even after they had passed.

Jump back to the first foster home. He was frustrated. Very angry. All alone. Worst of all, tormented. He didn’t feel that he had any other way out of the hell he had been placed into. He didn’t feel good about taking matters into his own hands, but felt he had no other choice. What happened that day was not what he was expecting, nor what he had really wanted.

Pyro was not a stupid kid, but he did have some lofty ideas. He figured that if his room was not functional, then they would have no other choice, but to move him somewhere else. The hope being that he would be moved to another house. He didn’t know at the time, but the house had aluminum wiring. This would come into play later, not that anyone would have believed a young boy had set the place ablaze with his mind.

He ate his dinner. Brushed his teeth. Went to bed. Everything was normal. As his foster parents turned out the lights and said “good night.” He replied and settled into his bed. About 15 minutes later, he knew what had to be done. He started very small. He wanted to be careful. He already knew that things could get out of control if he didn’t pay attention.

A golf ball sized orb rose from his hand and hovered. He stared at it and tried to slowly manipulate it. He was pretty successful for not having done any of this in quite some time. It would pulsate and shoot little, unexpected bolts on occasion, but overall he was handling it quite nicely. After thinking about life for a while, he knew that there was no reason to destroy the whole house, just his room.

He waited until everyone was asleep and slowly looked for the best location to mount the attack. There was a outlet toward the center of the wall across from his bed. That would be the place. He wanted it to look natural. He wanted no extra suspicion cast his way. He got up and plugged in a small wall transformer. It had probably come from one of his toys, but he wasn’t sure which. He assumed that it would appear that the wiring had suddenly burst in to flames, and he’d have no query coming his way.

Sitting on top of his bed he did have a slight lapse of commitment, but it quickly passed and he hurdled a little bit of fire from his hand. The ball struck the direct center of the transformer and spread like, well, wildfire. It grew in great strides. Pyro suddenly realized that this might not work in the way he had envisioned it. Now he was worried about burning everything else down, but there was not much to do about it now. The flames were on autopilot.

He had already learned that fire didn’t hurt him so he curled up under the covers and waited for someone to come banging on the door. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion. By the time someone tried to come to his rescue, it would have been to late. If he had been a normal boy, ho would’ve been a very over cooked steak.

Everyone thought it was a miracle that he had made it out alive. His doorway collapsed, along with parts of the roof, as the firemen pulled him out. The firemen were heroes. He had been “Saved,” but he didn’t feel any different. The foster mom was a Jesus freak. She took it all as a sign that he needed to be moving on. She wished that he could stay, but there was just something telling her that it was a bad idea. So with that, he moved on through the system. He would’ve packed his bags, but all of his things had been burnt. Even his nice metal watch had melted into the foundation. So off he went to a new family. A new set of rules. A new life.

Pyro made it to the new house. He was the only child being watched here. The couple reminded him of what he imagined his grandparent’s would have been like. They were older an older couple. Very sweet and understanding. The kind of household he needed to be raised in. They had their odd things as well. He had never been forced to remove his shoes at the door of any house before, but it was a requirement here. But, all in all, things were looking good.

After a year, he had gotten into the routine and it finally started to feel like home. It was a feeling that he had forgotten. It felt good. He was calm and in control of his life, at least as much as a young child can be anyway.

He had changed schools twice since his parents died. Each new house carried that baggage with it. It didn’t bother him much though. He just looked at it as another chance to make new friends. HE only had one real friend at his first school. He just always seemed to play the role of the outcast too perfectly.

The second school he attended was much worse. Shadier neighborhood. Meaner kids. Nobody that really took an interest in him. He was lonely. He did try very hard, but wondered if that was the problem. He couldn’t see changing for anyone’s acceptance, so he just did what he always did. He went to school as an invisible boy. It did afford him the time and ability to study and do well in the subjects he was interested in. Geography was one of those blessed sections.

At the time he had no idea that the makeup of the world would play a vital role in his life. He just new that it was interesting. Social Sciences were intriguing as well. The fact that there were so many different cultures excited him. He hoped that someday he could see them in person. Unknown to him was the fact that a few years later he would see all of them first hand. From the third world countries, to the superpowers that controlled everything. He was receiving the lessons that would make a major contribution to his life. He knew none of this at the time, nor did he ever think about it years later.

The third school was a new beast all together. A private school. He didn’t get the concept, or the need, but attended it all the same. The teachers here were much more attentive to his yearning for knowledge. He was so pushy at times that the teacher were a little scared of him, not that he had done anything to frighten, just that he was very insistent.

After a few months of recess, with no friends to show for it, he found a teacher who was willing to continue his lessons. He didn’t see the need to go run around like an idiot when all he would do was sit around and stare at people. This teacher would instill a desire to succeed that would follow Pyro for the rest of his life. He really liked the teacher. The teacher just felt sorry for Pyro. Sympathy was a powerful tool that he also learned during his recess study sessions.

After a year in this institution, he decided, or it was decided for him, that it was time to move on. It was not a choice that he had wanted to make, but it had been thrust upon him. During the middle of his second year some abysmal things happened which would set off the remainder of his life. He was picked up by the police on his was home from school that day. They did not handcuff him, nor were they rude in anyway, but he knew something bad had happened.

They took him to the station and sat him down with a cup of hot chocolate. They all knew they story, but were trying to find the words to relay it to Pyro.

“Pyro is it?”

“Umm… Yes?”

“How’d you get a name like that? You play with fire or something?”

“Once. My parent’s caught me playing with matches when I was three. They called me their little pyro and the name just stuck.”

“I guess that makes sense. Do you know why you’re here?”

“No. Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble? I swear I didn’t do anything.”

“We know you didn’t son. We know.” The officer paused. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but your parents are dead.”

“They’ve been dead for a couple of years.”

“They have?”

“Uh huh. That’s why I live here now.”

“Oh. You’re adopted?”

“Don’t know, but I was brought here to live with these older people.”

The officer grabbed a picture from the desk. “This them?”

“Yup.”

The officer took a deep breath. “I guess I should have done a little more research first. Either way, you new parents, or guardians, whatever, they are the ones that passed away today.”

Pyro just stared at the officer. A stone face would have showed more emotion. He wanted to cry, but if school had taught him anything, it was that weakness was not something to go flaunting around.

“I’m sorry son.”

“Can you at least tell me what happened?” Pyro’s voice was on the verge of cracking with sobs. He had really liked his new parents and couldn’t believe that they were gone.

The officer explained the whole situation. It was a mess. Apparently some drug user, or burglar, they weren’t really sure yet, had broken into the house to grab some quick items. The plan had been simple. It was the middle of the day, and they hadn’t done their research. Pyro’s parents were at home eating lunch.

The felon’s had broken the window to Pyro’s room and let themselves in. They didn’t realize that anyone was home, so they went searching for anything that could net them a decent profit. The jewelry box was the first thing to be impounded. They cleared anything of value while scouring the rear of the house.

Dreams of a nice TV loomed in their thoughts so they made their way out to the living room. Still not realizing that anyone was there. They found what the TV and a decent stereo. Pyro’s new dad was somewhat of an audiophile. The thieves didn’t even know the value of the audio gear that they had ignored. The speakers were worth over 10,000 dollars a piece. Even the turntable was worth more than the TV, but uninformed thieves were not the best at judging quality. They would wonder who actually listened to records anymore.

As they were making their way out, with arms stuffed to the brim, the heard a noise. Both turned to see an angry, older gentleman with a large kitchen knife.

“Just put down the stuff and leave,” he said.

They dropped everything. They weren’t scared, but had been startled pretty severely. They backed slowly into the hall and just waited to see what move he would make. He lunged and connected with one of the thief’s arms. Blood started to run from the injury and pooled around his hand. The knife was dropped in the attack and the other thief punched the dad squarely in the nose. He collapsed to the floor, not dead, but unconscious. They used him as a punching bag, or kicking bag, until his body was limp and lifeless.

They heard a scream as they were just about to leave. One of the guys just wanted to get out of there. This had not been the plan at all and he was now scared of getting caught. The other intended on leaving no witnesses. Dragging his friend down the hall, he found the source of all the commotion. There was a helpless old lady curled up on the floor. She was in tears. Sobs wracked her body. She was defenseless. Shortly thereafter, she was dead as well.

Pyro listened to the officers story in a state of shock. He was sad, but mostly anger was building up in his little mind. He couldn’t believe that anyone could be so cruel. When he had been little, Pyro believed that people were good. After today that view changed. He did not know what to do, but he did have a few ideas. Nobody would be proud of him for what he was thinking, but he didn’t know that he had a choice.

It wasn’t about avenging their deaths. Well, not completely anyway. Revenge would be the start of it, but as he would learn first hand that the underbelly of society had taken hold as the status quo. There were travesties that he could not ignore. He never wanted to hear about another murder. Another rape. Another beaten wife. He was tired of all the evil that had consumed the world. No other country was any better off. He was just tired of it.

Suddenly he knew why he had the powers that he did. He was not an evil kid, and would make the world a safer place. He didn’t know how, or to what extent the destruction would be, but he knew it would end. It would end for good. There was nothing to stop him, except for the police who he was currently sitting with, and possibly his next foster family.

After talking with the state, the officer found him a place to stay for the night. He was loaded up in the car. Still trying to fight back tears, he paid attention for any opportunity that would present itself. He needed to get out of here, but wasn’t yet ready to take the blood of the innocent. Maybe the cop would need to use the restroom. Maybe he would need gas. Maybe he could reason with him, but he knew that would never work. Would the cop get hungry? Thirsty? Anything. Pyro was not going to be picky right now. He would play it cool. He would hold all the rage inside until it was time. There had to be an opening.

Pyro didn’t know how long the ride would be, but he had a feeling that it would end early as they pulled into a gas station.

Parting

Everyone met at the flagpole. They were ready to begin their journey. Ready to start their lives. Pyro placed an arm around Mary and gave her a hug.

“You did great today,” he said.

“Thanks. So did you.”

He waved everyone forward into the sun. They marched. They sang. They enjoyed life. Their day had finally come.

Mary and Pyro took the rear. They waited for a moment and said goodbye to the watchers and to this grave that they would be returning to someday. Looking at the flag brought a small tear to their eyes. He knew that he would not return here for many years and that when the time came, it would be for only one purpose.

They had not yet learned to fly, but he knew that someday they would. And so did she.

Day 24(Almost done. less than 3k to go.)

2007-11-25T00:27:00.000-08:00

Jump back to the beginning. The beginning of the new world. The death of the old. Jump to the first leader rising from the ashes. The start of his new journey. Of a new life for all of them. The steps to get here had taken much longer than anyone would have assumed. They had fought for what seemed like days.

Some of them had sustained injuries, mostly minor, but a few decent as well. The leader had received a wound in his shoulder, which was the most serious one, The others just had sordid cuts, scrapes, and bruises, most of which had been their own doing. Clumsiness did not count as a battle scar.

It took them a few days to gather supplies, and a small task force had been sent to find the materials to make a flag. They were going to mark this ground, this world, this victory, for future generations to see. It made them feel better about what they had actually done to get here. This way they had something to show for it. Even if all that was only a flag flying in the middle of nowhere.

The scenery had changed from a few days prior. Where buildings used to stand, there were now just small mountains of debris. The streets looked like hardened lava flows. There was no vegetation or other signs of life to speak of. They were at the center of a self created wasteland. This had been the goal all along, but some where really wondering if they had chosen the right path.

Jump forward a few days. Jump to the group deciding that it was time to leave and live the lives that they expected. Marching to the south. Marching until food started to run low. Marching until they found the stream that would become their highway for years to come. The fertile land to start their new life.

Jump to a young boy almost destroying the camp with his new ability. To the leader scolding his sun and trying to teach restraint. Jump to the boy leading his tribe to the flag pole to bury his own father. Jump to a young boy asking why the sky is blue and the grass is green. Lacking a good answer, she said that it is because somebody made it that way. Jump to that boy growing up with the vision of a higher being controlling everything. Jump even further to an established, yet wildly different form of Christianity. Jump to the bronze age. The iron age. The industrial revolution. Jump to everything they had tried to prevent coming full circle.

Societies had formed once again. Nomadic tribes had settled down and learned how to build structures out of stone, wood, metal, and even glass. The crystal skies which had taken generations to clear where starting to fill with soot. Not everywhere, but around factories it was very prevalent.

Jump to the creation of the internal combustion engine. While slightly different in look, identical in function. Jump to war. Jump to famine. Watch as they would begin to tear themselves apart from the inside. Watch as the flag of the Phoenix was lowered for the last time. In it place, no flag, but a building instead. Watch as a new king takes control through force, and not respect. Watch as the flag is raised once again. The phoenix has been twisted to suit the kings vision.

The king would rape and pillage the few remaining tribes that he could find. He would claim all that he could see for himself. He would kill any who opposed. He would managed to create a successful society, built on the rage and brutality that had afforded him his power. Watch as the king would fight, vicariously, through his soldiers and their tales.

Watch as the last of the torches band together, but with the main goal of claiming power for themselves. The fact that they would have to kill the king was just a side effect. They would storm the civilizations with brutal force. Killing everyone in sight and destroying everything that had been built. They would rip the ground apart. They would command powerful rains of fire which could lay waste to entire cities. The bloodshed would go on for years. They mounted a world tour, not that it took long to deal with any one area, but without using the new technology, travel was by foot.

Watch as they rip the world apart. Watch as years later the last Torch dies. Cold, alone, and powerless. The last Torch, lacking any kin, was also the last surviving person of his, or any other, order. Watch as the events that had been sent in motion, the ancient history of the new world, had finally come to fulfillment. No more death. No more hate. No more fighting. No more people. Nothing, but harmony.

Nature would be just fine with this. She always recovered. She was never worried about being killed, but wondered how long she would have to live in a half suffocated state. She now knew that the answer was, never again. Never again would she be witness to the hateful crimes against her self and others that had plagued her lands for as long as she could remember. He trees would regrow. The endangered species, which, until recently, had begun to flourish once again. She would remake the world in her image. In all of it’s splendor and beauty. The way it had been intended originally. The way no living soul could have ever pictured it. She was happy for the first time in too many years to count.

As a whole, the plant and animal life had gone mostly unaffected. There were a few rare birds and beasts that had been halted in the rebuilding of their large families, but they knew it would resume soon enough. No plant species were extinguished, but some were found to be lacking in certain areas. Entire mountains had been stripped of their greenery. Nature’s cloak and veil would have to be rebuilt, but 1000 years really didn’t seem so long away in retrospect.

She knew that she might have a painful decision to make in the years to come. She hopped that it would never become an issue, but knew that it might. Others had interfered before, and it was not beyond them to do it again. She had to come to a decision on how she would deal with another infestation if one arose. She knew that her brother was still alive, even if she hadn’t seen him for a very long time. He had always liked to play, for lack of a better word, God. He was actually the root cause to everything that had befallen his sisters planet.

His own experimentation with the creatures on his planets had led him to want bigger and better things. He had convinced his sister to let him place a few in her world. Just a couple. Just for a few years. Just to see if it works. At least that’s what he had said, but it is obvious how that had turned out. She was pretty impressed that they had lasted as long as they did, even if they did destroy as much as they could. She still wasn’t sure if those fiery ones had been an accidental mutation, or if he had snuck some in when she wasn’t looking. At first she thought they would be great, if not a little scary, but it turned out that instead of being exterminators, they had sort of reset the cycle just so it could all happen again. She was glad it was finally over. She never wanted to deal with it again, especially not twice. Once was entirely too much.

She had seen everything happen both times. She was too concerned with what she had created to be able to ignore it. Her brother had no issues with killing off entire species in his own projects. She just couldn’t do it. They all head their own personalities. She was just too attached to them all. It felt like she had just lost a very good friend, that she ha known for years. It also felt a little like being cured of cancer. Mixed feelings, for sure, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

Life by Fire

People were dying in vain. No reporters to capture their story. No photographers to archive their valiant stand. Nobody, except the small army, would remember them. They would be remembered in the stories that would be passed down, but not in a good light. Most understood though that they would either die here, today, or somewhere else in the not too distant future. The worst part was that they had been spared for this long. It was maddening. It did nothing to strengthen their moral. In fact, they were all dead the moment Pyro shot his first flames in the street a few days prior.

Some of them still tried to fight, well as well as they could fight seemingly random bolts, and fountains, of fire darting from the sky and ground. Some just couldn’t sit down and let it all happen. It would happen either way and it made some of them feel better if they fought it versus giving in.

Pyro was starting to waver again. His resolve was strong, but he had expended far too much energy so far, and there was still much to do. The flames dwindled for a second and then went out. Mary’s were still running strong.

Suddenly a report rang out. By the time Pyro realized what had happened, he was on his back. Fragments of bone were scattered behind him. His entire body was in pain. He tried to move. He screamed. Mary looked at him and screamed. Her flames vanished in a split second. Another report. Another injury. A finger was lying a few feet back from Mary’s already disfigured hand. Blood sprayed from the bloody stump and she dropped to the ground. It hurt, but mostly it was the surprise.

Pyro drug himself up with one arm. His left shoulder blade had sprouted a very painful hole and felt completely dead. He noticed that the people were starting to advance over the expanse of crisp bodies that he had laid to waste. Nothing would keep them alive if Mary, or himself, was not able to get defenses in order. He tried to raise the wall again. It failed. Not even a flicker. Not a lick of flame.

He yelled at Mary, who either ignored him, or just couldn’t hear over her own sobbing. The people were approaching at a much swifter pace. Pyro and Mary were both very luck in the fact that they fell behind rubble that block the snipers view of any vital organs. Of anything at all. He didn’t know it yet, but he would be thankful that his injury went clean through and had only nicked a bone. Most of the damage was muscle tissue. Either way, it still hurt. He tried to light again. And a third time. And a fourth. And so far, nothing.

He crawled over toward Mary. He hoped that he could calm her down and get her to concentrate. He grabbed her arm and shook her violently. She tried to light him on fire, and if he hadn’t been who he was, would’ve been roasted almost instantly. The advantage here was that her outburst had cauterized his seeping wound. She had just managed to save his life for the time being, but if nothing new happened it wouldn’t matter.

There was only one reason that both of them were still alive. The heat that radiated form their fire, and from the molten street made the air shimmer and distort. The sniper, for some reason or another, did not take this into account. So what should have been a direct shot to the head, turned out to be radically off course. He would never make that mistake again. He would never have the chance.

He slapped her a little harder than he meant to. She looked up at him with teary eyes. Eyes which said she couldn’t do it. Eyes that cried not only for her missing finger, but for her pride. She had failed and didn’t think she could regain that. Pyro nodded. He understood without her saying a word. He helped her up quickly and started to retreat slightly. He needed to regain his hold on the situation and wanted all the time he could muster. The people were approaching, but the piles of bodies did tend to be a little unstable and arguably slippery. A number of people died just trying to cross the expanse. All it took was for one to slip on a skull, or a hand, etc., and puncture their lung on any number of protruding bits of calcium. One sap even managed to puncture his left eye, but did not die from it. Surely he would have liked that much better than the oozing mess that was dripping from the empty socket on his face.

He tried again. And again. And again. This was very bad. They were approaching, and he really couldn’t do anything about it. He didn’t want to go too far back and put his troops in even more danger. He had failed, but he hoped to regain the advantage if he could figure out how. He dropped his hand and waved for his troops to retreat back to the buildings. He did not want any of their deaths on his head. They paused, and considered the command. After a momentary lapse of reason, they retreated.

The people were almost upon him, and Mary wouldn’t last much longer. An unarmed combatant lunged for Pyro, and missed by a very narrow margin. This had forced Pyro to move sideways into another’s arms. This was no friendly parent or friend, but instead someone that was going to see this finished, and finished right then.

Mary tried to engulf the area in flames as she ran forward to help him, but could not muster the strength, or courage, or determination. She was scared. She made it to Pyro right before he was to be tossed into the crowd and handled. She grasped at his ankle. She could reach nothing else. This would be her last chance. Either it worked, or it was over. No other options. Not other alternatives. It was now. It had to be.

She gritted her teeth and looked Pyro right in the eyes. He had confidence. He could see it in her eyes. It started slowly. A small, almost unnoticeable coal, burning in her eyes. The blackness turned to hints of red and orange. Glowing brighter than he had ever seen anything glow. Growing brighter still, he just stared. He would be ok. He just knew it.

They were dragging Pyro towards the General and Joe. The man carrying him was actually protecting him from the angry mob. Mary hung on to his ankle and was hardly noticed. With out even realizing, she lit a few of the people that tried to snatch her away. She was back, but it would take a while for her to realize it. Pyro was still useless as a flamethrower. He tried to kick and struggle, but it made no difference.

The trek to the General’s station was a very long one. Once he saw the child captured he made sure it was known that he wanted him alive. Wanted to be able to talk to him for a while before he was executed. Wanted to see if he could learn this little trick that had killed so many of his men. Torture wouldn’t be out of the question, but only as a last resort.

The other children watched from the shadows of the building. They feared the worst. They figured that soon enough they would all be dead. Executed for betraying the country. For being terrorists. Terrorist was still a huge buzz word. No one seemed to pay any attention to them. Everyone was focused on the little leader. The little leader who was now reduced to nothing.

Nobody had anyway of knowing if he would suddenly ignite himself, or anything else, but they just trusted that the General had a clue. He didn’t, but he was not one to be cautious. His bold composure drew in others as well. While they probably should have been standing back, as far away as they could possibly be, they just couldn’t. There was a draw to this boy.

Mary squeezed his ankle. He made the slightest nod. He knew what she was thinking. He just hoped that it would work. Mary squeezed one more time. He nodded again. It was time.

The children were blinded by the sudden rage of light and force. The shaft of, what looked like pure energy, shot straight up from center stage. It burnt the looming flagpole and ate the fluttering piece of fabric. It was powerful enough to uproot the concrete located around it’s base. The shock wave deafened everyone within 500 feet and killed those within 50. Those no more arms reach, or so, away disappeared. Even the bones were incinerated with exacting force.

Joe and the General were killed instantly. Joe was actually tired of waiting. The General knew in his heart that there was never really any other end that fit. All of the other people started to run. Mary was spent. She had used everything she could to save her friend, and now it was his turn to take care of her.

Pyro’s shoulder still hurt, but he figured that he could manage. He lit a finger, to test if all systems were go. They were. He directed a serpent to surround all of the retreating combatants. He completed the enclosure just before any were able to escape. He slowly started to restrict the diameter. The casual observer probably wouldn’t have noticed that it was shrinking at all for at least a couple of minutes, but those inside of it knew almost as soon as it started. Not only was it shrinking, but the interior was getting consistently warmer. The only way to imagine it would be sitting in a large oven and then turning the temperature up to a couple thousand degrees. It was very gradual, but no less deadly. Mary and Pyro were sweating, but not actually affected by the heat. Well, mostly anyway. Mary did manage to cauterize her finger during her initial burst. Not that the minimal bleeding would have killed her, but it did make her a little woozy.

Not only were people being toasted on the dark, or even burn, setting, they were also being cooked from the inside. The people closest to the walls were having major issues with their blood, water, and eyes being boiled in their bodies. The sensation, while quite painful, did not last long. It was a quicker death than removing an arm, or leg, and bleeding to death. They would never know. They were not amputees, and their minds focused on the pain with such clarity that 20 seconds seemed like the sum of their entire lives. Every second felt like a year. Or 10. 100. 1000. Eternity.

Pyro knew that he was being cruel, but didn’t do anything to change it. It felt good. His adrenaline levels were at an all time high. He was twitchy. Excited. Out of control. He knew it. He welcomed it. He enjoyed it. This was the rush that he had been looking for since that very first time. Nothing would ever compare. Nothing would ever be the same. He could fight a lion with his bare hands. He could jump of a building, if there were still any tall ones, with no chute, and it would feel like a little fan next to a tornado. Everything from this point on would have less flavor. Life would lose much of it’s luster. He didn’t care. Even if he did, it wouldn’t change anything.

The most impressive visuals, with the exception of the fire, came from a few people who had amazing deaths. One mans head actually exploded. Eyes punched straight out. Skull shattered. Brain matter squished into the surrounding victims. Most didn’t even notice, but a few did. One tasted it to see what it was, like he would know the taste of head meat right off. Another just stopped moving and started screaming. That only lasted for a couple of seconds. The sun was starting to rise.

With a final breath, Pyro brought his creation toward the center at blistering speed. It had the same destructive effect as a nuclear warhead. Picture the old military videos of a blast, and that is about how it looked. People were ripped off of their feet. Skin was ripped off the bone. Marrow exploded from every possible exit. In a split second everyone was reduced to ash with Pyro and Mary at the center of the former blaze.

After the air had cooled by a few degrees, and the sun had crested the horizon, the children slowly made their way to their leader. It was a dangerous walk. There were random hot spots. There were enough bones to make some bone cabins, if anyone had been so inclined. They crowded around. Giddiness mixed with apprehension. They felt good. They felt dirty.

They talked for a few hours about everything that had happened. They discussed the proposition of being free. They were all in agreement with the original plan. Make the world into the type of place that it always should have been.

They all went in search of supplies. There were only a few buildings left, and they raided them for everything. One of the older kids decided that they needed a flag, and took it upon himself to be the creator. Hours of labor, and inexperience, paid off. They now had a symbol. A legacy. A crude flag that would ring pride in their hearts, and the hearts of their children. It didn’t matter that children would be way off.

Pyro and Mary stayed back while the others went. They wanted to honor the dead. They cremated all of the remains and let the wind scatter them where it saw fit. They returned to the pole and sat in silence. Pyro jumped at a meek voice that seemed to come from behind him. It was not a child’s voice. It sounded older. More sophisticated. He spun around and faced. Nothing. There was nobody there.

The voice told him to look down. He did, but still noticed nothing of interest. Janice, who was amazed that he could hear her, explained the whole story. She had been telling it some what frequently lately. That made it easy because it was still fresh in her mind.

Pyro explained his dreams. Illustrated his vision. She had no reason to doubt his tenacity. He had proven it already. After much discussion, she finally determined that she supported him in his quest, and was happy that he was willing to make such an effort for a cause he knew nothing about.

Janice spoke to Mr. Abbot quietly and he agreed as well, but had an interesting point that she had not thought of.

“My associate Mr. Abbot, brought an amazing point to my attention just now.”

“Why thank you,” said Mr. Abbot.

“The only true friends we have our each other. We also had a friend named Joe. Don’t worry about who he his, but he is here right now. We can feel him.”

“Ok, what does this really have to do with me,” asked Pyro.

“Well, we were thinking, or wondering really, if you would permit us to watch over this place. If we are going to spend the rest of our lives somewhere, we would like that somewhere to be right here. Right on the base of the flagpole. Would you permit us that honor? Let us be the protectors of this old world? The guardians? The watchers?”

“That’s fine with me. Is it ok to tell the others about you? I think it would make a great part of the story. Who would believe that there are talking bricks.”

Janice thought for a second.

“Ok. Just remember everything you told me. And might I suggest, that when you must honor one of your fallen leaders, which hopefully won’t be for many years to come, you bring them back to this place?”

“I promise that we will.”

“Someday we will meet again. Until that time comes, take care. Stay strong and you will turn out just fine.”

“Thank you,” said Pyro and walked away with Mary in tow.

The Future

Skip ahead. Listen to the stories that were told. Enjoy the songs that echoed through the canyons. Pyro had done many amazing, if not bothersome, things in his past, but he had never realized the extent of his powers until he had met a little girl by the name of Mary. She had managed to draw greatness out of him. Her selfless attention and actions had inspired him. Death had almost claimed her and that had helped summon the courage that he would need until he passed years later. He would be leader of all the remaining humans on the planet. His select group of kids.

They would all grow to be men. They would teach themselves all that their parent’s forgot to teach them about survival. About living life. About being happy. At the end of the day, they were proud of their accomplishments. It would take many years to establish a cultural groove, but once they had, they ran with it. New religions. New methods. New songs. New thoughts. New stories. A new society. It was their world, and they claimed it. Helped it rebuild. Helped it flourish.

They started small. Sticks and stones were used to hunt. Their intellect and determination were their greatest weapons. They weren’t any faster or stronger. They weren’t experts. They just tried and prevailed.

Pyro was proud of everyone. They had survived. They continued to grow as a community and as individuals. Nobody ever complained about wandering about. They had learned to appreciate the open air, and the clear horizon. There were always new treasures to discover. New streams. New plants. New animals. New breathtaking valleys and massive mountain ranges. After a few years he would not remember what a camera was. He would take snapshots with his mind, and store them there. Sometimes he would dig around and remember all of the places that they had been. The splendor of nature was overwhelming at times, but he fought through it.

Mary and Pyro became great friends. They were the only two fire users so they would practice alone when time allowed. They would talk. They would try to amaze the other with new displays of skill or power. They would both become the greatest leaders that the world had ever known. The first of a new era. Even though they would be split up years later, they decided to have children of their own. This was years after the old world had been crushed. They were both young adults. They both hoped that they could have a child as unique as they were. They succeeded.

They would have five beautiful children. The fifth would not survive do to labor complications. They performed their own ceremony for the child. His name had been Damien. He would forever be remembered by his parents.

The other four children would roam between the two tribes that had been created. Mary was in charge of the breakaway. Pyro commanded the original. They would both teach the children about leadership. About responsibility, loyalty, and honor. All four children would grow to be leaders. A few years after the tribe was split into four units, Mary and Pyro would reunite for the final time. They managed to live out their last years in happiness. They were proud of each other. They were proud of their children. Proud of their people. Just proud.

The children were better than Pyro or Mary could have ever wished for. They all had an incredible drive. Their determination rivaled even their dad’s. Their compassion was greater than their mom’s. The youngest, even as a full grown woman, still carried her mom’s bear. She had made sure to take it when she left. It served as a constant reminder of her parents and it helped to feel that they were close.

Retirement was the best part of Pyro and Mary’s life. They were able to relax for the first time in way too long. They loved to watch the kids take control. They gossiped about what their tribes had been doing over the year. They caught up on all the years that they had missed each other. They lived out their final years in peace. They were content.

Their journey to the flagpole would take months once it was started since they had ventured far from where it had all begun.

Many generations would come and go before the story of Pyro would be forgotten. When that day came, it would already be too late. Their fates were sealed from the beginning. He had tried to avoid it, but everything he did to hinder the outcome, made it that much easier for the cards to fall as they did.

His parting wish is that they didn’t remember him, as much as they remembered his ideals. He didn’t feel that he deserved honor. He believed that all those who had died, on both side, deserved the accolades. They were the reason he was able to contribute what he had. He still believed that anyone could make a difference, and that he was just the first step. For his life to have been worthwhile they needed to continue in his footstep, or make eve greater strides in the right direction.

Over the years following the start, he had come to believe that people were good, but that they could be easily swayed. He knew first hand how power could feel. How revenge could satisfy even the most savage beast. He had learned to kill most of the beasts within him, but there would always be some pieces missing. Hole he could never fill.

It took a very long time to come to terms with the massive slaughter. The destruction of the human race, which he had orchestrated almost entirely on his own. Mary and Pyro both lived with those demons for their entire lives. These were the parts left out of the stories. Out of the songs and heroic ballads. His young followers, even the ones that had been there, never really knew what had happened. Never fully grasped the scope and consequences of the actions. He hadn’t left the flagpole to honor the dead, but to remind him of the consequences if he ever forgot.

Even half a world away he could still see it. He relived that, and every other night before it. Every evening when he went to bed. He would wake far too often with a cold sweat running down his spine. He could have tried to find ways to get rid of the nightmares, but he just counted then as punishment. His penance. His curse.

He never forgave himself no matter how much better off he believed the world to be. It took a tole on every aspect of his life. He had split the tribes to push Mary away. He wanted to live without the constant reminders, but it had actually made things much worse. They survived it, but not without cost. Some things could just not be erased.

Years after the passing of Pyro and Mary, the tribes outlook had changed. Their great-grandchildren were the first to start making major changes. Every aspect of life would change over the course of a few generations. It would take much longer for the effect and changes to become permanent, but that is where it started.

The great-grandchildren’s children were the last to be honored at the flagpole. The trip would never be made again, but it would be attempted by one other leader after his tribe had been sent on.

Janice and Mr. Abbot were glad that Pyro had kept his word. While they waited for years, almost alone, eventually the tribe arrived. They knew as they saw the first person arriving. Pyro had finally perished. They were mournful, but somewhat excited. They had a feeling that they knew what was coming.

After the ceremony, Pyro, Mary, Joe, Janice, and Mr. Abbot watched the congregation leave. They were all very proud of Mary and Pyro’s children. They had done admirably well. They even mused over the new flag. The missing talon had been a nice touch, at least Mary had thought so. Pyro had to agree with Janice’s decision about this place. It might get lonely at times, but he had his wife, and three new friends to spend the rest of eternity with.

An unknown perk arrived when Pyro’s children passed away. While it was sad, he was happy to be reunited with his children. Mary was ecstatic. She had missed them so very much. They also got to meet their grand-children for the first time and then again quite a few years later.

After the great-great-grandchildren came to rest, they would never meet another generation. Never see another living soul. It was probably for the better though. None of them would have been proud of the way things were turning out.

The resting place was forgotten. There the watchers, Joe, and a good deal of Pyro’s family rested. There they stayed. Safe. Secure. Alone. Nature had taken care of them. She had taken them into herself and there they would be safe forever.

Day 23(Just shy of 42k)

2007-11-23T23:37:00.000-08:00

The Life Born from the Ashes

Zoom way out. Picture a world without untimely death. A world without decay. Without war, famine, pestilence, or hatred. A world in which nature had finally found harmony with it inhabitants. One nomadic tribe, just one small group of people calling this place home. The efforts required to get to this point had been immense, and the sacrifices were painful. A new world had risen out the ashes of it’s former shell and was probably better off this way.

The tribe maintained a pretty consistent number. It was still in it’s infancy and most of the members were too young to add to it’s numbers. A few years would pass and then they would expand at an exponential rate, but that is not to say that the expansion would be swift.

Years later the tribe would split off into smaller units. There was no tension between heads, just a need to provide for all of their people and one large group had proven to be a hard thing to manage. It had taken years to get to this point, and it would take many more before there would be more divisions.

The people had learned to deal without technology. Without cars, computers, CD players, washing machines, or anything else from the old world. All of the evils had been cleansed from the world and this select group had been given the chance to start fresh. A chance to succeed. A chance to fail. A chance to do anything. This could be the age when people learned to fly. When they learned to live a good life. When they learned to live forever.

The two groups did not wander far from one another. They might not always be in visual distance, but they were never more than a day apart. This was not a safety thing, but it made everyone feel better. People would come and go between the two groups on a whim. It managed to work out nicely. They would trade goods. One group would forage, the other would hunt. They were very careful in their gathering as well. They wanted only enough to survive. They didn’t need to strip the earth to be content. All they needed was a full stomach and their friends. Everything seemed to go as planned.

These people had learned to make clothes. Learned to cook. Learned to clean. They were self-taught survivalists. Learning not out ambition, but out of necessity. They never worried about fire. The two leaders had been taught the art of conjuring it at a young age. They had been tempered in battle, and it had changed them. Greatness had been thrust upon them, or maybe they had seized it, regardless they were the most suited for the job. Their people listened to them. Respected them. Would follow them under even the worst of odds. Most already had at some point. The hope was that the others never had too.

They carried a flag with them. They had made a crest, which had been ingrained in their lives many years before. The phoenix flew high for all to see. It lived in their minds. It was a constant reminder of the struggles and loss that they had all endured and for the fights that they hoped would never return.

After a great number of years, the leaders of both groups were dying. Their children would take their places, and since the communities had grown so large, divide them once again. All of the future leaders were taught to wield the fire. The fire of life. Of destruction. It was the mark of the leader. IT was a great honor and also a great responsibility that was placed on the shoulders of those who were taught. It was believed that only the descendants of a Torch were eligible, or able to learn to use this power.

After months of training, which covered as much of the elders knowledge as possible, the sons and daughters took their new positions as Torches and ventured forth into the unknown. The elders were reunited until they passed. No longer in a place of power, but still regarded just as highly. These two just went along for the ride and tried to make as little trouble as possible. It was nice to have somebody else leading. The last time that they had relaxed had been at a park many, many years ago. To them it seemed like another life, and it was.

They talked about their old lives and the ones that they had lead afterwards. They would reminisce about the old days. The beginning. The end that was coming. Everything. They would sing old marching songs. They would commend each other on what a fine job they had done. They would do all of this. And then they would die.

The tribes were all brought together for the funeral. They would be carried toward an old city far in the distance. Very hard to discern from the landscape, but it would be found. They would bring a new flag with them. Crafted for this specific purpose. It would take the entire trip to complete. The detail would be marvelous. The size mind-boggling. It would be perfect in every way.

As the tribes approached the city, they could feel that this was the place. This is where it had all happened. All of the old tales and ancient folklore. In this place not only was it blind faith, but confirmation that all of the amazing tales had, in fact, been entirely accurate.

Everyone observed the landmark that they were looking for. It was the only way to be sure that they were in the right place. In the middle, of what used to be a great city, stood a flagpole. Old, tarnished, and severely blackened from the fires that had started this new world. They had always been told that it put most trees to shame, and here it was. The landmark that they had been told about as children. The birthplace of this world. Their world.

On the flagpole, fluttering in the wind, was a flag. A huge mass of cloth. Poorly constructed, but still flying. All of the edges were tattered, and the colors were faded so badly that from a distance it appeared to just be a dull grey. Upon closer inspection a formerly crimson phoenix flew along a backdrop that probably used to be black. There were huge slabs of upturned concrete at the base of the pole and this would be the Torches final resting place.

The ceremony began the morning after all of the tribes arrived. Most of the younger people were giddy. They were so amazed that the bedtime stories they had been told as babies, were true. IT made them proud to be part of such a strong group. They could feel the greatness that emanated from this spiritual place.

The flag was lowered with great care not to ruin it. The flag, which had been raised to honor the fallen, had served it’s purpose and would now be replaced with the new one. This was the tradition. The Torches would be honored with a new flag, and burned with the one that represented their era. Their legacy would carry on, and in doing so, honor their comrades.

The new torches had the meticulous task of retrieving the old flag, raising the new one, placing their parent’s on the altar, and draping the flag from their era about them. Not a single one did this task with joy. Their tears turned their parent’s faces white in small patches. It was a triumphant time, but not a happy one.

They all whispered to the fallen while they were doing their work. They talked to the watchers who had been tasked to overlook these grounds. They promised to make them proud. They promised to uphold their ways and teachings. They promised to come rest here when it was their time. They finished the preparations. The hugged their parent’s. They hugged each other. They prayed and tried to regain their composure. They continued to cry, but much softer. Just a slight trickle of tears and none of those awful gasping noises.

The torches retreated a short distance and turned to address the crowd.

“Today we free our parent’s from the pains of this world.”

“They were our leaders who sacrificed everything for us.”

“Our teachers.”

“Our story tellers.”

“Our blood.”

“And most importantly, out friends.”

The Torches turned. “I love you,” they all whispered in unison. And with that the fires grew from the ground to consume their parents.

The flag waved triumphantly over the ceremony. The flag that would find a breeze on the calmest of days. The flag which had been made to such exacting specifications. A black background. Two crimson phoenixes. The emblem for the tribe. A symbol for the remembrance of the two leaders. The bigger one shimmering as if it was on fire. Looking over the smaller as a big brother would. The smaller, missing a talon. This would be their resting place from now on. They had served their purposes and established a life that most thought impossible. They had faced all odds and came out victorious. Today they had finally learned to fly.

Mary

“Mary! You with me still?”

“Um, yup!”

“Good. I need your help. I really need your help.”

Pyro has managed to destroy most of the area, but there was still much to be done.

“What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to grab a hold of my hand. This is going to scare you, but you need to trust me. If it hurts, just let go.”

“Umm.. Ok.”

Mary grabbed Pyro’s hand. She stared at him through the slits in her eyelids. She felt like she was watching a really scary movie. One with a monster that might jump out at anytime. Suddenly Pyro’s arm exploded in a burst of color and heat.

“Ouch.” Mary jumped and started to cry. “Wait, that didn’t hurt at all.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“It scared me. Why, why’d you do that anyway?”

“I needed to test something. So that didn’t hurt?”

“No.”

“Can you do me another favor?”

“I don’t know. Will this one be scary too?”

“I hope not. Anyway, you see al of the fire in front of me?”

“Yes.” She looked at him suspiciously.

“I need you to go touch it.”

“What?”

“Touch it. I just lit your arm on fire and it didn’t hurt, so why would this other fire hurt?”

“I just think it will.”

He gently pushed her towards and into the massive pyre. She looked ready to scream. Just as she was about to shriek, she realized that it didn’t hurt. She wondered what he was playing at here.

“I’m going to sound crazy here, but I think you can do the same thing as me.”

“Really?” she beamed. “Do you really think so? I think it is pretty.”

“I do. Do you think you can try?”

“I can try, but don’t be mad if it doesn’t work.”

“I won’t be. Come here and let’s see if it will work.”

Pyro had an idea, and with that idea determined that he could probably teach her to wield his powers. He took a hold of her hand.

“Just focus on the flame that is going to rise out your palm.”

“Ok. I’m focusing.”

He sent a small flame straight out of her hand. It danced. It played. It went out, and so did the entire blaze that Pyro had been working in the crowd.

Pyro suddenly became very worried. Maybe he had been wrong about her. Maybe she was the opposite. He let go of her hand and relit his blaze.

“Sorry. I tried talking to it, but I don’t think it likes me very much.”

“Yes it does, it’ll just take time to warm up to you.”

He instructed her to go playing at the edge of the wall. She tried to slowly snatch individual licks of flame, but was having very little success.

“Focus Mary. That is what it is all about. Instead of trying to grab at the flames, tell one of them to jump over to you.”

“I’ll try it, but I still don’t think it likes me.”

A hole suddenly opened up in front of Mary. “Crap,” thought Pyro. He refilled the gap and continued to do what he needed to do, but with no break in sight he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go.

“I got it! I got it!”

Mary was dancing with a little flame on her hand. She was singing to it, and it looked to be break dancing. He hadn’t seen that one before, but it was cool nonetheless. The flame got bored of dancing and crawled up her arm to rest on her shoulder like a seagoing parrot.

“I guess it does like me. Well it likes me when I sing anyway.”

Pyro went back to his current action.

“Wow! Look at how big I made him.” She had managed to make a 100 foot tall pillar. She was very impressed, and so was Pyro. She was catching on quickly.

“I hate to ask this, but do you think that you could do what I am doing right now?”

“It looks pretty complicated. Can I have a few more minutes to play around first?”

“Sure.”

Mary continued to experiment. She made beautiful fireworks with her new friend. She made shapes that twisted and flowed into others. It was like seeing a living M.C. Escher painting in real life. Complex patterns. No two the same, and no one remaining for more than a breath. Pyro almost forgot that he was in the middle of a fight while he gazed at it.

“I really need you to take over.”

“Ok. I think I am ready now. Just keep it up until I am on the other side for a few seconds.”

Pyro didn’t necessarily like the idea of leaving her so vulnerable, but she seemed very determined. He hoped that she could do it.

“What the hell is that,” asked Joe.

“That can’t be a little girl, can it,” said the General.

“Did she honestly just walk through the flames?”

“I think we are doubly fucked now.”

What they saw worried them to no end. As Pyro watched Mary disappear into his creation, the other side saw an evil looking little girl. She looked to be made of embers. Her teddy bear grinning like a dragon right before shooting a stream of death. Her smile was of the most disconcerting sort. Menacing just didn’t do it justice. This was the smile of pure evil. The smile of the reaper.

She created a small semi-circular column behind herself. She figured that if she needed extra protection she could close it off very quickly. The people just watched her weaving the fire in front of her face. The shadows cast from the fireworks made her look much younger, then much older. No one feature could be pinpointed.

As Pyro’s giant expanse fizzled and extinguished itself Mary just laughed. It was her time now. She waited for a moment. The people looked uneasy. It seemed they were trying to figure out what was happening. Here was a little girl, playing with fire in the most beautiful way, and the previous horror show had seemed to end.

Before many could blink, small slivers were darting everywhere at once. These were not mortal blows, but just small burns. She was playing. She was dancing with the people the only way that, right now, she knew how. She was dreading the first blow that would knock someone unconscious, or even worse, kill them, but she knew it was coming. If it didn’t they would be trying to kill her.

Pyro watched from the rear. He waited like everyone else for the melee to continue, but was impressed with her fine control skills. They rivaled his. They probably would have put his in their place. He still had the record for mass killing, but this was like watching a beautiful tapestry being created right in front of his eyes.

“Ok, now she’s just being mean,” said the General.

Joe nodded, but was too struck to actually say anything. If this was the last thing he ever saw at least he would die knowing that there was such a thing as real beauty. He had seen it. He had experienced it. Nothing he imagined could even compare.

Pyro was as awestruck as everyone else, but he had nagging thoughts in the back of his mind. What if it was too early? What if something happened to her? It would be his fault for sending her out there unprepared. The only comfort he took was knowing that she was able to do this for a reason. It wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t coincidence that she was the first friend he had made in years. She needed him just as he needed her. She was the little sister he needed to protect. He was the big brother that Mary needed. He quieted himself and accepted the fact that everything would be ok. It just had to work out. He was sure.

“You done playing around now?”

“I think so. This is really fun though.”

Pyro walked through Mary’s flames and positioned himself right beside her. He gave her a hug and told her to be careful. Wished her luck. Told her it was finally time to end this.

Her beautiful dance twisted itself into a startling aberration which struck out at the closest people it could reach. It danced in their hearts and devoured their souls. Pyro sent wave of light in haphazard directions. This would be the beginning of the end.

When Mary had been an even younger girl, she had been in love with the idea that she, someday, could be superwoman. She never had any powers to speak of, but she figured someday she might if she tried hard enough. She tried to fly. She tried to punch holes though walls. She hadn’t gotten to the point of dodging, or deflecting bullets, but she would have at some point. That much is certain. When her dog decided that her thumb would be a tasty snack, her dreams of being invincible were crushed. She knew that she could never be a superhero because she was too weak. Too pathetic. Just not worthy. One day, when she was four years old, all of those dreams seemed to be possible again. The power which had come into her life, had awakened her desire to do good. To a protector. To save lives.

The reason that she had been dancing with the flames before really hurting anybody came down to that point. She couldn’t see how a superhero would kill this mass gaggle of people. It took a lot of soul searching to finally come to the conclusion that they must be bad. If they were good people, Pyro would not feel that they needed to die. So it ended up being done out of mercy, nit anger or hate. The fact that she had been an amazing weaver had bought her the time she needed to make up her mind. Determine her course of action. Set that plan into motion. Execute it.

The fun had really just begun. The other children watched from a bit of a distance. They trusted Pyro, but they had not had enough experience with Mary to trust her form making costly mistakes. It was probably wise, for she did make random fountains at the wrong locations. She was still learning, but catching up quickly.

Pyro was proud of her. She was doing very well, but he did worry about her being able to control herself after this was all over. He knew from experience that this was a hard thing to control. Fighting off the need for more was a constant struggle. That was the whole reason that they were here today. IT wasn’t the call to power, but the destruction of it. He had no problem being a leader, but he could not abide the leaders that had claimed the world. He didn’t know why it bothered him so, but it did and he couldn’t ignore it no matter how hard he tried.

Speaking of leaders, the President had managed to make it far away from the conflict. He was cold, hungry, and alone. He hadn’t been moving for an insurmountable amount of time, but he felt that he had. He sat down to rest, not knowing if he would wake up. Not caring much either. He would sit there for days. Long after the conflict was over. He was afraid and locked into a mode of inactivity. He would die of exposure a few days later. The local animals welcomed the food, even if the meat was tough and tasted somewhat tainted.

The Tribe

The tribe would continue life in the same way it had for many years. A few generations after the original Torches died, they rediscovered the wheel. It wasn’t that the original founders didn’t know about things as simple as this, but that they discouraged it. They wanted a fresh start for their people. They wanted as little of the old world as possible.

When it was rediscovered, they thought it to be a very new invention, because the currently living people had never seen, nor heard of, one. It would’ve been considered ancient, lost history. It fell in the same category as God, the Devil, microwave ovens, and anything else that existed in that long gone time. The only hope, which was unknown, was that they would not go back to how things used to be. Their leaders had spent too much time perfect this world to let the old one return.

People were very impressed with the wheel. It is unknown how they decided on that name for it, but it happened. They started small. A fallen tree was the first incarnation. When they found a second one they discovered that they could roll thing on top of it. After much experimentation, and discoveries in tooling, they learned how to cut a single tree into many wheels. The axel came next, and was the pivotal point for the first cart. They finally had a way of moving more food and supplies while on their journeys. It could have been viewed as the beginning of they end, or the best thing to happen to them. Life became a little easier, but they still had to lug the cart around. It was not abnormal to see the people pulling the carts, piled high with food, as well as lugging bulging backpacks.

It would be years until any other groundbreaking discoveries would be made. Light bulbs would be on the order of 1000 years of more. They were starting small, but eventually technology would emerge. They had no monetary system. No running water. They also had the need for neither. Being nomadic afforded them the luxury of requiring almost nothing from the old world. The only thing that had been required was people, which had obviously been provided.

As the tribe grew bigger, they kept dividing and growing farther apart. The Torches always seemed to know when another of the leaders had passed, or was preparing to. During those times all of the tribe would converge at the flag pole once again. The tradition stayed the same. A new flag was always posted. The old always went with the fallen leader. The speech changed every time. The Torches would say whatever they felt was right. Their goal was to pay homage and send off their comrade to a better place. Send him back to the earth. The new flag always represented the Torch or Torches who were being left that day.

It was always a somber occasion, but it came with mixed feelings. It was a reunion in many ways. The tribes would meet up with their old friends. They would talk about everything that happened since the last time. They would trade goods. The would dance. They would go back into the world as friends, but would not see each other for a very long time, if ever again. Overall they were pretty good at living the life of the original vision. Hard work and honesty was all it had taken to get here, and all it took to keep them moving.

After the few days for the funeral the tribes would separate and go their separate ways. Some went north into the colder parts of the continent. Some went south towards the desert. Others went east and west to the oceans, or the plains, or the mountains. Every tribe has staked their areas, not that others would be refused from roaming the same neighborhoods, it was just never an issue. They had learned to deal with their environments and had actually excelled at it. They had become masters of survival over the years. They didn’t go hungry. They didn’t die of exhaustion, exposure, poisonous plants, or any other naturally avoidable thing. That is not to say that it had not happened in the past, just that it wasn’t an issue any longer. They were finally in harmony with nature.

But, perfection could only last so long. Generations later some of the old ways were being replaced with the newer and better. Newer ways of gathering food. Better ways of traveling, or eventually the lack thereof. The seeds of dissent had starting budding into beautiful little saplings.

As each subsequent generation started to take power, the tribes stopped traveling as far, and as frequently. They started to lose touch with nature and began to exploit the land. They would gather enough food for three communities, when most of it would go to waste. Hunting was becoming much more of a sport than a means of survival. New weapons were developed. Instead of the sharpened stick and the occasional rock-tipped spear, they were learning how to stretch fibrous strands across a tense, curved piece of wood. They were discovering better ways of sharpening stones. Faster ways of forming them. Ways to prepare for a massive assault on something, even if they didn’t know what yet.

The sins of the past were starting to arrive at their feet. They had not yet made a mockery of what their ancestors stood for, but they were well on their way. The altruistic views were dying away and being replaced with greed. They had enough land to provide 100’s of acres to each tribesman, if not much more, but they felt that they needed more. They wanted control of it all. The land was there to be taken. To be claimed by something. Just as well if it was them who claimed it.

The future, which had started out with such hope and promise, was starting to look grim. The path to self destruction was upon them, they only had to walk down it. There were greatly varying views on the proper way to conduct business. Even the Torches were starting to lose their say in their peoples affairs. The respect was diminishing. A few of the Torches decided to show their people why they were the leaders.

Some of the tribes lost more than half of their people in very short periods of time. There was no plague. No famine. No disease. Just greed. Greed, and an enveloping fire that consumed enough people to send a very clear message about who was in charge, and why. One tribe tried fighting back, which just ended in misery. The entire tribe was killed except for the Torch and his youngest son. After reexamining the actions he had just taken, he sent his son off to the east in hopes that he would find another group to take him in. After his son was gone, the Torch took his own life. There was no ceremony. No homage. No memory. No flag. No honor in his actions.

Day 22(Whew!)

2007-11-23T02:46:00.000-08:00

He didn’t want to delay too long though. Just enough. He figured he would know when it was time. Maybe there would be a sign or something. Anything to tell him that the timing was correct and his course was straight. He knew he was still out of range for any attack they would make, or at least he hoped he was. If there was more coverage on the ground he might have been worried about someone trying to sneak up, but this city was a wasteland. He had been sure of that. There was only a small section of downtown, and of course all of the parks, that had survived so far. He planned to keep the parks, downtown was a different story all together.

His soldiers were still preparing. Some of the older boys were painting their faces with ash and trying to convince the younger ones to follow suit. Their views were met with varying degrees of acceptance. It was time to be soldiers, and they wanted to feel like soldiers too. All of them were worried, but there was comfort in playing the part.

Pyro waited. He had no necessary preparation. He would go in there like a human torch. It was all he needed to do. It was all he knew how to do. He was just waiting on that sign and it looked like it would be coming any time now.

Pyro’s sign arrived in short order. He was amazed at how beautiful this one happened to be. The sun had started setting, and the air was filled with ash and soot. It was the makings of the perfect sunset. He could do nothing but stare in awe. It was beautiful and as the other kids saw him staring, they all followed suit.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” said Mary.

“I know. It tells me that we’re doing the right thing. Until all of this started I had never seen such beautiful sunsets. Now each one is prettier than the last.”

Pyro had never quite put together the fact that all of the fires he had started were the cause of the gorgeous scenery provided by each and every sunset. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t doing the right thing, but it doesn’t mean that he was either. Regardless of that though, he took it as a sign of a job well done and the permission to continue on.

“Everyone ready?”

“Yes, sir!” They were all ready for their movement. Good or bad, this was it.

The kids began the final part of their march. They sang their songs. The ate a quick snack. They soldiered on. They knew that they would be facing people they knew today. Their teachers. Some of their friends. Their families. People they would have never attacked before, but today was different. They were determined to do what they had to do.

Pyro lead the way toward the former White House. He could sense people in and around the still standing buildings. He figured that they weren’t his friends. He decided to keep an eye on that. He wanted to do his best to protect his army, as well as himself. As the cleared the inside corner of the buildings, shots rang out. Most of them were headed directly for Pyro, but a few were aimed at other targets. They kept walking to the sound of screams coming from the buildings. His party was still unharmed. More shots ended with the same result. He wanted to wait a little bit longer before demolishing the buildings. He could let them try and have their fun, it would all end the same anyway.

The first two groups of snipers had been taken out of commission. Not all of them were dead, yet, but they would be soon enough. Pyro wondered how he would fight himself if he had to. Water was the first thing that came to mind, but he seen the ineffectiveness of it. Not only did it steam and make everything hazy, but it would burn just as easily as wood. At least it did for him.

The shots had startled some of his entourage, but they continued on. Now confident in the fact that Pyro would protect them.

“Are any of you still alive,” radioed the General.

“A few of us sir. I don’t think for long though. I see smoke and I can’t go anywhere. He shot through both of my legs.”

“Hold tight. We will try to get you out of there.”

“Don’t bother. It isn’t going to matter anyway.”

A few more shots rang out. Nobody answered the radio call from the first two buildings.

“What are we supposed to do against that?”

“Well Joe, I don’t really know. You have any bright ideas,” asked the General.

“A fire hose,” said the President.

“Two problems with that, sir. Number one is that I’m not sure where to find one right now. Number two… Do you really think it will work? It’s not like he is on fire,” said the General.

“So what about gasoline,” asked Joe.

“Huh,” asked the General and the President simultaneously.

“I figure it is like this. He isn’t on fire, but everything else will be. What if he was on fire as well?”

“Now that’s an idea. Here, tell my guys,” said the General.

Joe explained the idea over the radio. The soldiers started to find all the combustible liquids that they could find and spread them on the ground.

There was a sudden pop and burst of flame from one of the troops. The gas can had suddenly exploded, drenching him in petrol. This in turn sent him running and screaming toward another guy, who subsequently caught fire as well.

Watching this all take place was something like watching the deadliest game of dominoes in slow motion. With each piece falling, the next ignited. So on, and so forth. Joe, the President, the General, and Pyro all watched this display in awe. There was such a beautiful dance happening here. It was like a ballet on LSD. The screaming, flaming guys making the perfect soundtrack to this exquisite display of brutality and mortality.

Pyro hadn’t expected it to play quite this way. It worked out to his advantage, but that didn’t make it any more normal. And gasoline… He would have never even thought about it, not that it would hurt him anyway, but it could hurt his followers. He’d have to keep an eye on that then.

Both sides could hear the ticking. The ticking of life’s clock counting down. The ticking that was leading to a resolution. The ticking leading to death. The ticking of tank treads.

“Oh, shit,” said Pyro.

The tank fired a warning shot. Pyro tried to deflect it, not that it would hit anyone, but it would be good to know. It seemed to veer slightly off course, but not by as much as would have been hoped.

“Run! Go! Behind the building.”

The children scattered like cockroaches. They divided themselves in the sudden panic. They had time, but not much. Pyro’s building shook violently. Glass sprayed in all directions. He had not been prepared for this, not did he have any good offense. The tank was out of his offensive range.

The next shot was lobbed. The children were scared. None of them knew what to do.

“Try your fire on the next shell,” said one of the entourage.

“Huh?”

“Just try it.”

Pyro tried it. The shell burst and sent shrapnel screaming in all directions. The building protected the young army, but many of the other men were hit. Screams rose and clouded the air.

“How’d you know that?”

“I love tanks. I just figured they might be using explosive rounds, but I don’t know if it really helped any. Either we get blown up, or we get cut to death. Pretty crummy either way.”

Pyro was trying to think, but was constantly interrupted by the clamor. Chucks of concrete were falling from the building. Most of them were small, but he knew that soon they wouldn’t be so lucky. He didn’t think he could manage control over 100’s of piece at once. 10 or so was an easy feat, but the shrapnel seemed to be much too great in quantity. He was running out of ideas.

It seemed to be about two seconds from the time he heard the tank fire, to when it impacted the building.

“When the tanks fires next, everyone run for the other building.”

They all nodded. The tank fired. He counted. One. Two.

“Run!”

They sprinted just as the round caught the structure. Pyro was too busy to notice the piece of concrete which impacted his face with sufficient force to knock him unconscious.

“Grab him. Let’s go.”

He was drug to safety just as another round was volleyed.

“Is he dead? I don’t want him to die,” said Mary. Her eyes began to water, on the verge of tears.

Pyro stirred, but did not wake. He had a nasty cut which was oozing sooty, black blood down his face.

“Please… wake up. Please…” Mary started crying.

“Ouch,” said Pyro.

The boys, who had drug him in, grinned.

“So I guess you’re still with us? We were just about to go throw up the white flag.” The boys beamed.

“Afraid so. Any brilliant ideas now?”

They discussed some tactics among the bombardment. They figured out that if they could make it to the next building, then the damage from the tank would cause massive collateral damage to the opposing troops. It sounded like a good plan. The main points, like run to the next building were relayed to all. They were told to start making there way around the back and to the corner where they would be running from.

Pyro took the lead and rounded the corner. A soldier jumped, squeezed the trigger on his rifle, and almost instantly dropped to the floor. No screaming, just blood discoloring the ground. He looked like an angel with a crimson halo. That is if an angel would be missing the top third of his skull. He had been sent to creep up behind the children, and had almost made it.

“That guys scared me,” said Mary.

Pyro nodded and continued. He still had no real ideas. He knew there was no way to get around everyone and come up from behind. If he hadn’t destroyed most of the city then there might have been. Just chalk it up to experience. He never actually expected to be here, like this, especially not with an army at his tail.

“You said you knew about tanks?”

“Yeah,” said the kid.

“How fast can this one shoot?”

“About as fast as it is.”

“Hmm… And how fast can it turn it’s gun?”

“The turret? It could track an A-10 if it needed to.”

“Meaning?”

“You can’t outrun it.”

“Well there goes that idea.”

“We are losing a lot of people with this tank,” said Joe.

“Well, if they would step a few feet back from the building, they would be just fine.”

“That’s all fine and dandy, but I think it would be hard to step back with that many people on your heels.”

“True enough,” said the general.

The children had made it to the next building, which was slowly being reduced to it’s foundations. They couldn’t stay there forever. In fact a few more minutes might be too long.

“So… Are we just going to keep shooting at the building or do you have an idea here,” asked Joe.

“We can’t shoot for too much longer. Tank is almost out of ammo. I don’t know what’ll happen when it is empty.”

“Great. So you’re basically saying we’ll be dead in a few minutes?”

“Pretty much. It bought us a little time anyway.”

“No other tanks or ammo in the area?”

“Nope,” said the General.

“Super.”

“I thought so.”

They were running out of ideas. Tank ammo almost depleted. Crazy boy that could light things on fire. This had the makings of a perfect day.

There was a sudden crash, explosion, and shit storm in the middle of the crowd. Screaming, flying body parts, and a whole lot of dead people.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” said a voice over the radio.

“Sorry ‘bout that? That’s all you have to say?”

“Collateral damage sir. Computer changed the target, fired the shot, and went offline.”

“That’s real clever,” said Joe.

“Isn’t it though? I think they just took out a third of our force,” said the General. “Is it going to be back online anytime soon,” the General asked over the radio.

“That’s a big negative. We are actually in the process of evacuating. There is way too much smoke in here. It looks like the computer decided to hinder our cause by lighting itself on fire.”

“Perfect,” thought the General.

“So… Now what?”

“Well Joe, why don’t you come up with something. I think we are pretty much screwed.”

They both stared at the field of dead and dying. Out of ideas. Out of options. Anything done now would just be for show. They could surrender, but realized that there would be no point in that. If they were going to die, they could at least go out trying.

The Jump

When Pyro was a little boy he had some crazy ideas. About the time he discovered his powers, minimal though they might be, he had dreams of being a superhero. A fire flinging, flying, upholder of justice. It took him a little while, but not too long, to find the scope and limitations of his abilities.

He, like 99 percent of the populations had always wanted to fly. He had tried multiple times to just do it, but nothing ever happened. See this little kid. See him standing with his arms raised to the sky. Watch him jump as high as he could and then return to the ground. Sometime he would jump so hard, and believe so deeply, that he would touch down and then go tumbling. He sprained multiple ankles that summer. His left wrist would ache for the rest of his life from an untreated hairline fracture. It wasn’t bad enough to cause major pain, but a decent amount of discomfort would be normal for him.

After months of trying to be a space shuttle, he decided it might be easier to be a bird. He would run as fast as he could. He would flap his arms, or wings, whichever was more fitting at the time. Moving as fast as he could, he would jump, flap, and sometimes, land on his feet and keep running. Other times he would land and create a spectacular display of cartwheels and summersaults.

He was determined that his lack of success with the bird method was due to his lack of speed. Next it was the skateboard. When that didn’t work, and nearly killed him in a headfirst dive for the pavement, he upgraded to a bicycle. The results were even worse than the skateboard. He was even nearly run over by a car backing out of it’s driveway. He wanted to try to hood of a car, but his parent’s had told him no and he had no other ideas of who could drive him.

So after the bird thing had failed miserably, he decided to try another tactic. Maybe he needed actual vertical propulsion. Not being put off easily, he devised a simple lever from some scrap wood. He built a very rickety, makeshift seesaw. On the roof he positioned the largest stone he could lug. It turned out to only way about 15 or so pounds. He had attached a rope so that he could stand on the plank and pull the weight down onto it. The hope was that it would fling him up and then he would fly away into the sunset.

The first attempt went amazingly well. He tugged the rope and sent the mass tumbling through the air. It accelerated at roughly 32 feet per second, which is pretty standard. When it should have struck the plank, it actually missed. He had positioned his launching pad too far from the house. The rock had fallen about a foot short. Try two went better. The rock struck the plank in the perfect place. The lever placed force against Pyro’s feet. It was going to work. Then the plank broke at the fulcrum, but wouldn’t it have been impressive if it had worked? Even if it hadn’t broken, he wouldn’t have flown very far. The amount of force generated was far too low to amount to any measurable vertical movement.

So feeling defeated, and downtrodden, he decided to give it one last shot. If it didn’t work this time then he would never try again. Maybe believing that he could do it really wasn’t enough to make it happen.

For his final trial he figured that maybe he had to actually be going toward the ground to kick in the flight mode. So along those lines, he climbed to the roof. While climbing, he almost slipped and fell, which would have been bad. It probably would’ve hurt pretty badly.

So here was Pyro. Staring at the ground from 12 or so feet above it. Nervous, but convinced. He knew he could do it. He wasn’t worried about hitting the ground because he wasn’t going to. After a few deep breaths, he jumped as hard as he could. He was doing it, or at least he thought so until he reversed direction and saw it rushing up at him. He concentrated on going up, not down. He kept falling. He concentrated harder. He slammed into the ground and rolled. The roll would have been perfect to if he hadn’t caught his leg oddly and snapped it in three places. So while he lie there, a screaming bloody mess, he learned that determination alone was not enough to achieve everything. Sometime it would be enough, but not always.

When the General was a young boy he used to go hunting with his dad. On one of the trips he mistook his dad for a deer, or at least that is what he told the authorities. He shot his dad in the left shoulder.

When Joe was much younger, he used to pretend that he was videotaping everything. His camera was a taped together conglomerate of a Pringles can, a tape recorder, and a Coca-Cola bottle. He videotaped a neighbor killing his wife. It would have been compelling evidence if he had actually had a real video camera. Oh, and if Joe hadn’t been a five year old with an active imagination.

When the President was a young boy he asked his parent’s for a dog. They got him a cat instead. He named it Fido and it died a few years later. He learned that cramming it’s mouth full of peanut butter was not a good thing for longevity.

When Mary was a young girl her dog ate her finger, but you probably already knew that. What you probably don’t know is that she never figured out why there was a crunchy hotdog in her macaroni one night after.

When Janice was a young girl, well… You already heard about that, but I bet you didn’t know that she was born with red hair.

When Mr. Abbot was a young man, his parent’s told him that he would never amount to anything and that he would just end up as another bum on the streets of New York. Boy were they wrong. He died in DC.

The tank commander had managed to destroy over 199 computers in his life time, just by touching them. Today he made it to the big two oh oh.

When everyone woke up this morning they assumed that they would live to see tomorrow.

[Unknown, yet again. Always with the unknown]

“Tank’s down,” thought Pyro, but then he wondered. Was it a ploy or was it really out of commission. There was only one way to find out, but he wasn’t ready to take the risk. He figured he’d wait it out and see what happened.

He made the rounds to ensure everyone was still accounted for and to make sure everyone was still in serviceable order. Except for a few cuts and scrapes, and the other preexisting conditions, everyone was doing just peachy. Just getting tired of waiting. They were ready for it to be done so they could go play on the swing sets. Or have tea parties. Some of them just thought it would be nice to eat some dirt for old times sake.

It had become time. The sun had set. Pyro stood and motioned everyone up.

“I want you guys to stay back here. You can watch, but I would feel better if you don’t put yourselves in danger right now.”

This suggestion was met with varying degrees of enthusiasm. He didn’t care as long as they listened to him.

Pyro turned and walked toward the edge of the building. As he rounded the corner a solid wall of flame grew ahead of him. He stood looking at it for a minute. He noticed the intricate patterns that the fire would make and also realized that they changed, or disappeared, just as quickly as they were created. He took a deep breath and walked forward.

The people on the other side saw the wall suddenly appear. They were scared. They tried to run, but the sheer number of them made it impossible.

Pyro walked into the wall. His eyes were burning brighter then the fire that he controlled. Untouched by the flames, he stood in the middle of the controlled flare. He scanned the horizon and all of the people that stood before him. This would get messy, but he had done as much before. He would have mountains of people to climb here. He didn’t think those shadows wanted to play with him so they probably wouldn’t clean up after him either.

He dropped his head and with a slight gesture of his hands the inferno grew to the sides. He played the role of conductor, and directed a tune of his own design. The wall grew thick around the edges and shot straight out. With one fell swoop both side were consumed. He hadn’t taken anybody out of commission yet, but it would not take much.

He still couldn’t reach the tank, but it didn’t matter much. The General and Joe were still out of range, but he would make his way there soon enough. He didn’t even know their names, just that they were on the highest ground and the furthest away, so they must be in charge.

The screams destroyed the air, but did nothing to slow the situation. Pyro could not hear anything except his won heart beat. The flames died down for a split second and then suddenly leaped forward, from his position, straight into the crowd. Those who were unharmed choked on the burning air and the smell of roasting flesh. He had cut an almost clean line down the middle. As he lowered the torch, the gaps filled back up immediately.

He decided to be playful here. Magic would be happening. His orchestra would play harder than it ever had. He shot bolts out at 45 degree angles. Once again the gap filled itself as soon as he relented. He wondered how long this could go on, and more importantly, how long could he do it before he became too bored with it. He guessed quite a while.

A column went up right in front of him and expanded to form an impenetrable barrier. As he slowly walked forward so did his wall, consuming all that were in it’s path. There was a lot of ground to cover and he had moved very little since beginning.

The sky was alight. If one didn’t know any better, and was looking the other way, they would think it was daylight. As the wall moved forward it formed little darting tentacles. They would randomly spear people a few rows back. The slithering tongues of medusa’s snakes. The people didn’t even try to run. They seemed to be made of stone. Too shocked. Too awestruck. Too frightened. And shortly after, too dead.

Blazing columns shot from the ground. To an observer it would have looked like one of the dancing water fountains. There was a reason for this too. Pyro had gotten his inspiration while he was storming the Olympic park in Atlanta. He had watched that dancing fountain for hours. Memorizing every transition it made. He had even learned how to move around on it without ever getting wet.

His victims were not as lucky. Every shaft took more lives. There would have been such beauty in Pyro’s control if things were different. His delicate manipulation of his element was astounding. He could claim one person or 100 at will. The possibility of taking out everyone at once was there, but there just didn’t seem to be a good reason for that.

Even the shadows were afraid. They were not as immune as they would have first thought. The screams that they released were torturous. They pierced eardrums. Many people were deafened suddenly. The others were suddenly disheveled and tried to stay on both feet with only marginal success. Even Pyro was affected by those screams. When his concentration would break, the flames would falter for a moment. With his composure regained they would return with even greater intensity.

Every step forward would find his feet sinking into the pavement. The ground was becoming increasingly slippery, which among other things, made footing very unsure. He marched on, but with greater care to keep from falling. That just would not look very professional.

Picture a wasteland. A vast expanse where buildings used to strike at the skies. Where people worked. Where they played. Where they had fun. Picture all of those people. Permanently encased in the asphalt that they used to drive on. Hands raised in anger. Charred bones covering empty sockets where eyes used to be.

See the little army marching thorough the street. Not paying attention to the bones being ground below their feet. Focused on the action before them. Walking on their teachers. Their friends. Their families. Watching the wall that consumed all who crossed it’s path. Smiling as their fates constantly evolved. As their dreams became one step closer to realization.

Half of the opposition had already been dealt with. With vengeance. With fury. With an unwavering lack of remorse. The other half had started to retreat to the best of their abilities. It was slow going. Too slow by far.

The children were singing “99 Bottles on beer on the wall.” With every step, the funeral dirge continued. The opposition could barely hear anything over the noise of shuffling feet, screams, and the crackling flames.

Pyro was having fun now. Tormenting the runners. He would lick their ears. Tickle the back of their necks. Pat their asses. Stab them through the heart with a glowing spear of light. Remove their feet with a sword of glowing embers. Up heave the earth under the crippled combatants. Make them pop like hotdogs, overcooked in a microwave. There was no end to the amusement. No end to the fun. No end to the games. He knew it would be over someday, but not for a while. He could take his time.

Exhausted. Everyone was exhausted on both sides. The children were stumbling along. The other side was trying to run, but it turned into more of an awkward stumble. Some of them were too tired to even manage that. Some would just lay down and wait for their fate to finally be sealed. It was much like abusing ants with a magnifying glass. There was nothing they could do.

There was no point in retreating. Joe and the General understood that so they stayed where they were. They watched. They waited. They accepted their fates. The President ran as soon as the rage had started. There was no telling where he actually went, except by following his footprints, which would be covered by a fresh layer of soot before too long. It would not change his end, just adjust the time scale slightly. He might also just expire do to hunger or lack of hydration, but that was yet to be seen.

Joe couldn’t help but sing “Another One Bites the Dust” in his head. He couldn’t explain it, but it made things slightly more bearable. The General heard him humming the tune and joined in, but it didn’t help his disposition in any way. In fact he now thought about terminating Joe himself, or at least breaking his legs, for getting the tune stuck in his head. He decided against it due to the amount of effort that it would require. He did hold onto that rage though.

Some of the children found themselves wishing for marshmallows. Not that they were particularly hungry, but the sight of such a huge blaze, coupled with the singing, brought thoughts of camping, s’ mores, and other fanciful thoughts. If they didn’t know any better they would’ve been able to imagine a friendly camping trip in the middle of a forest fire.

The General watched the events and was starkly reminded of the World Trade Center. He had been quite a bit younger when that had happened, and it was why he had stayed in the military for as long as he had. He remembered digging victims out of the rubble. Working so many hours that he was lucky to get a cat nap, or two, for days at a time. Explaining to family members that their loved ones had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was something that he had tried to drink away, and here it was again. Even if he managed to make it out alive, he didn’t think he could handle it again.

Day 21(big update. 6313 words. I'm actually pretty happy with this material. Enjoy!)

2007-11-22T00:05:00.000-08:00

There were quite a few people that liked the prospects. They would get to go to heaven, or hell depending on the individual, and were excited about this. Others didn’t like it one bit. They liked living here. They liked their jobs, their families, the life. For them it looked to be a sad time. They got in line just like everybody else, but they couldn’t help feeling that it was a bit premature. There was still more that could be done here. They wanted to see their kids first steps, first date, first car, graduation. Without those life moments on the horizon there was suddenly little point to living.

Both factions had reached across international borders. There were only a few places that were not affected, and these generally didn’t have phones, email, or even automobiles. Basically these were small nomadic tribes completely cut off from the world so they didn’t have any idea of the turmoil which was enslaving the rest of the world.

The first day of the major offensive started out like any other. It was a typical day, if you could call anything about these days typical. The epic battle was still in the background, but soon it would be raging until there was only one man standing, or none.

People armed themselves with anything that was handy. A baseball bat, a rake, a frying pan, and one woman even had a huge, let’s say, adult novelty toy the size of a battering ram. Anything that could do damage. Joe had his trusty bricks who were not opposed to being thrown, literally, into battle. The president had what appeared to be a massive stapler fitted with a scope.

The two leaders would’ve met if there had been any need. Both sides knew what the objective was. The goal… Purify the other side. There was no truce, no ceasefire, no surrender. They would die fighting, or not die at all. The streets were quiet. They were filled with an unease that only came before death. The shuffling was deafening if only for the fact that there were no other noises. It was an eerie mix of clamor and silence. People were going to die today and they knew it.

The first clash resonated in the hearts of all the other combatants. The most recognizable sound was that of a frying pan clanging against the other persons skull. The thud, followed by the ringing was disturbing at best. That is all it took. The game started. As both side rushed to meet the opposition, the old woman who had thrown the first swing was trampled, but not before receiving a mortal slice from a young mans hoe. She watched for a few seconds as her head was kicked around. She was happy knowing that she did her part.

Groups of people were bursting into flames at random. Many thought they were Molotov cocktails, others assumed it was the work of their leaders powers. The street, which should have been strewn with bodies, managed to stay relatively clean. Even the blood was lapped up. The shadows were to be thanked for this, if nothing else. They had found their sides and stuck to them. Their role, at current, was cleanup. It gave them plenty of food, and kept them amply busy. Due to their sheer numbers it did cast an odd haze over the street, but that didn’t bother anyone but the leaders. It wouldn’t have bother them either, if they weren’t observing from the roofs of two nearby buildings. Joe did not feel good about any of this. The President loved it.

There were no lack of reinforcements. As the people in the front perished, and then subsequently vanished, the holes filled in and more people added onto the ranks in the rear. It was greater than a one to one swap on most occasions. It never seemed to slow down. Never seemed to dwindle. All the could be heard from the back was the clashing, screaming, war cries, and the occasional laugh. The crowd was so massive, and the shadows filled the front with such a haze, that the combatants discovered they were in the mix as they were suddenly facing the opposition. People were dropping like flies who have been stabbed with a toothpick. Those in the front rows were dripping the blood of those that came before them and those further back would be dripping soon enough.

The average engagement time of any single player was less than five seconds once they made it to the second row. And less than a second when they were in the front. That only takes into account those that actually made it that far. Not a single one made it into the enemies ranks. The street was filled from wall to wall, and had been for hours.

Picture the longest, widest street in your town. Now picture it filled from one side to the other with fighting people. Your friends, your family, yourself. Everyone you know placed on both side of the imaginary center line. This was basically a huge meat grinder. There was no pause in the action, but it was not very exciting. In fact, Joe and the President were getting quite bored. After trying to consort with each other through the shadows, which could hear quite well, but were also mute, they resorted to large poster boards and black magic markers. They decided it was time to take a lunch break. The shadows, armed with the commands of their leaders, split the fighting down the middle and pushed everyone back. There they remained until needed further. Lunch time it was and it lasted for a very long time.

There was no place to get lunch. Everyone was here, except for a few random kids that were grounded. Their parents figured there was no reason to let them out of the restrictions to come out here and have fun. Even the undecided were here, but they were peering at the crowd from the alleyways.

Joe was not feeling good. The president was laughing. Two different leaders with different styles and stomachs. Not that either leader was actively pursuing victory, they were both playing the role of voyeur over the fight that they had started. Not that they could really give any input if they wanted too.

Now zoom out. Picture the country. Notice the flames engulfing large portions. Notice that Texas is turning black. Alaska, slowly disappearing in the smoke. The coastlines hard to discern. Before long the entire country will be covered in blackness.

Now go even further. Notice the continent. The hemisphere. The entire world. Flames slowly engulfing everything and everyone. Flames visible from space. The purifying flames of righteousness. The consuming flames of Hell. Only one place would be left untouched by the fire, but there was still heat. The only safe, if you could call it that, place was with the two leaders. The home base of the two factions.

Zoom back in. Look at Joe. Look at the President. Look at the little boy making his way toward the center of the paused conflict. Out of nowhere he appeared. His clothes blackened with soot. His eyes burning. He looked like fire would leap from his eyes at the slightest gesture.

As he approached the middle, even the shadows tried to backup. The were successful, but only partially. They managed to work their way about 10 rows back on each side. The boy closed his eyes and waited. Nobody knew what to do. Suddenly they could fight again, but the little boy would be caught in the crossfire. That was only a small concern though. If the shadows were afraid of him, who would want to try and fight him? The fact that he looked crazy probably didn’t hurt any.

Suddenly a sharp rock, shaped somewhat like an ancient knife, screamed for the boys head. It whistled as it flew through the air. If the owner had known the knife’s thought on the subject he might not have thrown it. As it touched the boys temple, it disappeared. No impact. Not a single drop of blood. No evidence that the knife even existed. Not until seconds later anyway. Nobody knew what happened, or how, but they were left with a screaming man. A man who was now dying with a rock knife sticking out of his left eye socket. The man who threw the knife.

The boy started to walk again, toward a partially open alley. As he made his way the people in front of him tried to move as they suddenly became very combustible. Spontaneous Human Combustion, poof, there goes another one. They ignited and ran with no real sense of reason. Soon enough all the individuals in the first 10 rows were alight. The skin fell off of their muscles, the muscles fell off of their bones, and then they would die. There is no real way to describe the kind of pain that they felt. The only way to experience it would be to go take a shower in gasoline and then light yourself on fire, but do it in a way to surprise yourself. I think you would understand perfectly at that point. The shadows saved everyone else.

The boy continued toward the alley, not a single flame had touched him. The people in his way tried to relocate due to his previous display of illuminating tactics. Some were successful, others befell the same fate as the combatants. One individual tried to shoot him from behind, but that ended in the shooter having a hole blown in his kneecap. He too was destined to have an early cremation. A very painful one. Nobody made a move to stop or otherwise inure the boy. He now had free passage anywhere he wanted to go in this city.

Neither Joe, nor the President, could believe what they had just seen. They were both being followed because of their “divine” purpose, but what they had just seen really demanded a rethink of the situation. A complete overhaul of the strategies that both sides had been using up to this point. The decisions for the non-believers became one step harder. Now there were three candidates vying for their attention and devotion, not that they noticed the lack of an entourage with the little boy. The fact that the little boy was no where to be found didn’t help either.

The fighting didn’t seem so important now. Joe and the President would have to sit down and talk about what was going on and decide if they would join forces or run business as usual. The coming days would be tough for everyone, except the little boy. All he had to do was have fun lighting things on fire. He enjoyed this job very much. I was more like a hobby though. A life style. The only way to live.

Pyro, or the Boy Who Plays With Fire

“Where to start with Pyro… Nobody is too sure how old he is. He birth certificate, all the juvenile delinquency records, and in fact the entire county records office, managed to vanish one night. Nobody is quite sure how, but there was an odd amount of ash at the location where it used to be housed. Nobody outright accused Pyro of the crime, but people had their suspicions.

No one even knew his real name anymore. That was lost when his parents passed away. His dad choked on a piece of steak and while his mother was trying to give him the Heimlich maneuver, tripped and fell onto a foot stool, instantly snapping her neck and not saving Pyro’s father. So, in short, little is actually known about him. We do know that he is missing his two front teeth, has trouble pronouncing R’s and S’s, and that while he has almost no temper, he does seem to light things on fire at his whim. It is not sure if it is a compulsion, a game, or just something that sounds good at the time.

People would have reported seeing him all over the world, in almost every country, if they hadn’t died shortly after. It is believed that he is responsible for 90 percent of the fires which are raging out of control across the globe.

Where his power came from, like so many other things surrounding the boy, is a mystery. He doesn’t seem to be telekinetic in the classic sense. It seems that the only control objects when they are placing his life in direct danger. Like the bullet, or knife that would have surely killed him. Those he was able to redirect. We still don’t know if they were teleported to the proper location, or if he mentally flung them so quickly that nobody noticed it until the target started screaming. There is a lot of mystery surrounding this little boy and while we would like to find out more, we are, quite frankly, afraid of him. We’ve seen what he can do first hand and if it hadn’t been for the shadows, we would all be dead. At least we think we would be.”

“Thank you General,” the President said.

“So let me get this straight. Basically you just, in a very long winded way, told us that you really don’t know a thing about him,” asked Joe.

“Correct.”

“Then why not just say, Hey, there is this little fire breathing kid and we don’t know shit about him.”

“I’m assuming that you haven’t been doing this long,” said the General.

“Never mind. I’ll shut up then. Continue.”

“There is nothing more to say really. Well, we do think he is still in the city, but can’t be 100 percent sure.”

“Guess we need to figure out what to do about this kid and then we can get back to our previously scheduled program,” said the President.

“Then let’s do it,” said Joe.

“I don’t like this,” said Janice, after they were out of ear shot.

“I don’t either,” Mr. Abbot and Joe said in unison.

“He does scare me, but he is just a little kid. Maybe he thinks this is a video game or something. I just don’t want to hunt down and kill a little kid. Doesn’t feel right,” said Joe.

“I can’t disagree completely, but on the other hand, he might hunt you down and do the same,” said Janice.

“Well, I guess we’ll think about it then, won’t we,” said Joe. It wasn’t really a question, but an order. At the least it was a demand.

Joe was actually worried. He had stopped living in fear of his own death when he decided that the shadows could not kill him. He wasn’t sure if it was the bricks that protected him, or something more contingent on who he actually was. He still didn’t feel like a savior, but others thought he was. He really didn’t want to tell them he wasn’t. He probably would die then.

Joe’s biggest concern, and the President’s as well, was to find Pyro. Where had he gone and what was he doing? Both questions that needed to be answered. Hopefully by the time the found the truth it would not be too late.

Pyro was doing what little boys without parents did. He was wondering around. He was playing in the parks. He was thinking about stealing some lunch, but since nobody was around it didn’t seem like a challenge, therefore it wasn’t really worth doing. He grabbed a sandwich from a local deli and left a couple of bucks on the counter. Not that the money would matter in the long run, but there was no reason to be rude. If the owner made it out at least he would have the profits from a sale.

Pyro was lonely though. Since he had found his powers, around the time of first grade, nobody wanted to be his friend. He wasn’t sure if they were afraid of him or if he was afraid of them. He didn’t really talk to anyone. There had been one little girl who always tried to talk to him until he lit her notebook on fire. She never said another word to him or anyone else. Pyro did miss his family, but there had been nothing he could do. It was just bad luck on their, and his, part.

As he sat on a swing and ate his lunch, he wondered if there were any other kids around. Maybe somebody would want to play. Jump on the teeter totter. Play tag. Hide and go seek. Cowboys and Indians. Anything that would take his mind off of his current dilemma. To use his powers or not. He had wondered what the correct answer was, but no matter how he tried, he found himself using them more and more. He was like a drug addict looking for his next score. He loved the feeling of power, but not the feeling after he was done.

“What’re you doing,” asked a little girl.

“Huh? I’m, ahh, eating my lunch.”

“I wonder,” said the little girl. “Why do you eat all alone?”

“Because I don’t have any friends. Why are you out here talking to me?”

The little girl blushed and looked at her constantly moving feet. “Um. I don’t know. ‘Cause I wanted to. What’s your name anyway? I’m Mary. Mary Ann Johnson. I’m four,” she said as she held out her left hand proudly showing her age.

“Are you missing a thumb?”

“Yeah. My mommy said my dog took it before he went to heaven. She said he wanted something to remember me, but my daddy said that he was just a mean son of a birch.”

“You mean son of a bitch?”

“Oh! That’s what he said. I did wonder how my dog would be the son of a tree. What is a bitch anyway?”

“Never mind. Anyway, I’m Pyro.”

“Pyro? What kind of name is that? It’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” said Pyro.

The little girl looked at her feet as tears pooled in her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. No, don’t cry.”

The girl sniffled. “You always a big meanie?”

“I don’t know.”

“I promise I won’t make fun of your name if you promise to be nice too,” she said.

“Deal. You want to play on the seesaw?”

“Uh, huh.”

And with that, Pyro’s entourage began. It would grow slowly. One kid here, two kids there. Nobody over the age of 13 was involved, or, for that matter, welcome. A gaggle of children. All covered in soot. All devoted. Everyone of them ready to die for their cause. Ready to die, if needed, so Pyro could live. This, the new world order. The last world order.

Pyro had already marched around most of the world by this point. Everywhere he went, death became the norm. Fires would rage out of control until he left if not longer. There were never any survivors. He was merciless, even if he didn’t thoroughly enjoy what he was doing. It kept him occupied. It kept him sane, within reason at least.

At one point he singled out this little hospital. It was more of a retirement home than a hospital. They are sometimes called “constant care facilities.” There was no real reason to go after this one, other than that is sounded like a good idea at the time. Most of Pyro’s decisions are based on that philosophy.

Regardless, Pyro started small. The front door burst and a few windows cracked. Nothing too major, but loud enough to draw people out. As the old men and women were wheeling their way toward the front lawn Pyro started picking them off one by one. Wheelchairs ablaze, hair on fire, etc. He just stood there and watched as the people rolled around screaming. He laughed a little, and continued. After either all of the people were out, or as many as could escape anyway, he sent the whole thing up. A billow of black smoke rose and floated across the city. The stone face of the building went black in a matter of seconds.

The nurses were injured, but not dead yet. Most of the elderly had already expired. They were past their dates anyway. There were a few left burning, but a shiny gas tanker caught Pyro’s eye. He suddenly forgot about the hospital and focus his energy on the tanker. It worked out nicely that as the tank ruptured, it was right in front of the facility. He just stared at the 30 foot tall flame that shot clean through the top. The ground ignited with fervor. Gas was everywhere, but stopped just short of Pyro. After the gas finally burned out, all the people in the local vicinity were dead, and the building was just a pile of smoldering rubble, Pyro turned on his heals and walked away. Another job well done. Nobody saw him, nobody paid any mind to the little kid in a hoodie laughing at the burning old people. That is normally how it went. Most just ignored him. He looked homeless. Useless. Worthless. If only they knew.

The biggest problem with Pyro was his short attention span. He suffered from the same thing all children suffer from. One thing could only keep his attention for so long, no matter how big and spectacular. There was always something bigger and better around the corner. He was known for, or at least used to be, staring at insects. He would never hurt them intentionally. Grasshoppers were his favorite, followed closely by praying mantises, walking sticks, and millipedes. He liked insects because they lived off of their instincts. There was no right or wrong in their world. They just did what they had to do, what they were programmed to do, and had no idea that there was any other way.

Sometimes he wished that people were the same way. There was too much suffering because of peoples agendas, politics, and greed. Maybe he saw his mission as returning the world to it’s primal state. Taking the human element away from the habitat of creatures that live together in what could be called harmony. No guns. No lobbyists. Just nature taking it’s course. It helped to think of himself as Nature’s wrath. It’s punishment for the foolish. For the greedy. For the conceded. For everyone.

He had no problems sleeping at night. No bad dreams. No fear. No worry. He believed in the purpose that had been placed at his feet and therefore had the power of his conscience on his side. He had more problems deciding what to eat for lunch. Now he had the issue of making sure his party was fed at least once a day. He was a leader though. He would make sure they were taken care of before even thinking about himself. He would never ask of his people something he would not be willing to do himself. He believed in leading by example and it was better to be a trusted friend and ally than act like a parent. He had very little time to grow up and managed it with aplomb.

The group, which could be looked at as a funeral procession, marched on. Everywhere they went people were either already dead, or in the process of dying. They took the roles of priests. They blessed everyone of the fallen. They said prayers as they marched the streets. They had not lost a single member and were hoping to avoid that tragedy. Pyro protected them.

They usually found a nice park to sleep in. Even if the rest of the area was black, the parks were always green. They would gather food before destroying every building and structure in sight. They had no opposition. The only ones who would care were the ones still alive, but they knew nothing of their impending fate. They knew everything was wrong, but they would never expect this. Nor would they believe you if you told them. Everyone ones name was marked. They all had their numbers. They had no idea it was coming like this. They gave odd looks as an army of children walked up. And then they died. With every death they made the world a safer place. One where they could, someday, raise their kids to be good people. They were making their world. A world with no crime. No fear. No pain. Perfect.

Children are the best at being altruistic. After about the age of 18 most people convince themselves that they can’t really make a difference. To make a difference someone actually has to believe that they can. This is where kids can be powerful, but usually lack the force to be heard. If any group of children ever had the power to change the world, it would be this group.

“My teeth feel fuzzy,” said Mary.

“Then go brush them,” said Pyro.

“But I… I don’t have a tooth brush.”

“Here, use this one.”

“Nope. That’s gross. I don’t want your cooties.”

This made Pyro think for a second. He had grown out of the “cooties” stage, but it was not shocking that Mary was still in it.

“It’s new,” said Pyro.

“Nope. It looks old.”

“Well… I don’t have another one.” Pyro thought for a second. “Here. Eat this.”

Mary sat down and ate an apple. A golden delicious as a matter of fact.

“Thanks, Pyro. You know, I always wanted a big brother. I wonder if this is what it is like.”

“Don’t know. Can you go find something else to do? I’m trying to think,” said Pyro.

“Ok.”

Mary looked down at her feet and trudged off sadly. Pyro felt bad, but he really did have to think. He was trying to determine the next plan of action. DC was where he had started, in a small way, and that was where this would all end. When he had been there before he had destroyed the White House. He was actually pretty shocked that he had gotten away with it, but it looked like the President took the rap for it. It’s like the President wanted to. It had worked out in Pyro’s favor though. He was able to get away and start his campaign.

“We’re marching in one hour. So get your stuff together and get ready. It is possible that this will be our last move.”

Everyone turned their heads as Pyro spoke. They trusted him completely and would follow him off of a cliff if asked. He filled them with a sense of purpose. Of power. Of life.

He was pretty sure that he knew their fate already, and his own. The hope was that he could make it happen and not lose anyone. He decided to keep the same battle plan that had already been working. Go in first and have them follow behind as the chaos ensued. There were a few that he worried about though. Ones that didn’t seem to be quite on the level. Not many, only two or three perhaps, but that was more than he would like.

Washington

“They are coming,” said the watchman.

“Shit,” said Joe.

“Indeed,” said the President. “Think we can do this?”

“I hope so, but I’m not entirely convinced.”

“Nor am I. Let’s just hope. How long?”

“I’d guess about an hour. It looks like they are about three miles away,” said the watchman.

“Guess we should get everyone ready. Make a call to the General.” said the President.

“Will do,” said the watchman.

The children were on the move. Everyone knew it would happen, but nobody really wanted it to. Joe wondered if the kid, Pyro, was crazy or righteous. There was something that struck Joe suddenly. If this was the time, what if the kid really was the righteous one and Joe, or the President, was really the antichrist. T had looked, for a little while anyway, like there would actually be three sides to the fight, but Joe and the President had merged forces. Everyone just assumed, naturally, that Pyro was the bad guy. He was the lighting things on fire with his mind and all.

While he had murdered, or maybe it was purified, 90 percent of the world’s population, he didn’t seem evil. Misguided, very likely, but not evil. This was the problem that Joe had with the whole situation. He figured the son of Satan would exude evil like a cheap cologne. This kid seemed genuinely concerned. Joe brought this up to the President, but the only response he got was that either he needed to be killed or everyone else would die. Joe agreed, but couldn’t be bothered to feel good about it.

The general was making preparations. Snipers were being placed at all corners of courtyard. Some on the ground floor, the other on the way up the buildings. Second floor, 10^th floor, etc. The General wanted to ensure that even if the buildings were taken out of play that there was still ample coverage of the boy. Their plan was hinging on that fact. They weren’t at all sure that the plan would work at all, but it was worth trying. Anything was worth trying at this point.

So many variables. So little time. The story of their lives. If they lived to see tomorrow, this is how they would be remembered. If they didn’t, then it didn’t really much matter. The troops, and other followers were getting anxious, and not in a good way. This was not like being a kid and waiting to open presents on Christmas. This was more like watching your kid go off to war and then waiting for a black car to drive up and deliver the bad news that they had died in combat. Actually, this was much more like going to war yourself and just waiting for the enemy to make it in range. Regardless of what it was like, it wasn’t a good kind of anxiousness.

The group had repositioned at the former site of the White House. The ground was now an open expanse, but the rubble offered some coverage, not that they would be dodging bullets or anything. It did offer great coverage from the surrounding buildings though.

The snipers and other weapons experts were in place. They loaded their weapons and waited on the ready. The shooters wondered if the kid could sense the upcoming trouble. There was definitely tension in the air. It felt electric. It felt dangerous. It felt flammable.

The young force kept their course and marched on. Pyro appeared to be thinking and not paying much attention to what lay ahead of him. They were still walking through a wasteland that had been created by Pyro on his last foray through DC. The damage and decay would end soon enough and they would be walking on fresh pavement while creating a path of destruction ahead of them.

“You can feel that, can’t you,” said a young boy.

“I can. I’ve felt it before. This might be the last time though,” said Pyro.

“What is it?”

“It’s kinda hard to explain. It’s how I feel every time I do this. I think it could be the feeling that I might die. Or it could be that others might die. I’m not really sure, but it is unsettling,” said Pyro.

“Yeah, it is. Are we going to be ok?”

“I hope so. I’m going to try my hardest to make sure that it’s not a lie.”

“Thanks. I just wanted to tell you that it’s been fun. Hopefully we can play some more after this is all over.”

“That’s the hope,” Said Pyro.

They kept marching. They were singing. Song like “The ants go marching,” and even the “Mickey Mouse Club,” song. It kept their spirits up. It let them forget that they may never walk out of this. That today might be it. That there may be no tomorrow. They followed and trusted that everything would work out, but one can only ignore so much before the fear tries to creep back in.

The shadows were doing what shadows do, but without all of the killing that they’ve become accustomed too. They waited in the shaded areas around the buildings. Everyone knew that they didn’t actually have to be in the dark, or shady areas, but they seemed to prefer those locales. Since they couldn’t talk nobody could ask them why, but they could hear just fine.

“Remember when you were brave. Remember when you used to have fun. Remember life before all of this. I know that for a lot of you that wasn’t very long ago. I’ve been making my own way for much longer than all of you, and I know that, but trust me. We can and will succeed. We will. We have to. Do it for the children you want to have someday. Do it for your friends. Do it for me. Do it for yourself,” Pyro said.

In his opinion, he was not an amazing motivational speaker, but he knew he had to say something to help ease the tension. It was clouding the air. Making it think. Making it hard to breath. They needed to be clear headed and prepared.

The children kept marching on. A slight breeze at their back sent shivers down the spine. Warm day, or not, there was a definite chill in the air.

“Think about a life without greed. Without pain. Without suffering. Think of a perfect world. Let’s make that happen. Let us embrace that dream. Let us live that dream.”

The children nodded. Some of them absorbed the words, and in doing so, their confidence grew. Others were too busy humming tunes in their heads to hear, or be bothered to absorb the speech.

“I just want to say thanks to all of you. It’s been a pleasure, and honor, and a privilege spending these last days with you all. If we never meet again, just know that I am forever in your debt,” said Pyro.

Something resembling a cheer rose from the children.

“If we live today we will have started a new way of life. A new society. The world anew. In our image. Built in the perfection that only we can see. Let us do what our fathers only dreamed of. What our mothers wished for. What your children would be proud of. Let us achieve what only stories can portray.”

Everyone was now listening.

“If any of us do not make it be confident in knowing that your legacy, our view, will be carried on. If I should fall in battle, remember me as you would any of your other brothers or sisters. If you fall, I will do the same to honor you.”

Everyone nodded.

“So let us walk. As soldiers. As the righteous. And most importantly, as friends.”

Cheers resounded. Everyone was on board. They were ready. Determined and hopeful, they kept marching.

“You know, this reminds me of a movie I saw,” said Mary.

“Really,” asked Pyro quietly.

“Yup.”

“And what happened in the movie?”

“Everyone died.”

“Thanks. I really needed to know that.”

“Just trying to be helpful,” Mary said.

“Well, let’s just hope that isn’t the case today.”

Mary nodded and continued on. Nobody else heard the small exchange, and it was probably better that they didn’t.

The General grabbed a bullhorn and thought. He thought about everything he had already been through, and everything that was about to happen.

“I just want to tell you all that the time is almost here. The time to step up and defend your country. I know he is only a kid, but you’ve all seen what he is capable of. In a few hours this whole area will be a graveyard. What has yet to be determined is who will be buried here today. I’m confident in saying that it will not be us.”

He wasn’t confident at all.

“I know we have the power and the numbers to crush this threat to our freedom. To our beloved country. To our very way of life. I’ve led many men into battle and always come out victorious. Today will be no exception. You will all stand, fight, and win. I wish you all good luck and god speed. We will prevail.”

The cheers echoed from the buildings. The children were still marching. The faction was readying it’s defenses. People were getting nervous.

“Why do I have a feeling that we aren’t going to make it out of this,” Joe asked.

“Probably because we won’t,” replied the General.

“Wow, how’s that for motivation.”

“I say what the people need to hear. Honestly, I have about as much hope of surviving today as I would of sucking my own dick.”

“That’s one way to put it I guess,” said Joe.

“Look, we are going to try our hardest, and hope things work out, but there is just no way of knowing until we are either through it, or dead.”

“I’ll shut up now,” said Joe.

And on the other side of the world… Nothing happened. Everyone was already dead, and had been for days.

Time

Without a worry for the sun, Pyro slowed down his entourage slightly. There would be plenty of light once the fireworks went off. He wanted the enemy to be impatient when he arrived. He was also worried and wanted to delay a little bit. He knew that there was no turning back, but that didn’t mean that there was any reason to go running into direct gunfire.

Day 20 (going to hit this hard for turkey weekend, but i am tired right now)

2007-11-20T23:31:00.000-08:00

[UNKNOWN]

“Jesus is here! He has come to take us home.” That’s all he heard as he rushed through the street. There was not only one crazy guy spouting it, but an army marching with signs, crosses, and a few rabbits feet thrown in for good measure. They marched. They sang their songs. They told of Jesus’ return. The rapture was coming, or so they said. Armageddon around the corner. Time to choose sides. Demons walking among men, etc, etc…

He didn’t really believe it, but it did raise questions. Many questions. If it wasn’t true then what was really going on? If it is true, who would he follow? There were two men claiming to the “the savior.” Both could perform miracles. Both could raise the dead as easily as they could raze a city. They both seemed equally compassionate. Equally nice. Equally evil. Equal is every way. There was no good rational for choosing one over the other, but if one of them was Christ, then the other had to be his antithesis.

People flocked to both leaders. Both had charisma. Both were attractive, but in different ways. It seemed that the women would choose based on looks. Some liked the bad boy look, others enjoyed the clean-cut business man look. They would say that they were just following their heart, which one felt right, but it wasn’t entirely true. Some women just like motorcycles and leather jackets. How the men chose sides was still a mystery. Regardless of the selection process, both sides were growing in equal numbers and were dead even.

Now onto the actual men in charge. One of them was the former president. It was very odd that he could actually pull the kind of numbers that he did. When he disappeared his approval rating was around ten percent. Now it seemed to be much closer to 50. his followers believed that he was the guy.

The other man used to be a videographer. A former cameraman. His name was Joe. The peculiar thing about his followers was that they seemed to accept the fact that he carried, and talked to, two bricks. It seemed he would listen to them before saying anything. It took Joe a while to accept his role, but Janice wouldn’t let it go. The fact that he had somehow managed to evade the shadows for this long was nothing short of a miracle. After many long talks she managed to convince Joe to come out and proclaim his position. She honestly believed that he was a holy figure, or at least she would say so if anyone could ask.

The future looked pretty uncertain. There was only one real safe bet. Things were going to get a lot worse before they got much better. A war was coming and it would be of epic proportions.

There was a third group that was slowly dwindling into nonexistence. These were the non-followers. Their ranks slowly started to decline as the first person decided that he suddenly believed. Then came the next, and the next, and so on, until there were very few left.

The Riders were an interesting organization as well. They stayed together as a unified group and turned control over to Joe. He tried to reject the idea, but they were able to persuade him otherwise. He left their current leader in charge so he could establish a position of plausible deniability. Joe figured that if they were going to do something he might not agree with that it was easier to sleep at night if he didn’t even know about it. There was not a single bone in Joe’s body that screamed for greatness. He was in over his head and had no idea what he was really doing, not that he would really want to know anyway.

Day 19 (most words in 1 night so far)

2007-11-20T01:25:00.000-08:00

Have you ever thought about why there are only two major political parties? why religion is generally looked at as believers and nonbelievers? Why coins only have two sides? Why there are only two side to any major issue? I’ll tell you why. Somebody has programmed us, as humans, to create potential conflict at every turn. I don’t know if this was God’s plan, society, genetics, or some little happy bunny’s goal for world domination, but it is there.

By only having two side to choose from you potentially get the maximum number of people against the other. It is easier to aggress upon one party than upon two. Hitler learned that the hard way when he decided to attack the USSR and suddenly had two major offensives going on at once. It was his downfall, just like it would be the downfall of society. Two sides just creates more tension.

Currently there are two sides forming. Those who believe the doomsday tales of Armageddon, and those who don’t. I haven’t made up my mind yet, but I do have the feeling that I am going to have to soon. I think that when the clouds start raining down blood I will be convinced. Hopefully I never get to see that wonderful, disturbing, phenomenon, but who knows. Might be just around the corner. Might be years away. Might be never. Meanwhile, when a choir of angels comes down with a heavenly glow, and I hear the full symphony playing their praises, I might be persuaded to believe something. Until then people can back off of my ass about it.

Martial law… They haven’t declared it yet, but they are starting to play like they have all the power. Some big general decided that everyone would be safer with a curfew. If you are out past ten pm, or 20 hundred hours, you will get reprimanded. Get reprimanded 3 times and you will be shot. Not just shot, but shot on sight. I don’t know if they are actually following the three strikes rule, but one could always hope. I know I’ve heard the crack of automatic weapons fire late at night, but I can’t tell with any certainty if it is the military doing the shooting. There are other factions at work here who have been trying to fight the rules and orders that have been placed upon them. They really do believe that the military does not own this country and they are dead set on showing it.

Here is the part that makes the least sense. The news has been talking about a record number of fatalities recently, but the streets are not lined with bodies. The morgues are not overflowing. The cemeteries are not running at capacity. Even the crematoriums are hurting for business. With such a high mortality rate wouldn’t all of these places be booming with new clients? It just doesn’t add up although I have seen a larger number of ownerless shoes thrown around in the streets and alleys. I don’t think it could be those things from the other night, could it? No, that would be pretty stupid for me to assume that it could be, but... It really could be.

What the hell were those things anyway? I mentioned before that they looked like moving death. Well, they did. There is more to it though. When they aren’t moving they look just like ordinary shadows. When they start to swirl and slide towards their targets, they definitely start looking like a walking version of death. Think of the scariest boogey man, or monster, that you imagined from your childhood. You got it? Good. Now take that image and make it 100 times scarier. Now picture it an understand that it still scares the shit out of you, even more so now that you know it is real. That is how evil these things seem to be. I just wonder when the lotto will draw my number and they will take me away. Hopefully they can’t find me up here. We’ll see how it goes. Until we meet again, remember to walk in the light.

The Note

Nobody has any clue. People, as a group, are losing motivation. With so many lost being lost like loose change, who can blame them. If my number was up, or I thought it might be, what would you expect? I would curl up and ignore everything. Or I would just go kill myself and get it out of the way early. In fact, maybe that is exactly what I should do. Take care of it, make it easier on the big guy. Take all of the mystery of my own death. I would go and get my personal affairs in order, but there are two reasons I just don’t care. One is that I have no family to leave anything to. Two is the fact that even if I did, they will probably be dead soon as well. So I will leave this note for anyone who cares to read it. Don’t know if they will find my body, but I think the piece of paper will survive. Well, it should for a little while at least.

Let me explain what has taken me to this point. I know I mentioned that I have no family. That is not to say that I’ve never had one, but that they are all gone now. My parent’s died while I was young. They died two days before my 16^th birthday. Ad timing, but such is life. I’m not bitter about it anymore. Either way, it was a pretty shitty end for them.

Dad and Mom went out to find me a car for my birthday. I had a hunch that I would get my own shiny, well at least drivable, vehicle for my b-day, but I wasn’t really too sure. They played it off so well. After weeks of searching they had finally found a little Japanese piece. It was older, the paint was faded, but I’m assuming that it at least ran. They took it to out mechanic to have a once over done on it. Make sure it was safe. Make sure it was a good buy. I’m not sure if he gave them the OK or not, but as they were on their way back to the owners house, some things started to happen. Not paranormal things, or anything like that. I think it was just a case of bad luck. At least that is what I want to believe.

So they were driving when the car in front of them suddenly decided to slam on it’s brakes. Dad crammed the pedal and prayed. They were going way to fast to avoid an accident. The bumpers started to close in on each other. Closer and closer. Just as they were just about to touch, the car in front floored it, and in doing so, narrowly avoided an anal reaming. With all parties unharmed, but likely a little bit shaken, everyone continued their predefined journeys.

Dad didn’t like the almost accident, but it wasn’t like it was the first time or anything. Shit happens and life moves on, he would’ve said. They continued their trip, I’m assuming here, to purchase my new car. He wanted to get on the interstate to cross the city a little but faster than the side streets were offering, so he did. He was never on to go 35 miles an hour when he could go 70. He was also the kind of guy who didn’t really care if the interstate was backed up because he believed that it would still be faster, even if it was only moving at a snails pace.

So accelerating through the onramp, he floored it to narrowly miss a semi. Satisfied with his driving skills he looked forward to suddenly find that traffic was stopped. He needed to slow his car from70 down to 15 or so. There was no time for this maneuver. He never even touched the brakes. Flying toward the truck in front of him, he swerved violently to he right. He rode the shoulder straight for a bridge embankment. Scanning for a way to right this major situation, he came up short. There were no openings. There were no outs. Mom was screaming in the passenger seat. The concrete restriction lay ahead and there was nowhere to go.

Dad was never considered stupid. With Mom screaming, he managed to scoot over a few feet to the left, almost brushing the cars on the side of him. If there had been a passenger in a convertible, he could have reached out and touched someone. He decided not to, not that he had time to even think about it. Mirrors were flying off of the stopped vehicles as Dad glided past them.

The concrete was coming up. He tucked the car even closer. I know he was thinking about a famous quote. “Rubbing is racing.” I know it crossed his mind as he turned the drivers door into a Technicolor rainbow of factory paint colors. It probably would’ve been a revoltingly beautiful thing to see. I never got the chance. He managed to narrowly scrape between the barrier and the other automobiles and promptly removed himself from the interstate.

Dad was still going to buy the car because it was just the right thing to do. That was my Dad. Mr. upstanding citizen. So as they neared the owners house, he needed to negotiate a sharp right hand turn. As he hit the brakes to slow the 1-ton mass of metal they decided not to do any such thing. The brakes were happy staying cool in the breeze and refused to do any actual work. There was that, and the fact that some debris from the shoulder had managed to sever both the drivers front and rear brake lines. There was no pressure to be built.

He took the turn way too wide and narrowly missed a minivan full of soccer kids. He did, however, run straight over a fire hydrant which caught on the transmission housing. As he was leaking gear oil and the associated gears all over the ground, he did look back to notice the enormous spray that the now missing hydrant had been holding back. I’m sure all he thought was “Oh shit,” as he impacted the flat reinforcement of a brick retaining wall.

Mom and Dad did not walk away from that incident. I don’t know if anything I actually described is accurate, but that did all come out of the police report that I received after the major inquiry and associated investigation. This was way too many years ago. I can’t believe that the first time I am actually explaining what happened to my parents is in a suicide note. Not just a suicide note, but my final suicide note.

You see, I’ve written a few of these before. I’m one of those melancholy people you see at the supermarket. At the bank. Everywhere you go. You may not notice us, but we’ve decided that life sucks and there is nothing left for us, but lack the balls to just end it all. The only reason I think I can actually do it this time is that there is nothing left for me, or anyone else anymore. That’s not entirely true, we are all just waiting to die. Not in the sense of just waiting to die of old age, or cancer, or any number of other things that happen, but a definite end to life that is not in the distant future. Everyone is going to die sooner, rather than later.

I used to be married a long time ago. I had a beautiful son who was just starting his life. He wasn’t even six years old when he was taken from me. There is very little drama to that sad part of my life though. My wife and son were going out of town and I was going to be flying out a few days later to catch up with them.

My wife woke up late for her flight, like two hours late. By the time she got to the airport, her plane had already left and they decided to move her to a later flight, but that meant she would miss her connection. She decided to fly anyway. If it had been my choice I would have just tried for the next day, but she insisted on getting to her destination as soon as possible.

Everything else was going ok when she boarded her flight. My son was being very well behaved, the plane was pretty empty, and life was looking pretty good. The pilot powered on the engines and taxied to the runway. As he accelerated there was a thud, which felt odd, but he figured it was just a piece of debris or something. He was correct in that assumption, but the debris happened to be the port side flap. It had decided to dislodge itself from the plane. I think that the flap knew there was something wrong so it jumped as soon as it could, because it wanted to survive the impeding catastrophe. It was a little bashed up, but over all would survive.

The tower radioed the pilot right as he started to raise the front wheel gently from the ground. It was too late. The pilot cleared the tires and immediately started to roll. There was not enough time to compensate for the decreased lift on the wing. He drug it into the ground and performed a spectacular cartwheel with an object that was never designed to be a gymnast. The flight deck kissed the ground like a long lost lover and killed both pilots and the navigator instantly. All of the passengers, while buckled in, flew around the cabin. The seats were ripped from the ground.

As the plane slowed to a stop the rescue crew was on it’s tail, or what was left of it anyway. All 72 passengers, and 10 flight crew members were pronounced dead on the scene. 35 families were destroyed that day. 35, now single, parents suddenly had nothing to live for. 11 husbands had lost their lives, while only nine really mourned the loss. Three wives were now widows. And the flap that had survived the crash made it into the pile of wreckage when it was placed in the crash assessment warehouse. They could never figure out how it managed to detach itself from the airframe so he lost his dream of a real life that day as well.

So I sit alone in this house. The house that used to be our home. Now it is just a place to keep my shit and to sleep. Over the past 10 years I have spent as little time here as possible. I’m not sure why I never sold the place, but I just didn’t feel right forgetting about my family. I would be going to by my son his first car soon if he had made it. If only they had left the next day. My wife never did like taking my advice. That was the one time I truly wish that she would have.

So now I am left with a few decisions. How do I carry out my plans? Should I use a rope? I could always go messy with a firearm. I have an axe that could be fashioned into a guillotine. I could fashion a catapult and go thundering over the city. Those all seem easy enough, but somehow complicated. The first two would only need a slight miscalculation and I would be left as a cripple until my time is up. The last two would take more effort than I really want to put into it. I need something quick, foolproof, and if possible, painless.

What to do… What to do. I need to solve this dilemma soon, otherwise it might be solved for me and that would defeat the whole purpose.

To anyone who actually reads this, if I dies by my own volition, great. If somehow they got to me first, then I’d probably be pretty pissed if I wasn’t dead anyway. If you are the first to find this note, then you can have anything that is in my house. You want to know the real trick? Figuring out where I live. You’ll notice that even if you find my body, there is no ID, wallet, or any other piece of identifiable information. Well, my teeth could be used if you are a dentist, but that is probably pretty unlikely.

Good luck and God Speed.

-Your, hopefully now deceased, friendly neighborhood jumper

The Jumper

The news reports would have come screaming in if anybody had actually cared. There had been so many suicides. So many deaths. The news had finally just stopped reporting on them. Everyone knew the situation so there was no point in reiterating how bad things really were for so many. Not only would it take more time than there were hours, but it also depressed the people that cared. The jumper did not know any of this. He could see a few lights below him. It is a tragedy that he did not know that everyone below him was entirely oblivious to his intentions. The lights were just from tourists cameras taking pictures of the historic building. There was a spot light that kept frequenting his location, but the police in the helicopter were trying to find the man responsible for the robbery of a stop light located in the congested down town area.

None of this would have really mattered to the Jumper, but since he believed that they were focused on him, it did manage to give him the additional courage he would need to actually go through with the grim task. He thought he was ready, but not really. It would happen tonight, but he still needed some additional time to psych himself up. He had never done this before. He had always wanted to skydive, but even then he would have a parachute. Right now he was going to live on the edge for the few seconds that it took to become one with the sidewalk, or asphalt if he could jump that far out. There was a fountain that could make for a goo target. Not only could he flatten himself, but possibly impale himself on the copper tube that stuck straight out of the top. It would make for some great pictures if he managed to pull it off.

The time was rapidly approaching. The second hand kept ticking and drove him mad with anticipation. This was his final statement. His final act of control on his otherwise uncontrollable life. The last decision he knew he could actually make. Time wound on, but to him it seemed like it was standing still. The hours he had already spent on the roof seemed like days. He tried to estimate the time it would take for his epic descent. The best he could guess, based on random things thrown off the roof, was about four and a half seconds. It didn’t seem like long, but he figured one of two things would happen. Either it would seem like less than the blink of an eye, or that it would take forever.

There were thuds coming from inside the building. Whether they were heavy footsteps, or reports from a gun, was unclear, but they were definitely resonating in the stairwell. He figured that they could just as easily be a guy with a baseball bat in one hand and a trashcan lid in the other. An aluminum trashcan lid, not one of those plastic ones. Since the volume seemed to increase over time he figured either it would stop, or he would find out about the commotion first hand in relatively short order.

The stairwell door burst open. The noise was so loud that it temporarily deafened the jumper. There was a blaring ringing, which could only be associated with absolute silence, in his ears. He became unbalanced and started to fall. The only problem was that he fell toward the inside instead of out. He landed hard on the ledge of the roof and rolled toward some flashing. He came to rest against the lip which separated him from life and death.

He watched in awe as am apparently crazy teenager swung a nightstick into what looked like the hubcap for an 18-wheeler. It would have looked like that if 18-wheelers had hub caps. The jumper was not really sure what it was, but he did know that it was loud. The teenager just seemed to enjoy being a nuisance anywhere that being a nuisance was discouraged.

The jumper regained his composure and reclaimed his footing. He rose slowly and decided that it was finally time to do what he came here to do. With a few last breaths he prepared himself for the final plunge. The teenager stopped making the racket, stepped closer, and stared at the jumper suspiciously. Just as he was preparing to jump the teenager forced him, violently, off of the roof and toward the fountain.

During the 4.3 second descent, the jumper went from confusion, to fear, to wonderment, to peace, to anger. He wondered how this moment, his moment, could have been taken away so swiftly and easily. This was the time for him to decide his own end, not for a stupid kid to murder him. He thought about this all the way down. He could do nothing but stare back up at the leering adolescent. He flipped him off quickly before attacking the fountain.

The corroded copper tubing pierced the jumpers left bicep, and abruptly slowed his descent. As it ripped his muscle clean from the bone, he continued toward the pavement. The impact with the fountain threw him completely off of his original target and sent him flipping through the air. His right leg was the first to hit the cement. It shattered all of the bones in his leg and foot except for the bones in his small toe. The other leg followed suit and shattered with a blistering, searing pain. His hip decided to join the party and forcefully removed itself from the tendons. His chest was next, followed by his head.

With his lungs punctured, chest collapsed, skull cracked in multiple places, and his heart beating faintly, all he could do was think. It no longer hurt, but he was still alive. As he lay there dying all he could do was wallow in self pity. His one last decision had been taken from him. His one last stand to take control of his life. His final action amounted to nothing because of one stupid kid.

“Fuck,” he tried to say, but before the words could leave his mouth, his world had faded to black.

Day 18

2007-11-19T01:33:00.001-08:00

At least I don’t think I am anyway.

Day 17(made some headway)

2007-11-18T01:41:00.000-08:00

It is time to start. What is being started is a whole different issue. Just be content in knowing that it is really time to get started. A little late in fact. The web that has been woven is in need of being pulled very tightly. It already encompasses everyone and everything. A quick tug of the strings will see that all are captured, destroyed, or otherwise used for their appropriate means.

Like poisoning the well of a small farming village, societies minds have been conditioned to accept what they have been told, and what they will be told. The future holds many fun surprises for everyone that is still involved. Some have already taken their leave of this place and have come to rest in their respective places. There are two sides and the line has been drawn. Some groups do not claim association with either side, but they are working for one man or the other. Take the jump and choose. To go with your friends, or against them. The fight is coming.

Joe has been very lazy lately. Well, lazy isn’t the correct word. He has been in fear for his life. The lights in his apartment are still working, but he knows they won’t stay on for ever. He knows about the current issues and has not chosen a side yet. The groups he sees as good guys, give him a bad feeling. The bad guys give him the warm fuzzies. His mind is fighting what his eyes are telling him. Therefore he has not made any decisions yet. He is still on the fence, but knows that he can’t stay there for too much longer.

The shadows have started to do some interesting things though. Not only are they everywhere outside, but it seems that there are two major clans of them as well. Some seem to thrive on the life blood of humans, animals, and the occasional, read rare, insect. The others seem to do the opposite. They try to help those in danger of being consumed. Joe has found no way to tell which ones are which, except by their actions, which is a bad way to find out while in the heat of it all. He just found it very odd that while they look the same, they all seem to have their own personalities and two main agendas.

He has spent the last week observing them with Janice and Mr. Abbot. Janice startled Joe the first time she saw it take place. He jumped out of bed, hit his head on the table lamp, and almost slammed into the closed window when he tried to stick his head through it. They were all startled, especially the two bricks. After a long while observing the shadows they figured that they knew everything. They thought they were experts on the subject, and they would have been if those nonconforming shadows hadn’t decided to appear one very dark evening.

There wasn’t anything particularly interesting about the evening in question, except that the moon was glowing an almost crimson red. It looked as if something had stabbed it and laughed as it bled allover it’s face. This is a sinister moon. The night turned out much less sinister than the moon would have implied, except that every member of congress had mysteriously died in an explosion and the related gasoline shower, but Joe, Janice, and Mr. Abbot had no idea about that. Their TV had been off for days. They figured if the shadows were killing people, who was to say that something could come out of the TV and kill them as well.

Since Janice and Mr. Abbot could not sleep if they wanted to, they decided not to even think about it and watched the alley, and apartment, instead. It had worked out well so far, and on this night it had paid off. The dividends for them being trapped amongst the cold interior of off-red bricks. The excitement that filled the room had them both almost forgetting how detached from society their shells had really made them. It definitely woke up Joe with a fury.

As he hit the window with his head, he almost decided to punch it out of frustration, but stopped just short of the act. He knew that there would be no barrier if he did that, not that any of them knew if the glass would really stop such a abomination. The fact that they could still see the occasional pedestrian vanish while walking the alley did not make them feel too much better.

The odd thing that they all noticed, upon further inspection, was that while the shadows seemed to be on different sides of the field, they did not fight each other directly. The group which surrounded the victim, or saved, first was the victor. The others would back off. This is not to say that the others would not try to sneak in, and on more than one occasion, were successful in doing so. It seemed to only happen when a gap appeared. The gap would be filled by the opposing faction almost as son as it appeared. The shadows didn’t seem to be stupid, but they were also not the sharpest tools in the shed. They were definitely sheep and since they all looked the same nobody was sure if they had leaders, or if they just did what they were programmed to do.

Running for the street, and trying not to drop his friends, Joe searched for the foggy beings and tried to avoid them. Not knowing the good from the bad had it’s disadvantages. Windows or not, they were being pursued. Starting in his apartment and continuing into the streets. The city had lost power all at once. Joe’s randomly placed flashlights would have become useless, even if they had been found. All he could think to do, at the prodding of Janice, was to run. Just before he closed his door he could see the shadows moving in his living room and kitchen. No doubt they were after him.

He looked to the sky in hope of seeing that sliver of light the sunrise would bring. The moon stared back at him with an evil sneer. Who could he trust if the moon wasn’t even on his side. Full moon, or not, there was just not enough light to fend off the creatures. Praying for the lights to come back on, he ran. The shadows pursued in groups. They handed control of areas off as he went. They couldn’t focus all of their energy on this one target, no matter how important he was.

Janice tried to close her eyes to no avail and Mr. Abbot just stared blankly at the moving shapes of darkness. If he had to describe it in a few words it would have to be, that they looked like blobs of nothingness. While against a wall the shadows appeared to be just that. Once they moved away, they looked darker than a midnight with no stars or other celestial bodies. Just blackness. They were the color of insanity. The color of loneliness. The color of hatred. The color of death. The color of nothing.

Lights still out, Joe had managed to make it a few miles from his house, even if he had dropped Janice twice, accidentally threw Mr. Abbot and then subsequently tripped on him before retrieving him. Things weren’t going great, but they were all still alive and well. As well as they were expected to be anyway. The pursuit came with it’s reasons, even if the shadows didn’t really know them in detail. The good group knew that he had to be protected, and the bad group knew he had to be killed. The terms good, and bad, were completely from Joe’s perspective and not on a global scale. He couldn’t be sure what they intended for him.

The longer he ran, the colder it got. The more he would sweat. The colder he got. The less energy he had to run. The faster he felt he had to go. He was exhausted, but determined not to die like this tonight. Not any night. HE had forgotten his video camera, which might have been useful if it would have worked. The shadows, on this very odd night, actually had some say over what electronics would work, and had decided that none would operate for the time being. They just decided it was in their best interest to disable all communications, and movement stopping devices. So far it was working with marginal success. Joe was not the only one being chased.

Joe watched a homeless man swallowed right in front of him, and could not help breathing a sigh of relief and almost laughing out loud. He grinned avidly as he slowed to a jog. He could not help but watch the horrific act in it’s entirety. The shadows had the actions of extremely through vampires. They would retrieve every last drop of blood before being finished. Joe shuddered as he realized that he was now walking as he watched. Picking up the pace, he decided that he would not be next. Not tonight. Not like this.

He stopped suddenly. Exhausted and ready to faint, he threw up. As he was marveling at the fact that he didn’t not recognize any of the food that came up, the sun licked his nose and a shadow caressed his neck. Shuddering and laughing at the same time, he turned to face the assailant.

“Not tonight,” he said.

The shadow started to shrink away slowly. He really wasn’t sure if it was due to the encroaching sunlight, or his tone of voice. He wanted to believe that he had some power over the shadows, but wasn’t going to test it just yet. All he cared about is that he would see another day. It didn’t matter if it was just going to be “one of those days,” or not, just that he was still alive. That was all that mattered.

Joe was tired. Like a homeless guy he found a newspaper and a park bench. Wood, not aluminum. If he had learned anything as a camera man, it was that an aluminum park bench could be a fast track to not waking up ever again. If it was cold the aluminum would act like a heat sink and drain all of the heat out of ones body. Dangerous when one was as hungry and tired as Joe. He was happy with the wood one, located in the middle of a brightly lit park mysteriously abscent of trees. The bricks would be sure to wake him when the sun started to set, or at least he hopped that they would. He closed his eyes and prayed that they would open again.

I’m used to people telling me I am crazy. That all of my theories are just a bunch of bullshit, but I know otherwise. Some of the things I have seen are too real to ignore. Even my friend Frank, one of the craziest people I know, thinks I am completely off my rocker. He’ll talk to his “friends,” who are invisible, and he has the balls to tell me I’m nuts.

I see things moving in the night. I know something is out to get me, and maybe others as well, but nobody will listen. I’d have as much luck telling people that I can make gold of out lead. Actually I’m sure I could actually convince a few people of that. So what can I really do to help people? I have no ideas anymore.

I’ve seriously considered jumping out of my window, or slitting my wrists, just to take the satisfaction from those who want to take me for their own reasons, but every time I am almost ready I wuss out. How does anybody really go through with it? I mean, even if somebody had a gun to my head and I knew they would pull that trigger, I still don’t think I could actually do it first. My survival instinct seems to be just fine in that regard.

Just last night I saw a guy running from something. Something that looked about how I would imagine death. A moving blackness with no remorse. The odd thing, and I think he is probably crazy, is that he was carrying two bricks. If I was running for my life I think I would only have the shirt on my back. Nothing else.

Something is coming for me. For you. For everyone. I’ve heard a few conspiracy theories lately, and I’m not sure if I really by them, but they are starting to sound more realistic everyday. I’m not religious, but I feel it probably doesn’t hurt to have a token to show at least a passing good faith to “God,” or whatever may be up there. Here is the odd thing about my token.

I have a little statue of Jesus, well a bobble head really, and he started talking to me last night. I want to think it was all a dream, but I don’t remember going to sleep or waking up. My only conclusion is that it actually happened. Most of what he said was gibberish, but there was one thing that stuck in my mind. He said, “I am coming. Are you ready?” That struck me as exceedingly odd. Not only because my Bobbly Christ was bee bopping to the music, which does happen on occasion, but because he talked. I wasn’t on any drugs that I recall, nor was I overly tired, so I have no real explanation. It does make sense though.

I’ve heard other people say strange things along the same lines. That Christ is coming, or that he is already here. I’ve even heard people say that the former president has something to do with it. One person even said that the president is Christ. If he is Christ, then I’m the virgin Marry. There is no way that shit head is divine in any carnation. He could have a glowing halo of pure compassion and he would still be an asshole. So there are some things I do take with a grain of salt.

About the blackness that I’ve been seeing around lately. I know I mentioned that it was following an odd character last night, but it follows others as well. Sometimes it encompasses them so fully that I can’t see the victim anymore. I say victim because a few moments after they are engulfed, the blackness disappears and they are gone as well. It is like the blackness takes them away. I don’t know where to, but I doubt it is anywhere pleasant. I don’t want to find out, but I worry about being a victim. Who knows though, maybe they take you somewhere wonderful. An all-you-can eat buffet, or a nice spa, but somehow I doubt it. This shit is too sinister to have a good intention like that.

Before I saw the weird guy running last night, all of my power went out. The news claimed that the whole city lost power, and nobody knows why. Well, if they do know, they aren’t saying anything about it. I think it was planned. In fact, I know it was. With the government in such a mess they want to insight fear in the citizens so they can try to regain control. Bureaucracy at it’s finest. This is how the government operates and stays in power. Fear is the best motivator. How do you think religion has survived over the years? That’s how. There is a reason that there are many phrases that contains the words, “The fear of God.” That says it all right there.

Threaten people with terrorists, death, torture, hell, or any other unpleasantness, and they will conform and do what you want them to do. I’m sure many priests have used that tactic to get their jollystick played with by an alter boy or two. Hey little boy, it is a lollipop, and if you don’t lick it like you mean it, I’ll make sure you go to hell. You know that it how it goes down. Since the stupid brats don’t know any better then they lap up the baby batter and get on with life. That is until they are 30 year old pedophiles that blame all of their problems on the bad encounters they had in church while they were on their knees. But, enough about that. I think I’ve made my point very clearly.

People like those priests pray, and hold, on to the fact that most will not question their ways or motives. The fact that “the voice of God” surges through them grants them bragging rights with the congregation. The Metatron would have a hard time finding such a willing audience. They say it is so, and people believe.

If there is a God, he is out to get me, or I guess it is entirely possible that it would be the Devil gunning for me. Either way, I’m going to be dead soon and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. There is no saving grace. No help. No protection. Nothing for me to do, but wait for my time to come. When it does, I hope it is quick, but I fear it will be excruciatingly slow and painful. It would fit my life very well. It would be the perfect ending.

They are still after me. I saw things dancing in my TV last night, and they were definitely not Teletubbies. I hated the Teletubbies. They were always so self righteous with their little TV’s in their bellies. I think they thought they were better than everyone else. Don’t get me wrong, I think little dancing freaks with sex toys strapped to their heads makes for great television, but there was always something just not right about them. I think they really were trying to brainwash the youth so that when they grew up the world would be under their control. Prove me wrong… I dare you.

Have you watched any children’s shows lately? I think the writers are starting to push their own political agendas in such a way that it is pretty transparent, but to the trained eye it is as clear as day. Sesame street is a good example. They try to show this great world of equality, but look at Oscar the Grouch. He lives in a trashcan, and you can tell all of the characters have a distaste for him. He is treated differently than everyone else. He is treated worse than Ernie and Bert, who are obviously gayer than a sailor with a 12 inch cock rammed up his ass.

And what is the deal with all of the characters in these children’s shows speaking Spanish? Are they really trying to teach equality in this country, or just the elimination of the white element? You can probably already guess what I believe. Next thing you know, they will be banning whites from country clubs, yacht clubs, and golf courses. What happened to the good old days when we could get together and badmouth anyone we wanted too without being punished? Every other race can do it publicly, but when you’re a white guy you get punished or sued for racism.

This country is fucked. The military is targeting it’s own citizens now. The plans that were set in motion before the execution of the government heads are starting to come to fulfillment. Spread the fear of the terrible terrorists and exercise the force necessary to eradicate them. That’s the story, although it just seems like a simple way to declare martial law without ever actually declaring it. This unrest is actually pretty unsettling. I’m worried about certain people taking more power than they should be entitled to. Military, law enforcement, fire fighters, even the meter maids are losing their minds. I got a parking ticket for being parked in my own driveway. How crazy do you have to be to actually respect behavior like that? I know I’m not loopy enough for that yet.

Day 16 (still behind and getting way too busy)

2007-11-16T22:55:00.000-08:00

It is now time to seize power and lead the country into a new era.

Day 15

2007-11-15T22:51:00.000-08:00

More fires, bombs, and of course, driverless carriages. The problems every has during a civil uprising. The government, from the city level up, has been thrown into disarray. Murder, theft, abuse, neglect, and littering are all on the rise. The law enforcement can’t keep up with the number of calls so they figured they wouldn’t even bother anymore. Hospitals are closing their doors just to have them kicked right back open. Rioters are on the streets and it doesn’t look like they are going home any time soon.

Congress is the newest target. Not just some of it, but all of it. He knows it as well as anybody and it is his job to make this dream a reality.

He makes his way through the security checkpoint with no more than a sigh. Perfectly calm like he’s supposed to be here. If there had been trouble, it wouldn’t have lasted long. Both guards would have been dead in under 10 seconds, weapons or not. There would be no games. He has an objective and it will be met.

In the bathroom, behind some false tiles, there are blasting caps which are remotely detonated, some C4, numerous bits of glass and metal, some ball bearings, and a permanent marker. All of the components, with the exception of the marker, are to be combined into multiple batches. C4 is powerful on it’s own, but with designed shrapnel the mortality rate should be even higher. The marker is for marking the territory. He could write funny jokes on the wall, or take responsibility. The same job will be accomplished either way. This just gives him something to do while he is waiting to setup.

After drawing a few political cartoons, mixing the death batter, and slipping into a pompous looking business suit, he steps out of the bathroom discreetly. He wants to draw as little attention as possible, and since they are cycling through politicians, especially congress men, and women, he should be looked at even less than a janitor. Don’t mind him, he’s just another fat cat politician. Out on his way to extort the public. That is what he wants all of them to think while they are on recess.

Into the House of Representatives he goes. Under the speakers podium. A few more toward the middle, and a few out toward the wings. This room is fully prepared for the carnage. Everything is armed, and ready. Now for a trip to Senate. Second verse, same as the first.

Everything is in place for the major players. Time to leave. There needs to be a margin of safety if this is to work properly. Back through security he goes. Not even so much as a glance in his direction. Things are going great.

The explosion shakes the city with a brutal slap. A massive selection of high explosives detonating at once will do that on occasion. People, who happen to be engulfed in flames, are running from the building and toward downtown D.C. The flames were a special touch, and actually quite difficult to figure out at first. The real trick was separating the fire sprinkler system and hooking it up to a pressurized gasoline source. The first explosion triggers the fire control system, which triggers all of the sprinklers. With burning debris the gas ignites and suddenly we have a lake of fire with roaming people all over it. The ones who lived through the blast stood very little chance of living. Stop, drop, and roll does very little good when the whole floor is alight.

Hitman: 2,547. Congress: 0. The project is almost complete. There are very few people with power remaining. Most received theirs from the now defunct federal government. Anarchy time is here. What a great time to be alive.

Day 14(small cause i'm burnt and exhausted)

2007-11-14T22:32:00.000-08:00

The riders aren’t the only problem. The general population has been getting cranky, irritable, and unmanageable.

Day 13

2007-11-14T00:00:00.001-08:00

Our ranks have been increasing. We are almost ready for our big offensive. You need to make sure you are ready soon. You progress has been great, but there is still a long road ahead. Make sure you are ready. There may come a time when you have to raise arms against your enemies, your friends, your family. If they do not uphold our principals they are our enemies. They must be terminated. Civil war is coming. Global war is coming.

There are only two sides. Black and white. With us or against us. We are going to be the new power of the world. No countries. No borders. Everything will be unified under our rule. You will help us with that. You’ve been trained by the finest. You are the finest our generation has to offer. When you go into the field remember this.

Don’t forget the fallen who have come before you. Those who made it possible to make it to where we are. Those who set the ground work. Our ancestors, recent and past. Our founding fathers. Our visionaries. Our martyrs. Our blood.

Now go. You have your assignment. Achieve it. There will be no failure on your part. You may never return, but you will live on forever regardless of the outcome. You are immortal. You are invincible. You will succeed. You have to.

You are trained on your target. One squeeze of the trigger and the objective will be accomplished. One silenced round. One stealthy kill. Once you do this you can never go back.

You ready yourself for the shot. You adjust for windage and elevation. You take a deep breath. You hold it and pray that your shot will be true. You exhale and release your fire on the target. His brain splatters against the marble floor and an antique painting.

The secret service scrambles as you pack up your piece. You quickly exit the building and walk briskly to the car. You start her up and drive away. No sirens yet. No lights. You are clear. Another job well done.

You will be rewarded with more work. You’ve become one of the revered. One of the chosen. A true Rider.

You’ve seen every target before. You know who they all are and you could care less. They are the members of a corrupt government. They are the enemy. There is still so much work to do to cleanse the system. Many people to regulate. Even more to dispatch. Hopefully the message will be heard loud and clear.

Funny thing about the White House. It is heavily guarded for a few blocks, but once you get a mile out or so, there is nothing to worry about. The hardest part is waiting for that perfect shot. Through a window, on the balcony, walking the dog. And they will just chase their tails until they are so tangled they won’t even know the general direction it came from. If they haven’t found you in the first 30 minutes, you are in the clear. No ballistics data to match to a firearm. No fingerprints to compare. No leads to follow. Nothing but a ghost. You are the ghost. You are invisible.

You question the logic on occasion since you are smart, but always realize that it is for the greater good. The people are evil and need to be dealt with accordingly. Things will not seem quite so clear in the future, but until an all-out war it is pretty easy to keep your priorities straight. Do what your told and you’ll be just fine. Just remember this is the right path.

You have done well so far, but very soon your skills will be pushed to their limits. You will encounter things that nobody has ever walked away from. You will survive though. You are the chosen. You have the ability to outlive this. You will return here when everything is done and get a pat on the back for a job well done. We thank you for your service so far, and wish you the best of luck in the awaiting trials, but we know you don’t rely on luck. You are destined to succeed.

<UNKNOWN>

The riders have been an increasing irritation to the stability of the US. They have managed to execute more than half of congress, the president, vice president, the joint chiefs, and even the first daughters dog. There seems to be very little motivation except for the disestablishment of the government. They seem to want the country to be thrown into chaos.

They have not officially taken responsibility for any of the assassinations, nor is there sufficient evidence to prosecute them. They are also entirely transparent. Nobody can locate any real leads to their whereabouts as a group, nor to individual members. Nobody can even prove that they exist, so for now they seem like a folk tale. A simple, but malicious urban legend.

Some believe that the Riders represent the end of the world. That they are the hand of god. That they are here to clean all things non holy. Others believe that they are the devils children. That they take only the devout souls, but until they can be found nobody can really say anything more than they’ve heard. There are rumors that they are ready to mount a major offensive though. One of massive proportions that would catch all in it’s scope. There would be no observers, only combatants.

Who knows how true any of this really is, but it will be interesting to find out. Everyone hopes it is nothing to worry about, but most have a morbid fascination. It seems most actually hope that they are real. That they will either right the world, or destroy it. Many don’t even care which just so long as something changes. Things are two confusing and having just two sides to pick from would make life that much simpler. The real question… Is this really going to be the end?

Day 12

2007-11-12T23:19:00.000-08:00

Joe, Janice, and Mr. Abbot talked all evening. Joe didn’t quite understand how their communication was working just yet. He spoke out loud, but didn’t really need to. They couldn’t read his thoughts except for the ones intended for them. It was just easier to speak out loud. It kept things much more organized in his head.

Both of the bricks had been in that wall for a long while. They had seen plenty of death in their stay. They reflected on the fact that there had not been a single mugging, murder, or any other violent crime in that alley since Mr. Abbot’s death. Well, not by human hands anyway. Things were stirring that were beyond Joe, Janice, or Mr. Abbot’s comprehension.

The evening was a long one. Joe got to know his new friends, also known as saviors. He didn’t know how he could ever repay the favor, but he would try. His debt was large, but he figured it was worth it. He was still alive, after all. Janice mentioned that they had never seen anyone make it that far.

The lights were still on, and they were still talking as the sun arose over the buildings.

“I don’t know if they can leave the alley,” said Janice.

“We didn’t have the best vantage point from that wall. Are they anywhere else in the city,” asked Joe.

“And how would we know that?”

“Good point,” said Joe.

“You do know that we could figure it out. It might take some risk, which is not my game, but it is possible,” said Mr. Abbot.

“What do we need to do,” asked Joe.

“Well, for starters, we need to find an alley way that will be dark at night,” said Mr. Abbot.

“That’s easy enough. Then what?”

“We watch them from the safety of the light. I’m not sure if we’ll have to wait for someone to walk into the alleyway, or if they move anyway,” said Mr. Abbot.

“They don’t move at all, well at least not until there is some morsel to suck on,” said Janice.

“You sure,” asked Joe.

“Positive.”

“You know, she’s right,” said Mr. Abbot.

They sat and thought of a way to observe, and possible coerce some bait into a dark alley.

“Janice, do they only take people? Or would an animal work as well? Maybe something like a rat,” said Joe.

“Hmm… If we can get a rat into the alley, we might have a shot at seeing it. What did you have in mind?”

“Cheese. There is an alley right out that window over there. Tonight we could drop some cheese, and just watch,” said Joe.

“It’s a plan. It is odd… I never sleep, but I still like my quiet time, like I’m sleeping, on occasion. Down side of nit having eyelids,” said Janice.

“I’m gonna crash then. Wake me if you need anything,” said Joe.

“Like what? Some lemonade? Goodnight.”

Joe turned off the lights and went to sleep.

Night started to arrive and the veil of light started to recede. Joe was startled awake by a dream that he could no loner remember. The last slivers of day were sliding out of his apartment, so he figured it was for the best that he did wake when he did.

Janice and Mr. Abbot were awake as always. There was not much choice in that decision, just a matter of life when one is a brick. They had been placed on the windowsill before Joe had gone to bed, so they had been keeping an eye on the alley. So far very little was out of the ordinary. The only odd thing was how the shadows seemed to grow. There was always at least one part of the alley that remained shaded all day. Once the sun started disappearing, the shadows grew in an unnatural way. They followed the suns natural angle, but there was something amiss. It could have been the fact that the heart of the shadow was darker than it should have been. Or it could have been that there was a hard line like two shadows overlying each other.

As Joe managed to get the lights on, the sun took its final bow and receded for the night.

“So, anything new,” asked Joe.

“Not really. Well, why don’t you take a look for youself,” said Janice.

“Why do they look all weird? The shadows I mean,” said Joe.

“You got me. I was about to ask you the same thing,” said Janice.

“It’s because they are down there. If they are down there, that means they could be anywhere. Well, at least they could be in any alleyway. I wonder If they can leave the streets and make residence at other locales,” said Mr. Abbot.

“I don’t know if I want to find out anytime soon,” said Joe.

Joe opened the window and tossed a few cheese crumbs on the pavement below the window. The shadows didn’t change at all. After a long pause there appeared to be movement below. A rat, or cat, or some other small animal had finally decided to take up the offering. The shadows swarmed slowly and consumed the poor beast. From the windows they could only see blackness. After a few minutes the shadows thinned and they could make out the remains of the vermin being cleaned up. It was an odd thing the shadows did. It was almost like they didn’t want their presence to be known. The three wondered how far the shadows grasp could reach. Joe knew that he would be sleeping with the lights on for the foreseeable future.

Remember

Remember a time when you were happy. Remember the family you used to have. Remember your old job. Remember the hobbies you loved. Remember you kids first steps. Remember their first car. Remember your wedding. Remember the dreams you will never achieve. Remember the life you used to know. Remember that you are going to die one day.

Remember when the government started recruiting for new soldiers after the massive casualties. When your son took up arms even before he know what side to believe in. When your daughter decided to join to cause and help the wounded. When you disowned both of them because it was easier to believe they were already dead than worry about that fate.

Remember when you were presented the flag of a patriot, your son, who died in the line of duty. Remember when your wife killed herself because outliving her children was a worse fate than death. Remember when you were about to jump off the ledge, but couldn’t at the last second. Remember everything that led you to this point. Led you to this decision. Led you to this place. Led you to me.

Are you ready to fulfill your destiny? Are you ready to ride the tiger and take this country, this world, back for the sake of you family. Are you ready to make sure their lives were not in vain? If you are then come with me. I can save you. I can give you meaning and purpose. I can take the pain and teach you how to use it as an asset. An ally. A weapon. I can teach you. I can show you the only path worth leading. The only life to live. The only way to die.

Imagine a world without pain. Without suffering. Without hunger. Without darkness. A perfect world is possible, you only have to believe. You have to know that it is possible, but it takes your effort and the efforts of your brothers, and sisters, to make it a reality.

I can see it in your face. I can feel it from your soul. You are a rider. You have the power to change anything. All you have to do is believe and it will be so. Focus all of the hate. Focus the anger. Focus the pain. Take back this world for your son. Take it back for your daughter. Take it back for you.

If you believe that you have what it takes, walk through the door. You will never go back to the life you had, but will become part of something bigger. A vision. An ideal. A soldier. A Rider.

Now is the time to fulfill your destiny and the destiny of so many others. Join us. Work hard. Die knowing that your life meant something.

Day 11

2007-11-11T23:36:00.001-08:00

Mr. Abbot… He was born of the dotcom era. Not in the sense that he was literally born during it, but that is when he started a career. That is where he made his money. It’s also where he lost it.

He started life as a simple kid in the city. He did alright in school, rarely got into trouble, and was generally ignored by his family. He graduated around the middle of his class and got accepted into the state college on scholarship. He studied computer programming with a focus on web and java development.

His wife was a culinary arts major, and a decent, but not amazing, cook. She could’ve have worked in any three or four star restaurant. It wasn’t that she lacked the ability, but instead the vision. They married a few years after graduation and started a family.

The Abbots were a typical family in the old school fashion. Once Mr. Abbot found a nicely paying job his wife stayed home to raise the kids. They were single income, but very comfortable. They bought used cars and a bigger house then they could really afford, but they made it work.

When his firm started gearing up for the sudden surge of internet properties everyone started making nice monetary increases. They even doubled the mailroom clerk’s salary. Things were looking up for everyone, especially Mr. Abbot. He was an integral part of their web development and implementation team. He was the project lead.

After a few years of constant growth the small business, which had started with four grad students, had expanded to over 150 people, all with full health, medical, dental, and life benefits. Mr. Abbot was made a partner and things were looking really great. His house was paid in full, he drove a nice sports car, and his kids were attending some of the most prestigious private schools in the area.

After three months in the partner position things started to decline. The boom was starting to turn into a crater. The partners and him believed that they would make it through if they just kept going. They had to make some low level layoffs, but they tried to keep most of their staff. Shortly after the first series of layoffs the company filed for Chapter 11. The operating budget was in the negative and payroll was out of money. The company was completely out of money and had no more time to stall.

The company was purchased by a small internet research firm that had mysteriously sidestepped the decline affecting all of the other businesses. They laid off all of the current employees. The name was worth the money paid for the corporation.

Mr. Abbot was now out of work, and even though he had been making amazing money, was in a serious amount of debt. Serious when compared to an income of zero anyway. He tried to search for other jobs, but the whole city had been hit by budget tightening, layoffs, and bankruptcies. Foreclosure rates were skyrocketing. The housing market fell out. Mr. Abbot’s equity suddenly fell below the remainder of his debts.

Months had passed and eaten away at his savings. He had no investments remaining. With his last 50 dollars he went to the bar to forget about his troubles. Stressing wasn’t solving anything so maybe unwinding would help. If he didn’t receive a call back by tomorrow he would go fill out applications. Applications for anywhere and everywhere. Fast food, restaurants, even auto parts stores, even though he knew very little about cars.

He had a very uneventful trip to the bar. The night was actually quite beautiful despite the pressure placed on his shoulders. He started to drink. He wasn’t a very regular drinker, but he could hold a decent amount of liquor. After a few hours, and too many rounds, he decided that it was about time to be getting home. He asked for his tab. $47.53. He felt bad that he could only leave a two dollar and 47 cent tip for the bartender, so he felt obligated to explain the situation.

He handed the bartender a 50 and told her his story. She felt sorry for this poor man, whose life had taken a dreadful turn, and offered him one more drink. “On the House.” He said thank you and returned to his seat. After finishing his final drink he said his farewells and said thanks to the bartender. She told him to take care. He nodded and walked out the door. It was still a beautiful night.

As Mr. Abbot was walking back toward his house he felt the sudden urge to pee. He could see an alleyway up ahead and changed his course to intersect with that of the alley. As he approached, he got the shills as if someone had just brushed ice up his spine. “I’m drunk. Don’t worry about it,” he muttered to himself.

He came into focal view of Janice, or the brick formally known as Janice, and she just watched. She said her prayers, and expected to see him continue. He stopped by a dumpster, dropped his pants, and urinated all over the ground, his leg, and an unlucky cockroach. As he was relieving himself Janice noticed something she had never noticed before. The shadows were moving. They were quivering, and shimmering. They were creeping towards Mr. Abbot ever so slowly.

“Run! Go, get out of here,” she said, but he could not hear her.

Even if he had heard her, it was too late. The shadows were upon him, but they weren’t doing anything to him yet, and he hadn’t noticed their existence. He suddenly got very tired. While looking for a place to take a quick rest he walked toward an empty, and oddly clean, spot. There was a solitary brick laying by the wall and he decided that it would make as good a pillow as anything else around here. He drifted to sleep, looking very much like a bum, and wished for a better life in the morning.

Morning never came for Mr. Abbot. The nightmares which might have saved his life, if they had kept him awake, troubled him. The shadows just watched as he twitched, moaned, and flailed around. They watched as a mugger approached from the other end of the alley and violently crushed Mr. Abbots eye socket with a hammer. After Mr. Abbot stirred again the mugger found a spiked heel, and lacking any other sharp implements, used the hammer to knock the heel into Mr. Abbots delicate temple. He moved no more. The mugger took his wallet, which was empty, and a cheap Rolex ripoff that wasn’t worth 50 cents. Mr. Abbot could never bring himself to spend more than 10 dollars on a watch.

Months later a grounds maintenance man was told to check the mortar on the lowest level. He found Mr. Abbot’s brick laying on the ground and placed it back in the wall.

“Hi,” said Janice.

“What? Where the hell am I?”

“You’re just another brick in the wall,” she said.

“Very cute, now where am I?”

“I told you already. I’ve been trying to talk to you for a very long time, but I guess you were too far away to hear me. I saw everything so I guess I can explain it. I can try at least. By the way, what’s your name? I’m Janice.”

“I’m usually called Mr. Abbot. It’s nice to meet you, now get to the explanation.”

They talked almost constantly, expect on the rare occasions when a wayward pedestrian would wander down at night. On those occasions they would watch as the poor soul was devoured by the shadows. Janice thinks that they learned to kill on Mr. Abbot’s unlucky night.

They remained in the wall until Joe stumbled upon them. He also happened to be the first who could actually hear them which raised many questions. Many questions indeed.

Day 10 (catching up to my quota)

2007-11-11T02:40:00.001-08:00

Joe

7000. Seven thousand. It is a very interesting number. A seven with three following zeros. Zero’s being especially odd considering that nobody knows when in culture they really existed. They are a totally unnatural incarnation of man. There is not really much more significance to the number, but there was a mass disappearance today. 7000 people vanished. Keys in the ignition, houses unlocked, food on the stove, dogs humping each other. It was a normal day with that one exception.

The people who are buying into the end of days phenomenon are loving it. They feel vindicated even if they are still on earth. There are a few questions being risen though. If this is the rapture, is 7000 the total number? Is it just the start or is that all of them? Depending which religious view is followed 7000 could either be a really big number, or a really small one. Some believe that all, except for the Satanists, will be called upon in the presence of god and be able to make their final choice. Others believe that the ones called upon are the true believers. The devout. Others believe it is all bullshit and that we should return to our homes and load up the shotgun just incase.

Nobody can prove anything though. They could have all just been swallowed by the earth in a sudden fit of rage. Gaia could be pissed off and start sniping people left and right. When you look at it that way, 7000 is a really tiny number compared to how many people actually walk on her delicate soil. That is a much smaller number than those lost to natural disasters. Tsunami’s can claim upwards of 40,000 people. Earthquakes can destroy an entire civilization, like Atlantis, in less than a few hours. If California fell into the sea there would be over 20 million casualties.

So it is just a matter of perspective here. Perspective and personal beliefs. Some do believe that Jesus has risen and is recruiting followers, others believe that the Anti-Christ has finally decided to grace us with his presence. If it is the Anti-Christ, he is at least a couple years late by some religious schools of thought. Others think that there is nothing to worry about. Time to pop a bear and watch your favorite show. Well that would be possible without all of the “Late Breaking News” interruptions. The upside here is the lack of commercials being aired.

Regarding alliances… The former president has reappeared to lead us out of this mess. He is one of the only acting politicians in view so people are letting him run with it. He has drawn a definite line in the dirt though. Either one follows him, or they face the consequences. He hasn’t really mentioned what the consequences are yet, but he does imply that that is not a good road to choose. Once again, some believe it, others laugh in the face of potential danger.

He has declared martial law. Well… Declared is the wrong word. He has asked nicely if we can follow the typical procedures, but realizes that he lacks the manpower to enforce it. At least he sees where his abilities are at current and tries not to cross those lines. At least not cross them with both feet.

Joe has been dealing with things on a much more dismal level. Ever since the reporter was relieved of his mortal coil Joe has been bothered. Whether it is his own mental issues, or honest spirits, he can’t be sure. He doesn’t even know what an honest spirit is, but for his sake he is better off finding out versus meeting what is really consuming his thoughts.

Joe has become more attune with… Let’s just say nature for now. This isn’t the right word, but it’ll suffice for now. Certain things are keeping tabs on Joe. These things are just doing what they were told. They are just soldiers in a very odd army. A very dark army.

Joe decided to take a quick shortcut down a very dark alley on his way home from work. The brick work looked eerie during the day, but at night housed disturbing shadows. Terrible noises. Forsaken destinations.

The shrieking startled Joe out of his daze. The sound seemed to emanate from a miniscule crack between two dilapidated bricks. These two bricks were significant to somebody else years before. One of them had been dropped on a poor handicapped girls head from the roof of the 30 story building. The impact did not kill her instantly, instead she waited for over 12 hours to die. Her final breath moved from her lips as the ambulance was loading her up. The second brick had been a homeless mans pillow, and anvil, as an unknown individual had crushed in his temple and gouged out his eyes with the spike of a boot.

Some believe that the souls of the two were trapped in the bricks. Nobody had tested the theory, but it is believed that they would stay with the bricks no matter where they were moved. Most people who knew the story were too afraid to even touch them, let alone move them. The souls were known to not be the kindest ever. They never actually hurt anyone, but they would dig into peoples minds and torture them. Some were driven so far past the brink of madness that they never returned. Some never even made it out of the alley way.

He looked at these two bricks. The two that were chattering away. The two lose bricks. They clawed at his mind. Images of death and decay. Images of life ended. Images of his own mortality. They called to him. They told him to take them with him. They needed to sleep. They needed to leave this place. They needed a new life.

Joe removed a knife from his pocket and scratched a few thin layers of mortar away. He lightly rapped on each brick, and when satisfied, removed them one at a time. Lacking the necessary backpack or pockets to safely store and transport his two new friends he decided, logically, to carry one in each hand. They seemed to like Joe.

As Joe continued down the alley he started to see the shadows, which appeared stationary, start to move. Movement alone would not have been too major, but they were converging on him as well. He closed his eyes and told himself to calm down. “It’s just an illusion. My eyes are playing tricks on me,” he said to no one of importance.

“No it’s not,” said one of the bricks.

“She’s right you know,” said the other.

He barely heard, but he did hear.

“Keep walking, trust me,” said the girl brick.

“Yes, keep going. Try not to stop,” said the man brick.

“You really want me to trust a brick? Why am I even talking to you?”

“Because you want to live,” both bricks said in unison.

He knew they were right. He would deal with the mental implications of talking to bricks later, right now he wanted to get out of this alley and live. Needed to live.

“We will explain it later, but for now you need to get moving. Those shadows are not going to be friendly if they catch you. We know. We’ve seen it more than once.”

“She’s right. Walk boy. Now!”

Joe started walking slowly.

“Did you not hear the urgency in my voice? I was telling you to move you ass, and fast,” he said.

Joe didn’t skip a beat. From a nice stroll to a full on sprint in one stride. The shadows started to follow.

400 yards to go… To reach salvation… To live.

The shadows weren’t amazing fast, nor were they smart, but what they lacked in speed and brains they gained in numbers. With every step another materialized out of, well, the shadows. They were beginning to suffocate the alley. They were making the light at the end of the tunnel look dim and distant. With every step they got closer.

One of the bricks let out a shriek which caused Joe to eject it from his hand.

“Pick her back up. She was doing that for your benefit.”

He did as he was told and in doing so noticed that the shadows had stepped back a little. She was mad. Every advantage she had just given him was lost with the delay that he had caused. She didn’t feel too convinced that they were going to survive.

Joe was tired. He was rundown. He was panting. Less than 100 yards to go.

“I can’t make it,” Joe said.

“I know you can. Just push it,” she said, even if she didn’t entirely believe it.

“I..”

“I know, you agree with her. I got it,” Joe said.

He plodded along. He ran. He was just starting to feel the fingers of the darkness caress his neck. It was a chill like he had never experienced. Hints of rotten ecstasy. If he wasn’t sure that death would come of it, he would stop in a heartbeat. They ran their talons down his spine. They kissed his cheek. He shuddered and closed his eyes.

Imagine the most uncomfortable feeling. Anything that would make you want to curl up and die without a fight. This is what Joe’s world felt like. It took all of his strength, motivation, or moxie even, to keep his feet moving. One step after the other. Moving as fast as he could. Stumbling on trash and harsh pavement angles.

“Almost there. Just keep going.” She was amazed that he had gotten this far. She actually believed that he could make it all the way.

Then he tripped.

“Hey! Watch, watch where you’re goin,” said a drunk transient.

That was it. That was the last draw. That was the distraction he was looking for. He got up and ran, hobbled, on his tweaked ankle. As he cleared the corner of the building into the light he turned his head to se the shadows descend on the bum. He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t turn away. The shadows quickly dismembered the man, but to Joe it looked like they were taking their time. They carefully separated every appendage at the muscle lines that facilitated the cleanest separation. Pealing the skin off like a taxidermist trying to preserve the perfect catch.

It looked to him a little something like a food critic eating a chicken breast. Everything neat and in order. There was life everywhere. The crimson liquid covered everything for a ten foot radius. The shadows slowly, or quickly depending on perspective, lapped up all of the blood and parts. Feeling satisfied they retreated back into their hiding places. Ready for the next victim. Wanting their next meal. Waiting.

Later that evening Joe decided to sit down with the bricks. This was done in the comfort of his own home. Every light was on with a backup flashlight within arms reach at every moment. He wanted full illumination. He would go to sleep with the light on, something he hadn’t done since he was five years old and afraid of the boogie man. Now he knew there really were monsters out to get him. Whether they wanted him, or it was just circumstance in the alley, he was not sure. All he knew was that he would make himself harder to swallow even if that meant sacrificing some of his comfort.

“Ok, so tell me what is going on…”

The Amazing Janice and the Peculiar Mr. Abbot

Their stories start quite a few years earlier than Joe’s. Janice and Mr. Abbot started life like any other people. Janice was the daughter of a transient and a prostitute. Her mom lived in a trailer park, while very white trash, was actually a decent place to grow up. The most dangerous part of the neighborhood happened to be her house. Her mom was not an evil lady, but she was very inattentive. Even though her parents were average at best, Janice had exceptional intelligence when she was born.

Throughout her pre-college life she did very well in school, even if she was bored with it. She was accepted one year early into a pre-law degree at Harvard. Her mom was too jealous that she had a daughter that made her look like a rock.

A few weeks before Janice’s departure upstate, her mom decided to throw a party. It looked like Janice would be praised for her achievements and finally accepted for who she was. Her mom had other plans. The party started and nobody showed up. No friends. No family. Nobody. Just before Janice was about to head off to bed some of her mom’s friends arrived.

These friends were from different areas of town, but they all had a few striking things in common. They were all dirty. None of them were what one would call “good” people. They were all former, or current, clients of her moms. They would all do anything to get laid. They were there for vastly different things than the food, drink, and well wishes.

“This is for your own good honey.” That was the last thing that she remembers her mom saying. Shortly after, Janice was being drug into her room.

Once in the room the six gentleman, assholes is better, decided to start having their own party. Janice became a punching bag. Her breasts made perfect speed bags. Her stomach became a decent heavy bag. Her face just something else to destroy. No matter how many bones were broken, they kept going. She started to bleed profusely from her nose and mouth. When blood needed to be spat she tried to land it on someone’s face, hair, or clothing. Only after she was curled on the ground, like a pile of wet towels, did the fun really begin.

Gasping for air. Tired. In pain. Ready and waiting to die. This was her world. One of pain and misery. Two of the men snatched her off the ground. She screamed in pain as they threw her on the bed. They didn’t need to tie her down, though they did have rope in case they needed it. They didn’t. She had not the energy or solid bones to fight back. They violently removed her clothes. She moaned.

“See guys, told you she wants it,” one of the men said.

The first of the train was the smallest, but the most violent. She screamed with every thrust. With every scream she was slapped, punched, or spit on. He went on for what seemed like an eternity. Those finished, or waiting their turns proceeded to abuse every inch of her body.

After the last one finished she was heaved out of the bed and into the hallway. Her mom wanted to see their progress. As she was flung into the living room one of the men slipped which sent her off of their intended course. She twisted as her foot caught on the kitchen cabinets. She landed, back down, on the cats water dish. The impact was below the first vertebrae. This caused instant loss of sensation and control below her waist. The damage was permanent and irreversible. She looked at her mother as she lay there dying. Her mom smiled and walked out. That was the last time they ever saw each other. Her mom died a week later after she accidentally walked in front of a moving bus on her way to work. Had the bus stopped a little quicker she would have lived as a cripple, but lucky for her mom the tire crushed her spinal cord and dislodged her skull.

The police were called from a neighbors phone. Everyone involved had vanished by the time the paramedics arrived. Janice’s mind blocked out the whole incident and since she couldn’t press charges, and they lacked leads, nobody was ever charged with her assault. Nobody knows what happened to her assailants, but many believe them to have died slow, miserable deaths.

Janice was in the hospital for a long stretch. After months of physical therapy she could use her arms consistently. Her legs were a losing battle. She could not feel, or move them in any way. They were dead to her.

A family contacted her while she was in the hospital. They had seen a news report that barely skimmed the surface of the atrocities she faced. They weren’t wealthy, but they wanted to help an any way they could. Her new family helped with everything they could. They found her a place to live, a job, and a life. When Janice was discharged from the hospital she stayed with her new family for a few weeks until she moved into a nice neighborhood downtown.

Janice’s life finally seemed to be on track once again. She had lost her scholarship after missing the first two semesters of school. It wasn’t an intentional act, but living seemed a little more important than making it to school. That and she hadn’t been discharged until right before semester three. Regardless of losing school, she was doing good. She had met a nice man in a similar situation. He wasn’t raped and beaten, but he was a smart guy who happened to be in a wheel chair from a snowboarding accident. They got along great. He ended up moving in with Janice after about six months of them seeing each other.

Two days later, while running late for work, Janice darted down the fabled alleyway. It was late and dark, but she had to be to work on time or she feared she might be fired. There were two deviants on the roof this particular evening. Had she been there the night before, or the night after, she would have rolled out victoriously. On this particular night the hooligans had grabbed one of the two brick that had been lying on the ground by the corner of the building.

From 30 stories up she seemed like a wheeled ant. Neither of the young men actually believed that they could hit her, they just wanted to scare Janice. They didn’t even know who she was, just that she happened to be there at the right, or wrong, time. The younger of the two took aim, was corrected by the older, and then dropped the red bomb. It streamed down. These two would have no idea how fast it was going, just that it looked really fast.

As the brick got closer to the ground, skipping stories at an ever increasing rate, both of them realized at once that it wasn’t going to miss her. There was no whistle like one would hear in an old world war II movie as the B-29 dropped the bombs. Just a deafening silence. All they could hear was the squish of her tires on the damp concrete/asphalt mix. All Janice could hear was nothing. She could hear death, but a the time didn’t understand what it really sounded like.

The brick made purchase with a satisfying, horrifying, life-ending sound. It knocked her clean out of her wheelchair. She lay curled on the floor. Her eyes glazed over. Blood leaking from her left ear, left eye socket, both nostrils, and mouth. The corner would say that she was DOA, or dead on arrival. The medical examiner would estimate that she had less than one second of consciousness after the impact. The medical examiner would almost be correct. Janice lay there for ten seconds, not able to focus on anything, and thoroughly confused as to what had just happened. She also wondered why her left eye felt so damp and sticky. As she faded to blackness her confusion faded with her life.

Two weeks later, after the mess had been cleaned up, the missing brick was reinserted into the wall. They missed a brick that was hiding further down on the ground, but Janice was firmly planted into the wall, which was better than having a front row seat for a viewing of the ground. At least this way she was able to see the passerby’s and wish them well in their journeys. She knew they could not hear them, but she hoped that God could and that he would save them from the same fate as hers.

Day 9

2007-11-09T18:50:00.001-08:00

The whereabouts of certain political, local and abroad, was questioned. Nobody was sure if they were even alive or not. The reporter had been investigating that as well, but had not come across any concrete evidence to support either view. The fact that he wasn’t able to find anything out was not sufficient. He wanted something tangible. Something people could not deny. Something solid and unquestionable.

Just before the night of his death, he had gotten a phone call. The individual on the other end had implied that he had such evidence. Irrefutable and complete knowledge. The reporter suspected that it was the former president, but really couldn’t be sure. He tried to ask, but the character did not oblige with any answers, or anything at all to reveal his identity. They were scheduled to meet two evenings later, but that never happened for obvious reasons.

Day 8

2007-11-08T23:56:00.001-08:00

The reporter had been handled in an odd way. He was shot in the head. Not perfectly between the eyes, but actually off center. It was quick, efficient, and relatively painless. That last fact pained greatly some of the members who performed the act. They figured that punishments for his crimes should be slow, painful, and most of all, fun for the givers. The last requirement was satisfied, but none of the others.

The reasons are much cloudier and some of his background might shed some light on the motivation. When the reporter was young he would be the kid who made his own news reports. He would act them out in front of his family. His parent’s allowed, but did not enjoy them. They never told him, nor did they ever try to stifle his imagination or inquisitive nature.

This young man would cruise the neighborhood on his big wheel looking for the next big story. Rarely was a break taken, except for a PB and J sandwich or some lemonade. He was always on the trail. Always expecting the next great thing to be around the corner. He was right a few times. He was a major witness in a few domestic violence disputes, as well as two robberies, a hit and run, and little Cindy’s gerbil being stolen. It turns out that what he saw was not the gerbil being stolen, but flushed down the toilet after someone had accidentally fed it rat poison.

He always took pictures for his editorials, which he submitted to the local paper with great frequency. Not a single article was ever pressed so he decided that his knack for writing was not a knack at all, but a detriment to his future career. The only medium left was television. After years of snooping as a child he went to college.

He studied Journalism with a minor in psychology. Not only did he think he could find a story anywhere, but that he could fix all of the bad people he found. The fact that nobody ever punished him for peeping into windows, or sneaking around other peoples property when he was a kid, had cemented his line of action as a socially acceptable way to act. He was a great reporter, but to be a great reporter you probably have to be bad at something else. His deficiency dealt with social etiquette or his lack of such refinery.

Most of his coworkers found him determined, amazing at his job, but overall, very odd. He had a notebook full of little leads. Some from the general public, some from his family and coworkers. Nobody was safe from his searching eye. If it was big enough news, he would sell out his own grandmother.

His major problems arose from placing a very close eye on the two rising factions. Both parties knew he was looking, but neither new how closely. He had infiltrated their ranks successfully with minimal disguise work. Here is the catch. A face to face confrontation arose while each group was on a leisurely march down the street. They ended up meeting in the middle of the street, well actually four feet to the left. He noticed that, but didn’t expect to be spotted by the opposing side, in which he was a member as well. Before a brawl was about to break lose he was called out.

“Wait,” said one leader.

“Why?”

“You see that guy?”

“Which one,” asked the second leader.

“Third row back, kind of between the fifth and sixth person.”

“So the sixth person. From the left or right?”

“My left of yours,” asked the first leader.

“Yours.”

“My left, your right.” Said the first leader.

“You mean Jack?”

“No, I mean Rudy. Who’s jack?”

“Jack, can you raise your hand please,” asked the second leader.

The reporter raised his hand.

“That’s Who I was talking about. That’s Rudy,” said the first leader.

“Oh really?”

“I’m sure of it. I think you have a traitor.”

“I think you have the traitor. He’s told me everything about your operations. I just didn’t realize how he was actually getting the information,” said the second leader.

“Actually, I think it is the other way around. He’s told me every move you’ve made, or at least I think he has. He did say that your crew would be heading down this street today, at this time.”

“Hmm.. He told me the same thing.”

“So, what do you think,” asked the first leader.

“Kill him?”

“That’s probably easier than killing all of you tonight.”

“It wouldn’t happen, but I do agree,” said the second leader.

“Well then, for tonight we’ll get this done and go our separate ways. That agreeable?”

“Completely.”

So the reporter, or Jack, or Rudy even, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Arrogance would account for a lot of this, but not all. Stupidity played a huge role in the decision to march. HE figured that there was a story here, but that he just needed to force it along. Just a little nudge would have this whole city boiling. His calculations were close, but not quite on. Instead of a massive melee event, it turned into an execution. Only one person was hurt and that person wouldn’t remember any of it. He felt the warmth of the lead entering, rattling, and exiting his skull, but there was no real pain. Just the sensation of losing touch with reality. Losing touch very slowly. In reality it took less than a second for all of his mental processes to cease, but to him this seemed to be an eternity. Then it was over. Just over.

There was no real significance to his death. Both sides fixed a mole problem with one bullet to the brain pan. Both sides were content for the rest of the evening. Their deeds had been done and at least one person had died. They were simple bunches to entertain. Some days killing flies was more than adequate.

The reason the reporter had been there was for a story. He had joined both groups in hope of finding action. Finding that one story. The one story that would never be beaten. He found it, just not in the way he thought.

Every major station picked up on the story, and with a little stretching, one reporter received a Peabody for the story and broadcast. If the dead reporter had still been around, he would have been pissed, but since he wasn’t, he couldn’t be. He was still dead. If the apocalypse was really on the horizon, maybe he would get revenge after all.

Day 7

2007-11-07T23:08:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow came. Joe showed up to work promptly. He examined his equipment, and when he was satisfied he sat down and waited. And waited. And waited some more. That normal time of the day, when everyone breathes a sigh of relief, and drives home, finally came. No journalist. No story. No real work. Joe went home.

This had happened before, so it wasn’t headline news, but there was still an odd feeling about today. Joe flipped on the TV and proceeded to surf until he flipped past a picture of the reporter. He flipped back swiftly, so swiftly in fact that he passed the channel 3 times.

“Found dead in yet another gruesome, execution style murder.” Said the TV anchor.

Joe couldn’t believe it. What he couldn’t believe more was the fact that he actually cared and was somewhat horrified. Joe always thought that the reporter was a real asshole, but he never wanted him dead. Too late now, he realized.

Murders in the D.C. area, and in fact across the country, had been on a rise. Rise isn’t the right word. There had already been three times the homicides of the previous year and it was only March. They all seemed to relate to some weird cult like following. There had been rumors that the former president was a major figure head in the organization, but there were no definite links. Nobody had heard or seen him since his major interview a year ago.

This group seemed to be pushing toward an entirely partisan society. They wanted two views for everything. Black and white. No grey area. No bananas in this apples and oranges world. These views included politics, religion, race, gender, automobiles, and even underwear brands. They were ramping up for mass genocide. The first to go were the non-believers. All of the agnostics and atheists were rounded up and marched through the streets. If one didn’t believe in a God and a Devil, then they would find you, out you, and kill you, or so it is believed anyway.

The murders go above and beyond. Most of these seemed to be isolated incidents, even if there were a lot of them, which arose from a disagreement. Somebody would get heated, pull a gun, knife, sword, or even chopstick, and proceed to main the other individual. The stats are not in yet as to which side of the fence was doing more killing, but many have their suspicions.

The general feeling seems to be one pointing toward Armageddon. Some of the highly regarded theologists seem to be in concurrence with that view, but very few will go on the record and say as much. There is enough tension and uneasiness to go around.

More on the gruesome murders. There seemed to be a few different methods that were being used, but no more than three were main stream. The first one was being drawn and quartered. An old form of the death sentence in which a persons arms and legs were tied separately and then stretched by horses until the person was ripped apart. The newest incarnation of this is similar except that people are using cars, trucks, or if they feel really artistic, ride on lawnmowers. One group tried using unicycles, but they attained more injuries than the person being punished.

The second method was one of forced exposure. Tied to a tree and covered in leftovers from the friendly butcher. Wolves, bears, dogs, even house cats would come for miles just to get a fresh taste. One group did try to use hot sauce. While painful, this did not achieve the desired effect.

The third can’t be considered murder, but maybe attempted if you have a creative lawyer. There are these little pink packets of coffee sweetener which contain agents, which in high doses, can cause cancer. There is a restaurant in downtown D.C. that is using this anonymous sweetener to make iced tea. It is an intentional act, and the tea tastes too sweet due to the high sweetener content. Nobody has been able to get them to admit guilt in this case, but everyone knows it to be true. There are a few other diners around the country to adopt this idea. They have all figured out that if the end is near, profits won’t matter too much.

So to sum up the current state of the interior, times have been strange. People individually, and as a whole, are getting much more aggressive. There is an uneasiness in everyone’s darting glances and quick shuffle. If there was still a threat level, it would be at red, or black if there ever was such a color. Things are getting bad and there is really no telling how long they can stay like this in a country that is slowly segregating itself.

Everyone seems to be wondering where the current president, congress, or any political figures are and what are they trying to do about the problems. If something doesn’t get fixed soon, things are going to take care of themselves in a very gruesome way.

Day 6

2007-11-06T23:42:00.001-08:00

Let’s skip ahead a little bit. Let me think about what’s important. What has happened. What is happening. To start, I am actually the president. I’m sure there is a perfectly good explanation as to how this actually happened. Here is my best shot, or two possibly. Either the computer system decided that I was the best candidate for the job after it became self aware. Or there is the possibility that every single female voter, and gay male, tried to vote against me, but in the heat of the moment, with lustful thoughts, they pushed my button. Either way it happened. It is almost like someone lent a huge helping hand. It was a landslide. I managed to get 70% of the popular vote.

I always figured that the grass would be greener on this side. To tell you the truth though, the white house lawn is actually pretty brown. It only looks green from outside these gates. Well, it used to anyway. It currently has a rather black and charred look. Then again so does the White House. Maybe I will call it the Black house from now on. Let me take you through the paces.

Imagine the huge white behemoth of a building exploding. Do this again and focus on it. Walk the dog while projecting this image. Face the street so the photographers on the street can get a good picture of you and the soon to be carnage. Extend your arms to both sides, snap your fingers, and laugh gleefully as pieces of granite, and other building materials, stream past your glowing face. Enjoy all of the warmth extending from the blaze. Comment to yourself on a job well done, but make sure to this last part before the secret service tackles you. They don’t tackle out of accusation, but safety. They think that an attempt has just been made on your life, or that a terrorist decided to take the plummeting real estate market and try to make it that much worse. They don’t know it was you. All you.

There will be a huge inquiry panel launched to figure out what happened. They will try to find the security breach and fix it. They will chase their asses until they find an appropriate scapegoat. Funny thing about assassination attempts, even if it was fake. Instantly everyone is on your side because they think someone just made an attack against America. This means I have to hold a press conference. I have to act surprised and all shaken up. I have to tell a story with a smile on my face. If I’m smiling it must be true.

You are probably wondering how I managed such a great feat and I will tell you. You will probably think I am a little crazy, but I’m not. At least I don’t think I am. Don’t know if telekinesis is the correct word, but it does feel right. I destroyed it with my mind. Focus is really the key. I don’t think I am a super hero, or villain might be more appropriate, but I do have something inside of me. Some really cool trick that I am just learning about. It is like growing up all over again. Rediscovering everything that I took for granted. Everything that I took to b true and accurate. All of it has jumped out the window and left me alone to figure things out for myself once again.

Hopefully nobody was inside, but I guess if someone was there I probably did them a favor. Things are going to start getting really interesting around here. I’ve got plenty of energy, and I’m sure you remember some of my views. Just think about it, I don’t think I have the time to explain everything again. I might ramble, but not just for the sake of hearing myself speak. Ok, that’s bullshit. I think I do like the sound of my own voice.

“Thank you for tuning in tonight for our 2 hour special presentation on president…” The TV drowned in static momentarily before switching off.

The Reporter

“There is an odd story here. I’m not sure where it is going to end, but I do know that the road it has followed so far has taken many odd turns. Anything having to do with the current,”

“Former,” said Joe the cameraman.

“Sorry, former president becomes hard to quantify.” The journalist said.

“Yes, but I don’t know that former is the proper word either. While he might be out of office, he still seems to be controlling everything. Probably more than he did while he was in office.” Said Joe.

“I know that I can hear you, but when you are behind the camera I don’t think that anyone else really can. Besides this is my piece so can you try to keep the comments inside of that little head of yours?”

“I can try, but since it is so little, the good ideas would rather escape then be confined to a life of idiocy. And if you want the shot, you just have to deal with it.”

“I can find other cameramen,” said the journalist

“True, but most will not be able to endure the same level of boredom before scratching out their eyes or punching in their eardrums with a ballpoint pen.”

“I think that’s enough”

“I’ll say that’s your decision, being the man in charge and all, but…”

“I…”

“I know, I know. I’ll shut up now. I understand all of the talent is in front of the camera, not behind it. So, please continue,” said Joe.

“I don’t feel like it anymore. Let’s give this another shot tomorrow.”

“How many lines can you actually say in a day? Actually, how many do you ever keep?”

“Only the good ones. So for the past week? None.”

“Sweet, so it should only take, say, a couple more years, or the rest of our lives, to actually get this done? By that time nobody is going to care.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” The journalist said.

Day 5

2007-11-05T23:09:00.001-08:00

I’ve always hated things like that. You get a tune stuck in your head. You can usually remember the chorus line, but can’t remember the rest. It ends up going something like this. On the road again, blah blah blah, blah blah, blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah, something something, on the road again. You can piece that all together. I’m sure you know the tune, and if you don’t you must be a terrorist.

I’m still trying to feel out my position. What I stand for, and against. It is hard to narrow everything down to a black and white view on everything. What’s my stance on abortion? Tax cuts? Vehicle emissions? Who should be in my cabinet? What color suits should the secret service wear? I’m thinking periwinkle with a hint of rose. I’ll make the badasses of the world look like the biggest limp wristers ever. There is a reasonable thought in all of this though. It will definitely show me who is dedicated to their jobs. If I’m in fear of my life I think it would be nice to know that the men protecting me are dedicated.

I wonder if anyone would allow me the privilege of disbanding the EPA. I figure this world is here to be plundered. Let’s run cars with no cats and black smoke dumping out the tailpipes. We can get rid of the IRS because we aren’t going to be here much longer anyway. The deficit will be around till we die so why try to fight it? I don’t think congress will go for it. How can I get around that one little snag? I’ll think on it. Ron or Billy might have some ideas. Not that I trust them to make these vital decisions, but it can’t hurt to spitball anyway.

So it turns out that today’s speech, or rally, was held at a catholic church. That was awesome. I never figured I could drop so many jaws at once. You even mention the word abortion and their eyes look ready to pop. The fun didn’t stop there though. When I walked in I put out my cigarette in what appeared to be a big ashtray. It had water in it, but it looked like the birdbath I use at home for this very same purpose. Plus I only assumed because there were no other ashtrays around. I think I was incorrect in my assumption. Luckily only a few people were there at the time. I didn’t let it bother me too much. I had a speech to do. I had important issues to attend to. I had to get my agenda out there. I think my comments about the roll of the church were viewed with some criticism.

Really though, when you think about it, why does the church exist? Here are my thoughts, and you are more than welcome to disagree with me, but don’t expect me to change my mind. Society needs rules, structure, discipline. The church provides a means to accomplish this. It can exert force on people who are questionable at best. You tell them that god doesn’t want you to kill people and they don’t kill people. He tells them not to steal, they don’t steal. It is all in a effort to control the masses. Promise some grandiose, yet boring, eternity and people line up and just wait to die and have that better life. They try to control their instincts and impulses because they want to be in that perfect image of some fable. Some children’s story hero. The ultimate work of fiction. That’s my view. Having said that though, I would never abolish the church. I think they stick their hands into the wrong cookie jars at times, but I think we would be worse off without them. Doesn’t mean I have to like them. I guess they are just a necessary evil.

So, yes… It was an interesting time. I think they were ready to go grab pitchforks and burning tree limbs. I made it out of there in time, but I was actually worried. I made it to the van, popped in some mellow rock, and let my demon of a driver escort us away from the hell I had started. I think I have officially pissed off the catholic church. Hopefully nobody smites me. I guess there would have to be somebody around if that were to happen.

So off on the road we went. I swear I’ve missed some days here and there. Remember the start of this trip, I remember some of the appearances and speeches that I’ve made, but looking at the calendar I don’t feel like it has been as long as it has. I’m a little fearful of the remaining time. I’ve made fast enemies everywhere I have been. I can’t even get the KKK to support me. The rainbow coalition has issued death threats. Both political parties won’t touch me with a 10 foot pole. Hell, even that is probably too short. Every established organization has boycotted my candidacy. NAMBLA is a different story, but I won’t touch them, even though they’ve tried to touch me, or at least offered me a rather young aide. If you don’t know what NAMBLA is, look it up. I’m sure there is something on that great, big internet.

I’m still receiving money from somewhere, but we can’t figure out where it is actually from. It actually creeps me out. I’m spending it, we have no other option if the campaign is to continue. I have this feeling that at some point I’m gonna be called on it and a big favor will be owed. If I don’t win the election I don’t think I will have anything to worry about, and I don’t think there is any way I can win. I know that I’ll get at least one vote. That is if I decide to vote at all. I’m not expecting too many others to join on the bandwagon.

Out of left field here, but who would have thought that I could make it onto every state’s ballot? I’m running independent, for obvious reasons, but I made it. I think I would really like to know how, but I’m not curious enough to actually dig into it. This is how I understand it. I would have to have at least one supporter who went out and collected signatures, a lot of signatures. That points to two options. I had one supporter in all 50 states that was able to convince many, many people. Or the alternative, that one supporter lied out of their asses to get me there. That one individual could have said, “Please sign my petition to show congress that international education about the proper care of house pets, namely dogs, could lead to a greater joy and respect for life in third world countries,” and then found enough stupid people to sign it without reading it. I think that is probably the more likely scenario. Who would want to eat a dog anyway? Doesn’t sound too tasty to me.

There are some debates coming up soon, within the next few months anyway. I might even be invited. You do know that I am a master debater right? I practice every night, maybe even a few times a night when I get really lonely. I just wonder how I would answer questions related to the economy, fuel efficiency, and pollution. What about my stance on the role of an active government? Don’t even get me started on the “Global Warming” myth. How many people can honestly say that 100 year old thermometers had the accuracy or our current 0.0001 degree resolution pieces of today? I know I can’t say that I can with a straight face. Of course it is debatable, otherwise it would make a poor debate question.

I do debate though. Should I say what people want to hear? I’ve done a pretty poor job of that so far and it is probably too late to change that. Guess I should just stick to my insanity of a campaign and run it straight. Not that anything I do is really all that straight. If I can say it with a smile it must be true.

Day 4

2007-11-04T22:58:00.000-08:00

I’m not really sure what I am getting into. I’m only a few weeks in and already I am feeling the presence of failure. I mean honestly, there is no possible chance that I will actually win this election. I have noticed some odd things though. Advertising, that I didn’t pay for, or even heard about, has been airing on TV. I think it said “This message paid for by the Committee for a Dwindling Life.” Who, or what rather, is that? I’ve never heard of these people, but they seem to know who I am. I must admit that the commercial was tasteful and true to my vision. The vision of a few declining genotypes. They put it in such a way to almost make me sound sane. Quite masterful work, if you ask me.

I did also notice that my bank account looks much healthier than I left it. Last I checked there was two dollars and 54 cents. That was after my huge advertising dues were paid. I’m not going to say how much is there, let’s just say that I shouldn’t have many issues with the campaign. I wonder if the bank screwed up or if some anonymous individual, or group, has taken an interest in me and decided to back my efforts. Hopefully I’ll find out someday.

I haven’t even seen one of “my” commercials yet. I do hope that they will air. I am also starting to receive some publicity from the local press. There was a heart warming picture of me offering a homeless man some food to eat. It was a hotdog to be exact. A two week old hotdog that had been sitting in my car. I think it must have been laced with some super preservatives or something. It was still soft and pliable when I gave it away. The bun was looking a little worse for wear, but the dog actually didn’t look to bad and since my car was hot, so was the stick of rotting meat.

The homeless guy almost choked on it, but with a swift pat on the back he grunted and continued to eat the death dog. Hopefully I didn’t kill him. Actually I don’t think it really matters. I got a great picture out of the deal and that would have made it worthwhile to me. I think he would feel the same if he really thought about it. What could he possibly be bitter about? He would have sacrificed his life for the greater good. He would be able to claim a huge helping hand in electing the most influential leader in history. That is a legacy to be proud of. If only I could be so lucky.

Anyway, here I am. Tired, bored, confused, and tired. Oh… I already said that. This is a job in itself. I really did figure that traveling around would be mostly fun and games. I’ve only made it 2 towns over from my home, but I already miss it. I’ve got a couple thousand more miles to go and if it takes this long I don’t think I will ever be done. We are on a bus because there is was no way I could afford to fly everywhere. I know I could afford to do whatever I want now, but it seemed like a waste of money to fly everywhere when we have a perfectly good bus and driver. They also told me I would lose my deposit if I canceled at the last minute.

So here we are. Billy, Ron, some driver, and myself. I’m about ready to screw the bathroom door shut because people don’t seem to understand that on a tour bus their beef becomes everyone’s beef. And let me tell you, there has been some nasty beef so far.

Ron is my campaign manager. He is heading up the finances and scheduling the appearances. Billy is taking care of the fundraising and speechwriting. I haven’t had the heart to tell him that he is dyslexic, but I think he is. Well, he could just be an idiot as well. Some of the words that he expects me to say make no sense. Actually, most of what he writes is complete garbage. He writes it. I ignore it. He writes more crap. I ignore that as well. He seems to enjoy doing ti though so I just let him think that he is great at it.

Ron’s job has got to be simple. We have plenty of money and people keep calling him to schedule speeches and photo ops. All he has had to do is pick up the phone, flip to the appropriate page in the planner, and say “Yes, he’ll be there.” It is almost creepy in a way. It shouldn’t be this easy should it? I just assumed that taking the country by storm would be a fulltime job. I still think I am going to lose, but at least it will be in style.

I read a quote recently and I’m not sure how to take it. Some reporter wrote that I reminded them of a young Hitler. He went on to say that I was vibrant, full of energy and conviction, and a fresh face to watch. Who uses Hitler’s name in general conversation as a good thing? I mean it really did sound like a compliment, how he wrote it and all, but I’m still not sure if it is something to be proud of. If I win I might as well start throwing people into concentration camps and wearing a white sheet around. I think I could be a real sheet head if I was so inclined. I guess that is better than being a rag head. Either way, it was just an odd thing to read. I am honored and all, he was an amazing public speaker, but I know my opponents are going to use it against me.

On the road again… I can’t get that song out of my head.

Day 3

2007-11-04T01:24:00.000-07:00

Start Here… Insert credit card or other form of payment to include, but not limited to, cash, check, money order, small children (under 5), rubles, and last, but not least, goat fetuses. I swear that is what I heard on the other end of the line. Well, line isn’t the correct word when you are on a cell phone. Advertising moguls are sharks. No, they don’t swim around and try to look menacing with that creepy fin on their back. It is more the fact that they will charge you out of house and home if you let them.

So it is official. I have announced my candidacy for president, but nobody heard it. I guess it would have helped to have some advertising, a press conference, or even a bullhorn when I decided to scream it from the rooftop of my 1 story condo. Well, scream isn’t the correct word. I think faint whisper would sum it up much better. It would have been more effective on a soapbox down town. At least someone would have listened to me there.

Now what am I supposed to do? I just wasted too much money on advertising. Do I just sit around and hope that people will agree with my silent message? Somehow I don’t think that will work. I don’t think that will work at all. I still need to figure out how to fund my campaign… Where to travel… What to talk about… Why I’m even doing this… Oh and figuring out how I am supposed to eat with no money might be a good thing to filter through as well. I don’t think that a bum is really qualified for the job.

So I was trying to give some ideas to the advertising guys. Some ideas that I thought would make a very valid point. The first was “I know you don’t really give a shit, so why not vote for me?” They didn’t really seem to keen on that one. The second, “Every candidate is an asshole, so why not vote for the one with the biggest dick?” Once again this was turned down. They keep saying something about the FCC. While I don’t see what is not appropriate with either of those, we ended up settling on this one. “Why vote for the candidates of change when tomorrow will be the same anyway?” Trust me, I know. It isn’t anywhere near as good as my first two instant hits, but it does hold true to the same message. Why attack individual people when you can attack the whole system. It just seems like so much more fun this way.

While I guess I haven’t mentioned quite a few things so far. I’ve convinced two people to help me out in my battle for the round table. Two of my friends, well my only two friends really, offered up their lack of expertise towards the cause. Billy and Ron are good friends. I think if they had paying jobs, or some other sort of life they would tell me to take a flying leap, but since they don’t, they didn’t. I don’t know if they will be a help or a hindrance, but I couldn’t say no. It is my fault that they lost their jobs. Well, I guess it is kind of my fault. They seem so think so and I am all about the group thinking, mob mentality. If someone says something enough times I will probably start to believe it, even if it is complete bullshit.

Here is how it supposedly goes. I will remind you though that I don’t agree completely with the blame that is being laid at my meticulously manicured feet. And yes, they really are. Anyway, I was walking down the street to get some coffee. I was down town at this time. Traffic was pretty light. It was sunny and warm. That last statement has absolutely no relevance by the way. So there I was, minding my own business, in my desperate search for one of the many substances that I am addicted too. Ron and Billy work, well I think worked, down town at a little niche coffee place. As I sauntered closer to the shop I could smell the heavenly scent of French pressed coffee. The dark beans from Columbia filling my eyes.

Now I don’t know if it was from the lack of sleep, caffeine, common sense, or general hand-eye coordination, but I started to cross the street. I looked both ways I’m sure, and the road was deserted, but as I neared the far end of the crossing, I heard a terrible sound. The sound was that of the battle between friction and momentum. Momentum was winning by a head. As I look right, which was the improper direction to scan for cars, I see nothing that could cause the terrible racket. I swing my head left and it hits me. No, not the car. The fact that there was a behemoth readying it’s attack on my fragile cage of vitality. I’m figuring that this is the end, or at least a long trip to the local medical facility. Obviously, or needless to say even, I was spared. There was another bipedal who was not so lucky.

The crunch sound was exquisite, and almost beautiful in it’s perfection. I really had to fight a chuckle from splitting my face into a massive grin. I’m not sure if it was the fact that I was avoided, that I just got to see someone mowed down like a rainforest, or a mixture of both. I know what I think, but I’ll let you decide what you want to believe.

Anyway I lived, someone died, and my friends got fired. That is not why though. As the car derailed from the asphalt and catapulted onto the cement, another bystander, or good samaritan decided to scream a the top of her lungs. I’m sure it was meant as a warning, but if I was a litigious person I would definitely file charges for the hearing damage and emotional torment that this particular scream caused. I’m not that guy though. Either way, not only did that shriek threaten my tender sensibilities, but it also caused Ron to drop a coffee decanter. We are talking about one of those industrial sized glass jobbies. This caused some minor commotion in itself and a grenade sized proportion of glass shrapnel to scatter through the quaint little shop. Not only did pieces end up all over the floor, but in two customers eyes, one ladies throat, and Billy’s crotch. Billy was in the process of handing a customer one of the large paper cups filled to the brim with the steaming hot bounty of fine roasted beans. Billy released the cup in short order and grabbed his crotch. While this could have been considered offensive, the only customer who would have noticed it was busy focusing on something else. It turns out that the cup of coffee hit the ground, exploded, and scolded the customers left ear, right nostril, both hands, and even two thirds of his pinky toe that had been sticking out from his jesus sandals. Needless to say it was a bad day at work.

When their boss came back from breakfast he was not impressed at all. The shop was a wreck. People were bleeding. One might have been dying, but we still aren’t sure if he got up and walked away or if the paramedics retrieved him. Either way, the boss was being threatened with a lawsuit by at least one of the customers. It was determined that he could avoid the hassle if he fired the two individuals that were seen as responsible. To someone who had walked into the movie after the half way point, this would appear to have been Ron and Billy’s fault. It wasn’t, but they were relieved of their espresso duties in short order. Now they blame it on me. If I had just seen the car then it wouldn’t have happened. At least that was what they are trying to tell me. I’m not convinced of it yet, but I’ll only be able to lie to myself for so much longer.

So that is how Billy and Ron ended up on my campaign team. If nothing else, they make a mean cup of coffee. This is doubly true if you consider that I won’t give them glass wear to destroy.

Day 2

2007-11-03T00:13:00.000-07:00

I’m tired right now and there is much to tell, but I fear that I may not have the energy to finish. I figure that I can at least start though. I don’t know if you really care what I have to say, or if you will stick around long enough to make that determination, but that is for you, and you alone, to decide.

Let’s start somewhere. I’m not sure where yet. I could talk about being a young kid. A dying man. An embryo. Regardless of where I start, I’m still basically nothing. Someone searching for love, life, a purpose. Maybe I found it eventually, but I really can’t be sure. Some days it is just too hard to tell.

There is nothing like a child to show you how worthless you really are. Working a nine to five that drains the life from you like a slut draining your cock. These are the normal people. These are the working class. The average Joe’s lacking just enough motivation to throw themselves off of a bridge. Not because they don’t want to, but because it takes too much energy. Too much planning. Too much time. Too much… Commitment.

This is me. This is how I have lived my entire adult life. Grinding through just to make my piece of bread. My livelihood relying on some asshat who thinks he is better than me just because he has the title “manager.” Doesn’t matter if he can’t count to ten and doesn’t know that 12 times 13 equals 156. It isn’t about accomplishments at all. It’s all about time in grade. These are the same people that you ride the bus with. That cut you off in traffic. That chase your kids around with candy bars from the blacked-out windows of a conversion van. Your teachers. Your neighbors. Your kids, in a few years.

We’ve covered the disdain. The loathing. The meaningless drive to succeed. What is success anyway? Is it making a lot of money? Having a lot of women? Feeding your family? Being happy? I guess I have failed in all regards. I never would have thought about it until those little hazel eyes were staring back at me. Judging me. Judging me from day one. Still judging me. “Mike’s dad is a fire fighter. John’s dad is a police man. I wish my dad was a police man.” I can only take so much before I’m ready to take a quick stroll to my collection of firearms and other miscellaneous implements of pain, misery, and torture. I would silence all of the pain in the world. All of the wanting. Needing. Crying. Everything and everyone. But wouldn’t I be doing society a favor? There would never be another war. No more famine. No more death. Over population would be a thing of the past, but so would people. I’m sure there is enough fertilizer or lead in this country alone to accomplish such a small feat.

I’m going a little overboard now. I’ll cool it for a while. Let’s get back to the subject at hand. Me. Just to sum up what has happened so far. I hate my life and would end it all if I had the resolution and commitment I would need. Needless to say I am a pussy. It isn’t cause I really have anything left to live for. It is more on the lines of the fact I have nothing left to live for. Just the race that everyone else does toward death. It would be nice though, wouldn’t it? Not having to worry about the bullshit that plagues all of us. Ok I’m done with this conversation. The musings on the benefits of death. My miserable excuse for a rant. On to something happier and hopefully more interesting.

If today was the day you died how would you feel about life? Would the god you love, love you back? I really don’t believe in god very much. Sure I have my reasons that seem concrete enough, but it all boils down to the lack of a warm fuzzy feeling when it comes to church and religion. It could be the fact that my priest liked to take me in the back room, and, you know. It’s not what you’re thinking, unless you’re thinking that he was teaching my to pray on my knees with a full mouth. If you were thinking that then you would be 100 percent correct. It is pretty hard, by the way, to say hail marry’s with a snake in your mouth. Even harder when it isn’t attached to the host anymore. Kind of brings a new meaning to the “Body of Christ,” well at least the body of someone who used to do “his” work. Obviously he wasn’t doing it very well. Hell, I think I probably did him a favor. I made sure that his vow of celibacy would be carried out from that day forward. You want to know the amazing thing? He is still at the same church. Sure he serves a role with less capacity, about 6 inches worth to be exact, but he is still there. Now that has been covered, let’s talk about Armageddon.

Do you honestly believe in that shit? I’m mean really… Let’s think about this for a second. Jesus, or is it supposed to be the antichrist? Either way, someone comes down, or up I suppose, to kill everyone and then the sinners get sent to hell and the holy people go to heaven. Where is the fun in that? I think if there is a god, and by default a devil, wouldn’t half of the fun be in playing up like little chess pieces? That’s what I’d be doing if I were one of them. It just seems to take the flavor out of being one of the 2 supreme beings. What are you supposed to do as an angel or a demon at that point? Talk about a boring, and dim, career prospect.

And what about this antichrist? Does he know what higher capacity he is supposed to fill when he arrives, or is born, or trans-mutates, or whatever he does? I’d like to think that he is born like a normal kid and then is selected, without his knowledge or consent, to be the destroyer of creation. Now if that isn’t a shaft in the ass, I don’t know what is. He has no chance to repent because he is programmed to destroy, not to be a person with the little free-will thing that we were all raised to believe in.

Ok, I’ll play devil’s advocate to my own questions. What if there is a god? How do we have freewill if there is a higher power who already knows what we are going to do. Doesn’t that imply that it is programmed in some way or another? This is the same concept as the “Moral Compass.” The fact that people believe that there is some inherent sense of right and wrong, of good and evil. I think it is some serious bullshit, but that is only my view of the facts according to me. People are evil and try to control their instincts which tell them to rape, pillage, and kill every living thing within a, um, 5000 mile radius. That radius would increase dramatically if we were capable of interstellar space travel. I guess at that point it would be infinite. But at that point, how could you really have an infinite radius? That is really big when you think about it. Like super big. Wow… I really took the philosophical talk to an interesting place. I think I’m done with that for the time being.

So here is what has been going on. I went to work today. I got fired, or as I’d like to say, I was forced to take a permanent leave of absence. Understandably this tweaked me the wrong way. I must admit that I was not too shocked really. I think I can understand their point of view. I never did anything at work. I browsed the web and maybe replied to an email or two, but I really didn’t do anything constructive, or at least nothing that merited the pay I would receive on two wonderful days a month. I’m honestly more agitated at the fact that they found out then the little detail about me being let go.

So I came home and decided to go retrieve a subcompact .45cal from my armory. I was really thinking about shoving it in my mouth and pulling the trigger, but then realized that I would have to load it first. That one task seemed like a huge hassle just to leave a huge mess for someone to clean up. So I put it back. Then I thought about it again and determined that if I was going to do it, I should have done it the first time. Why? Because now I would have wasted even more time by retrieving it and putting it back, just to retrieve it again. I’m not big on wasting my own time, but if it is on someone else’s clock I am all kosher. It almost give me the warm fuzzies. Yes I get off on the weirdest things. Don’t try to deny that you have some interesting fetishes as well. Some like toes, other like other things… I like jacking people around and getting paid for it without anyone being the wiser. Of course I would never do that to an elderly old lady or anything sick like that. Only decently funded corporations.

I know there are quite a few things about my life that I haven’t mentioned. That has been in the interest of time, or because some things are better left unsaid. Please don’t fret though. If it is important I will probably get to it. I guess if I don’t it isn’t that important after all.

When I was growing up I never knew my dad. In fact I’ve never even seen a picture of him. My mom, if you could call her that, never uttered the smallest, quietest word about him. Well at least not within earshot of me. Every time I tried to bring it up she would start talking about knitting or pottery or the correct way to grow your weed. I guess she was less of a mom and more of a food donor. I guess she was a holding tank for my first 9 months, but after that she was around as little as possible. It wasn’t a money thing either. Somehow, and I’m not sure how, she never had to work. Money was never a problem.

Now that I think about it, I don’t even remember seeing any pictures of myself when I was growing up. In fact, I don’t think I have ever seen a picture of myself. I know what I look like, but if there was a camera involved it never cooperated when it came to shooting my amazing attractive mug. If I am so attractive why do I call it a mug? The term mug just doesn’t seem to do my picturesque mask justice. Then again, if I can’t even get a legible picture of myself how could I possibly be considered picturesque? These are things to ponder, but they are most definitely for another day.

To tell you the truth, I am half amazed that I am still talking. I’m tired. What amazes me further is the fact that you are still listening. I’m never been an oratory genius, as I’m sure you can tell, yet here we still are. Do you think you can make it too the end? I know I can, but I’ve got the vocal endurance of a chipmunk on coke. Now by coke I mean cocaine not that ever so tasty beverage which goes by the name of Coca-Cola Classic.

Why is it Coca-Cola Classic anyway? What makes it so classic? Diet Coke has absolutely nothing to do with the “Classic” so why even make the designation? This is also taking into account that Diet Coke is “Diet Coke,” not “Diet Coca-Cola.” Oh if something loved me as much as I love my Coke. Yes, I’m talking about the carbonated beverage with questionable roots. From here on in I’ll say it with a lowercase “c” if I’m talking about the narcotic party maker, otherwise you will hear a very big emphasis on the uppercase “C” if it is the tasty treat. How does one pronounce the difference? I have no fucking idea, but we’ll figure something out.

Sorry, let’s get back on track before I bore myself even further. We were talking about roots. I guess I could be considered Me Classic and my son would be Diet Me. My mom would be considered Cherry Me. My dad could probably fall under the Mr. Pibb monicker. There is a reason for this though, While I know he had to exist at some time it seems that he disappeared suddenly and never came back to light. I have now reduced my family, or at least the ones that matter, to cans of soda. Well I guess if you are from the north they are different forms of pop. Enough of this.

So you know I got fired. I need to figure out what to do now to pass the wee hours of the night, or day, whichever I decide really. I can deal with the day shift. I like the swing shift. I adore the night shift. So much less bullshit and bureaucracy. That is what life should be about. Make your life as easy as you can while making others harder. It seems like a worthwhile pursuit that I’ve become very accustomed to.

I’ve always thought about politics. I think it would be the perfect job for me. I could be a senator, but why stop there. I could be the president. I think the amount of work you really have to do is probably pretty minimal. Here is where my head is at. When you look at it, the president has a whole set of advisors, aides, and others who are willing to bend over and take it up the ass. All just because you said so. You stick out your thumb and they are all fighting over who can ride it better, longer, and harder. So all you really have to do is sign some forms, make a few speeches, and you get paid. And have you seen the retirement package? I mean talk about gravy. Even without any kickbacks from the lobbyists you can live very comfortably. I think I just found my new goal. There is a small hurdle that I have to cross though. I need money. I don’t think my 10k in savings is going to cover a whole campaign. This is the time to start, but I need backers. Campaign trail here we come.

Where can I find backers? What party am I going to run for? Since I’m not a god-fearing nut job, I can’t run for the republicans. I’m also not a brainwashed hippy that just wants to follow the other mass of lemmings due to fear of my civil liberties being destroyed, so I guess I’m not a democrat either. Green party… That would be a real hoot. Did I really just say that? A real hoot. Ok. I tried it, I didn’t like it. Hoot has been stricken from my vocabulary. Looks like I have to be an independent. There is a snag though. The party will not pay for my campaign because there really is no party to front the bill. I think the term “Uphill battle” is an understatement. We can do this though. All I need is your signature on my petition and it is a start. Well would you look at me. Just assuming that you will support my rise to fame and power. How pretentious am I? I guess I am a real dick, and that’s why I will win. Well, that and the fact that I’m easy on the eyes.

Day one

2007-11-01T23:02:00.000-07:00

Everything I'm about to tell you is a lie.

So, Nanowrimo is coming up

2007-10-23T13:59:00.000-07:00

And do i have a plan... I'll let you know very shortly. Expect an update on the 1st of November. I'm excited, are you?

-Dustin Hardy-