The Camping Trip (Part 2)

Continued from Part 1.

“So the prince and the farmer’s daughter got married and lived happily ever after.” Lydia finished up. 

The boys expressed their thanks for the story. Julia, however, was less than pleased. 

“That’s it? That’s your story?”

“Yes...is there something wrong with it?” Lydia asked, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, it sucked. How fucking girly.”

A Churning Desire

“Come, human. Advance.”

I obliged. I suppose I technically had a choice to do otherwise in the existential sense, but with choice came consequence, and I didn’t want to find out where insubordination would get me. My feet took me to the first of the black granite steps. My nerves stopped me there. My mind mulled over the fact that there really isn’t such a thing as “black granite” - the stairs, dais, and great chair were probably all made of gabbro.

My mind was funny like that.

The Camping Trip (Part 1)

The four of them huddled together in the tent. “When is this rain going to let up?” Andrew asked for the fifth time. No one bothered to answer – they were far too cold and miserable. “Guys, seriously. We need to lighten the mood in here.” Andrew tried, “It's not like we're going to die out here – it's going to suck for a bit, but then we'll head back to camp, take a hot shower, eat some hot food, then sleep in our regular beds.” “Easy for you to say,” Julia piped up, “You're the one who led us out here.”

The Great Challenge

I had about a mile left to swim. It'd been tough - I certainly wasn't prepared for the whole ordeal, but beyond the exhaustion, beyond the aches, I knew I could do it.

There were about a half-dozen of us still swimming - the chase boats had picked up about a full dozen. The shore was in sight. I could do it. I could push through.

The Assassination Attempt

The bullet crashed into the wall two feet away from her head. Her ears rang from the fraternal triplets of sound - the shot, the breach of the sound barrier, and the impact in the wall - but she did not flinch.


"I knew you didn't have it in you," she derided.

The man - well, more boy than his three decades of unpleasant life might otherwise suggest - broke down, crumbling to the floor in a pile of elbows and ankles and knees and tears. He'd failed. His attempt at freedom, the culmination of countless stealthy nights researching, building, planning, all undone by his inability to kill his captor.

Was it his humanity? Was this inability merely the manifestation of the fear of the unknown? The existential angst over freedom - true freedom? Was he, as a member of the human race, more inclined to accept the tortures he knew - the relentless tortures of the flesh - over the tortures of the unknown? The mind-bending prospect that what he would face without her would be solely of his own doing? What choice would any of us make when confronted with the option of no longer having an entity to praise and to blame, to consult and to obey, to shape our very existence and to give form to our reactions. Could any of us kill our god?

Or was it just him. His psychology. His defect.

The woman said his name. Once softly. Once sternly. His sobbing stopped.

"Clean yourself up and have dinner ready in an hour."

"Yes, mother."

An ode to my 03 Impala.

I have to confess, at first I didn't like you.

Call it irrational, call it longing for my truck (sold without my consent), but whatever it was, you started out in the negative. I suppose that changed.

Over the four years you were part of my life, you saw a lot more of me - a real me - than most other people. From the boring daily commute - to work, to school - to the cross-country adventures, you proved a faithful companion.

Patsy, I miss you.

Ginger Snaps

He gagged as the sickly stench of burning hair washed over him.

"Why - why are you doing this?" he managed. He knew she heard him, but he didn't expect a reply - she was too far gone to recognize him as human.

The Holiday Special, Please

During my time in college there was a little coffee shop that I would frequent almost daily. A cozy little place, it served your normal range of beverages, plus sandwiches, soups, and other treats. It had a range of furniture, from normal four-tops to a massive 8-10 person raw-wood table, from cheap Ikea chairs to cushy recliners. Once you add in the friendly staff, it was a place I could go at any time, for any reason. And I did, a lot.

The Steam Lady

Miss Martha woke up to her small dog scratching away at her door, like most mornings.

"Pssshp!" she hissed at the dog. It stopped for a moment before resuming its assault. Sighing, Miss Martha pushed herself out of bed and let the high-strung runt into her room.

Crashahol

"Hi, I'm Jake, and I'm a crashaholic."

"Hi Jake," the dozen or so folks responded more or less in unison. We all had the same problem: Crash. Sometimes called the big KO, Cliff Dive, or Caddy, Crash was the newest synthetic to hit the streets since Snooze. And hit it did.