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Nostalgiacity
Project Full Sail
Words of Life

Gaining Perspective

I'm looking through my life. Being able to reflect on where you've been and where you're going tends to lead you to either be grateful or to be thankless. Such an immense mistake that people make is to lean towards the latter. I really love to look through the tidbits of life that people share glowing off of my computer screen. I can't help but smile. I have never felt more in tune with what is happening. The cigar in my mouth, the music in my ears, the streaks of lightning overhead, all bleed together in a melting pot of bliss. There is no bad thing here. There is no way to even feign discontentment. Invert things for just a moment and even then I can smile. It only means there is more for me to do. There is so much more to accomplish. Being content with where you are only means that you need to challenge yourself to become something more. Complacency creates the realization that things can be better. That doesn't mean you can't love every second of the process. Occasionally, you need to tally up what you have and how you can get the most out of it. Chances are, you aren't. Go out. Get it. That is all.

Magic

Breathe deeply
Close your eyes
You can create
You can channel your collective insight
You must let this wash over you
You must let this penetrate you
You see nothing here
You can turn it in to something
You are the god of this world
You can take seven days or seven minutes
Your magic is sensational
I can use it to look through your consciousness
I feel your ideas flowing through me
I'm awake, you're asleep
I am the god of my world
I have created
I have crafted
Breathe deeply
Open my eyes


:::::Listen to Lotus Flower and Codex by Radiohead:::::

Parting Ways (New Draft)

Panic grips me as tightly as my fingers grasp the steering wheel in front of me. My car, a 2005 Ford Taurus my wife picked out, was a great car but it now makes the noises of a dying soul. I've never heard it make these sounds before. As the car slows to its final stop, I survey the landscape to make myself aware that I am nowhere. I step out of the lifeless vessel and look harder at the place that could colorfully be described as a desolate desert. The sun beats down on my shoulders making it known that it was here to make my day exceptionally uncomfortable. I already feel fatigue begin to start its evil work. I look under the hood and see nothing but a confusing mess of wires and metal. I don't know why I looked. I know nothing about cars. I sigh and slam the hood down. I turn around to look for any sign of salvation and I see it! It is in the form of a small sign one hundred feet in front of me. In point of fact, it is the only thing that breaks the monotony of this abysmal hell. I walk over to read it better. "Millie’s Diner 5 Miles" is written in bright blue letters across the otherwise plain looking sign. Hope slowly begins to fight off exhaustion. I look back at my car, and turn the direction of my salvation. Five miles in this heat does not sound like an enjoyable stroll. I take off my shirt, which is now stained with sweat, and begin to walk.

July 11^th, 2007 7:45 AM

Two years ago

A shrill scream woke me from my uneasy sleep. At first, I sensed a terrible feeling of evil inside my head. But as I got my bearings I realized it was only a dream. I leaned over to silence the wailing clock and fell back on to the bed. The most heartbreaking and adorable sigh came from the sleeping beauty next to me. My wife, Haylea had awakened despite my best efforts to silence the alarm before it disturbed her. I halfway didn’t mind though because my heart melted every time she made a single sound. I leaned over and as I kissed her precious forehead I said a silent prayer of gratitude to God for giving her to me. She sighed again and breathed an "I love you" to me.

"I love you too babe, more than anything in the world."

I got up to get ready but I couldn't shake the feeling of unease from a dream I no longer remembered, a sense that lasted the whole car ride up to the church. I pulled in to the parking lot and allowed myself to temporarily get lost in my thoughts. Why was today unlike any other? Why can I not shake this feeling of unease and dread? A loud slap on my window broke my reverie and made me jump six feet out of my skin. I turned to see Jordan; one of my favorite students stumbling back in laughter knowing his mission had been accomplished. I smiled and grabbed my "camp counselor" badge from my glove box, shoved the negative feelings to the back of my mind, and got out of the car. The only people in the world who contested my wife’s place in my heart met me with laughter, sarcasm, and hugs. This was going to be one great trip to youth camp!  

 After the administrative papers and release forms had been taken care of everyone exchanged goodbyes with their smiling but reluctant parents, and we climbed aboard the bus. Walking in, the bus looked as if it had warped out of the mid 60's with it’s shag carpet walls and the smell of  cigarette smoke. Groovy. We pulled out of the parking lot and didn't look back.

11:14 AM

About an hour in to the trip everyone had grown tired of conversing around the bus so they secluded to their own little cliques and fell more silent. I leaned my head against the window and felt myself drift away from the world. I couldn't make out what I was seeing in my dream; a swirl of black smoke against a white background, but with more purpose and direction than random smokescreen. Then, from the midst of the swirl of confusion, erupted the face of an old man. His eyes were wide with fear and his face was ghostly pale, he screamed a scream that I could not hear as if he was behind soundproof glass. His eyes grew wider with alarm he opened his mouth to scream again when a scream from reality woke me out of my dream world. I opened my eyes and saw nothing but felt the seat around me shake violently. From somewhere a girl shrieked in terror. White faded to red and red faded to black.

11:31 AM

From somewhere, another dimension maybe, someone was screaming. Other people were shouting orders. Others were crying. I heard glass cracking and the awful grinding of metal and concrete. Something terrible had happened. Reality faded once again.

11:35 AM

11:36 AM

11:37 AM

11:38 AM

11:39 AM

11:40 AM

11:50 AM

12:04 PM

I woke up again to find that my eyes were finally working for me. I saw the serenity of the sky contrasted to the horrifying scene that was outstretched underneath it. The bus, our vessel of safety, had turned in to a weapon of destruction. It had careened off the road tearing its way through over a hundred feet of guardrail as it were an angry beast tearing its way to a sleeping victim and finally smashed into a concrete freeway pillar tearing the metal tube in half. The scene in front of hit was even more devastating: bodies, some alive, some not, were strewn out in front of the bus like a roadside holocaust.  I heard someone ask for anyone who could to help out. My first instinct seized control of my body and I tried to force myself off of the ground. A searing pain shot up my right leg like a bullet train speeding through my nerves. I collapsed back to the earth and look down at my foot. The skin was ripped right off the top of my foot exposing the bone beneath. I looked up at the scene again and watched all of the people running around and trying to help with an odd sense of detachment. I was beginning to lose it. I tried to cry for help but my lungs would not allow me to breathe and my vocal chords would not allow me to speak. It was as if the parts of my brain that allowed me to move were shut down. All I could do was sit and sob incoherently. I looked past the senseless carnage to the edge of the road and that’s when I saw him. An old man stood tall at about 6' 7" and if his height wasn't intimidating, his appearance would make the color drain from your face. He was dressed from head to toe in solid black. Black boots, black pants, black shirt, black trench coat, and a black hat. All the black contrasted his pale white face and his nearly translucent white beard. He wore also a look of sorrow that would have appeared to anyone else as sincere but I detected a sense of urgency and directedness behind the look. As if he knew exactly what had happened and that was the way it was supposed to happen. There was definitely something supernatural about this man surveying our tragedy. I was perplexed and terrified by his appearance, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd seen him before, but where? I blinked, literally, and he was gone. I tried to stand again and help with the rescue effort but I immediately collapsed to the ground as pain shot up the side of my leg like the psychotic fury of a raging hurricane. I screamed in pain then began to black out. Oh god... I could've done more...

Two Months Later

I should have been at home. I should have been discussing my thoughts with my wife. She didn’t understand. She tried to help and I loved her for it but she just couldn’t understand what it was like to lose people who were like your own kids. I downed another shot as if this one would have been more helpful than the last one. In a sense, it was, each new shot brought me closer to oblivion and apathy than the last. It was so much easier to live in no mans land than it was to accept the fact that I had lost half of the reason I was alive. I ordered another shot and took in where I was. Two and a half months ago I would not have been caught dead in a place like this. To call this place a dive would have been a compliment. Over in the corner of the room two rough-looking bikers were about to get in a fight. In the center of the room a waitress bent over to pick something up and one of the hillbilly regulars spanked her. She tried to smile but was totally unconvincing. The sounds of glass breaking, pool balls clacking, and punches being thrown was the music that guarded my anonymity. This was the place where someone went to disappear.

My phone vibrated and I looked at the caller id. It was Haylea. I couldn’t bring myself to answer the phone so I just silenced it right as Marty, the bartender walked over with my shot. He said something. I didn’t care. I’d gotten used to ignoring his hometown bartender advice. I downed another shot and ordered one more.  My phone vibrated again, this time it was a text, “Where R U? Please come home. I <3 U.” A wave of nostalgia washed over me when I read the message. I wanted to love her like I once did. I just couldn’t. Why was I here? Why wasn’t I with the only thing in the world that was not destroyed? She simply didn’t get it, that’s why. Another shot came and I downed it just as quickly as the last one. I ordered one more and paid my tab.

The next thing I knew I was in a place with no walls. It had no start and no end. Everything was bright. I blinked but could not know if I was seeing or not as there was nothing to break the monotony of my surroundings. There was a faint whistling that I couldn’t place the origin of. I swung my body around looking for something that told me I was somewhere. I may have been dead, I couldn’t be sure. I swung my body around again and there he was standing eerily still and his face was as stark white as I remembered the day of the crash. The whistling seemed to get stronger the closer I got to him. There was no wind but his long white hair seemed to be flowing around underneath his black cowboy hat. I asked him what he wanted with me. He didn’t move. I yelled. He didn’t move. He just stared at me with dead eyes. I did detect a hint of sadness in his face. I didn’t care. He knew what happened at the crash site and why. He was going to answer my questions. After what seemed like hours he finally turned to walk away. I ran up to try and stop him. In my haste I tripped and fell hard on the floor.

The jolt woke me and I went soaring out of my barstool smacking my head on the floor which was saturated with god knows what. I hear the jeers and laughter of the bar crowd. A couple of people clapped and then went back to whatever “noble” pursuit they had been engaged in. As I lay there and realized where I was and what had happened I began to cry. I hated where I was. I hated the alcohol that was making everything spin. I hated the bar crowd that laughed at me. I hated Marty for his bullshit advice. I hated Haylea for not understanding what I was going through. I hated God for what he did to me.

----

I glance around at the unforgiving desert that has become my vast prison. The long road through hell gets no easier. My breath becomes quick short gasps as if planet earth doesn’t have a big enough supply of oxygen. I look up at the relentless bully called the sun and I wish to God I could fight back. I look back down and I see it; the building that could potentially hold my salvation about one hundred yards away. A big, bright blue sign that hangs above it said simply, “Millie’s” as if that is all you need to know about the place. I walk up to the featureless white building and survey the scene. A dead garden that may have once been beautiful now only decayed in the also dead wind. It is almost as if the place had once flourished with life and was blown away by a nuclear blast that had killed everything in its path. I sigh, hoping that there will be life forms inside the place that can help me with my problem. I push the door open and am immediately greeted by a blast of cool air that rushes to aid my body like a team of paramedics. I almost collapse of relief right in the doorway but regain my composure. The place has the look of those traditional split roadway stores. You know the ones with the restaurant on the left that has the overweight but sweet waitress who always thinks you look thin and the only cure is that you eat more food – Salesmanship at its finest. And on the right it has a store that has so much junk you don’t need for sale that you’d think they were in competition with Wal-Mart. 
I walk to the counter and am greeted by a pleasant looking (a.k.a. big and homely) lady in her mid-thirties. “What can we do for ya puddin’?” She says in a heavy southern accent. She shoots me a big homemade smile. I tell her I’ve just walked five miles and need some water. She gives me one of those feigned looks of horror as if she has never known people could walk distances longer than between the kitchen and the couch. She rushes me to a seat and brings me a pitcher of water. I tell her I’m ok I just need a few minutes. She tells me that I need to put some meat on my bones and suggests that I order the home-fried chicken fried steak. I smile to myself and tell her I’m ok for now. With another “puddin’” she walks off letting me know where to find her. I down another third of the pitcher of water and lean back to let the air-conditioning do its job on my sunburned body. I close my eyes and let my mind wander and there it is: that all too familiar sound that signals the entrance of that man in to my dreams. I start to hear the whistling.

November 24^th, 2008 2:04 PM

1 Year Ago

The air was stale, stagnant as if nothing that occupied the space inside it did anything of value. How ironic, the air even reflected the truth. She went to the window and flung open the curtains to reveal a vast array of sunlight that cascaded over my sleeping body. I reluctantly stirred. I already had begun feel the headache coming on, that can only mean one thing – I had sobered up. I grunted and shielded my face from the onslaught of light. She was saying something. She wasn’t happy. Something about getting on with my life and I couldn’t wallow around like this. I wasn’t really listening. I wish I would have. She sighed a sigh of giving up and headed for the door. I mumbled something that was supposed to be an “I love you.” And she shot me a look. God I should have paid attention to those pained looks! The looks that said, I’ve lost what I loved but I didn’t pay attention.

Only one thing mattered: getting another drink in me so I could go back to sleep and demand answers from this man in the black trench coat. I know he knows something I don’t. I know he knows the things that I’m desperate to find out. Every time I sleep, he’s there waiting for me, like a teacher who is there for the student that tries so hard but just doesn’t understand what is being taught to him. Or like a serial killer waiting patiently for his prey to go right where he wants him, I can’t be sure. I can’t be positive about anything about the man in the black trench coat, except he frustrated me as much as he terrified me. I just needed another drink so I could get back to sleep, back to discovering the answer to all the unsolved riddles. Why did this happen? Why to a group of innocent teenagers? Why could I not let it go? What did this man that haunted my dreams want from me? He never blinked, he never answered and he never opened his mouth. He just stood with a supernatural amount of patience as if waiting for me to figure it out on my own. I wasn’t figuring anything out and he wasn’t helping! So there I was screaming, cursing, crying. He just stood there. He didn’t move. He never moved. 

----

I open my eyes and blink to remind myself where I am.  The diner hasn’t gone anywhere. I sigh when I realize that I’m still stranded. I flag down my waitress and order a piece of blueberry cobbler. She smiles a satisfied smile as if she knew that I would come around. “Have it right out for ya honey.” She says. Wow! Me ordering food upgraded me to “Honey” status in her mind. A few minutes later she returned with a piece of delicious smelling cobbler. As she set it in front of me I ask her if she knows of any mechanics around the area. She says her son is an experienced mechanic and he was out back and as soon as I was finished I could go talk to him. I thank her and resume eating my delicious dessert. My head was spinning from exhaustion. I tell myself that the day is far from over. I still need to get my car fixed and make it to my destination before nightfall. I finish my plate and stand up to make my way out back.

I walk out the backdoor in to the heat and walk around to where the garage was said to be. There I find a kid, no older than twenty years old and surprisingly clean cut and sharp looking, listening to his IPod and reading a magazine. I laugh at the irony of a kid living in the middle of nowhere even knowing what an IPod was. He sees me and stands right up as if he’d been itching for something to do. “Howdy there sir, ah sure hope there is something ah can do for you. Ah been bored outta mah mind sittin’ here reading this here magazine.” The powers of perception never fail me. I tell him what had happened with the car. He asks me a few questions. He seems to know what he’s talking about. About fifteen minutes later he tells me that there is a part that my car needs and it’s about an hour each way to get it. I tell him I’ll wait in the diner. I’ve never seen someone more excited to get some work than this kid. He grins a huge grin, shakes my hand, and hops in his truck. I make my way back inside the diner, grab my familiar seat for whose table now had a fresh pitcher of water on it, and lean back again…

August 1^st, 2009

Two Weeks Ago

That day, the light didn’t cut through the dead air that occupied what was called my home. That day, seemingly nothing woke me up from my frenzied screaming at this menace that haunted my dreams. However, I woke still, the whistling fading from my ears to be replaced by eerie stillness. I let my eyes adjust through the darkness that plagued this place. The drapes were closed. She never left the drapes closed. The headache began pounding away again. God, I needed a drink! I forced myself out of bed and took a moment to marvel at the fact that I even found the strength to do that anymore. This man in the black trench coat was no longer the person that had the answers. He was no longer my only link to discovering why God allowed this to happen. As far as I was concerned God was dead to me and the man in the black trench coat was the demon sent to torment me as punishment. I led myself to the kitchen and flipped the light switch. A weak fluorescent light flickered on casting a dull gray glow across the kitchen. I walked past the refrigerator to go to the cabinet for a glass. I stopped. The room got stiller if that was possible. I slowly backed up to the refrigerator door to see the note magnetized to it. I couldn’t have even heard a pin drop.

My Dearest,

I really do love you with all of my heart. That’s why I’ve literally tried to do everything I know to get you to live in the present. But you can’t. I can’t continue to allow myself to be held back while you try to pick up the pieces of your shattered world. Oh, how I wish you would have included me in it, then maybe we could have faced it together. I’m leaving and I don’t know when or if I might be coming back. I can’t stay stuck in the past with you forever. I must move on with my life. I do hope that one day you’ll be able to join me. Please believe me when I tell you that I love you and I will be praying for you. Maybe, one day, we’ll meet again if that is what God plans to happen.

Love Always,

Haylea

I couldn’t even hear myself breathe. Maybe I wasn’t breathing. I felt a dull pain around my knees. I must have collapsed to the floor. I don’t remember anything else.

            This was war. The next week and a half flew by so fast I barely even remember them existing. I poured over her address books, maps, planners, and brochures anything that would lead me back to my lost wife. I didn’t have a single drink the entire time. I was not going to let God take the only important thing I had left. This was war, me against The Almighty. I wasn’t going to let him win. The man in the black trench coat barely even made an appearance as if even he was afraid of my newfound determination. I sure as hell wasn’t allowing God to have one more ounce of control in my life and if he wanted it. He was going to have to fight me for it! I poured over everything Haylea had left behind to get some sort of clue as to where she’d be. I called everyone we knew with no luck or any leads. Exhaustion was settling in and I fought it off for as long as possible but to no avail. I ended up falling asleep face first on the desk and again I heard the whistling. There he was, standing dead still with a cold glare shooting me to a standstill. He wasn’t walking towards me but he kept getting closer. His eyes looked wary and alarmed as if he was trying to convey some urgent message of some kind. He moved closer and closer until he was right in my face. His eyes grew wider. He drew a breath and shrieked the word “GOOOOOOO!!!!!” right in to my face. My face lurched off of the desk and I banged my head on the top piece and flew back in to my seat with such force that I knocked a letter opener off of the top and it fell. Almost in slow motion it began to fall, finally piercing through its destination. I lean up to see that it had pierced through the city of Cottonwood, Arizona. I stumbled back and began to scan the room half expecting the man in the black trench coat to be lurking through the corners. I looked again at the map. The man in the black trench coat had finally given me an answer. I knew exactly where I needed to go.

----

I wake again to find myself in the, what I’ve now come to describe as quaint, diner. I grab the pitcher of water and down another few gulps. I heard the door to the front entrance open with a little jingle of the bell. But that wasn’t what grabbed my attention, for as soon as the bell was through with its chime, an infinitely colder and creepier sound took its place; whistling. The temperature seemed to drop a couple of degrees as I swung my head ever so slightly to the door and I see the shadow of a tall man entering the restaurant. I pat my face to make sure I was awake. The awful dull thud of each boot hitting the ground one after the other in slow rhythmic cycles made the hair on my body stand on end. They come to a stop at the table across from me. I dare myself to look in to his face. I look and see that wide brimmed black cowboy hat, the transparent whit beard and those dark and scary eyes. I feel the color drain from my face. He carries with him a black guitar case and he sets it on the ground in front of his chair. I remain frozen in my seat. He takes one more glance at me and he sits down. He opens the case and reaches to pull out a bright milky black beautiful guitar. The first note he strums pierces directly in to the corner of my soul. With the whistling to accompany he begins to sing in a slow forbidding tone:

There once was a man who lost his way

He hid from the light and the bright of day

They looked at him, they wished out loud

He would come back to present and there he’d stay

They reached for him they plead and still

He would not heed the call from highest hill

With outstretched hands and burning hearts

They begged of him to “Please come back Will!”

Now he starts to realize it’s getting too late

To take back the moves he made in this game

He’ll curse the high heavens but all in vain

He’ll weep, he’ll gnash but his fate remains the same

He looks back at those who plead and still

Why did he not heed the call from that highest hill?

With outstretched hands he begs of them

But it’s way too late now to go back Will.

Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm.

As the last note resonates from his guitar, the whistling ceases with it as if I’d been hearing it for the last two years only so it could be a part of the song. Everything goes dead still and silent. I could swear it was below fifty degrees in the room. I try to find my voice to say something, anything. I try to swallow but it feels as though something is stuck in the caverns of my throat. With a grace and speed that could only belong to the man in the black trench coat he stands, puts the guitar away, and makes his way to the door. I manage to mutter one question, “Why are you here?” He stops briefly, looks at me with those sad eyes and then walks out the door. I sit in a state of shock for what seems like days, and seconds. From another world these words come, “I’ve got the part.” He must’ve tried several times to get my attention because by the time I realize the kid was back with my part, he is yelling at me. A shake my head to get my bearings and try to smile a convincing smile. He isn’t convinced. He instructs me on how to put the piece in my car; I pay him, and begin to walk back out in to the unforgiving sun. As I’m about to pull the door open he calls out, “Oh boy! That trip to Cottonwood took a lot out of me!” I turn in alarm, swallow hard and try to give him another convincing smile. He remains unconvinced. I pull the door open and venture in to the heat.

Providence

The drapes are open and sunlight makes great attempts to add life to the deadness of the house. Somewhere in the house a phone rings and rings and rings. After a little while a machine clicks on and records. The machine voice chimes in, “You’ve reached 206-576-2031 on August 15th, 2009. Please leave your message after the beep.” It beeps and there is no one there at first then a woman speaks, her reluctance is heavy. “Um, Will. It’s Haylea. Listen, I’m so sorry for leaving. I just freaked out you know?” She starts crying, “I shouldn’t have left you. It was wrong and selfish of me. Anything you need to get through I’ll help you get through it. We’ll do it together okay? I love you and I’ll be home as soon as I can.” The machine beeps again and clicks off.

----

About a mile or so back to the car, I begin to feel it, a slight but sharp pain in my side. Exhaustion maybe, I shrug it off and trudge on. I begin to let my mind wander back to what happened in the diner. It was the most petrified I have ever been in my whole life. What did this man want with me? The pain in my side grows stronger. I slow my step; this is more than just exhaustion. With my free hand I clutch my right side. I begin to cough, nothing at first, but steadily more violent. I stop and collapse to the ground in my coughing fit. I pull back my hand and see blood on it. I’m in trouble. I try to push myself off of the ground to no avail. This is bad. I try harder to push myself up off the sandy gravel that lay beneath me and halfway up everything goes black. I collapse. I feel nothing but pain then I feel nothing. The last thing ever heard by Will was whistling.  

Nostalgiacity

Things from my childhood that I miss:

Pogs
Power Rangers
Football cards
Street hockey
Legos
Total Annihilation
Giga Pets
Yu-Gi-Oh! Cards
Hero Clix
Tech Decks
Forts
Rubber band wars
The Sachse Trails
The Field
Bikes
Chasing Buddy around the town
Croquet championships
The Round Speedy Tour
The Mic and Spence Agenda
Goosebumps
Batman: The Animated Series
Diagnosis Murder
Touched By An Angel
7th Heaven
DC Talk
Michael Wade


I'm sure I'll add more later as I think of it. It's interesting living in Nostalgiacity...

Red Balloon (A 25 Word Story)

Child

Sees

Red Balloon

Reaches out

Arms not long enough

Mother says stop

Isolation

No one understands

Reaches desperately

Too far gone

Red balloon

Pops

Stained Walls (Part 1)

My hand slaps the table in front of me. It almost acted of it's own accord. My brain sure as hell didn't tell it to do that. The shackles around my ankles are starting to cut in to my skin. I find that, oddly, it doesn't bother me as much as it might normally. I begin to look around the room that imprisons me. Just an ordinary room with a single fluorescent light in the center of the ceiling. The light beamed down on the metal table I'm sitting in front of that is bolted to the floor. There is nothing else, nothing that breaks the monotony of this God-forsaken hell hole of a room, except for the walls. The water stains form strange patterns that stretched through the length of the all too small room. If I had to guess, the walls may have been white at one point. Makes sense. White is placating, it keeps nervous people docile. It worked in theory. I found the abnormal presence of translucent lighting illuminating the strange patterns on the walls unsettling at best.

The sense of unease builds. It shouldn't be taking them this long. I start to scratch at my chained ankle. It bothered me more now. I'm not able to keep calm. The walls don't help. I swear I just saw the shape of something evil looking at me in the walls precarious design. Why are they leaving me here for this long? Someone should have come by. An increasing amount of dread builds as a horrific realization starts to form inside my mind. They have forgotten about me. As the thought sinks in, I hear it, an evil cackle coming from somewhere inside the room....

What if...? (Vol. 3)

Look at what you have. Look at this vast improvement over mediocrity. Look how high you have risen. You've built your tower and your success is unprecedented. Why do you have to drink yourself to oblivion every night?




What if success wasn't a downfall......?

Old Things

I look at these things that have weathered and worn
The books that have been abused the canvases torn
The sepia colored photos that have the faces of the past
It seems nostalgia's dirty deeds make you wish these times would last

The old and tragic things you see tug at your heart and soul
The miles and miles that you have walked finally takes its toll
Now you're left with these things of old to remind you of the days
That you have loved and laughed and cried in your mind this plays

This tragedy that has no end will only end with pain
As you sift through all the times and tears within these things are lain
You weep for the lost time you had with all these faces and
You smile for the good times across your life they've spanned

You're left with this tragic feeling that these memories are never enough
To replace the empty feelings that resurface when times are tough
Glancing around at these old things do much more harm than good
You're aching heart cries out so much more than your smiles ever would



:::::Listen to At the Bottom of Everything by Bright Eyes:::::

Neo's Ship (Full Sail Assignment)

Mr. Thomas Anderson used to be a programmer for a “respectable” software company until he was informed of the fact that everything he knew was a big, elaborate hoax. He realized that the world he lived in was an immense computer program controlled by several million lines of green-character coding called the Matrix. It was this new knowledge that started a chain of events that led to him being freed from his computer written prison and become the hero that saves the entire human race from extinction. His name was Thomas Anderson, that day he became who you probably know him as, Neo.

The path to greatness and heroism is paved with many treacherous and dangerous missions. At any point in time it may be called upon you to give your life to protect what you fight for. What isn’t typically explained in these stories is that, even heroes must accomplish the same mundane tasks that the most common of people perform on a daily basis. Today is a day like that for Neo.

It was a day like any other when Morpheus came in to the Nebuchadnezzar’s hull and asked where Neo was. After being informed that he was in his quarters doing yoga, Morpheus set about to give him his task for the day. He knocked at the door and Neo answered. He explained that the ship was in complete disarray, the Matrix feed room was disgusting, the cockpit was covered in filth, and that the mess hall actually wasn’t all that bad. His urgency fueled Neo to promptly finish his downward dog stance and get on the task of cleaning this ship.

He began with the Matrix feed room. He looked around the room and there was dirt, dust, and grime on everything. The chairs were covered with a thick film of grease and the matrix monitors had smudges all over the screens. He looked around the room in disbelief and said only one word in his monotonous whisper, “Whoa.” He got to it, scrubbing the seats and wiping down the screens. He put an enormous amount of elbow grease in to the tedious back and forth motions that come with ensuring that everything had the right amount of shine. He didn’t seem to be getting very far despite his many hours of tireless effort. He stepped back to examine his incomplete work. It looked as though nothing had been done. He threw his head back in disgusted frustration and with a loud, exasperated cry he drew his nine millimeter and fired it loudly in to the air until the clip was emptied. The noise got the attention of Trinity who was in the next room eating noodles. She ran in to see what all the noise was about. “What on earth is going on in here?” she exclaimed angrily. Neo composed himself and calmly responded, “I know kung fu.”  She shook her head in confusion at what was just said, but this was Neo, he made his own kind of sense. He stared at her with a steely gaze of determination until she finally became uncomfortable and left the room.

Neo realized that he had to tackle this task from a different angle. So, with the help of frantic techno music playing in the background, he jacked in to the Matrix in search of the oracle. In a seconds time he was clad in all black with his signature trench coat and sunglasses. He looked around to make sure no one was watching him and he pushed off from the ground and flew over the endless cities that stretched out in maze-like patterns throughout the Matrix. He flew in through the oracles window and landed in her living room. From the surprised look on her face, no young man had been coming through her window in a long time. She relaxed a little and said, “I know why you’re here.” Neo’s jaw tightened at the thought of his unclean ship. “There is a special sort of mindset that you must have,” the oracle continued, “If you wish to complete this task. You must believe in yourself. You already know you are The One but you must believe you can become more.” With the slightest of nods Neo acknowledged the oracle’s wise words. Armed with his new mindset and a couple of new quotes for movie critics to make fun of, he flew out of the oracles room and started towards his exit. He landed a block away from a ringing telephone. He picked up the phone and was instantly back in his decrepit Matrix feed room.

He stood in the center of the room and looked around, “Something’s different.” He said in his signature cool monotone. He saw the room in thousands of lines of green code and knew what he had to do. He lifted his hand to the room and in a loud declaration shouted, “My name is Neo!” Instantly, a white ball of healing code lines eradicated all of the dust, dirt, grime, and insects. “It is done.” He declared with a huge sense of accomplishment. Morpheus walked in to the room and his eyes grew wide with amazement. Neo smiled a cocky half smile and as he walked past he put his hand on Morpheus’s shoulder and said, “I didn’t come here to tell you how this is going to end, I’m here to tell you how it’s going to begin.” With that, he left Morpheus standing there, in his newly cleaned ship, trying to understand what he meant.

The Great Misdirect (What If...? Vol. 2)

"Close one eye, step to the side..."


Take it all in and let it wash over you. Feel the air rushing to aid your aching heart. It will be over soon. Don't you worry, it will be over soon. 


Shift your perspective ever so slightly. Things just look different from here. Maybe you can use your newfound freedom here. Maybe you've just been looking at things incorrectly.


Such a perverse and malicious discrepancy her words become. Just step to the side. Let her words soar past you. Don't listen! Don't take it in!


What if things went the way you wanted? Would you truly be at peace? Shift your perspective. This could be a blessing.


What if you were sent to the right place at the right time? Is that such a bizarre thought? What if you belong here?


What if this is supposed to happen?


Her words exist to obfuscate everything in their path. You were not an exception. No one is an exception. Except for, maybe just maybe, this child.


Oh! What an encouraging thought that could be!


Close one eye, step to the side. You will see where you went wrong. You will always be part of this great misdirect.


You can embrace this or let it kill you! You have to be strong! There is SO much at stake!


But for now breathe...just breathe. Sit back and let the air wash over you. Let its cool calm your emotionally weary nerves. Rest now. 


:::::Listen to Mirrors and Obfuscation by Between the Buried and Me:::::

Broad Brushstrokes

Step back. Look at what you've created. My God! I wish I could've done something so great! You've taken steps that few others would have. Your accomplishments are etched so thoroughly into my mind!
 
But you still have a ways to go...

You can't allow yourself to focus on these miniscule and inconsequential trials. Step back. Look deeper! There is something better for you. Look at the things set in motion and find encouragement in the fact that it is being orchestrated so that you will be fulfilled! I know things are not where you longed for them to be. But they will be, even if it's in a way you don't expect! These overly-detailed strokes will cause the fight you have to dwindle. Your passion will become nothing but monotonous, apathetic routine.

At the end of this road, you'll find what you've been longing for! Take your hands away from the sides of your eyes and see the world in a widescreen splendor! Paint your destiny with a smile on your face and determination in your heart! I'm here, cheering you on! Even though my sense of longing may never be quenched. But even that is inconsequential to what I believe you can do. Just take your clear direction and go. And maybe, just maybe, we'll end up brushing the same painting...


:::::Listen to To Whom It May Concern by Underoath:::::

Reckoner

Your time will come. You will be judged. You will be tried. I will be your Reckoner! Sometimes you look at the dawn with a sense of unease. Your time is coming swiftly and you will be seen as the traitor you are. The light will rise and expose you! What sense of accomplishment will you hope to achieve? You look unto others with malevolent eyes. Oh your evil glare is so piercing. A sense of fear is struck but it is not I who will lose this war! It is not I! The sun will set on your reign of terror and I will emerge as victor. I will stomp your head in to the ground and you will be unable to recover. Your time is running out………your time is running out.

What chance do you think you have? I own you! You will bend to my will and it is my will that you will be crushed. You may have kicked me down once but I will not stay. I will not give up. I will not yield to this brutality! You know. Your face is painted with panic! Your time is almost up. You can weep and thrash all you want but your impending doom is at hand. I will conquer you! My weapon is raised and I’m poised to strike and kill! Your time is running out………your time is running out.

I sit back. Such hatred is flowing. I must flex my proverbial muscles. This literary beating has taken so much out of me! Oh! What am I to do? Such tranquility is fleeting! What am I to do? I know what will become of me! I can weep and thrash all I want but the end is inevitable. But why? Why must I endure this aimless hatred? It is destined to be so. For you are my reckoner and my time is running out……….my time is running out.

The Power of Progression (Creativity That Inspires to Press On Mixtape)

Often times music is the creative force that inspires someone to step out of their comfort zone and do something bold. These precious songs got me out of the rut of a stagnant life and compelled me to take my life to the next level.

1. “Stuck in a Moment You Can’t Get Out Of” – U2

2. “Come Alive” – Foo Fighters

3. ”The Curse of Perfect Days” – Emery

4. “Pretend” - Lights

5.  “To Whom it May Concern” – Underoath

“Stuck in a Moment You Can’t Get Out Of” – U2

"You've got to get yourself together, you've got stuck in a moment and you can't get out of it"

I was laying in bed one evening, just staring at the ceiling with my iTunes library on shuffle. On most days, it seems as though iTunes knows me better than most people do. I was chewing on the thought that, so far, I hadn’t really done anything in life worth mentioning. Just as my thought was taking shape, this song started playing on shuffle. It perfectly embodies the exact thoughts that were running through my head. I was now inspired to do something about this moment I felt stuck in.

“Come Alive” – Foo Fighters

"You saved me the day you came alive!"

During this period of time in my life I was writing a lot but, on this specific day, I stared at a blank paper, feeling completely dejected, flat, and lifeless. The song wasn’t even playing but the lyrics came flooding on to paper. It was as if the song possessed my writing hand and wrote the words “come alive” over and over and over until the page was completely covered. Possibly, it was a desperate prayer to God, asking to breathe new life and ideas in to my cold, blocked mind.

“The Curse of Perfect Days” – Emery

"The curse of perfect days, is you get just what you make and you find yourself just praying that there's something more to this life."

The reason, I think, that I felt so aggravated with the way my life was is that it was stuck in the same cycle. I had a great time spending time with people that I loved but it was empty. Just endless bars, movie theaters, restaurants and at some point everything starts to become monotonous. This song helped me learn that there is more to life than just making memories. There are deeper, more important things to attribute to being alive.

“Pretend” – Lights

"And when it's the end, our lives will make sense. We'll love, we'll bend, let's play pretend"

 This quote from the band Underoath signifies the way I was feeling on this day, “In the end we tend to think of how it began.” This beautiful song by Lights turns up the nostalgia dial. It makes me sad thinking about the much simpler days of being a kid. How the simplest things made me unspeakably happy, and I allowed my life to be touched without any of the emotional walls adults put up. This song helped me close the chapter of being a kid and bury the memories away in a precious corner of my mind as I step forward in to adulthood.

“To Whom it May Concern” – Underoath

"At the end of the road, you'll find what you've been longing for"

This song is reassurance that all of the hard work that I put in to making my life worthwhile will be worth it in the end. My grandmother had just died and it got me thinking about the end and death. I asked myself the question if it would all be worth it in the end. This song played on the way to the funeral (I swear my shuffle knows EXACTLY what I’m feeling!) and I added a quote from the song to my speech, “At the end of the road, you’ll find what you’ve been longing for.” I felt much better knowing my grandmother was with God - what she always longed for.

Attachment to Different Worlds (A Parenthesis)

Where you all ended up I could never have gone. It was painfully obvious even back then, even in the stupidity of youth. I didn't belong there. I was a blip, a seamless transition, something that must be passed through to press on. My time there was long and torturous. Was it necessary? Even the closest of companions ended up going where I could never follow. I can't help but think these parting of ways are the way things are predetermined to be for me. Your story is perfect, mine is bumpy. I'm not jealous, I don't envy monotony but there are times where it would seem as though things would run much smoother if I just snapped in to your grid. It wasn't supposed to happen and who am I to suggest it was?

Here I am now. Performing different roles in different shows. As soon as one is done I put on the costume for the next. Like a vapor. Here one moment and gone the next. Such a lonely existence this turns out to be. In some strange way I'm comforted by it. I hope that my performances on the stages of many were acceptable, possibly even admirable. When these characters look back on their stories they will see where I fit in during my cameo. They will see the parenthesis in their script and, hopefully, they will say, "This added much more enrichment to my story."

These are the wishes that I have. Hopefully, one day, the producer will see fit to give me my own show. Until then, I am perfectly content with lending my performances and, occasionally, writing scripts for these plays.  I've known and worked with many fine performers in my life. Some heroes and some villains. I can't figure out which one I am yet.


"All the world's a stage..." 


:::::Listen to "Pretend" by Lights:::::

How to Catch a Troll

I know that all of you have gone out in to your backyard one day to relax, catch some sun, maybe read a book, when you’ve noticed that what was once a haven of rest has been turned in to a smoldering array of chaos. Who is to blame for this you may be wondering. The answer is so simple and obvious; Trolls.

The process for catching these big ugly beasts is not only dangerous but also extremely tricky and challenging.

The items that you need can be found in any magical convenience store (Diagon Alley has the most extensive shops.) You need to find some magically unbreakable rope, an enchanted cage that is at least 20 feet tall and 10 feet wide (Trolls are typically anywhere between 10 – 15 feet tall and are exceptionally fat.) The cage can be made out of any material as long as an unbreakable spell has been enchanted on it. Trolls are like bears in the sense that they love honey so you should make sure that you have at least 3 gallons of honey (Bee honey is best.) You should also have the number for the Magical Creature Relocation Agency (MCRA) handy, as you do not want to harm the creature.

The first thing that should be done is to tie the rope to the top of the cage (make sure you remove the bottom panel by unlatching it from the rest of the cage.) Make sure that the knot is firmly fastened; you may want to make sure that you double or triple tie it depending on how heavy the cage is. Throw the rope over a tree branch (to be sure, you may want to cast an unbreakable spell on the branch as well.) and pull the cage up high over a popular troll spot in your yard. Tie the rope to something stable on the ground and proceed to coat the area underneath the hoisted cage with honey (Warning! Complete this step quickly as it will not take the trolls long to discover that there is delicious honey nearby!) Untie the end of the rope that is closest to the ground and find a hiding place. Remember that trolls are dumb but have excellent senses of smell so you may want to spray yourself with a grass smell or something else ordinary so they don’t sense you are near.

The next thing to do is wait for the troll to come out for a snack. Occasionally you’ll come up against a family of trolls, which is rare because trolls are very solitary creatures. If you find yourself dealing with a troll family then adjust the enchanted cage to something like 20 feet tall and 50 or 60 feet wide. When the troll is directly underneath the cage, release your end of the rope so that the cage falls right on top of the unsuspecting creature. If you’d like, you can add lead weights to the bottom of the cage so that the troll doesn’t knock it over but the unbreakable spell should be enough. Make sure you contact MCRA as soon as possible so that the poor creature isn’t in a cage longer than it needs to be.

That, my friends is how you catch an irritating troll.

What if... (Vol. 1)

What if everything could be fixed? What if we could go back and redo the things we have done? What if we could take back those hurtful words? What if we could edit out all of the insensitivity of people? What if there was no close-mindedness? What if there were things that weren't corrupt? What if people meant it when they said "I love you?" What if things made sense? What if I said I was sorry and meant it? What would happen if I saw you and gave you a big hug, the kind that the world would end if I ever let go? What if I told you that a huge hole has been punched through my chest since you've been gone? What if the mere memory of how things used to be was so painful, I actually have trouble breathing? What if I told you I was in love with you?



What if life didn't care........

Crucial

"All the world's a stage...


And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."

-William Shakespeare (As You Like It)

For A Rainy Day

Everything in its Right Place - Radiohead
Paper Lung - Underoath
Monster - The Almost
Spirit of the Stairwell - Circa Survive
Videotape - Radiohead
Desert of Song - Between the Buried and Me
Stay Still - Blessthefall
Grapevine Fires - Death Cab For Cutie
Paranoid Android - Radiohead
Home - Foo Fighters
Since We've Been Wrong - The Mars Volta
Karma Police - Radiohead
What Sarah Said - Death Cab For Cutie
Exit Music (For A Film) - Radiohead
Mirrors - Between The Buried And Me

Some Sort of Order

Something righteous can never live here. Everything must be sent through a scum filter and distorted in to something barely recognizable. The order of things is here, but it is never meant to be followed, only changed. There is a way things are "supposed to be" but we imperfect humans project our imperfect ideals in to it and we come up with something gross and putrid. I struggle to find some sort of consistency, some sort of order. I occasionally find it but most of the time its polluted with people trying to bend it so it fits in to their own idea of what the world should be like. The people with money, power, influence, birthright, etc.... They control everything, but it's us, people of experience and reality-based opinions who actually know what will make things better. But they distort, they control, they manipulate, and deceive. What is the point of fighting for something good then? The answer to this question may be less gratifying than you may want but it IS the correct answer: The fact that you have done something righteous. Who cares if it'll never carry you as far as you'd like to go?




I wish I could follow this ideal.......I can't.

Somber Irony

Harsh words dipped in halfway-completed thoughts. Something flashes. Those flashes haunt your existence. They are my entertainment. Something’s wrong here. Something’s very wrong. Do I need to be fixed? They’re my words after all. Your somberness is understood. Your remorse, unfortunately, is in vain. You’ve spent so much to gain so little. My words are not worth your life. My words are not worth their lives. Your haunted existence is only good for entertaining mine. How dare you make me feel remorse for my lack of compromise! Why the hell should I feel bad for your poor choices? I probably shouldn’t. But here I am, feeling like a may throw up. The room spins with intense reality. And just like that, you’re gone. Yeah, real polite! Come over here, turn my thoughts on themselves and just leave. Fuck you! And here I am……

……feeling terrible.

:::::Listen to “Fix Me” by Emery and “Drive My Soul” by Lights:::::

So...

Today (yesterday) was a day of random events. I go to sleep around 4 AM and am woken up 2 hours later by my first nightmare in at least 8 years. I don't really remember what happened in the dream, but I remember it featuring girl ghosts like the kind you see in The Grudge or The Ring. It sounds campy but it was truly intense. I found myself so freaked out that I couldn't go back to sleep. I had a splitting headache for most of the day and was coughing and sneezing all over the place. I went and saw the final Harry potter movie and had all the bittersweet emotions that came with it. This is a beloved series that I have devoted over ten years of my life to enjoying. And now it's over. I came home and only had 2 hours before I had to go in to work. I was sick and only had 2 hours of sleep so I called in. Kevin was not too happy about it but it isn't like I lied to them. I spent the rest of the day resting and watching movies. I then went online to catch up on the status of the World Series of Poker Main Event only to find out that t wasn't posted anywhere on the internet. I wouldn't have wanted to watch it anyway after I found out that they weren't using the hole card cams this year because they were filming everything live. What happened to poker as a spectators sport?! I was decidedly irritated about that. I then decided to buckle down and get some school work done. That was the most irritating research I've ever done simply because it took SO long to find the information I needed. I'm finally finished and needed to blow off steam. Truthfully, I feel sicker now than I did earlier today (yesterday). I'm not really sure if I'll be able to go to work today or not........


"My life is like an inside joke and no one will explain it to me." -Bright Eyes

Crystal Caves

Stand still.

The caves will speak through shimmering beauty and ice-like song. Send your love out. Watch it reverberate through this glass heaven. Light finds its way through. The cave ignites with color as rays push through the prism filled glory. Slight whispers echo in dreamlike tones through the color-lit darkness of this infinite chasm. I close my eyes. The beauty is too much. Silent tears glide down my face. I am at peace here. I breathe the crystal clear oxygen and feel the cool comfort of a silent breeze drifting across my tear-stained face. I'm in love. This idea is such a calm song, although I can't understand the words. I wish I could stay. I already feel as though I'm being pulled away. I am a child again, being reluctantly, but lovingly, pulled away from my favorite toy. There are more important things. There are other magnificent things to behold. Wake up. Pick up your fragile form from the cold dark tranquility. I can make it. I can push forward. Open your eyes....open your eyes.........open your eyes........



Open your eyes.


 :::::Listen to Treefingers by Radiohead:::::

Sleeping Skin

Breathing heavily. It feels nice. Alleviate stress, if only for a moment.

My hand runs across your skin. Such softness. Such sequacity.

My eyes are burning. I need this touch. I need this tract of faux safety.

I see the smile in your eyes. You need it. Just like me.

I smile a sad smile. I know the truth. I know this is not a truth.

This is not a reality. It is a fiction. But my eyes are still burning.

Awake from a sleepwalk. I run my hands across your skin.

The sinking absolution grips my chest. I know. Oh God! I know!

I lean in to kiss your lips. They are so sweet against mine.

My hands take one final run across this tract of false tranquility before I let the realization take hold. Your skin is so cold to my touch.........you're no longer breathing.....



...you're dead to me darling

S L E E P W A L K E R

My eyes - they're open. So Why do I see a dream in front of them? The dreary, wet day brings the sleepwalk out of everyone. Everything plays in slow motion, contrasted by the dull gray drizzling around it in dead motion. What can you do? The dream, my dear, is real. They smile and walk and do their jobs in the same way Crafting together their slow mannerisms as if they were their own gods creating their own worlds with meticulous care. They won't move faster, there's no reason to quicken what will be perfect.


I smile a sad smile. This is where we live, this is what we do......Sleepwalk.

A Degree Of Open-Ended Finality

Everything operates in one unit. But the one unit is consisted of multiple things. Certain circles are born and are disintegrated. I miss when things were simpler. I'm heading towards that now. Simplicity.

We have to learn to do things without any degree of deception. Oh God it just makes everything worse. What hurts the most is that you lied right to my face and then said you'd be sick if you said anything but the truth. That was an especially convincing touch you lying whore.

Truth is, my words are harsh but true so I don't take back anything I said. Did you just feel like sleeping with two friends just to see what their reaction would be when they found out? Was it some demented experiment? Were we just rats in a maze? Because that is what it feels like.

Prod it with a stick just to see what it does.

Too bad you're no different than your cousin. In fact, that you created an elaborate deception for us to run through makes it THAT much worse. I'm not sure if she is capable of creating something so intricate but I guess if she could, she would so you guys are about the same.

Life is a series of collisions and near misses......

.......And missed opportunities.

Intermission

I am sorry that I was unable to post for a good long while. I had a vision for what this blog was going to accomplish and I'm going to accomplish it. I'm back from my break and you're going to see a lot of new things posted here.

Parting Ways (Part 3)

August 3rd 12:33 PM

Two Weeks Ago

That day, the light didn’t cut through the dead air that occupied what was called my home. That day, seemingly nothing woke me up from my frenzied screaming at this menace that haunted my dreams. However, I woke still, the whistling fading from my ears to be replaced by eerie stillness. I let my eyes adjust through the darkness that plagued this place. The drapes were closed. She never left the drapes closed. The headache began pounding away again. God, I needed a drink! I forced myself out of bed and took a moment to marvel at the fact that I even found the strength to do that anymore. This man in the black trench coat was no longer the person that had the answers. He was no longer my only link to discovering why God allowed this to happen. As far as I was concerned God was dead to me and the man in the black trench coat was the demon sent to torment me as punishment. I led myself to the kitchen and flipped the light switch. A weak fluorescent light flickered on casting a dull gray glow across the kitchen. I walked past the refrigerator to go to the cabinet for a glass. I stopped. The room got stiller if that was possible. I slowly backed up to the refrigerator door to see the note magnetized to it. I couldn’t have even heard a pin drop.

I couldn’t even hear myself breathe. Maybe I wasn’t breathing. I felt a dull pain around my knees. I must have collapsed to the floor. I don’t remember anything else.

War

The next week and a half flew by so fast I barely even remember them existing. I poured over her address books, maps, planners, brochures anything that would lead me back to my lost wife. I didn’t have a single drink the entire time. I was not going to let God take the only important thing I had left. This was war, me against The Almighty. I wasn’t going to let him win. The man in the black trench coat barely even made an appearance as if even he was afraid of my newfound determination. I sure as hell wasn’t allowing God to have one more ounce of control in my life and if he wanted it. He was going to have to fight me for it! I poured over everything Haylea had left behind to get some sort of clue as to where she’d be. I called everyone we knew with no luck or any leads. Exhaustion was settling in and I fought it off for as long as possible but to no avail. I ended up falling asleep face first on the desk and again I heard the whistling. There he was, standing dead still with a cold glare shooting me to a standstill. He wasn’t walking towards me but he kept getting closer. His eyes looked wary and alarmed as if he was trying to convey some urgent message of some kind. He moved closer and closer until he was right in my face. His eyes grew wider. He drew a breath and shrieked the word “GOOOOOOO!!!!!” right in to my face. My face lurched off of the desk and I banged my head on the top piece and flew back in to my seat with such force that I knocked a letter opener off of the top and it fell. Almost in slow motion it began to fall, finally piercing through its destination. I lean up to see that it had pierced through the city of ..Cottonwood.., ....Arizona..... I stumbled back and began to scan the room half expecting the man in the black trench coat to be lurking through the corners. I looked again at the map. The man in the black trench coat had finally given me an answer. I knew exactly where I needed to go.

----

I wake again to find myself in the, what I’ve now come to describe as quaint, diner. I grab the pitcher of water and down another few gulps. I heard the door to the front entrance open with a little jingle of the bell. But that wasn’t what grabbed my attention, for as soon as the bell was through with its chime, an infinitely colder and creepier sound took its place; whistling. The temperature seemed to drop a couple of degrees as I swung my head ever so slightly to the door and I see the shadow of a tall man entering the restaurant. I pat my face to make sure I was awake. The awful dull thud of each boot hitting the ground one after the other in slow rhythmic cycles made the hair on my body stand on end. They come to a stop at the table across from me. I dare myself to look in to his face. I look and see that wide brimmed black cowboy hat, the transparent whit beard and those dark and scary eyes. I feel the color drain from my face. He carries with him a black guitar case and he sets it on the ground in front of his chair. I remain frozen in my seat. He takes one more glance at me and he sits down. He opens the case and reaches to pull out a bright milky black beautiful guitar. The first note he strums pierces directly in to the corner of my soul. With the whistling to accompany he begins to sing in a slow forbidding tone:

There once was a man who lost his way

He hid from the light and the bright of day

They looked at him, they wished out loud

He would come back to present and there he’d stay

They reached for him they plead and still

He would not heed the call from highest hill

With outstretched hands and burning hearts

They begged of him to “Please come back Will!”

Now he starts to realize it’s getting too late

To take back the moves he made in this game

He’ll curse the high heavens but all in vain

He’ll weep, he’ll gnash but his fate remains the same

He looks back at those who plead and still

Why did he not heed the call from that highest hill?

With outstretched hands he begs of them

But it’s way too late now to go back Will.

Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm.

As the last note resonates from his guitar, the whistling ceases with it as if I’d been hearing it for the last two years only so it could be a part of the song. Everything goes dead still and silent. I could swear it was below fifty degrees in the room. I try to find my voice to say something, anything. I try to swallow but it feels as though something is stuck in the caverns of my throat. With a grace and speed that could only belong to the man in the black trench coat he stands, puts the guitar away, and makes his way to the door. I manage to mutter one question, “Why are you?” He stops briefly, looks at me with those sad eyes and then walks out the door. I sit in a state of shock for what seems like days, and seconds. From another world these words come, “I’ve got the part.” He must’ve tried several times to get my attention because by the time I realize the kid was back with my part, he is yelling at me. A shake my head to get my bearings and try to smile a convincing smile, he wasn’t convinced. He instructs me on how to put the piece in my car, I pay him, and begin to walk back out in to the unforgiving sun. As I’m about to pull the door open he calls out, “Oh boy! That trip to Cottonwood took a lot out of me!” I turn in alarm, swallow hard and try to give him another convincing smile. Still didn’t seem to work. I pull the door open and venture in to the heat.

Providence

The drapes are open and sunlight makes great attempts to add life to the deadness of the house. Somewhere in the house a phone rings and rings and rings. After a little while a machine clicks on and records. The machine voice chimes in, “You’ve reached 206-576-2031 on August 15th, 2009. Please leave your message after the beep.” It beeps and there is no one there at first then a woman speaks, her reluctance is heavy. “Um, Will. It’s Haylea. Listen baby, I’m so sorry for leaving. I just freaked out you know?” She starts crying, “I shouldn’t have left you. It was wrong and selfish of me. Anything you need to get through I’ll help you get through it. We’ll do it together okay Baby? I love you and I’ll be home as soon as I can.” The machine beeps again and clicks off.

----

About a mile or so back to the car, I begin to feel it, a slight but sharp pain in my side. Exhaustion maybe, I shrug it off and trudge on. I begin to let my mind wander back to what happened in the diner. It was the most petrified I have ever been in my whole life. What did this man want with me? The pain in my side grows stronger. I slow my step; this is more than just exhaustion. With my free hand I clutch my right side. I begin to cough, nothing at first, but steadily more violent. I stop and collapse to the ground in my coughing fit. I pull back my hand and see blood on it. I’m in trouble. I try to push myself off of the ground to no avail. This is bad. I try harder to push myself up off the sandy gravel that lay beneath me and halfway up everything goes black. I collapse. I feel nothing but pain then I feel nothing. The last thing ever heard by Will was whistling.