Tuesday 22 October 2013

Thing 43: Write a scene that begins with "Joe was the last person on Earth I expected to do that."

Oh, hi internet. I didn't see you there.

Yes, it has been a mighty long time since I have let my keystrokes draw me to the literary domain. Sadly I've been rather busy with school, and so my literary exploits have dropped significantly in priority. I will not be able to update regularly, but I owe it to myself (and to you, I guess... If you're reading this you must care a little) to try a little harder.

Without further ado, here goes nothing.

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Thing 43: Write a scene that begins with "Joe was the last person on Earth I expected to do that."


I'm going to cheat just a little. I want some buildup.

---------------------

Damien took a deep breath before stepping onto the small dais. The muted sound of his footsteps on the plywood were drowned out by the defiant roar of the park's great arbors, shedding gold and crimson leaves in the autumn wind. The vibrant colours of fall stood in stark contrast to the black attire of those assembled.

The crowd was silent, stoic, as he positioned himself in front of the stage's modest podium. Their silence hung thick in the air, as if their gloom were sucking the oxygen from every breath and replacing it with a deep ambience of hopelessness and despair. Damien's small cough into the mcrophone could barely cut through it.

He shifted his weight and took a moment to prepare himself. He could barely draw breath past the lump in his throat. Casting his gaze over the crowd, he steadied himself and began:

"Joe was the last person on Earth I expected to do that."

There was that lump again, his sadness a catalyst that caused it to grow to unmanagable proportions. For nearly a minute his voice became trapped in his throat. The crowd sat silent still. He was grateful for their understanding.

With a deep swallow, he forced the lump away. A chill of protest ran down his spine, but he ignored it and continued.

"My brother was not a very outspoken man. I'm sure most of us just saw him as a grumpy loner. He would lock himself away, casting his disapproving gaze upon the world below him. He was aloof, distant, quiet.

"We used this as an excuse to let him fall out of touch. He was a difficult man to get along with, and the effort to do so seemed to present an insurmountable challenge. To be frank, we were comfortable, and to bring Joe into our lives we would have to become uncomfortable, and that was not okay. I can understand the feeling, as I'm no stranger to it myself. Joe and I were never particularly close, because I, like many of you, could not make the effort to strengthen our relationship. I was willing to let it go.

"Well, I think now we know how great a mistake we made. Joe wasn't a grumpy loner locked in his tower; he was a man broken and disappointed by this world. He lived every day of his life saddened by what we've become. Joe was a man who allowed himself to live in silent squalor because he gave everything he had to those in need. He kept himself away from us so that he could spend time with those who needed him the most. His unsung and anonymous contributions to the community have created ripples that will spread through generations. Though he refused to take credit for his actions, he brought hope to the darkest corners of this city.

"In the end, that dedication cost him his life. My brother died quietly, alone in an alley, having tried to save just one more child from a life of violence.

"This monument will stand as a testament to that dedication. My brother will be an unsung hero no more. Joe shall be remembered for doing the best things in the darkest of times, and for hoping the best in the most calamitous of times.

"To my dearest brother, the silent hero of a community that needed him more than it knew:

"Rest in peace."

Thursday 26 September 2013

Down but not out: Hope on the Horizon

Hello my faithful and incredibly disappointed reader(s)!

So yeah, I suck. I'm trying out the whole "productivity" thing with regards to my school work this term, and it's proving to be a bit heavier of a responsibility than I anticipated. I don't really have the time to dedicate to writing right now, which is unfortunate for me (and you, I guess, if you're reading this).

The good news is that I have NOT given up on this initiative, and when I stop being horrible at life and have caught up a bit I'm going to try and push out a few more entries. I might toss in a D&D character at some point as well, as I made a whole bunch of them that still don't have stories. I was going through a phase...

Anyway, to the point. Were I you, I wouldn't check back regularly, but I would expect some content to pop up relatively soon; probably around Thanksgiving. If I have the time I will push out as much content as possible then to make up for the lack of content preceding it.

Uselessly yours,
~Dom

Wednesday 18 September 2013

Thing 42: Something you've always regretted saying.

Hello everyone,

It's been a long, long time since my last post. I could make the excuse that I've been busy with school and my fraternity, but where there's a will, there's a way, and frankly I've been willing other things. Regardless, I'm taking the time tonight to add another passage to my collection. Let's see what the book has in store...

Thing 42: Something you've always regretted saying.

"Take a seat, John."

John Sanderson, a mousey man in a worn down suit, took his place across from his smartly-dressed colleague. He seemed utterly out of place in the leather chair he had been offered, its opulence standing in sharp contrast to his modest demeanor. Despite this, a smile sat comfortably on his face. Material things rarely found the opportunity to dismantle his genuine nature.

Tobias Schmidt -- prim, proper, prudent -- sat opposite. The warm light of his office shone in sinister relief within the gel of his hair. His coif, his dress, and his demeanor were immaculate; calculating. Here was a man who left nothing to chance, and who desired all things. He deserved them, after all. His ego would allow for no other reality.

"Lovely office you have here, Tobias. It's very regal."

The slightest hint of a smirk crept onto Tobias' face. It was a small gesture whch cast a large shadow, veiling the peasant before it in disdain. "Why thank you. I like to think of it as a reflection of myself."

John smiled and leaned back in his seat. "So what did you want to talk about?"

Tobias removed his hands from the arms of his chair and folded them deliberately in his lap. "Yes, let's cut straight to it, shall we? How are things with Evelyn?"

"Oh, things are wonderful!" His eyes looked distant as he thought about the girl he loved. "I think I'm really smitten. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"And you're close?"

"Certainly. I'm meeting her tonight, in fact." John's expression turned quizzical after a brief flash of thought. "Why do you ask?"

Tobias' eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he allowed the tension in the room to build. Silence was his weapon, and he wielded it with deadly intent. When he thought John could take it no more, he provided sweet release from the vice of anxiety.

"Don't you think you're being a bit selfish?"

Taken aback, John's eyes widened. "Whatever do you--"

"Think, John. Look around you." A single, slender hand motioned to the plush decor with a dismissive wave. "You say that she's the best thing that's ever happened to you. Do you think there might be a reason for this? You," another dismissive wave, "are a nice man, but a woman like Evelyn needs more than nice. She needs stability, drive, eloquence; all traits you lack. She is a delicate flower, ready to bloom but for your lack of poise.

"Think carefully about what you are. Could you ever provide her the future she deserves? You can barely take care of yourself. How do you expect to take care of her?"

Again, the silence. It thickened, festered with disdain and uncertainty. The mousey man sat before a dragon, and felt the full weight of his own inadequacy.

"Should you enact your intentions, she will likely follow. Too pure is she to reach for that which she desires, and so she would live in squalor to suit your needs. She deserves better than what you could provide. If you feel the way you claim, then provide her the opportunity to spread her wings. If you love her, set her free."

The dragon clenched its jaw, and the mousey man's heart, trapped within, burst into a thousand screaming pieces.

"I... I don't..."

"And you never will."

The finality of it hit John like he imagined a train might. His shortcomings weighed upon his soul, dragging it to the murky depths of anguish.

In John's mind, a single image shone bright and clear: Evelyn's smile. The innocence and purity of it made his heart soar, struggling against the anchor of his own emotions. A single tear formed on his cheek at the thought of it.

Eyelids closed, shutting out the fanciful room and leaving only Evelyn's shining profile, but the more desperately he grasped for it, the farther away it became. The chains tightened and tugged and ripped and tore.

"You are not worthy, Jonathan. Set her free."

John's mind raced with and endless torrent of dreams he could not fulfill, luxuries he could not provide. One by one they assaulted him and tore him down. He was putty before the dragon.

He was bested.

With a sniff and a brave clearing of his throat, mouse met the dragon's eyes. "You're right, of course. I supposed I dared to dream." Another tear appeared as he rose from the leather chair and straightened his jacket. "I shan't dare to do so again."

Tobias said nothing. Having accomplished his goal, he was more than content to allow his prey to leave. Weak men would forever remain weak, and to him they were nthing more than an obstacle to be discarded.

Outside the office, John slowly pulled his phone from a pocket in his frayed coat. A moment of contemplation forced resolve to overtake despair.

If you love her, set her free.

Before he knew what was happening, a familiar tone rang through the receiver, as if the phone had dialed itself. Unblinking, he raised it to his ear, awaiting the fateful moment to come.

"Hello, Eve. I was hoping we could talk."

Monday 9 September 2013

Thing 41: What would you run out of the house with if your house caught fire?

Well, school's back in. I'm hoping hat having responsibility again will keep me motivated rather than barring my creativity, and as such I hope to produce more regular content. Here goes nothing...

Thing 41: What would you run out of the house with if your house caught fire?

It starts as but a hint of sensation. The warmth creeps over you, gentle and inviting. It is a childhood friend, a beloved pet, a pleasant memory sparked by a wayward dream.

But the warmth grows more bold. A rivulet of sweat provides evidence that perhaps the warmth is not coming from within. Your covers, so tightly wrapped about you, become a prison. Their comforting protection against a night of terrors is now a suffocating burden.

You open your eyes, trying desperately to clear the fog clouding your mind. The world is a blur, and your senses are assaulted by phenomena beyond understanding. Around you echo inhuman screams, cloaked in a synaesthetic nightmare of red and orange.

Each frantic blink washes away another layer fog. Your room slowly comes to focus as your haze is banished. The screams reveal themselves as the piercing ring of the fire alarm. The colours reveal themselves as the hungry tendrils of flame consuming the life you've built around you. For a moment a pang of despair consumes you as your belongings are consumed. All you've worked for, gone in an instant.

Despair turns to panic, for your life is in danger. Your belongings may soon be followed by your person. The flames grow ever closer, and you are a fragile being. Should you remain it would surely mean your doom.

Panic turns to resolve, for you realize that there is another in this place; another whose precious life must face the perilous flames.

It is the one you love. Above all, this one must be saved, for your life is nothing before theirs.

You fly out of the comfort of your bed, for no blanket can hold back the beast you now face. Arid smoke enters your lungs and burns your pupils, but you ignore it. It will not deter you from your goal.

With gritted teeth and firm resolve, you rush forward, into the clawing flames.

They must survive.

Sunday 8 September 2013

Story Challenge 4: Shades of Ignorance [Part 2]

Part 1: http://idlemindunhinged.blogspot.ca/2013/09/story-challenge-4-shades-of-ignorance.html

This story's pretty weak. I'm sorry. I should have chosen some more outlandish topics to write about, but once I get an idea in my head it's hard to shake it sometimes. In any case, part two below. I doubt there will be a third.

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Hayden shook his head in dismay. "'Unlawful use of internet resources?' Really?"

"Unfortunately," responded Jorge, standing before his comrades, "they've made blogging illegal. Apparently content like Mr. Nye's webisodes are cluttering up their valuable server space."

Catherine leaned over to address the rest of the group to her right. "Why would they go after blogs? I mean, there's like a billion porn sites that take up way more space."

As she opened her mouth to continue she was interrupted by Jayne's condescending chuckle. "There's money in porn," he explained. "Besides, people might get a little snippy about losing blogs, but they'd be up in arms if you took their precious porn away."

Conceding the point with a nod and a shrug, Catherine leaned back in her chair and looked once again to Curtis. His silhouette cut an imposing figure before the armed men on the screen behind him.

He let the silence thicken in the air about them as their thoughts stewed on the events unfolding around them. When he felt they could bear it no more, his steely voice shok them from their contemplation.

"Our information indicates that the NSA's African data farms are nearly saturated. Pretty soon they'll be looking to expand, and so they're clearing space on the cloud the sow the seeds of expansion. It's a digital empire, and pretty soon it will cast its shadow over all of us.

"With the US government at their back, they are expanding virtually unopposed. Nobody wants to risk starting a war that they don't think they can win, and no other intelligence organization can match the NSA for resources or manpower.

"We are the only thing that stands in their way. If we fail, the NSA may very well take over the entire world."

Gerald's scowl sat in harsh contrast the the solemnity splayed across the faces of the others. "So what exactly are we supposed to do? Neither the KGB nor the MSS can stand against these guys. What do we have that they don't?"

"Easy," replied Curtis. His smirk sent a chill down their spines. "Home field advantage."

Thursday 5 September 2013

Story Challenge 4: Shades of Ignorance [Part 1]

It's time for my next STORY CHALLENGE! Sadly I don't think this one will be as outlandish as the others, I have compiled my favourite suggestions:

- An episode of Bill Nye gone horribly wrong
- Blogging is now a criminal offense
- The NSA have used up all of Africa as a data storage centre and need a new continent to hold their records
- An intriguing political thriller about the expansion of empires
- A conspiracy

Without further ado, let's have an adventure.

Web pages used in this writing:
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_transitional_fossils#Dinosaurs_to_birds
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miranda_Rights

Part 2: http://idlemindunhinged.blogspot.ca/2013/09/story-challenge-4-shades-of-ignorance_8.html

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The mood in the room was tense as dinosaurs and microscopes flashed haphazardly across the screen, its flickering light illuminating the seven solemn faces assembled before it. The room remained silent save for Bill Nye's familiar theme song. As it ended, the show's namesake faded into view.

"Hello everyone! Welcome to Bill Nye's Science Revival, where I, Bill Nye, answer your questions about the wonderful world of science! We've had a lot of great suggestions for this week's installment, so let's jump right in to episode three!

"PaleontologistBoner69 asks: 'Can you talk a bit about transitional fossils? I'm particularly interested in links between dinosaurs and birds, such as the Archaeopteryx.'

"Well I'm glad you asked, PaleontologistBoner69! Despite your unfortunate screen name you've touched on a topic that has had scientists and historians alike excited for a very long time. Fossils such as the Archaeopteryx are called transitional fossils because they provide evidence of a link between two unique sets of organisms, in this case dinosaurs and birds. This link implies that the creatures from the first set, over time, have adapted and evolved into creatures from the second set, in essence providing some concrete evidence for the theory of evolution. Now, what I find to be particularly interesting --"

A sudden crash shocked him out of his monologue as heavily-armed officers burst into his home. Within seconds he was surrounded by the foreboding matte of dozens of rifles and the stern men holding them

"Bill Nye, you are under arrest for unlawful use of internet resources. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in the court of law."

The flickering of the screen stopped as the pause icon appeared. From his seat, the group's leader walked to the centre of the room, the terrified face of Bill Nye in stark relief above him.

"This was posted two days ago. They're getting bold."

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I know this is disappointingly short, but honestly after PaleontologistBoner69 most of my immediate creativity has been lost. I started writing this yesterday, and this is all I've come up with, so I'm going to post what I have and work on making something half decent in the next installment. Sorry.

Friday 30 August 2013

Thing 40: Describe each member of your family with just one word

Hey all. It's currently 3:05 AM, EST. I guess it's time for a new blog post. Why not, right? Hopefully I'll fix up my sleep patterns when school starts up again, but for now I get some of my best work done at odd hours in the morning.

As a reminder, this is Thing 40, so my next entry will be a STORY CHALLENGE! I don't have many suggestions at the moment, so please send me your ideas! It's not much of a story if nobody participates.

Anyway, on with the literary exercise...

Thing 40: Describe each member of your family with just one word

Darn it, I hate these kind of restrictions. One word is woefully insufficient to sum up any type of person, and I think it is an insult to their complexity. I'm going to fudge this just a touch and select my word, but I will follow up with a justification for that word.

I'm also going to stick with just my immediate family, who I grew up with, as truth be told I don't know my half brothers and sisters very well. I'm not enough of a people person to have reached out to them enough to become particularly close. That's not to say I don't love or respect them as family, because truly I do. It's just that I don't have enough information for my analysis to be valid.

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Who: My father, Alfred Aquilina
Word: Rich
Why: I should clarify that this is not rich in the monetary sense, but rather in the context of a rich history. My father likes things that are old; especially boats, military heirlooms, and Maltese historical sites. Things and places with a noteworthy past draw him in and pique his fascination.

Ships appeal to his idea of freedom and exploration. He loves the idea drifting across the ocean on a small vessel, and seeks the stories that such vessels may have experienced.

Military heirlooms appeal to his sense of duty and his curiosity into human nature. Our family has a long history of military service (for example: http://www.militarybruce.com/unpublished-news/centralia-sam.html), and so military history holds a special place in his heart. His fascination with military artifacts pays homage to the sacrifice that soldiers make for their country.

Maltese historical sites appeal to his sense of family and his nostalgia for the land of his birth. Malta is a small country with a huge history, and for the first ten years of his life, my father called it home. It's not often he has the opportunity to return and visit the relatives that stayed behind, but he loves his country, and seeks nostalgiac escapes whenever he can.

History, to my father, the is lifeblood of a people. Where we have been moulds who we are today, and so one cannot move forward without first looking back. His passion for his career (social work) stems from his desire to understand and help people. This passion has led him to publish a book which is sometimes used as a textbook in northern communities (http://www.amazon.ca/Mackenzie-yesterday-beyond-Alfred-Aquilina/dp/0888390831) and has him working diligently to prepare another that will explore the history of our family back to its roots.

For these reasons, my father is "rich." Rich in history, and rich in character.

Who: My mother, Mercedes Aquilina
Word: Difficult
Why: Sorry mom, but we both know it's true! My mother has led a fairly difficult life, and has battled innumerable health issues over the years. Her most recent and most severe battle is against Parkinson's disease. While she is fighting bravely, her road is not an easy one, and each day provides a new set of challenges to overcome.

A host of other issues have also severely restricted her diet, making food a sore issue most of the time. I often joke that my mother has a food-free diet, which isn't too large a stretch from the truth. No wheat, no dairy, no sugar, no meat. Finding a meal that she can eat without suffering side effects makes Waldo look like he's wearing a flood light in an empty field.

So yes, my mother is difficult, but it's not really her fault. Life's dealt her a bit of a blow (from first-world standards, anyway), and she's doing her best to roll with the punches. (P.S. - I had to think pretty hard about how to say this without mixing metaphors. I don't think I did a very good job.)

Who: My Brother, Vincent Aquilina
Word: Passionate
Why: The easiest explanation for this choice would be my brother's music. His band, the Faraway Neighbours (http://farawayneighbours.com/), has been a huge part off his life for years now. Working as a cook to pay the bills, he's toiled day and night to craft his sound into something unique and wonderful, and the boys have built something they're very proud of. Their first album was recorded, produced, and mastered entirely on their own in their off hours, and they're trying desparately to get their second out to the adoring public. You can read a little more about this particular passion on their CBC feature (http://music.cbc.ca/#/artists/Faraway-Neighbours).

But music is just one facet of his life. Vince, like myself, was taught to treat every responsibility as an important one. When he sets his mind to something, he will give it his all, and he'll make sure that the job is done right. Take one look at his immaculate workstation and you'll get a good idea of what I'm talking about. He's always willing to take the time to ensure that his station is properly cleaned and organised.

Furthermore, my brother has a passion for family. He's the guy that reaches out to our relatives because he genuinely cares what's happening in their lives. Even as I write this he's over in Saint John's attending a family wedding, 3000 kilometers from where he's made his home. It doesn't matter that it's inconvenient; what does matter is family. We didn't particularly like each other as kids (to be fair, I was not likable), but he would always come to my aid when I needed it. I'd often lie through my teeth and he would be there to pick up the pieces.

For these reasons, Vince is "passionate."

Who: The late Ice, our family dog (second in my lifetime)
Word: Naiive
Why: To be honest, this would describe most dogs, but I think my cute little dog was a special kind of adorable stupid. (For reference: http://imgur.com/VB3dPJN)

Ice was not a strong learner. It's possible we were horrible teachers, but I think we'd had him for five years before he could sit on command. once he eventually learned how to shake a paw he would do it whenever anyone came close, out of what I expect was sheer enthusiasm. By the time we had to put him down he still hadn't learned to to lie down, or to stay out of the kitchen. Part of me wants to chalk this up to excessive eagerness, but in the end I just don't think he was clever enough to grasp what we were trying to tell him.

The best example of his ignorance was probably his nosebleeds. There was a winter one year when his diet seemed to be lacking something, and as a result his nose would get incredibly dry. Every so often, this dryness would cause a bit of a nosebleed, where the tiniest of cracks would appear on the tip of his nose and a miniscule but steady stream of blood would shoot out. Despite our best efforts to contain him, he would start licking up the trail of blood, which kept expanding in front of him because it was coming out of his face. He'd follow this trail in circles all around our landing, and we' have to follow him around cleaning up the mess and trying to get him to stop moving so much until the bleeding stopped. This happened (at least) seven or eight times that winter, and every time he would react in exactly the same way, completely surprised. It was both hilarious and frustrating.

Despite all of this, we loved the poor guy. Being the terrible person that I was, I certianly didn't show it as well as I should have, but that never stpped him from coming back. I spent more time yelling at him to shut up than showing affection, but he was always happy to see me. Now that I know better I have a deep respect for that kind of innocent love. He didn't remember the bad stuff -- he just knew that we were his family, and he loved us unconditionally.

Sadly, we had to put him down a few years ago, as he had a host of illnesses and his life was becoming really difficult, but I'll always have a special place for him in my heart, naiivity and all.

Sunday 25 August 2013

Thing 39: If each decade of your life was represented by a pop song, what would they be?

And so it continues. Writing these has been a really interesting experience for me, and I'm a little upset that I don't have the motivation to continue doing so regularly. In any case, I'll do my best to make my writing interesting when I do get around to it.

speaking of which, we're on Thing 39, so the next story challenge is coming up! That means I'm looking for suggestions about what I should include. Feel free to leave a comment below with a few topics that you'd like to see included!

Thing 39: If each decade of your life was represented by a pop song, what would they be?

Well, that's a bit disappointing. I've only had 2.2 decades thus far. Furthermore, a lot can change in 10 years, so I don't think a period of that granularity is really an apt representation of the time therein. Rather than follow this verbatim, I'm going to express my life in stages of varying periods.

Note that the songs I choose will likely not be perfect. I've got a pretty decent library (a little over 9000 (nice.) songs on my computer) with a decent amount of variety, but finding a song that describes something so intricate and complex as a human life with any degree of accuracy is pretty much impossible.

In any case, I'll give it a shot.

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So one day, I was born. It wasn't really that important an event in the grand scheme of things. Hell, I was the eighth child between my parents, and I'm told my birth was incredibly uneventful as births go. All in all, my birth means nothing.

But here I am.

So it didn't mean much, but it happened. What is important about this event is that it started my journey. Without it, I wouldn't be here today. All that I've known, felt, accomplished, would not exist. And I was not alone. I had my parents to guide me, to fill my empty head with ideas and sounds and hope.

For this reason, I would describe this part of my life with the intro track from Aquaria's official soundtrack, written by Alex Holowka.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4g_k333NWM

...

So then I began to grow. I'm told I was a cute child, which I suppose is a matter of interpretation. Regardless, I did have an incredibly vivid imagination. This is a trait I'm particular proud of, and that I retain to this day. I dreamt big -- really big. I wanted to be an inventor, and start a bar in a double-decker bus. I wanted to be a powerful wizard and fight evil in Power World.

At this time I was still pretty innocent; just a naiive child learning all he could about the world around him. Reality didn't mean a whole lot back then.

For this reason, I would describe this part of my life with Ellie Goulding's Starry Eyed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBf2v4mLM8k

...

So then the evil set in. I was a terrible, terrible child.

Now at this point you're probably chalking this up to "kids being kids" or some other such nonsense. To put it bluntly, you're wrong.

I was a terrible, terrible child.

This was not my parents' fault. They taught me well enough, and I had a loving home.

I was a terrible, terrible child.

First and foremost, I was angry at everything. Always. I portrayed this anger with yelling, and violence, and indignation. I can't remember a day when I didn't scream about something. I would throw my schoolbag around. I would yell and cry.

And there was no good reason.

I was a terrible, terrible child.

Secondly, I was entitled. I was pretty intelligent for a kid my age (or at least, I knew more than my peers at that stage), and by god did I ever milk that. I thought the world belonged to me, and I was PISSED when others disagreed. And I was selfish. Oh, was I ever selfish. I would fly into a fit of rage if somebody didn't stop whatever they were doing to cater to my whim.

I was a terrible, terrible child.

That phase lasted a long time. It's sort of like the dark age of my life thus far.

For this reason, I  would describe this  part of my life with a fairly obvious choice: Down With The Sickness, by Disturbed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzxuknbQ5VY

...

So then I realised what a horrible person I was. I started making actual friends for a change, and I legitimately wanted to become better. In grades seven and eight I thought that one day, with a little work, I might actually become a decent human being.

I'm not sure what it was that made me open my eyes, but I knew I had to make a change. I couldn't help but be ashamed by what I'd left behind, but there was hope.

There was always hope.

For this reason, I would describe this part of my life with Hot Chip's I Feel Better.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GOZjlwIwfk

And because the music video's a bit weird, he's the song on its own.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N-Y07r8n6W4

...

So then I got to high school, where two pretty important things happened.

First, I met a girl, and I became (unhealthily) obsessed with her for 4 years.

Second, I realised I was still the same conceited bastard I used to be, but with a bit of a better mask.

This realisation didn't really sink in until closer to my graduation, but despite my big talk I knew deep down that I wasn't doing all that I could. In fact, I wasn't doing much of anything. I did get straight A's in highschool (except for a 78 in grade 10 history), if I actually gave a damn I could have done significantly better. I wasn't involved in anything extracurricular, and when I made friends it was more of an accident than anything else. I seemed to think that because I was in IB I was better than everybody else. It hits you pretty hard when you realise just how wrong you are about something. (P.S. - I'm pretty sure grade 10 was the first time in my life that I ever said "I was wrong.")

I suppose you'll want to know more about the girl... There's not much to tell, really. I fell in lust with a girl who I found to be incredibly attractive, and I put her on an impossible pedestal. I thought she was perfect. The more I learned about her, the more I realised that she was anything but, and I began to hate myself. As terrible as I thought she was, I still saw myself as worse, and I sunk into a deep depression. I hated myself both for liking her so much (I called it love) and for not being good enough for her.

High school had some high points, but it was a very sad time for me.

For this reason, I would describe this part of my life with Korn's Liar. There are a few reasons for this, but I'll let you figure those out on your own.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8H-JK5AdlXw

...

So then I started university. For a very short time, I was genuinely happy.

A very short time.

For this reason, I would describe this part of my life with Tool's Intermission.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSvtGQUqldA

Alternatively, having turned over a bit of a new leaf, Hey Ocean!'s I Am A Heart may also be fitting.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2oWlcImcS6A

...

So then reality hit. It wasn't long before UW began to jade me. I began to resent a lot of things, and the depression came creeping back.

The bittersweet edge of this depression was perspective. I'd lived a number of pretty powerful emotions up to now, and it left me with a very strong understanding of who I am and what needed to change. My strengths and my faults all became abundantly clear to me, and the path I needed to take was fairly well-lit.

The heart of the matter is that I am not happy with myself. I haven't been for a very long time.

But, I know I also have some redeeming qualities to counteract the not-so-redeeming ones. My goal is to cultivate those qualities, and one day became every bit of the man I know I should be; the man who lives the qualities I preach.

For this reason, I would describe this part of my life -- the most recent, heartwrenching chapter -- with Imagine Dragon's Demons. I can think of no better representation than this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSoIWEGL1YM

So there you have it. This musical interlude isn't a particularly happy one, but at least it's honest.

Friday 23 August 2013

Thing 38: The next blockbuster medicine and what will happen as a result

I've been on a bit of a hiatus, and I apologise for that. Not that I have any fllowers, really, but I tried to commit to posting regular entries from the book, and I haven't done so. In any case, here's to the next one.

Thing 38: The next blockbuster medicine and what will happen as a result

Crap! I had a great intro written for a game that I want to develop which fit this topic perfectly, but sadly I've lost the book I had written it in. I wish I could find that...


Anyway, the premise is simple. Researchers believe they have discovered a cure for AIDS. The disease works by weakening your immune system and making you fatally susceptible to other illnesses and infections. The proposed solution was to introduce a virus into the host that would bolster the their immune system by regenerating dead white blood cells. In animal trials, the medicine worked perfectly. It didn't remove the disease from the host's system, but it counteracted the negative effects, effectively neutralising it.

Issues arose, however, when the first human trials were conducted. Something about our specific biology caused the virus to evolve in an unexpected and horrific way. Instead of simply bringing dead white blood cells back into action, viral cells would split and infest all of the host's cells, eventually replacing them entirely. The new being was single-minded in its purpose: produce more viral cells. To do this, the virus needed to be spread into a new host, such as through blood or saliva.

The virus created zombies.

What's worse, is that in order to spread more effectively, the virus evolved. While it couldn't seem to survive in aquatic environments, it could expand in a limited capacity to the air. The contact strain remained 100% effective in converting hosts (with dead hosts converting more quickly), the airborne strain only converted about 40% of hosts. An additional 40% of those who came in contact died outright, with the virus overwhelming their systems and halting further regeneration. That left 20% of humanity immune to the airborne strain and facing off against an ever-growing horde of the undead.

Down but not out, humanity rallied in whatever ways it could. The zombies had a strong sense of self preservation, as their primary directive was to create additional viral cells, so settlements were able to crop up and remain reasonably safe. Small groups were able to live in the wasteland using their wits and survival skills, trying to outsmart and outmaneuvre the undead. Slowly but surely, the survivors began to dwindle, but hope lived on.

We weren't about to give up that easily.

Notes:
- This idea stays true to the "undead" philosophy of the zombie mythos by effectively reducing the scale. The individual cells of an organism are killed, and then regenerated by the virus, so the host is mutated into something that is no longer strictly human.
- In this world, animals are not compatible with the mutated virus, so zombies and wildlife tend to avoid one another.
- The actual percentages for mutation and death of the airborne strain are subject to change. I'd need to run some simulations to get an idea of how many zombies there could be such that humanity could live on without being utterly overwhelmed.

Monday 19 August 2013

Thing 37: If you had one week to live...

And once again I've decided to write my new passage at a ridiculously late/early hour. I need some kind of a schedule to produce content regularly and at normal times... Anyway, on with the writing.

Thing 37: If you had one week to live...

Disclaimer: Don't take this too seriously. It's a work of fiction, after all.

So this is it, I've reached the end.
My sordid life is done.
Just one more week to fake; pretend
my life's a decent one.

I've had a lot of struggles here,
And struggles they remain.
When things got tough I'd shed a tear
And wallow in my pain.

Not once did I stand up and shout
Defiantly in rage:
"I've had enough! And I'm about
To make a real change!"

Never have I been the one
Whose courage didn't falter.
Despite the talk I've gone and done
My fate I couldn't alter.

"But you've had friends," you're bound to say,
"Who'll help you with this task!"
I'm sure you're right, but as it may
I didn't even ask.

For mine is but a lonely path;
This is the choice I've made.
As a result life's burning wrath
To rest will soon be laid.

And here a sit, a lowly wretch,
Who's lived a glaring lie.
I've no regrets, here in this stretch
As I begin to die.

So this is it, I've reached the end.
My sordid life is done.
Just one more week to fake; pretend
my life's a decent one.

Wednesday 14 August 2013

Thing 36: The talk-show host

Thing 35 was kind of a big one, but there are another 607 things to be written about, so let's keep it going, shall we?

Thing 36: The talk-show host

"You're on in five, Dave."

"Thanks," says Dave, flashing his coworker a charismatic smile.

Inside, however, he was screaming.

Dave Pierce, bearer of The Piercing Truth, he who gets to the bottom of whatever your trouble may be...

Is growing seriously tried of your bullshit.

I hate them all, he thinks. Like I give a damn who the father of your baby is. Maybe if you stopped sleeping with every guy you met you wouldn't have this problem. Like I give a damn if your kid is an asshole. It's your kid: you deal with it. Like I give a damn if you're addicted to gasoline. There are professional services to deal with that kind of crap. I swear to god, one more day of this and I'm going to explode.

The smile stays on his face as he sorts through his papers. He doesn't read them, figuring the announcer will tell him what he needs to know before the newest batch of miscrients emerges to poison his air. Besides, knowing what's to come doesn't make his job any easier. They spout some bullshit, he spouts some bullshit, and everyone goes home angry. It's the same formula that has kept the unwashed masses watching TV since the dawn of talkshows.

A thumbs up from the producer means they're ready to shoot. Dave returns with a curt nod and his characteristic charming smile. It's show time.

One more hour, thinks Dave, and I can go home.

The theme music he so despises starts to play. Cheering erupts from the sheep in his live audience.

One more hour.

The camera zooms in. It's time.

"Welcome! I'm Dave Pierce, and this, is The Piercing Truth! This is the show where we get to the bottom of real issues for real people. This is raw, live television at its finest! Are you ready?"

More applause.

Fifty-nine minutes.

"Let's bring out our guests, Tom!"

"FIrst up on The Piercing Truth: young mothers! These girls are pregnant with their first children. The catch? None of them are even 16 years old! Where did they go wrong?"

I'm going to murder them all.

Tuesday 13 August 2013

Thing 35: How do you feel about love these days? [Part 3]

Part 1: http://idlemindunhinged.blogspot.ca/2013/08/thing-35-how-do-you-feel-about-love.html
Part 2: http://idlemindunhinged.blogspot.ca/2013/08/thing-35-how-do-you-feel-about-love_12.html

Well, this is it: the grand finale. Admittedly I don't remember this part as clearly as I'd like, so I'll have to ad-lib a bit, and I don't think the end result will be as nice as the original, but we have to work with what we've got.

Let's do this.

------------------------------

Soft footsteps on the apartment's hardwood floors caught my attention as I slid the eggs I'd prepared onto a plate. Alyshia flashed me a small smile as she sat on a stool next to her kitchen's island. She was wearing some loose pajama pants and a great sweatshirt which had to be at least four sizes larger than she needed.

"You're just in time!" With a flourish I set the plate and utensils before her. "I wasn't sure how you liked your bacon, so it's not too crispy, but the eggs came out perfectly. I hope you like it!"

Her laughter put me at ease. She seemed somehow inwardly sad, but my enthusiasm was rubbing off on her, and with my concerns alleviated this was turning into a fairly pleasant morning.

"It looks delicious, thank you." As I leaned back on the counter she craned her neck to peek behind me. "Where's yours?"

"Oh, I'm not much of a breakfast person. I rarely eat in the morning. I do enjoy cooking, though, and after putting me up for the night a meal is the least I could do."

Another smile.

"Fair enough. But," she said, patting the stool next to hers, "at least come sit with me."

I acknowledged her with a slight bow. "As the lady commands."

She waited until I had sat down before digging in to the meal and eliciting the slightest moan of approval. I leaned my forearm on the counter as I watched her eat. "So, tell me about yourself."

The prompt clearly took her off guard. After thinking for a moment she placed her utensils carefully on the plate and crossed her arms in front of her. "What would you like to know?"

"I don't know, whatever you're willing to share," I said with a laugh. "I've told you my life's story, and all I really know about you is that you're pretty and a great listener."

Something about what I'd said made her flinch, but only for a moment. She was quickly able to compose herself as if nothing had happened. I wasn't sure what had been the cause, but I made note of it, just in case.

There was more talking than eating after that. Alyshia regailed me with stories of her family and her childhood; of her hopes and her dreams; of her struggles and her triumphs. By the time she'd finished the small plate over an hour had passed, and my respect for her had grown exponentially.

As she finished her last bite of toast she placed her fork and knife parallel in the center of her plate. "That, sir, was a fine meal." The compliment was made sweeter by the silken laugh that accompanied it. "You'll have to allow me to make it up to you some time."

"Oh, please," I scoffed. "You've already done more than enough. If anything I'm still greatly in your debt. It's not often I get the chance to cook for a beautiful woman."

In an instant, her cheerful demeanor vanished. Her shoulders sagged as she averted her gaze, taking me entirely off guard. I had no idea how to respond. She began to nervously push her fork across the plate as she whispered: "Why do you keep doing that..."

A thousand questions ran through my mind. Had I said something? Done something wrong? I was hesitant to speak, lest I somehow upset her further. "Doing what?"

Time seemed to slow as she turned toward me. It as an eternity before her eyes finally met mine. They seemed to stare right through me, into my soul; endless oceans of despair and doubt. Her teary gaze cast a chain around my heart. "Calling me beautiful."

It was a simple statement, delivered as barely a breath while she fought to keep her tears in check, but it carried the weight of a hammer as it hit me. The words barely registered, their meaning lost on my incredulity.

Is she serious?

"Because I'm honest."

A single tear rolled down her cheek as she looked back at the plate. She shut her eyes tightly, as if trying to hold back the pain I had inadvertantly unleashed. These wounds ran deeper than I could have possibly imagined.

I felt anger burning deep within me. It wasn't fair for so sweet a girl to be wracked by such insidious self doubt. Someone had hurt this girl in ways I did no understand, but I resolved then and there that I would do everything in my power to make it right.

I reached out and retrieved one of her hands in a firm grip. The sudden contact took her by surprise, and she looked first at my hand, and then my resolute gaze.

"Do you trust me?"

She responded with an unsteady nod.

"Good. Close your eyes and come with me."

I stood, and she followed, too shocked to resist. With my free hand I picked up my stool and led her toward the bathroom I had spotted earlier. When we arrived I set the stool in the middle of the room and sat her on it, facing the mirror.

I gave her shivering hand a squeeze of encouragement before positioning myself behind her.

"Now, before you open your eyes, I need you to do something for me. Clear your mind, and forget all of the preconceived notions you have about yourself. I want you to see what I see, and nothing more. Can you do that for me?"

Another unsteady nod.

"Good. now slowly open your eyes."

As she did so her pupils widened in surprise. She sat facing her reflection. I gave her a moment to study her own features. I saw her eyes dart to each in turn, as if seeing them for the first time.

"See what I see. See a girl who is shrouded in unjust sadness. A girl who has been hurt, but has not been broken. A girl with hopes and dreams, and a lifetime to accomplish them. A girl who would take in a man she just met because he cannot find his way home.

"See what I see. See that girl's face. Soft, kind, and scarred with a thousand painful memories. It is a face blessed with smooth skin and a radiant complexion; with strong features and supple lips. It is a face whose smile can make a whole room brighter, and whose frown can bring sorrow to the warmest of days. It is a beautiful thing, and a single expression weaves an epoch of emotion.

"See what I see. See that girl's body, shamefully shrouded in a thick cloak of doubt and apprehension. It is a body that highlights the care and dedication of its patron. It is a perfect collection of sensual hills and valleys culminating in a thing that even the gods can't help but desire.

"See what I see. See that girl's eyes. Piercing blue oceans of emotion. See the pain and the fear within them, but see also the strength, for within those azure orbs is the determination to face each and every day without backing down. They are eyes that can stare into your very soul. They are eyes that unmask your deepest fears and show you that you need not face them alone. One can be lost in the boundless depths of those eyes -- in that sea of hope, longing, and despair.

"I want you to look at this girl and see how beautiful she truly is. See how her features draw you to her and fill you with warmth. See how the kindness of her soul shines through the sadness so that not even the ugliest of emotions can soil her.

"When you are feeling sad, or alone, think of this girl. Of those eyes. Know that she is there with you. she feels what you feel, and she can lend you her boundless strength. Those eyes will follow you to hell and back, fighting at your side on every leg of the journey.

"For that is the most important part. I want you to see that this beautiful, perfect girl -- that kind face, that shapely body, those piercing eyes -- is you."

I gave her hand another encouraging squeeze as I finished. At this point tears were streaming freey down her face. She sat wide-eyed and unblinking, staring intently at the woman in the mirror. Her shoulders shook, wracked with sobs in a torrent of emotion. I stood close to her, holding her hand tightly to reassure her that she was not alone. It was unclear how long we stayed like this, but I was determined to stick with her until she was ready to move on.

All of a sudden the stool she was sitting on went skittering across the tiles of the bathroom as she stood and turned in one quick motion. Before I knew what was happening she had wrapped her arms around me, burying her sobs in my chest. My arms circled her as through choking cries she let out the faintest whisper:

"Thank you."

Monday 12 August 2013

Thing 35: How do you feel about love these days? [Part 2]

Part 1: http://idlemindunhinged.blogspot.ca/2013/08/thing-35-how-do-you-feel-about-love.html

And let the saga continue! I suppose I should post a disclaimer that I'm simply posting what I dreamed as accurately as I can, though I'm obviously trying to make it a decent read. You're free to make whatever assumptions you'd like, but I'm not changing the story at all, and I didn't have much conscious control over how the story developed.

Note: I've been sitting here for half an hour now working on this passage. I'm having serious trouble finishing the second paragraph. I dare say I lack the skill to adequately express what I dreamed. My ineloquence does not do her beauty justice... Though admittedly emotions play strongly into how you perceive a thing, so what one may see as pristine another may see as painfully ordinary. I need to work on my ability to convey emotion through my writing, and my ability to describe my vision without cheapening it.

------------------------------------


A lump rose in my throat as the reality of the situation in which I found myself hit me like a freight train. I was unable to speak; to breathe; to comprehend. I could only stare unblinking at the girl lying next to me.

She lay facing me, with the covers pulled all the way to her neck. The fluffy white sheets rose and fell with her gentle breathing, revealing the vague outline of her small yet shapely frame hidden beneath. I followed the curves of it with my eyes; down the dip of her waist and up along her shoulders, eventually coming to rest on her pristine face. Short golden hair, nearly white, fell across her pale skin. She seemed radiant in the bright morning light, her soft features absorbing it as if welcoming an old friend.

Simply put, she was beautiful, and I was in awe.

The implications of her presence there, however, caused a growing concern that far outweighed the small twinge of pride beneath it. How did I get there? Why was I in bed with a woman I had never seen before?

I lost track of how long I lay there, staring, but the burning in my lungs reminded me of the need to breathe and helped to shock me back to reality. I closed my eyes as I took a few deep breaths, hoping the darkness would help me to regain my composure. Once I was certain that I had sufficiently collected my thoughts, I took one last look at the girl before sliding out of the bed. I moved with deliberate care, doing everything in my power to avoid disturbing the sleeping beauty.

As my feet touched the plush carpet I spotted my pants neatly folded beside the bed and realised for the first time that I wasn't wearing any. A chill ran down my spine as blood rushed to my face. I wasted no time in donning the jeans and took a seat in the chair on the far side of the room. Having no idea where I was, I decided it would be best to get as much information as possible as to how I got here before deciding my next course of action. Nerves had me wringing my hands as I waited for the girl to awaken.

A feminine groan jarred me from my brooding. The woman in the bed began to stir, stretching the stiffness from her muscles beneath the sheets. Her eyes blinked beneath her furrowed brow as the brightness of the room assaulted them. Once they adjusted, they settled on me, sitting across the room, and a grin found its way onto her face.

"Good morning."

A weak smile was the best response I could muster.

After one final stretch, the girl began to slide into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard of her bed. As she did so, the covers slipped down her chest to fall in a heap in her lap, revealing a her bare breasts.

In a panic I shut my eyes as tightly as I could. It took every ounce of my willpower to keep them that way, and my knuckles were white with the strain of my grip on the arms of the chair.

I swallowed back the lump clawing once again at my throat before addressing the girl. "I'm sorry, but, um, could you, um..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sure..."

I heard some rustling from the bed as I maintained my death grip on the chair. When the movement ceased, I slowly opened my eyes. She had brought the covers up and had them tucked neatly beneath her arms. Her smile had disappeared, and I could see sadness brewing in her eyes as they stared directly into mine.

It was almost more than I could bear.

The silence was oppressive. My hands wrung nervously in my lap as I searched for words that refused to form. The girl waited patiently, her hands idly gripping the edge of the sheet she had wrapped around herself.

With a deep breath, I mustered my courage. "So, I'm not sure how I got here. Last night I vaguely remember accompanying some friends to a bar, but most of the night is a complete blank for me. This is an entirely new experience for me, as I don't drink, and from the lack of hangover I'm guessing I didn't start yesterday, but the fact remains that I can't remember a thing, and I'm a bit scared. I was hoping I could ask you some questions to fill in the blanks."

He shoulders sank a bit as she averted her gaze. "Go ahead," she said.

Why are you naked, I thought.

"I know this is horrible, but may I ask your name?"

A slight empathic smile appeared as she answered: "Alyshia."

Why are you naked, I thought.

"And, um, do you know who I am? Do you know much about me?"

The smile widened and her face softened. Her eyes, however, remained just as sad. "I know quite a lot about you, actually. You spent most of the night telling me about yourself."

"I'm sorry." I looked down in shame. "That seems rather rude."

"No, it's alright," she interrupted, holding up a hand to stop me. "I really enjoyed our discussion. I was flattered that you opened up to me, and I could tell you were being really genuine."

I returned her smile. "Thanks."

Why are you naked, I thought.

"Can you tell me what happened last night?"

"Well, I went out with a few friends of mine. I'm not very social and they were trying to get me to break out of my shell. Eventually we all started dancing, and that's where I met you. You were really enthusiastic, and at some point you found your way over to me, and we started dancing together.

"After awhile you leaned in and asked if we could go somewhere more quiet to talk. You said you wanted to get to know me. By now my friends had all but abandoned me, and you seemed friendly enough, so I agreed and we went out to the patio where you offered a proper introduction. 'Dominic Isaac James Aquilina, at your service, madam.'" She giggled and gave an exaggerated flourish as she imitated me, causing another blush to erupt on my face.

"Sorry," I said. "I can go a little overboard sometimes."

"No, it's alright. I thought it was sweet .You were open and genuine right from the start." She seemed to get lost in thought at this. Her hands wrung idly in her lap as she stared into nothing. "Truth be told it was really refreshing. Everything else seems to be drenched in pretense these days. You wore your heart on your sleeve."

"So what happened?"

"Well, we talked for a long time. You told me all about yourself: about your degree, your childhood, your depression, and your passion for writing and games. You didn't hold anything back."

"Geeze..." I ran my hand through my hair as I shook my head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, I'm not a private person by any stretch of the imagination, but... Anyway, I'm sorry to have subjected you to all that."

"I was more than happy to listen. You gave me a rare insight into your life, your emotions, and it was fascinating. Significantly more so than the club, in any case. I'll take a good conversation over a crowd any day. And you were more than happy to answer all of my questions. It was nice.

"Anyway, we talked for so long that the bar closed and they kicked us out. As far as I could tell all of our friends were long gone, so it was just the two of us. You gave me your phone number and we said our goodbyes, but as I was leaving I noticed you looked really confused. When I came back and asked what was wrong you said that you couldn't figure out where you lived; that there were a bunch of houses popping into your mind but you didn't know which one was yours. I could tell you were getting frustrated, and that something was clearly wrong.

"Eventually I offered to let you stay at my place for the night. I thought you were just tired, and that we could figure the rest out tomorrow. It took some convincing to wear down your pride, but you relented and came back here with me. And, well, here we are." She gestured to the room arund us before letting her hand fall back into her lap.

An awkward silence hung thick in the air as I pondered her story. "Well then."

Why are you naked, I thought.

I sighed deeply, and looked her straight in the eye. "Why are you naked?"

She blushed at the bluntness of it and looked away. It took her a moment to respond. "That's just how I go to bed. I can't really fall asleep otherwise. And I felt so safe around you..."

"So, um, we didn't..." I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence.

Her blush deepened. "No."

My relief was clear, and I let out an audible sigh as I brought my hand to my face. "Well, that's good."

It took a minute to realise what I'd said. In a panic I jumped to my feet. "Not that I wouldn't, I mean, um..." My jaw worked soundlessly as the words caught in my throat. The hopelessness of explaining quickly became clear, however, and I sat back down. "I'm sorry, that was really insensitive. I just meant--"

She held up a hand to stop me. "It's fine, really." Her eyes slowly rose to meet mine. "I offered, to be honest, but I knew what you'd say. You gave me your life's story, after all. You were a perfect gentleman."

I gave a mental nod of respect to my past self. Even when deprived of my faculties I was able to stay true to my values.

I looked back at Alyshia and suddenly realised that she was still naked beneath the sheets. I jumped to my feet once again. "Oh god, I'm so sorry. I should let you get dressed. I'll go and wait outside, and once you're ready please allow me to treat you to breakfast. You were kind enough to take care of me when I couldn't take care of myself, and you listened to me rudely blather on about myself for hours. It's really the least I could do."

She let out a single, silent chuckle at my sudden excitement, and a smile crept onto her face. "I've got plenty of food here. I'll cook us up some eggs and bacon once I'm dressed."

"No, please, allow me. You've already done far too much." I started walking toward the bedroom door. "Take your time. I'll have breakfast waiting."

And with a final smile, I left the room. I stood in the hallway for a moment after I closed the door.

I probably should have asked where the kitchen is, I thought.

Part 3: http://idlemindunhinged.blogspot.ca/2013/08/thing-35-how-do-you-feel-about-love_13.html

Sunday 11 August 2013

Thing 35: How do you feel about love these days? [Part 1]

Well, after an extended hiatus I have finally returned! Now that I'm firmly planted back home I should be able to get a good deal of writing done.

Thing 35: How do you feel about love these days?

That is an excellent question, my dear book. My first thought was to write a nice little love poem, but instead I'm going to write about one of my recent dream sagas. For those of you that don't know, I have a remarkably vivid and impressionable imagination. One of the benefits this affords me is the ability to give my dreams direction. As I fall asleep I think about how my dream will begin, and then it unfolds in a similar vein. This allows me to dream in series, so if I dream a story I particularly like, I'll keep it going the next time I sleep, and thus wonderful stories can unfold. I've had them go on for months, though this saga lasted only a few nights.

I should point out that this saga isn't completely relevant to the task at hand. At least, not in the conventional sense. I would urge you to not take it too literally, and to instead search for the feelings of the characters involved. It's also a rather long story, so please bear with me if I choose to complete it in multiple parts.

--------------------------------

It was a gentle sort of awakening.

The room sat in comfortable silence. I was dimly aware of the bright light bathing the room behind my eyelids, but I wished it would go away. The warmth of the soft sheets I had wrapped around me beckoned me to stay, and the soft bed beneath me welcomed me with a gentle embrace. I wanted to lie there forever; free of responsibility and hardship. I knew that this warmth would never abandon me. It would stay by my side for as long as I wished it.

But I knew all good things must come to an end, and greatness could not be achieved if one never got out of bed. It was a new day, after all, and the world was waiting.

With a sigh and every ounce of my willpower, I forced my lids to slowly part.

As my eyes adjusted and the blinding light became increasingly tolerable, a pristine white ceiling appeared before me. The morning light danced across its surface as wind jolted the foliage outside into motion. Under ordinary circumstances it would have been very relaxing.

The problem was, this was not my ceiling.

Confusion and panic fought for control of my recovering consciousness. In my grogginess all I could muster were a few blinks, hoping that each time I opened my eyes the strangeness would vanish and all would be as I expected. It was several minutes before I dared to look away; before I dared to see what other mysteries this morning had in store for me.

I swallowed as I turned my head to my right, careful to keep the rest of my body perfectly still. The large room was fairly normal, though far cleaner than I was used to. The ceiling flowed into equally pristine walls, adorned occassionally with paintings or windows that brought life to the space. A small night table and a simple dresser sat quietly upon the sky blue carpet, as if waiting for some sign of life. Both were bare, and painted the same bright white as the walls.

The simplicity of it was relaxing, to a certain extent. While the space was barren, it had an inviting feel. There was no pressure to it. The room was a blank canvas with no expectations or preconceived ideas to present to the viewer, and the air of serenity it presented helped to calm some of the panic welling in my chest.

Feeling slightly more relaxed, I let my gaze drift to the other side of the room. The panic immediately returned.

On the far side of the bed lay a woman.

Part 2: http://idlemindunhinged.blogspot.ca/2013/08/thing-35-how-do-you-feel-about-love_12.html
Part 3: http://idlemindunhinged.blogspot.ca/2013/08/thing-35-how-do-you-feel-about-love_13.html

Tuesday 30 July 2013

Thing 34: A cockroach at the Roosevelt

Okay, friends! I think it's about time I actually wrote something on here.

Thing 34: A cockroach at the Roosevelt

So apparently the Roosevelt is a hotel. Knowing that, let's go!

---------------------------

"Right this way, Mr. Smythe."

Mr. Smythe smiled and bowed repeatedly as he followed the well-dressed stewart through the ornate halls of the Roosevelt Hotel. The plush, familiar carpet felt foreign through the polished shoes and silk socks he now wore. He tried his best to not look uncomfortable as he let the steward guide him to his room.

It was a short walk to room 508, with Mr. Smythe's eyes darting around in curious wonder all the while. His head shot back and forth across the hall as he took it all in. Things were much smaller than he was used to, but he still found it difficult to capture all of the details within his limited field of view. He wanted as much detail as possible for what was to come.

When they arrived the disappointed steward was dismissed with another congenial bow. Mr. Smythe closed the door behind him, eager to begin.

Well, he thought, that was easy enough.

His disguise was clearly sufficient, though he found this form to be woefully limited. How the humans could bear to live this way was beyond him.

In any case, if all went according to plan they wouldn't be alive much longer.

Mr. Smythe removed his clothing as quickly as he could, anxious to be free of his prison. His excitement grew as he folded his suit neatly on the bed. The tailored outfit was imperative to the second phase of his plan, so he didn't want to take any chances with damaging it.

He took a few steps back, standing stark naked in the middle of the room. With a deep breath, he began to change.

His pink skin began to darken as his exoskeleton reformed. Familiar appendages sprouted from his sides, and where once there were hands and feet vicious claws now sat. His shoulder blades contorted as wings split through his rapidly disintegrating skin.

With but a thought, Mr. Smythe was gone. In the room now stood Zekaract, lord of the roaches. He chittered in anticipation as he looked around the room.

It's time to take over the world.

Monday 29 July 2013

Thing 33: Tell the true story of a dramatic moment in your life, but weave in one secret and one lie.

This is my first entry written explicitly for the blog! I'll be following the same format, so I won't know that I'm writing about until I actually start. I find it forces me to be much more creative.

In any case, let's get this underway!

Thing 33: Tell the true story of a dramatic moment in your life, but weave in one secret and one lie.

Hmm... This is another particularly difficult one for me. I'm not sure which "dramatic moments" in my memory were imagined, and which were real. There are also only a few moments in my life that I would consider dramatic. The way my mind works makes picking something like that out of my memory very difficult.

The other aspect to this is that I'm generally a very honest and open person. As a result, I don't have any small secrets. Certainly none that I'd be willing to share in this context.

In any case, I don't really have a concept for this one, so I'll be skipping it.

Saturday 27 July 2013

Thing 32: Your friend calls to say she saw you in the back of a police car yesterday. What happened?

Originally posted to Facebook on July 25th, 2013.

Thing 32: Your friend calls to say she saw you in the back of a police car yesterday. What happened?

"You have some serious explaining to do."

I responded only with silence. The disappointment in Anna's voice was a crushing blow which caused an anxious lump to rise in my throat. She was my best friend, after all. How could I possibly explain this to her?

"Well? I'm waiting."

"I don't know what to say..."

Her exasperated sigh assaulted me through the receiver. It felt like a punch straight in the dignity. "You can start with why you were in that police car. You're not exactly the rebellious type, so what happened?"

It took me a moment to realize that my hand was shaking. Despite focusing all of my tattered willpower to the act, I could not stop its motion.

I was afraid.

I'd been frightened before, of course. There was a distinct sinking feeling when you thought your life was in danger, like what I experienced when I had to get a needle. But not even my phobia could have prepared me for what I was now experiencing.

But this was different. This wasn't a fear for my life, or some unexplained knot in my stomach. I knew exactly what was happening, and I knew that I could do nothing to stop it. I had done the one thing I had hoped against hope to never do; the one thing that I swore I would never let happen.

I had let her down.

A tear rolled down my cheek as I sat in silence. I could hear her soft breat through the receiver as she waited patiently for me to be ready. Even now she was compassionate. She knew how difficult this was for me, though I doubt she knew why.

Seeing the officer's disaproving glare abover me, I took a deep breath and swallowed the last shreds of my pride. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Dom, I --"

Her words were abruptly cut off as I hung up the phone. I couldn't bring myself to say it. Not to her. She was better off not knowing. As noble as my intentions were, what I had done was unforgivable, and she would be better off if she just forgot about me.

It would be hard at first, as close as we were, but in time she could fill my small void with joy that I could never bring her. In time, she would realize that I was nothing special.

I had killed a man, after all. There was no escaping that.

Story Challenge 3: A man beyond time

This Story Challenge was originally posted to Facebook in two parts on July 22nd, 2013. The base concept arose at a party a few weeks earlier, and I'm tremendously pleased with the end result. The five concepts I went with were:

- Weida fighting raccoons to save a hot dog stand
- "And then I realised, ____ burns!"
- The Time Warp
- A winged unicorn fighting a blue moose
- THE BEES

--------------

Weida smiled as the vendor handed him the hot dog. His empty stomach grumbled in anticipation at the sight of it. It had been a very long day, and he hadn't had the chance to eat at all.

In his current state this burnt sausage was practically a luxury.

He licked the saliva and took a deep breath as he raised the hot dog toward his face. He wanted to devour the thing whole, but people were watching, so he thought it best to restrain himself. His hands shook as he struggled to refrain from smashing it into his mouth. The quick pace at which it ascended was far too slow for his liking, and he felt as if an eternity would pass before he'd feel the satisfaction he so desperately sought.

Just as the hot dog was passing his lips, a flash of fur and claws appeared out of nowhere, and suddenly his food was gone. He stood in shock for a moment, unable to understand why he wasn't eating right now. His shock was abruptly broken by the scream of the hot dog vendor as an angry raccoon ripped out his throat.

They were everywhere. Raccoons -- shrouded in rage and splattered with the blood of the plaza's civilians.

Hundreds of hissing beasts began to circle Weida, the last living soul in the area. The shaking of his body intensified as fear was added to hunger. The mixture of sensations was to much for him to handle. He was unable to act, unable to breathe.

Shadows crept into the edges of his vision as the circling beasts drew ever closer. Their leers danced in his fading sight.

And then there was only blackness.

...

Weida let out a groan as consciousness fought for control of his mind. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but the faces of hundreds of rabid raccoons was burned into his memory.

Could it have been a dream? Was he dead?

As he opened his eyes, he was met with the gaze of a spectral, blue moose, head tilted at an inquisitive angle.

"Hullo," said the moose.

Yup, thought Weida. Definitely dead.

"How's your head feeling?"

Weida chuckled to himself as he idly rubbed his throbbing temple. "As well as can be expected. I am dead, after all."

The moose met his laugh with one of its own. "You aren't dead, my friend." Its chest puffed up with pride as it continued: "I saved you!"

"Well then. Thanks, I guess." Weida shifted his eyes in discomfort, unsure of how to respond.

He was in a dark, shapeless place. A black void surrounded the pair, illuminated only by the light emanating from the moose's body. The black surface upon which he sat felt like tofu as he slid his hand across it.

"Where am I?"

"That's not really important," replied the moose. "What matters is that you're alive, and so we have a chance."

"A chance at what?"

The moose arched his eyebrow in incredulity. "A chance to win."

Seeing Weida's jaw drop, the moose continued. "Right now, my brother's raccoon army is tearing through the mortal world. For whatever reason, you were at the epicentre of his transdimensional gate, and so you have a unique opportunity to stop him. As you are now, he would crush you without breaking a sweat, but I was able to pull you out before the raccoons could deal their final blow.

"I'm going to train you, make you stronger, so that you can draw on the dimensional energies you've been subjected to and defeat my brother before he destroys your world." The moose reached out and laid a hoof on Weida's shoulder. "You are their only hope."

Weida looked down at the enormous hoof. He felt it. It was real.

With an uncertain swallow he looked back as the moose's face. "So, um... Who are you?"

The moose took it's arm back as it pondered the question. "I'm not entirely sure, to be honest. I've never needed a name before. I have always been, and always will be. How does one label eternity?"

"Right..."

"I'm sorry, I could make a name up if you'd like."

"No, that's okay. It wouldn't make much of a difference..." He sighed as he continued. "And your brother, is he... like you?"

"Yes, and no," came the cryptic reply. "Like me, my brother is eternal. But this form is my own. My brother's shape more closely resembles a pegasus."

"Pegasus?"

"Yes, a pegasus."

Weida's confusion silently prompted an explanation. "It's like a unicorn with wings. In your world they are most prevalent in Greek mythology."

"Why are you so different?"

"We are what we choose to be. I like moose, so I modeled myself after one for the time being. My brother wanted to appear more imposing."

Weida let the silence drag on. The moose waited patiently for him to be ready. He was overwhelmed by what was happening to him. He had never thought of himself as a hero, but this strange being was now telling him that the fate of the whole world rest in his hands. Was he ready for that responsibility?

Ready or not, he thought, I have to do this. There's noone to be brave for me.

Filled with grim resolve, he stood, a new man. Weida raised his clenched fist and looked the moose straight in the eye. "I'm ready. Teach me."


...

Weida shifted his weight as he waited for the moose to begin. They hand been standing like this for several minutes now, with the beast lost in thought and the man waiting patiently for some indication of how to proceed. The silence was becoming increasingly uncomfortable as the seconds passed, but he was too nervous to break it with what was probably a dumb question. He figured that a timeless spirit beast would have his reasons for making him wait.

When the moose opened it's eyes, it seemed shocked to see relief wash over the man before him. After pondering for a moment, its eyes softened empathetically.

"I'm sorry, I forgot how justifiaby impatient mortal creatures can be. I was examining the waves of time to determine how best to proceed."

After a few more moments of awkward silence, Weida cleared his throat. The moose took the queue and continued.

"Well, I've determined that to defeat my brother's army, we must use teh small, rather than the large. I'll teach you how to channel your void energy into many tiny, independent pieces to aid you in your battle. In just a few of your Earth years we should be ready to strike back."

"YEARS!?" The single word was all that he could manage to sneak past the lump in his throat. The matter-of-fact statement hit him with a wall of incredulity.

The moose remained unphased, thouh his head tilted in curiosity. "Of course. While you have a certain advantage, you are still only one man. It will take more than a little doing to get you ready to face my brother and his army. What did you expect?"

Indignant, Weida glared at the moose. "But what about the rest of the world?! What's going to happen to them?"

"Nothing, I expect," shrugged the moose. "They're all dead, after all."

Weida's stomach dropped. "Dead?" He could barely manage to whisper the word. It was as if his whole world had crumbled around him. All of his loved ones, all of his brothers... Nothing would be waiting for him when he returned.

Weida fell to his knees in despair. The sadness of the thought was crushing. Were there walls in this place they would surely be closing around his tortured soul. Deep down, he cursed the moose. He suspected, of course, that his world was in ashes, but somehow not knowing made it easier to deal with.

Ignorance truly was bliss.

The nonchalant voice of the moose brought Weida back to reality. "Sure they are," it said. "My brother is particularly good at this sort of thing. But there's no need to be so dramatic. You're going to stop it, after all."

Weida's eyes shot up to meet those of the moose, a glimmer of hope shining deep in their pupils. "I am?"

The moose sighed. "I suppose I should probably explain a few things before we continue," it said. "First of all, my brother and I are immortal, as I'm sure you have already guessed. Since we've been around for forever, we have some talents that are pretty unique.

"One of my brother's primary talents is control over beings. He's able to enter a non-willful consciousness and replace it with his own. He could theoretically do this thousands, if not millions of times to amass an army, but over time that has proven to be rather ineffective. Instead he takes over a few creatures of a given type that have certain useful characteristics and then he mirrors and merges their existence to create inumerable soldiers with a single mind. It's sort of like breeding, or cloning, but infinitely more complicated and more precise.

"My abilities, on the other hand, revolve more around a deep understanding of time and matter. I am able to read and manipulate waves and energies. It's a much more subtle form of control than that of my brother, but it certainly has its uses.

"Every so often my brother and I engage in what some might call a game, though it's more of a battle of wits. He will cause some form of catastrophe in an arbitrary space, and I must try to stop it from occurring. I usually have to be very careful in how I go about doing this, but by putting you at the epicentre of his event he has made a mistake. If you're willing to learn we should be able to deal with this incident with relative ease."

Weida gave himself a few minutes to consider what he'd heard before picking his jaw up from the floor. He swallowed the lump in his throat before slowly climbing to his feet. "So we can stop this?"

"If you're willing to learn."

Weida clenched his fist and loked the moose dead in the eye.

"Let's do this."

...

Weida smiled as the vendor handed him the hot dog. His empty stomach grumbled in anticipation. He had been waiting for this for a very, very long time.

He sighed quietly as he looked at the sausage. I wish I could eat you, he thought.

He watched the surrounding area carefully with his peripheral vision as he began to raise the hot dog to his mouth. It had only moved a few inches when a flash of movement at the far end of the plaza caught his eye.

They were here.

In a flash, he threw the hot dog into the air in front of him, right in the face of a very surprised raccoon. The beast flew forward, its intended path only slightly upset by the projectile. Weida met it with practiced confidence, catchingit with a sweeping motion and summarily breakng its neck.

One down, he thought.

Screams erupted in the plaza as the horde of raccoons swarmed through the trees. Their attention was focused solely on the man that had slain one of their comrades. Having found the moose's champion, their rampage could wait. Weida smiled as the civilians were all able to flee to safety.

Hundreds, and then thousands of furry faces rushed toward him. A cloud of dust arose as the cobblestone disappeared under a wave of grey and black fur.

In the middle of the chaos, Weida was perfectly calm. He set his emotions aside and sought the energy deep within him, channeling it into his outstretched palm. A blue light began to emanate as the distance between him and the angry horde grew ever smaller.

As the first of the raccoons reached him, he sprang into action. He coiled the muscles in his legs and shot into a backflip as a tiny ball of energy shot frm his palm. The ball morphed into the shape of a bee and intercepted the raccoon with its stinger outstretched. As the collided, the stinger detached and injected into the heart of the beast. The energy immediately began to return to Weida as the raccoon collapsed, and then exploded with a brilliant blue light. The light washed over the other raccoons nearby, and they dissolved into nothingness.

As Weida landed, he broke into a sprint away from the encroaching horde. more energy bees shot from his palm as he ran, and explosions caused the ground to rumble beneath his feet. The raccoons kept coming, and despite his best efforts, they drew ever closer. The enraged hiss of thousands of creatures drowned out the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

As one of the raccoons overtook him, it jumped at him from the right. He dropped his left knee and shot out his right foot, dropping into a spin and bringing his elbow to bear in the raccoon's face. He felt the sickening crush of bone and brain matter as his appendage connected, and the raccoon went flying away from him with a spray of blood. He used the momentum of the spin to leap out of the way of another leaping beast, landing in a roll and coming to his feet in a sprint as he passed the buildings at the edge of the plaza.

The battle raged through the streets of the city. At every turn, more raccoons would be waiting for him. He'd leap off of walls and over parked cars, smacking angry creatures out of the air. He'd slide under signs and bushes, only to kick his pursuers out of the way. Every so often he'd glance behind him to the ever approaching and seemingly endless horde of raccoons. His bees weren't defeating them quickly enough, and the horde was getting ever closer. At this rate they'd be on him, and then all would be lost.

Weida was getting desperate. He looked frantically at the shops as he fought. There were restaurants and corner stores all along the streets, but nothing that would be useful in defeating the horde. He even saw an LCBO, but while he figured he had earned a drink, this wasn't really the time or place for such things.

And then he realised: alcohol burns.

He directed his palm toward the liquor store and dozens of energy bees shot forth. He gave them a mental command to find the strongest alcohol they could as the glass doors shattered.

He darted down a side street, and the shop was out of sight. He had to buy some time. Minutes passed as he ran through the streets, subtlely directing the horde back toward the liquor store while killing as many as possible with his bees and his appendages, dodging the claws and teeth of his pursuers.

As he turned down a major intersection he saw the telltale glow of his bees carrying bottles from the next block. He lowered his head and sprinted as hard as he could as he issued another mental command to his bees. They stopped flying and started to vibrate.

Heat from the accelerating bees began to heat the bottles they were holding. The air shimmered as warmth spread through the street, and some of the bottles began to glow.

As Weida pass the swarm, the first of the bottles shattered. The rain of liquor burst into flame as it fell, showering teh street behind him in a burning rain. The closest raccoons screeched in pain as it poured over them, causing their fur to alight. One by one, the other bottles began to shatter, covering the whole street in a wall of fire.

Weida focused hard on the energy inside of him as he dug in his heels and skidded to a halt, turning to face the horde as he slowed. He grimaced as he pulled his arms to his chest, the strain of the action threatening to burst the blood vessels in his head.

And then, with a mighty push, he shot a wave of energy toward the flames. As passed through the fire, it too ignited, and the squeals of burning raccoons became deafening as it passed through the street. All four lanes and both sidewalks were covered in a rolling wall of flame that shot down forth, consuming all in its path. The remaining raccoons, as eager as they were to catch their prey, had all clustered into the street, and there was nowhere left to run.

Weida's whole body shook as the wall dissipated. The charred corpses of raccoons lay littered in the street, causing a sickening stench to wash over him. The only sounds were the wind and his heavy breathing.

Once he was sure it was done, he collapsed. It had taken everything he had, but the city -- the whole world -- was safe. He'd done it.

The blue moose had won.

Thing 31: Write a recipe for disaster

Originally posted to Facebook on July 18th, 2013.

Preamble:
"I keep changing my mind about what I want to write for this one. My first thought was an actual recipe, in the vein of CinemaSins (e.g. http://bit.ly/12LhvH4), followed by a story about black magic altering a recipe (http://songmeanings.com/songs/view/71740/, based on a german children's story), followed by an original, dark children's story describing how a child is abused and grows up to do evil deeds himself.

Right now I'm hovering on "science gone wrong," which would focus on a mad scientist creating machines with great destructive power. Or possibly a Powerpuff Girls spinoff...

Focus is hard...

Okay, after much deliberation I have decided to stick with the children's story. It would be the first passage of that type which I'll have created, so in the interest of expanding my venues (variety is the spice of life, after all, and spice is very important in recipes), it seems like the best choice.

Let's do this. You'll have to use your imagination a bit, because it's not nearly as good without pictures. Line breaks indicate new pages."


Thing 31: Write a recipe for disaster

Meet Jimmy.

Like all little boys, Jimmy likes to play. His favourite game is soccer.

Jimmy is smiles a lot when he scores a goal!

In school, Jimmy doesn't raise his hand, even if he knows the answer. He prefers to listen.

At lunch time, Jimmy eats his lunch alone. He smiles when he receieves pudding.

Jimmy speaks with the other students on the bus ride home. Jimmy smiles that they are happy.

When Jimmy gets off the bus, his smile goes away. He doesn't need to lie any more.

In reality, Jimmy is very sad.

Jimmy is sad when his mommy cries. His mommy cries a lot.

Jimmy is sad when his sister cries. His sister cries a lot.

Jimmy likes his shirts very much. They hide the bruises he gets when daddy hits him.

One day, Jimmy decided that he didn't want to be sad any more. Instead, Jimmy became very angry.

When daddy hit mommy, Jimmy hit daddy.

Afterward, not even Jimmy's shirts could hide the bruises.

When daddy hit Jimmy's sister, Jimmy hit daddy.

Afterward, Jimmy could barely walk.

That night, Jimmy snuck into mommy and daddy's room with a knife.

Daddy would not be able to hit them any more.

For the first time ever, Jimmy was happy.

Thing 30: A man jumps from the fortieth storey of a building. As he passes the 28th floor, he hears a phone ring and regrets that he jumped. Why?

Originally posted to Facebook on July 17th, 2013. Normally the next entry would be a story challenge, but as previously mentioned I messed up the numbering, so this was Thing 29. Regardless, I'm very happy with how this one turned out.

Preamble:
"Is it just me, or are these getting more complicated? Anyway, on to the story...

Note: According to my calculations (http://www.ambrsoft.com/CalcPhysics/acceleration/acceleration.htm), it would take about 4.95 seconds to reach the ground from the fortieth storey, with about 2.24 seconds of that time spanning the 28th floor and below. 2 seconds isn't a lot of time for regret."


Thing 30: A man jumps from the fortieth storey of a building. As he passes the 28th floor, he hears a phone ring and regrets that he jumped. Why?

A shiver ran down Marlon's spine as he gazed over the edge of the building. It was as high as he'd ever been, and the coldness of the air was shocking.

"How fitting," he thought, "that this cold is the last thing I'll feel."

He took a moment to let the sensation fully wash over him. He felt every follicle of hair raise as goosebumps appeared on his flesh; felt the tingling chill swimming through his blood. It was a frigid reality that he wanted to clearly remember as he met his end. It was a harsh reminder that the world was a cold, unfeeling place, and the numbness of his extremities was beginning to match that of his soul.

He took his phone from his pocket and let his steely gaze rest upon its screen. The device was as calm as he was. There were no calls, no messages, no notifications. It had a certain cathartic finality to it, reinforcing his belief that he was all alone.

He felt the slightest pang of pain stab his heart as he was reminded that she was not with him.

Marlon's brow tightened to a grimace as he stepped onto the roof's lip. His slow exhale filled the chill air with a soft cloud, causing a mist to obscure the screen of the phone still held before him. His thumb moved slowly, deliberately across the screen, wiping the mist away.

He silently counted the seconds in his mind, his eyes never leaving the screen. The phone sat quietly in his palm, having nothing to say despite the burning in Marlon's empty lungs. Each second fueled its growing smugness; its self-satisfied assertion that it was indifferent to its owner's plight. His anger deepened as the count increased, and he let it consume him. He focused his will onto the phone until his rage burned more fiercely than his starved lungs.

When he could take it no longer, he released it all at once. Through gritted teeth frigid air assaulted throat, the breath sending all of his senses into relieved disarray. He used the sudden intake to fuel his courage, and soon he was weightless, careening ever faster toward the unforgiving ground below.

Now it was just him and gravity.

He saw the stark visage of the clock of fate in his mind, and allowed its hands to take a single step closer to midnight.

Here, at 11:56, he shed his guilt. In this infinite space he let those he had wronged fade into obscurity. No longer would they haunt him. No longer would he be held accountable. There would be no justice save for that waged by fate itself.

Another step.

Here, at 11:57, he shed his happiness. Pleasant memories were meaningless here. There was no joy in punishment, no hope. The light had faded from his life a long time ago, and with the end so close it was only right that his gladness be properly laid to rest.

Another step.

Here, at 11:58, he shed his regret. All he had done, and failed to do, was tied to a past that no longer mattered. All that remained was the inevitability of what was to come.

As the hand groaned toward the next notch, the unthinkable occurred.

His phone rang.

Here, at 11:59, the simple chime echoed throughout his skull. Her name appeared on the screen, and the sight of it consumed what was left of his tired mind. All that remained was the name, and the chime. Tears were ripped from the corners of his eyes by the rushing air around him, leaving cold trails of anguish in the space before him.

Never again would he hear her voice, or see her smile, or feel comfort in her presence. Never again would her eyes pierce his. Never again would her warmth give meaning to his life.

His eyes closed as the clock struck midnight.