The Future is Incredibly Now, an essay with no apparent direction, trying to hold itself together the best it can with the ideas contained within (a concept that could be compared to a country if one was so inclined to make such connections)

     Okay, while writing this I've realized that I go off topic A LOT, and end up making new points in entirely different directions than the original flow of conversation. The reason for this is usually because the topic touches on another related topic I want to discuss, but sometimes it's to justify the preceding statement. Other times it's to explain what I mean. Probably the least common but yet still allowed reason it will happen is for comedic relief. In the following, however, I'll try to keep the last one to the minimum, it's confusing enough as it is, plus my writing has a tendency to the humorous regardless.

     So, I'll be highlighting the following text so that you as the reader can follow along easier, though if you pay attention to the parentheses you'll notice they do keep the ideas intact and neatly separated. Going back to the idea you were reading before however, especially with the new information, can be tricky when there's just so much writing. So I'm going to try some highlighting techniques to help your eye absorb all the information that's here. I'm only doing this because after reading over it, I got a little lost before finding my way, and I wanted to reduce the turbulence. You'll find a key above.

     Also, there is no "tab"bing in online writing, the tab button moves your "focus" (for lack of a better word) to another thing-a-mabobby (be it a new text field, a check box, etc.) instead of adding the five spaces in front of a paragraph. I feel this is distracting-not having those spaces I mean-especially when you've got related topics that need to be separated by a paragraph for length reasons, because when you separate the blocks of text there's still no indentation to let you know you've started a new paragraph. So I'm bringing the tab back, five spaces inserted manually at a time. Anyway, here's my essay. Enjoy.

      

     One of the things that I miss about college, and honestly something I probably didn't take enough advantage of while I was there, is the opportunity to have face-to-face conversation about important topics with intelligent minds being schooled in their respective fields. Everyone's got an opinion, this much is true, but I've often stated (often to negative replies) that unless your opinion is educated, it is invalid. And ignorance isn't such an awful thing, but if you're going to believe strongly in something and have conversations regarding a topic, you ought research a bit before expecting to be able to support your side and/or change minds. Intelligent conversation can be two sided, in fact, most philosophical debates are multi-sided (have more than two sides). 

     Of course, with philosophical debate, the point of offering two equally compelling sides is to allow a student to experience both sides of an argument, keeping the mind open to either as the "correct" mode of thought. While this is great practice if you're simply going back and forth on what eventually boils down to matters of opinion about abstract concepts, when you get down to what we make laws of, the need for a clear winner as to how people should think of things becomes greater. In these cases, the best solutions are often compromises, though with as firmly divided as our country is, we may be soon learning that while compromise is a great way to build roads and bridges (literally; this is a great reason why the federal aspect of our nation's government was of great importance in specific periods of growth [The accommodation of travel across such a great span of land would've gone a lot slower if the plotting, designing, and constructing of the bridges and roads that make up our interstate system would've been left up to individual countries to decide], but with division rising in our nation it has become apparent that state issues are keeping this nation--and the world when you really get down to it--from moving forward on what I feel are the truly important issues), it doesn't seem to keep them kept up very well (this is more figurative; the point here is that our nation is nearly divided in half, and the original reason this nation was founded was religious freedom, and we split from England because of taxation without representation. Basically, the foundation of this country was built upon many noble ideas, but mainly the idea that people will pay to live in a country they believe in, as long as their ideals are represented), and it is rare that a compromise garners enough support from both sides to render itself a viable long-term solution.

     Basically, taxes are taken whether you believe in them or not; they're necessary to keep the hospitals open. However, if you don't want your local hospital to have an abortion clinic, and your feelings are in the popular majority, you have a valid claim at taxation without representation (which is discussed in our constitution, and I'll just quote here: "This fundamental law of our republic is secured by several clauses of the U.S. Constitution. Article I, Section 7, Paragraph 1 provides that "All bills for raising revenue shall originate in the House of Representatives." As Congress was originally designed, the Senate represented the various state legislatures, and the House of Representatives represented the people of the United States.132 Thus, this provision guarantees that it will always be the representatives of the people, rather than the representatives of state government, whose consent must precede the imposition of any federal tax." ) if you are being taxed federally for a national healthcare system that pays for your local hospital, and mandates that abortions be legal there. If it were left up to the locals, perhaps instead of abortions the community might decide to "donate" all the unwanted babies that people have a way of coming up with to science, furthering research in stem cells, birth defects, and whatever else could be learned from what is now generally blended and discarded. It's a stretch, but again, the point is that if you don't believe in abortions, you should not be federally required to pay for them. 

     This country may have been founded on the basis of "religious" freedom, but using that as an excuse these days almost seems looked down upon. So let's change the word from religious to philosophical (because in all honesty religions are generally just philosophies, or ways of life, tethered to a/multiple deity/ies) or even simpler, personal, because that conveys the gravity of the notion without offending the non-religious. I'll use my previous example, you may be an atheist, but the idea of putting fetuses to use in scientific research may sound better to you than just tossing them out. This is just a matter of common sense; regardless of whether or not you believe it's a life, you can't deny the benefits of studying a fetus over discarding it. So, hey, SURPRISE! An atheist and a Christian could actually come to a compromise on this matter. This is, in my opinion, an example of what could potentially be a perfect compromise. On the side of it's a life, you have the fetus at least being put to good use, one could even compare its life to a soldier storming the beach at Normandy: though individually the lives may have seemed to have been wasted, as a whole their sacrifice achieved a greater purpose. On the side of get rid of what we don't want, [according to the most recent statistics, twelve percent of abortions involved serious risk to the mother's health, and one, ONE, percent involved rape survivors. Which means a whopping eighty-seven percent of abortions are performed for one of the following reasons, which I'm just quoting directly from the source: "3/4 say that having a baby would interfere with work, school or other responsibilities; about 3/4 say they cannot afford a child; and 1/2 say they do not want to be a single parent or are having problems with their husband or partner (AGI)."], you have the ability to still get rid of what you don't want, but guess what? You have to carry it to term! Why? Because those are simply the consequences of unprotected sexual activity. Get a condom, get on birth control, (cause not having sex is pretty much out right? Amazingly, the only ninety-nine point nine nine nine repeating percent effective method of birth control (I don't say one hundred because, well, Mary. Jesus? It failed once.), chastity, seems to be the most ridiculous notion these days. By the way, if we were living by standards in a different time, you could've been killed for this sort of thing, or at the very least seriously publicly shamed) or be prepared to deal with the consequences of your actions for nine months as a reminder to the importance of safe sex. And be glad pregnancy is a sexually transmitted disease that ends after nine months. Herpes is for life, bro. Hell, you could even throw in a five  hundred dollar a month stipend for your first mistake, to balance out the sacrifice being made on the mother's part, and a five hundred dollar a month taxation the second time to make sure you learn your lesson the first time. Of course with no abortions, you then don't represent the side of rape victims and those the baby could kill, which I might add would have to be determined with a fair amount of gravity. Simply enough, special clauses would be added to accommodate the minority. That's how laws should work: Clear general rule for the general public, with exceptions provided as necessary. Obviously a Utopian society would be ruled without exceptions, because Utopian law would reflect Utopian society: perfection, but Utopia probably won't be subject to much rape either.

     So where does that leave us with regards to deciding what should be law in our country? Well a better question, one that has an answer in my opinion, is: is the importance of a strong federal government in our country becoming overshadowed by the importance of state-wide issues? I would say it is. As it stands, our country is ruled by a mixture of democratic and republican ideals in a (barely) compromising system of bi-partisan leadership wherein two major parties attempt to represent what they believe to be two sides of a coin, and we all pretend (well, some of us may actually have been duped into believing) that the flipping match we pretend to control (again, some people believe their vote matters on a national level; it doesn't. Vote local if you want to see change. The electoral college [the "educated minds" of our nation, if you will] elects the president, not the general population. If you don't believe me, ask Al Gore) is a suitable (and [HAHA!] accurate) way to represent over three hundred million people. Of course, when we pledge allegiance to the flag, we pledge allegiance to the REPUBLIC for which it stands. (So what's the difference between a "republic" and a "democracy"? Well, I found some definitions I couldn't reword better, so here they are: In a Democracy, the sovereignty is in the whole body of the free citizens. The sovereignty is not divided to smaller units such as individual citizens. To solve a problem, only the whole body politic is authorized to act. Also, being citizens, individuals have duties and obligations to the government. The government's only obligations to the citizens are those legislatively pre-defined for it by the whole body politic. In a Republic, the sovereignty resides in the people themselves, whether one or many. In a Republic, one may act on his own or through his representatives as he chooses to solve a problem. Further, the people have no obligation to the government; instead, the government being hired by the people, is obliged to its owner, the people. The United States is a mixture of the two systems of government [Republican under Common Law, and democratic under statutory law]. The People enjoy their "God-given" "natural" rights in the Republic, and the Citizens enjoy government granted privileges (also known as "civil rights") in the democracy.)

     But we have strayed far from a republic, though with the evolution of different "human rights" (those rights that we, as a populace, feel that every human being deserves regardless of citizenship [though often times the humans involved in our human rights movements were already citizens, they simply wanted to be treated as equals amongst their white/male/straight peers]; the ones we consider "inalienable") movements over time we have somewhat gotten back on course. And now we find ourselves as a democratic nation divided almost perfectly in half. The worst part is that this population divide was mainly caused, and is propagated to this day, by issues that should be, have been, and will be decided at the state-level (marijuana laws, "gay rights," abortion laws, gun laws, etc.) before being made into federal law. But therein lies an important question. If these issues can be solved on a state-to-state basis, why involve the federal government at all?

     Or better yet, what positive role could a federal government possibly play if when it comes time to lay down federal law it leaves half of its population unrepresented? This is how it all ties back into taxation without representation. In my opinion, we've reached a point in history where people are forward thinking enough to realize that sometimes it's in everyone's best interest if certain parties are simply separated, and allowed to exist equally, working together towards a common goal. (Granted, the US didn't have such a great time trying that concept out during the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, but we have evolved significantly since then and we also would be working off the basis that we are already equals, not like the group we're trying to accommodate is in some way inferior.) After all, in 2009, Texas was ranked as the WORLD'S fourteenth largest economy, in 2012 California ranked number nine globally. If you simply let them live as they want, with no federal involvement in personal life decisions, I believe you'd find the people of each of those states would band together, and if anyone wanted to leave for religious/philosophical/personal reasons, the opportunity at an equal existence more religiously/philosophically/personally suited to you would be a short drive down the interstate.

     So why separate people into states based on matters of religious/philosophical/personal ideals? So that they can exist happily in their state, follow their own laws based off their own ideals (or at least a closer representation of their ideals based off a much smaller voting population), and leave other people in other places to live by their ideals (you know, like how the countries of our world treat each other now. But, better?). With everyone feeling represented and content with their government, quality of life would simply improve, not to mention you could be truly proud of where you lived. Also, with everyone not so concerned about what to smoke while holding hands with who after whatever medical procedure (or after shooting whatever animal is legal game in your state/ the intruder who tried to kill your family), we could focus more on what I feel are more important global issues: exploring, understanding, and evolving to the space we all have to live in (this notion varies in complexity from the simple notion of ending world hunger [yes, it's simple. We have enough farmland in the United States alone to feed the world. So the deserts of Africa aren't working out as far as keeping people healthy and fed? And we haven't brought them over here/built modern societies there because...? Oh, right. Cost. Nevermind. I forget that there are more important things in this world than the lives of others. Like dollars.], and developing self-sustaining environments on land, and advancing modern medicine; to the more complex exploration of the yet unknown depths of our oceans, and studying the characteristics of the creatures that survive there; to the even more complex and largely theoretical concepts of "outer space" travel and the possibility of true immortality [strip away the effects of gravity, add perfectly contained and conditioned environments [necessary for any extend attempt at "outer space travel"] and the potential improvements in medicine and it begins to seem less crazy of a concept]), otherwise known as building bridges and roads. (did you catch the reference there? To the importance of federal government in a country's expansion? I'm comparing the interstates to spaceships here, people. Does anyone even read this shit?)

      Alas, I fear nothing will change as it should because the change necessary is radical and would cost a few people too much money. (Also, it's not like having a bunch of different countries has really furthered our adventures in space, unless of course you count the excitement surrounding the Cold War era space race that led to the lunar landing/best hoax of all time [which even if it wasn't possible then, we've got shit on Mars so...] . Plus, with the weaponization of every new energy source we encounter, we humans are just as likely to blow ourselves up before we ever make it off this rock.) That, added to the fact that people STILL haven't figured out that we're all from the same planet, and that we should be working together to go forward, rather than against each other in order to control each other, makes for a stagnating Earth, populated by a bunch of angry little bipeds and the creatures subject to their will.  

     So while on the one hand I truly believe in smaller government for most of today's issues, I also believe that a global government must be established for the issues of the future. But that'll probably only happen when we get invaded, or whenever shit gets real again (think meteor, or ice age, or zombies?), and by that time it may be too late. Therefor, focusing on the present, we as a people need to wake up and realize the role our government plays in our lives, and start working towards a more perfect world. Utopia may currently be a distant notion, but go back two hundred years and try to explain the difference between LCD televisions and LED televisions. Yea. The future is incredibly now.

And Getting Well

Whenever I get sick, I go into burrito-coma mode. For the past few days I've been wrapped up in a blanket, sweating my expletives off, hibernating, trying to get well. It's what I do. See, the way I figure it is my body's overheating (fever) is my blood pumping through my body, supplying it with WBCs to fight infection. So, I get uncomfortably hot so my blood just pumps like crazy through me, and my body heals itself. Also, with little to no physical movement I don't burn many calories, so I don't have to eat much, and I sweat all the water I drink out, meaning I get to just lie there for days, getting up to use the bathroom maybe once or twice.

I don't know if it's a great way of going about it, but I feel better after only a couple of days so...

Oh, also, shout out to Mucinex DM. Your shit rocks.

sick

ugh... i felt my throat getting scratchier and scratchier all night. when i awoke... well, i'll spare you the details, but suffice to say i'm ill. i'll be sleeping a lot, trying to get better. i don't know how much writing i'll be doing in the meantime, check back in a week or so. hopefully i'll be better.

Gotta stop being such a puss.

Started thinking about what I would write about next and I started getting all teary-eyed. Seriously, if I'm to write an autobiography, I'll end up writing a tear-jerking bestseller that will eventually become a blockbuster, poignantly punctuated by my suicide the night of its release. Jesus. Get ahold of yourself, Joseph.

Anyway, gotta change a tire tomorrow. And work on getting some insurance. That, or start making plans to completely avoid the state of Arkansas for the rest of my life. Which seems unreasonable. I've been trying to decide which story I'll re-write first, Gamblin' Man or the Shitty Zombie Epic, but I think I've decided I'll do them both, updating them every other day or so. Taking turns. Just crankin words out. I'll get to writing the autobiography later.

This is the best part.

The encouraging 35 page-views per day or so have all been me. After turning my own page-views off, I'm down to 0 a day.

whatever. returned the games to vintage stock. it all worked out i suppose.

back to artwork

EDIT
 i'm seeing some pageviews. if you're reading this, don't stop coming, tell your friends. i know these blog parts aren't great,  but i only do these to try and write a little something about the days and how i spend them. the real gems are the stories, which i'm thinking i'll just start another blog for when i get enough of them. a comlete re-edit and re-write of everything i've got from before. maybe even a couple endings? that's an exciting idea. i'll work on that.

(Tu/Wedn)esday December 1(1/2) 2012

I was going to write something up about Vintage Stock, about how it's great that you can still buy old school games at an actual store, and at half decent prices, but I didn't. I felt bad, but after trying the second game I've bought there that hasn't worked, I don't. Hope against hope people, or don't.

Regardless, I'm focusing all my attention on this other project at the moment, so here's a peek during the delay.

Also, I'd like to re-iterate the fact that my old stuff can be found by clicking on the dates on the side. There's not much, far less than I would have hoped to have compiled by the time I was this old. It's December, and with January first around the corner, another attempt at the "I'll write all year" resolution is soon to be made. In the mean time, read over the old stuff if you'd like. After all, with December 21st, 2012, right around the corner I may not be making that resolution, right?

In the off chance that the world does end soon, I'll be writing every day before I resolve to in the new year. Maybe I'll have a better chance if I resolve to continue rather than start.

2.99

the game i've always wanted, since i played the demo on halo on my beloved "icebox," was 2.99 at vintage stock, a game store around here. talk about one man's trash, another man's treasure. also, kudos to the concept of the store. that's it. working on other stuff, so i don't feel like writing much.

To those it may concern,

The stories and information posted here are artistic works of fiction and falsehood.
Only a fool would take anything posted here as fact.

i really did have a conversation the other day, where a guy asked me about my past, and when i started typing it up i got teary. fingers flying, i typed as fast as i could to get the feelings out before i forgot, and made a shit ton of errors in grammar. so after a little editing, i posted it for the masses.  of course, the masses who read my story are... well, not large i suppose. but i would like to be able to spend my time writing stories. besides, while not every detail in every story is entirely true... the cathartic release i experience while writing i feel transfers through as emotion the reader can relate with. i call it elaborated nonfiction, and if you'd like to help me continue it, visit my page, and if you could, comment on my stories. just the page visits would be awesome though, i see them every day. and though i'm writing this for myself, i believe that what i'm writing is pretty well written, would make for a good read... i don't know. if that's true, just keep coming back. call it science.

The Stranger's Story

I wrote this as a short story exercise in dialogue. And please, it's a work of fiction. I've never done drugs. Anyway, a little backstory, /b/ is an imageboard (and for those of you visiting from it, please, don't hate, i'm not saying where) on a website (very specifically) that has been notorious for harboring the underbelly of society and allowing them to exist as an anonymous community, Omegle is a chat website used to find random strangers to discuss anything and everything. our story follows the conversation between "You", the user sitting at this end of the conversation, and "Stranger", the user sitting on the other end of the conversation. I didn't do this for class, so i can't say i got an A on it, but I would like to point out that creating distinctively different typing styles was challenging when i actually tried to do so. I hope you enjoy it, it... was difficult to write, but I honestly feel it's one of my best works

The Stranger's Story

-->

Okay, /b/, I was on Omegle today, had this conversation with a stranger. It started randomly, progressed randomly, and then... arrived here. which... well, read it.

And don't worry, /b/ros, it's typed up first, so it'll be coming quickly. I just copy/pasted it and added this bit to a doc. I'll bump with wallpapers? or YLYL that has made me laugh. Your choice. Vote on it, I'm starting with wallpapers.

>…...........................................................

>...After some time in the conversation....

>…...........................................................

You: I don't really see a point to life without kids.
Stranger: well, i don't really see a point to life, so... haha, i guess i just try to have as much fun as possible, within reason of course.
Stranger: i'm not one to... indulge in severe excess.
Stranger: at least, not publicly.
You: Good for you.
Stranger: i have been known to binge on oxycontin in private though, i had a pretty severe addiction for almost a year. i mean... before then too kinda. and... kinda after then still a little bit... but more under control?
You: Sad.
Stranger: but i dunno, it wasn't the party scene, i'm a recluse. it was the trap house scene. you know, depressing people doing depressing things because we're all depressed?
You: Why do you think that is?
Stranger: well, haha, because... we were all depressed? hah i dunno how to explain it really...
Stranger: everyone's got a story, ya know? and that part was... well i don't think about it too often.
You: brb
Stranger: life has a way of kickin us all in the nuts with different pairs of shoes.
You: back.
You: How so?
You: And while we're on the topic:
You: I feel more and more people are depressed nowadays...
You: Maybe I'm just old and think my time was better.
You: But I don't know.
You: Don't think I'm that old.
Stranger: nah, it's not that you're that old.
Stranger: it's the times man.
Stranger: you're not that old, times are changing at... an alarmingly accelerating rate.
Stranger: and, i dunno, we were all depressed for... well, whatever reason? some of us in the house had dead friends, or no parents. some parents actually lived there. but... i don't know, i saw depressed people, everywhere. in and out all the time, and some of them had become bitter, and angry. but i saw content people too. thinking back really, there were the...“white sheep”? those, well.. you know, living in ignorant bliss of the state of the world, oblivious, floating high above any possible problems. sometimes it felt like nothing could touch us out there. our lives were about getting pills, getting high, and sitting around, waiting for the next time we would get high.
You: yeah....
You: weird...
Stranger: yea...
Stranger: i mean...
Stranger: i dunno man, when you hate yourself
Stranger: and you hate everyone else
Stranger: and you can't put your finger on why
Stranger: and you also can't help but feel like everyone hates you, after all you, you hate everyone, and you hate yourself, so why wouldn't everyone else hate you too?
Stranger: and all the voices in every movie, every video game, every conversation happening at every table, in every restaurant, every hallway, every street corner, the voices become those people you remember from that place that doesn't exist, and they're still... laughing.. and... why...
Stranger: you don't even know what they're saying most of the time, and they're so mean to everyone. you know they can hear you too, everyone can, and you can hear everyone, everywhere, sometimes you just sit and scream in your head as loud as you can, at least then it's just one noise... just, just one noise... for a little while.
Stranger: but then you find a little pill that, when you snort it, gives you an hour or two of silence, and for the first time in years, there's just the one voice, that... it's your own. you recognize your own voice for the first time in years and...
Stranger: and, and, it's just you! and you had your rituals about it. when life got too much, you'd put the evpatoria report's golevka album on, and you would put your headphones on, and the silence would begin to fill up as you sat on the couch. music filled it slowly at first, chimes and tubular bells. then a launch cycle countdown began, as if perfectly timed, when you swing your feet around and up onto the couch, laying down as your eyelids flutter shut. as the timer counts down, you now know not to expect the beat, it doesn't come. instead, the synthesizers begin.
Stranger: it would start mellow, and you could see orange clouds behind your eyelids, and you could feel them rolling in as if from over a cold morning hill, dense and low hanging. ambient yellow music danced calmly through the orange clouds at first, high pitched and sharp, until the drum roll thunder split the scene, striking the rhythm of blue rain patterns out of the orange clouds. the yellow lightning lashed the orange clouds to a fiery red ash, and as the song would crescendo, the red ash and blue rain would mold to form a violet-blue flower of comfort and tranquility, which would grow roots behind your eyeballs, wrapping your brain in a floaty and foamy, all violet-blue, and calm, quiet... you could almost feel your soul getting lighter.
Stranger: and for those two hours, you felt... it was the softest warmest blanket, on the darkest coldest night, big enough to hide under and keep the monsters away. it was prayer time before being tucked into bed by your mom and dad, sneaking a book you know they saw you sneak, and exploring new worlds til you passed out with the book still open on the floor, your hand still holding your page. and it was quiet.
Stranger: and you smoke more cigarettes than you can really afford to in those two hours, because those two hours are everything you've been waiting for, exactly what you ordered, and the smoke slithering through your sinus tunnels is... just worth more now. value, ever elusive, reveals itself in such a personal way.
You: damn you really break that down
Stranger: and when you come down, you watch the feeling leave with a look on your face that's best been described as lost, cold, and despondent. feeling the comfort slither off your shoulders, the itching starts, and you spend the rest of the day trying not to scratch the scabs as they heal. just thinking about it....
Stranger: how it was so quiet, how the voices just... went away. where did they go? and... god... god, why did they have to always come back? you knew they came back, but you sent them away anyway. every day, more and more... do you remember those hours?
Stranger: how no one could hear you, how you couldn't hear anyone but you? the hours, the days, the weeks.
Stranger: you want to know what it's like? it's like paying outrageous prices for a product—unchecked taxation running rampant, risking life in prison; living amongst people you once wouldn't have given money to outside a gas station, just to get a couple hours a day of peace and quiet.
Stranger: and at first nobody there knows your name, and they don't care
Stranger: because they're in their own hell, and you're just another part of it; like you're in yours, and they are to you.
Stranger: and you don't know anyone's name, and you don't care.
Stranger: and you sleep with any broken dreamer who bats her eyelashes at you, because you're both here, and you're both alive, and it's quiet. there's... so much silence to fill...
Stranger: and when you look over, and you see their fragile limbs trembling and twitching as they soar in their dreams, far above the stained sheets they sleep in, and you see their noses red, their hands marked, and their skin aging; you can just tell that they were beautiful at one point. beautiful creatures, abandoned by the world, forgotten by god, who had turned, as you had, to the only solace they had found in this world, a little blue pill.
Stranger: but you generally try to keep your distance from everyone anyway, after all, you don't belong there right? these aren't “your people”... but soon... the house becomes family. and ray, big goofy ray, tricks you into taking too many muscle relaxers, “switched days on ya,” he called it laughingly. you slept for a full 25 hours on the couch in the same position, and woke up a day later. you all laughed a lot, and you learned a great way to sleep a couple of days away.
Stranger: then, one night, out of nowhere, she asks you to sleep with her. it's so simple, you were just sitting on the couch getting ready to fall asleep when she asked it. “you wanna share the bed? the couch is pretty full, can't lie down. come on, you're sleepin' with me.”
Stranger: and with that, it started. you slept in that room for a month, and when the family moved trailers you slept in a new room for a month, and so on, sleeping almost a half a year with her, often after she had just had sex with someone else. because you never had sex with her anyway, remember?
Stranger: you just held her. from that first night, you never made any moves on her. she slept with her back towards you, “i like to cuddle” she had warned you that night. “but don't worry, i don't bite.” then she got herself comfortable. you wouldn't even hold her until she told you it was okay, poking fun at your shyness. You were always so careful not to move her arms, she had those wrapped around her five and six year old sons in front of her, and even though they slept like rocks, you were always just so careful.
Stranger: and the opiates had only been attacking your body for a couple of months, so your face hadn't started to sink, a little youthful skin still clung to your tired bones, but you were getting there. give it time.
Stranger: your eyes still had a little life, though the world had taken its toll, and when she looked at you, you could almost see life returning to her eyes. but they were long glazed with a glass mask so perfectly fused that it seemed only you could see through the fog. she called you her little brother often, you woke up every morning you stayed, which was every night you weren't out somewhere else, to drive her kids down the country road to the bus stop. and those kids would go crazy when you would get back from a long run, play a little guitar for them, and give them candy from the gas stations you'd stopped at along the way. life was simple; life was dirty; life was exciting. but most of all, life was quiet when you told it to be.
Stranger: but then you get a call one night, a thursday actually. you were out drinking on the pier. you always went thursday, when the place was quiet and you could sit around and stare over the water into the clouds and the moon... but you get a call, and it's her. when you answer, she's crying, and crying; there's just a lot of crying, and then she says his name, before bursting into more sobs.
Stranger: turned out ray died. after calming her down i finally got the story out of her, she had found him laying in bed with the needle still stuck in the vein in his hand. she said he had been acting weird so she went to check on him, and he wasn't breathing.
Stranger: but ray knew his limits. and we all knew he'd been torn up for over twenty years. what with the combination of his son dying from an accidental overdose, then his wife dying of a suicide, both of the same medicine, it was no surprise when we saw what he used to take his own life.
Stranger: we all knew he did it on purpose, and i mean, i don't think lowly of him for it. he decided he was done, i admire his courage if anything. he owed me... thousands of dollars worth of pills, but hey, i'd dump them in the toilet if it brought him back.
Stranger: i didn't go back to that house though. i don't know what happened after that over there. i threw my burner away and went back into the csu, got out in a week and a half, and quit doing pills as much. i still saw her every now and again, after ray died, but she became distant, only calling to borrow money to get scripts, and never returning it. i don't even mind. i wish there was more i could have done.
Stranger: change is a sudden and radical thing in my life, and so i had to just, move on. the future is now.
Stranger: but i mean, you asked... “what it's like?” so... to sum it up... i guess it's not really just a bunch of depressed people, doing depressing things... because we're all depressed to some extent, right? so we must have the opposite yet equal potential within us to be just as happy, right? and the times i've had, the people i've met, the path i've walked, who i am; has led me to where i am, and i'm pretty okay with who i am. truth be told, the world just keeps spinning man, and really fast. we're all just trying our hardest to hang on, and maybe learn a thing or two before we have to let go for good.
You: I don't even know your name.
Stranger: david. david d. davidson. i'm just your average guy trying to get by. i've always wanted to, i don't know. change minds i guess? but i don't know how i possibly could. regardless, i'm going for cigarettes. glad we got to exist together for a while, david. i've gotta be honest, relishing in the past... ah. anyway, cigarettes. gotta go. peace, love, and chicken grease, cancer calls.
You: My name's not David.
Your conversational partner has disconnected.



He disconnected before I realized what he meant, but the things the stranger and I talked about before then, his life... Well, I enjoyed the got some feels from his story, and I thought I'd share his experience with you, his /b/rothers, so you could get to know one of your own, david d. davidson, and remember that we're all just trying to hang on, and maybe learn a thing or two before we have to let go for good.


_____________________________________________________________________________________________

david d. davidson is a popular meme on /b/where a thread will consist of everyone posting that their name is david davidson, or some variation thereof, when the Stranger called himself david d. davidson, he clued in to the fact that he frequents this board, and i'm actually about to post this to /b/ to see what happens. i'll probably get at least a couple people angry for mentioning their secret base, but whatevs. also, today marks the day that my blog goes public. don't you jerks make fun of the fact that i never update shit. get off my case dammit.

"Nothing Ever Works Out the Way You Think It Will," and other such depressing titles.

It's true.

I didn't finish the stories.
Surprise surprise.

Not really, we all saw it coming.


fyj=xj,jchkck.

This is silly. Really. Silly.

Sweet merciful Neptune. I never update this damn thing. This is incredible, it's been over a year. I was going to say less than a year, but I just realized, no, it's actually over a year now. I've gotta get back to writing. This is ridiculous. I have some stuff I've been working on, I'm going to try to get some of those things finished up. Because I'm working on a bunch of projects, and these are a couple that would really feel good to finish up on.

So yea, this is part of the blog part. Story part to follow soon. Hopefully. It's not done yet, but I want to say by the end of this week there better be a damn good story posted or I'm going to be upset with myself.

Well. It's been a while.

This is "blog"spot, so I've decided to keep this as a mild blog. Because the updating with writings is apparently not working out. But I hope to do a little of that too. And if I'm writing on here, I'll probably get around to editing and writing elsewhere. So who knows. Could be helpful.

Right now I am a little hungry in my stomach. But my mouth is telling my brain that it doesn't want food. I lack appetite. Did you know that you're not supposed to start sentences with "but" or "and." If I'm not mistaken, "because" is also one of those words.

But I can take creative license. Because I'm the writer. And sometimes short sentences can be used for emphasization. Which is a made up word. Again. Creative license.

Wouldn't it be cool if we could apply creative license to our everyday lives. But with everyone changing everything all the time, what would become of things? Would the grass constantly change color because someone somewhere is thinking it should be different? And if so, how rapidly? How many people would become fascinated with the notion of changing the color of the grass, and sit there doing it all the time? And if it was done to such extremes, could individual blades and patches be changed independently? If so, jobs would be different. Because the most creative would be paid to sit there and make cool landscapes. Parties would be sick.

Cigarette time. And then movie time. And then bed time. And then wake time.

I'm thinking about posting a link to this on my facebook.

I'm going to sleep on it.

Gamblin' Man

Hard to believe I wrote this almost two years ago. I wrote it in five consecutive days, at Waffle house. I would go every day about 3:00 am and drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, and write. I had always planned to write more, but never got inspired or motivated. Leave some love if it's something you'd like to see finished. Might help me. 

from 9/9/09

 

I. The Dealer

The beach seems an odd place to be walking at one in the morning, but as we slow to make the turn off of the beach on to my street, Nick's headlights illuminate the silhouette of a man doing just that, heading west. In the new light I can see that the man is quite young, wearing a suit and a matching fedora, carrying in his left hand a guitar in a large case, a crooked smile on his face. I cannot explain why I am so sketched out by him, but I am. I simply can't shake the feeling that he must be making his way to the crossroads, or he's on the way back from them. I find him strangely terrifying.

Two hours go by at my house, and Nick eventually leaves. Hunger strikes, and I get in my car to go to Waffle House. It's now around three o'clock in the morning. A song comes on as my car cranks up, and the words are loud to my unadjusted ears.

“I'm alive, don't bury me,” is all that makes it out before I turn it off. My mind drifts to the man on the beach...

You're hungry, remember? Can we go get some food now?

The voice in my head is getting on my nerves, but it does help me stay on track. I grumble something along the lines of “I can think and drive jerk” to myself as I put the car in gear.

You do realize that talking back to me isn't helping me go away, right?

“Yea but at least I can feel like I can shut you up.”

But I'm always going to have a comeback. You do, I do.

I decide that responding to that is probably not wise, so I drive down the street to the beach in silence. After a minute or two I turn on to the same road the man was walking down, and head west.

He's probably gone really far anyway, that was hours ago... The voice was oddly quiet.

“Yeah you're scared too.”

I make my way to the Waffle House on the beach, it's the closest one. The inside is empty, as expected, and the waitress is a nice southern lady, as expected. I get my cup of coffee, order my bacon biscuit, and I ask for an ashtray.

“I'm going to be here a while, I hope that's okay.”

Of course it's okay, I'm just being polite. I order food, and the restaurant is silent as I eat. As I smoke my after-meal cigarette, the phone rings. It rings three times painfully loud over the silent hum of the air conditioning before the lady answers it with her seemingly very rehearsed greeting. Then silence.

“Two blocks if you're going East.” Silence again.

“Hello?”

She hangs up the phone.

“Stupid fucking prank calls.”

At this I look up. I guess my face just reads “Hey, I'm puzzled,” because she responds to it with an explanation.

“I just heard a bunch of laughing. Sorry about the language darlin',”

“Oh it's no problem, I was just startled.”

Fifteen minutes go by, and I sip on my coffee and smoke my cigarette. The combination of marijuana, nicotine, and caffeine streaming through my veins is giving the fogged up glass an eerie ability to enclose this space. I am all of a sudden very glad that I am wearing a hoodie, noticing the cold for the first time.

My brain pangs slightly, my eyes start to cross a little, and my leg starts to slightly twitch. I am very tired, very high, and all of a sudden, very anxious. I know I must look cracked out, I'm blinking my eyes repeatedly, staring at the door, attempting to get my vision to stop being blurry. It finally does as the door swings slowly open, and I see something come in. As my eyes fully adjust, I realize It's a young man in a black suit, wearing a matching fedora, carrying in his left hand a golden pen, and wearing on his face a crooked smile.

A familiar voice whispers nervously in my head.

You have my permission to be frightened now...

II. The Table

The man walks silently to my table. With my hoodie and baseball cap on as they are, I can only see his feet. They walk across the restaurant and come to a stop in front of my booth.

“I know who you are,” I whisper, to which I'm surprised to hear a chuckle.

“I know you know who I am,” he says, and sits down across from me. His voice is soft, and if any man's voice could be described as “pretty,” it could be this man's.

“I don't want you to be here. I told you to go away. I made you leave me.”

“You made me leave your soul behind, and you owe me that soul, Dismus. I have come back for what is mine.”

“I took it back; Silvertongue is dead. I killed him.”

He scoffs, “You cannot kill Silvertongue. He's just made his way back home. He's pretty pissed at you for what you did, you know. I brought him along actually, he really insisted. He wants to say hello.”

My headache intensifies, and I hear a familiar voice's whispers amplified in my head. It is of course my voice that whispers, but the sound is distorted, as if my tongue was forked.

I've missed you.

I can't help my reaction; I wince, which brings a smile to the stranger's face. I slam my hands over my ears, as if I could block the voices in my head by covering my ears, and I hunch over. He just sits there and smiles.

You can't just get rid of me like that, Dismus. You know who I am now, and I know you've heard me trying to get back in. Why won't you let me back in, Dismus? Don't you remember how brilliant I made you? You know you've missed me too.


“Lies...” I mutter through clenched teeth. “You're both... just... liars... Get out of my head, dammit!”

I open my eyes and look around, seeing if anyone else could see the agony I was in. I realize now that the people around us are going on about their night as if we don't exist.

“You're all alone again, Dismus. They can't hear you right now, they can't see you. Nobody else sees me either, Dismus. We're all alone in this booth, together.”

I pick up the ketchup and throw it at the waitress. As soon as I release the bottle it disappears from the air and reappears where I picked it up from. I pull down my hood and turn my cap around. Now that he can see my face, I can see his. He smiles.

“Fair enough,” I reply, trying not to act stunned at what I've just seen. “So you've got me here. What now? What do you want?”

“You know what I want, Dismus.” His voice is getting harsher.

“Refresh my memory?”

Don't be coy, boy. Silvertongue again.

You can kiss my ass, I reply. You're not supposed to be there.

“You like to fancy yourself a fairly clever person, don't you?”

“Well I try. But I've learned my lesson, I'm not underestimating you again.”

“I could say the same to you.”

His last comment surprises me. Trying my damnedest not to sound too intrigued, I bite.

“What do you mean?”

At this, Satan sits back, lights up a cigarette, and seems to gather his thoughts before speaking.

“Dismus,” he starts, “I have saved your life on numerous occasions; numerous times I have heeded your call when God wouldn't. I have proven my loyalty to you, and you have demanded much from me.” Here he pauses to look at me. “You would want to be heard out; I demand you hear me out.”

I look at the ketchup bottle, then at the waitress. A sigh escapes.

“Okay, Satan, you have five minutes. I'll give you five minutes.”

His smile is unsettling.

III. The Cards

“It goes like this, Dismus. I have presented you with all the opportunities you asked me for. You demanded beauty, you said you wanted it all, and I gave it all to you. I have presented you with perfect specimen of both sexes, all you had to do was take them. I underestimated you for the first time with these. I didn't realize the depth to which your innocence ran. You simply don't have the heart to do it, do you? Not even when it's right in front of you. This I promise to correct.”

You're not seriously listening to this are you?

I am silent for a moment, both in my mind and out of it. I don't know what to say. Silvertongue is out of my head. I don't know how I know, but I can tell it is just me and me up there.

What am I supposed to do? Try to get up? Didn't you see what happened to the ketchup bottle?

“Don't you have anything to say?”

I realize that I've been silent for longer than a moment. I look at Satan, and down at his pen.

“How?”

He smiled, “I'm glad you asked.”

Great.

“I will take those inhibitions from you. You know you want what I have to offer. You don't know how to get all that beauty I'm presenting you with, so let me give it to you. Let me take your inhibitions, let me release you. Let me in more." His voice gets hungrier. " Let me give you the words to write, and the drive to write them. Give me your hands that I may use them.”

His eyes are starving.

“Why?” I ask. “Why me? Why are you trying to get me?”

“What can I say? You're impressive. I want to destroy you. But even more, I want you to destroy you.”

I'm silent again.

“That's... a terrible way to put that.”

He chuckles, and pulls out his cigarettes. I smoked my last one before he sat down. I eyeball them as quickly as possible; I don't want him to know I want one.

“Cigarette?”

Damn.

Do I want a cigarette? Yes. Do I take the devil's cigarette? Well, that's a different story. Isn't it?

“I'm not signing any contract by taking this am I?”

“Can't a friend bum a friend a cigarette?” He asks me with a smile.

“Oh. We're friends now?”

“Take the cigarette, Dismus. I want to continue.”

“Fair enough.”

I take a cigarette from his pack and light it. It tastes like nothing I've ever smoked before. I can taste tobacco, but more than that I taste what I imagine brimstone tastes like. The smoke is smooth going down, but when it hits my lungs I can feel it seep painfully into my blood. The strangest sensation takes over my body, it feels like all my veins have been filled with smoke. Buzzed doesn't describe it, but neither does any other word I can think of at the time. The room begins to spin and rock back and forth. I'm slightly reminded of so many times I spent fighting my stomach on the shower floor.

“You will be forced to make a decision soon, Dismus.” His voice goes harsh again. “You can only forsake God so many times before he forsakes you. You like to wear your scapular and holy medallions, but these trinkets will not save your from me. You will suffer like you did not know possible.”

His eyes had not left mine the entire time he was speaking.

“I will break you.”

And then he goes silent.

I can't really breathe. The room is vibrating. Satan is glaring at me from across the table, and now, the silence is only intensifying his glare. I attempt to speak, but all that escapes is a squeak. I clear my throat and try again.

“So, you came to warn me then?" I clear my throat. "You think you frighten me?"

The world spins hard, as if to make a point.

"...and you're right: you do. But that's a terrible strategy to win me back to your side."

"I mean, after all," I continue, leaning up on my elbows to try to steady the room. "You lose a lot out of this deal if you lose me. Don't tell me I didn't do you any favors.”

At this his glare breaks, and his smile returns. Smoke seeps through his teeth.

“You were one of my favorite humans. It's rare that I meet someone who takes so much power and only hungers for more. I could almost have a use for you besides eternal torture.”

“So then how about not playing like you hold all the cards on this one?”

These are strong words coming from me. Any cards I hold are falling out of my sleeves as the room continues to spin.

“After all, we could both use each other. You need someone in my world, I need someone in yours.”

He is quiet again. We finish our cigarettes without another word. When the silence is broken, he speaks first.

“You are incredible, you know that?”

“I thought all of you otherworldly beings could see the future and shit, shouldn't you not be surprised?”

“We know the choices you could possibly face, your free will dictates what actually happens though. And I must say, your free will is all over the place.”

“Yea, better hurry, I'm changing my mind as we speak.”

You know that toying with the devil is a bad idea, right?

Yes, I'm aware.

But he was right. And his tongue wasn't forked.

...Thank you, voice.

“I'll tell you what, Satan,” I say as I take out my wallet. “You're going to have to hit me up later, I'm tired. Maybe I should sleep on it.” I pick up my bill and turn to exit the booth.

There's laughter in his voice when he speaks next.

“Maybe you should.”

I go to speak, but my mouth won't open. My eyelids collapse, but display the most incredible laser-light show, which dissolves into fireworks that explode and fade away. At the same time, I feel as if all my muscles are suddenly switched off; but as if by strings my body floats into a comfortable sleeping position. All sound becomes a piercing mix of car horns and loud brass fanfares being played on old vinyl records that are all aflame, melting off their players, as my eardrums slowly lose function. Then, silence; except for my voice.

Now you've gone and done it.

IV. Changing Tables.

“Hon?”

The waitress's hand is light on my shoulder, but it jolts me from my sleep as if it had ten thousand volts running through it. My head shoots up and she jumps back startled.

“I-I I'm sorry, hon, I didn't mean to startle you.”

“What? No... Huh?”

I look around, and it takes me a moment to realize that I'm still sitting in Waffle House, but the sun is now rising over the water of the beach across the street. I must have slept for hours.

“The man in the suit-”

“What man? Honey, you've been asleep for some time, but I'm leavin' for the mornin' and I need the bill so I can cash out. I don't mean to rush-”

“No it's fine. I'm sorry. I didn't realize how tired I was. I just need to go home, I'm sorry.”

“Oh it's fine, hon.”

“Here,” I say, dropping five dollars on the table. “Keep the change.”

My meal was only two and some change. I gather my things and leave the booth; all the patrons turn to watch me leave. The voice in my head finally wakes up as I hit the door.

That's creepy.

I agree. Get me home safe?

Are you ready to start listening to me?

I'm sitting in my car about to turn the key, but I pause to consider this last thought. Am I ready to start listening?

I guess.

The drive home is silent, and halfway there I decide to stop off at the adoration chapel at my church, just to be on the safe side. After an hour I decide I'm safe enough to get home.

Once I get to my couch, I crack.

Okay. Okay. What the hell just happened? Did I dream all that? What the hell just happened to me? And who are you? You aren't another demon are you?

“Get the hell out if you are. I'm serious. Don't make me get a crucifix.”

By the time I realize that I'm talking to myself out loud, I'm standing in front of my mirror holding a crucifix at my face. I snap back to reality and sit back down on the couch.

Feel better?

You know, you don't have to be a jerk. Angels and saints weren't jerks.

But I have your sense of humor. You can't get angry at me for that.

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, right?

Okay. Fine. This is going to be pleasant.

I sit there thinking for a good twenty minutes before I speak again.

What's your name?

Max.

Never heard of you. You're an angel?

I'm here to help.

Here to help me get to God?

Here to help you get to God.

I hope he isn't lying to me.

I'm going to trust you.

That'll work for now.

I need sleep. I'm going to go to sleep now.

You know he'll be coming for you there.

In my dreams? Yea. I figured. Can you help with that?

I'll be fighting by your side.

We'll be fighting?

He laughs.

Oh yea. We'll be fighting. Get your game face on.

Hey I played chess as a kid. I know strategy.

I remember, I was there.
As I lay waiting for sleep to take over, I pray.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
My leg starts to twitch, a tell-tale sign that I'm losing consciousness.

And if I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
Tonight, these last two lines hit closer to home than ever before. The air conditioning's soft hum is the last thing I hear as my mind flutters off.

And here we go.

V. A Bluff, A Raise, And A Fold

My eyes blink open and I can feel myself snap from drowsy to alert. I'm afraid to move my body at all, but my eyes have already given me away.

“Get up, Dismus. It's time we got moving.”

I look up and see a figure kneeling over me, his hand outstretched. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet.

I brush the dirt off of my clothes, a simple white t-shirt and blue jeans, and look around for the first time. It is very dark, but I can see that I have been sleeping on the ground in a back alley somewhere. I don't recognize anything around me, but it seems ancient. On the ground next to me is a bag, and I recognize it as mine, so I pick it up and put it on. I turn to look at the figure that helped me up for the first time.

His eyes glow into mine, and he is smiling slightly. I can tell he's mildly amused by my confusion, but I don't really care. I'm still getting my bearings. He is wearing loose jeans and a pair of unremarkable sneakers; his shirt is a faded grey. He carries a bag too, but on his back, and he wears a baseball cap cocked to the left, casting shadows over most of his face. If we weren't looking eye to eye, his glowing eyes would have been hidden by the bill.

“Max?”

“No, I'm your other guardian angel. Yes, it's Max. Can we get moving?”

“Where are we going? And why are you in such a rush?”

“There's an old church down the road. The fact that it was a church doesn't really matter, but the fact that it's old and abandoned does,” he says with a little bit of disgust in his voice. He turns to me.

“For the time being, you'll just have to believe me that we can't stay here, and I can explain when we get to the church.”

“Fair enough. Lead the way.”

He pulls his cap down and looks around the corner of the alley. I re-tie my sneakers, I figure if it comes down to it I'll be able to run faster. Max turns to me and signals to follow, then disappears around the corner. I follow. We're running.

I look around and notice the city again as we run down its streets in a seemingly endless maze of twists and turns. The darkness seems to be created here, a total reversal of our night. Instead of the darkness being the absence of sunlight, the light in this city seems to be the absence of darkness. My shadow glows on the buildings beside me. I look forward to see Max's shadow, but he doesn't have one. I would wonder where everyone else in the city is, but the destroyed facades of the buildings tell me that anyone who lived here definitely doesn't live here anymore. 

The city of nothing but broken down buildings: I feel strangely at home.

After almost twenty minutes of running through the twists and turns of this haunted city, Max takes a sudden turn into a building, and in all my pondering I almost miss it. He grabs my shirt and pulls me in, where I collapse to the ground panting and out of breath. My bag slipped off near the door, and he slides it closer in then puts his bag down next to it.

“You're gonna have to get used to running around here,” he says. I'm still getting used to hearing my voice being spoken at me. All I can do is nod back anyway, I'm in no physical condition to speak.

“And you seem to be winded, so I'll start answering as many questions as I can before you start speaking.” He turns his cap around and sits down. The room is almost completely lit up by his eyes.

“My eyes: they're a sign that I'm one of the Alive. In this plane you've been brought to, we are hunted. But," he goes on, "we are also hunters." 

"When you begin life on this plane, your shadow glows. You are Alive. But this is how you get hunted, which is why I brought you in here. You're being hunted, Dismus. You didn't know it, but you were being hunted.”

I look at my shadow behind me. Still glowing.

Shit.

“But you've recognized it,” he continues, “so you're on the fast track to these.”

I turn to look at him again. He's pointing to his eyes.

“Because you see, the Dead out there can always see your shadow; you can't hide your shadow. But your eyes, learn to control your light and it will become visible through your eyes. This is the secret to going from the hunted Alive,” he smiles, “to the Living hunters.”

“So how do I control this? How do I get rid of a glowing shadow?”

“It requires daily meditation, and you'll laugh at the next part: you're gonna have to smoke a little weed.”

I do laugh.

“Come again?”

“You are a fire burning in the world right now, Dismus. Your brightness is what attracts the creatures of the night to you. Smoke a bowl, get yourself leveled out. You need to learn to use that fire in the right way. Besides, it's your thing anyway isn't it?”

I check the bag I found on the floor next to myself. In it I find my mason jar filled with enough weed to last well beyond tonight, along with my bubbler, and a water bottle to fill it with. So, I smoke a bowl. 

With every hit, I can feel my brain start to bubble. I inhale deep, in with the good; and exhale, out with the bad. My lungs are clear, and I feel the THC rush through my veins to my brain, storming my neurons in green and white. My shadow fades, but everywhere I look is illuminated as if with LED flashlights.

Max speaks while I smoke.

“This is how things work, Dismus. I'm here to help you fight your demons, which you will be faced with tonight throughout the city. God has chosen you to fight for him, and given you power to do so. Take the weed, for example. Where most it would make drowsy, it allows you to focus your efforts. Focus them now, and understand what I have to say. I won't get a chance to talk to you like this again. Weed is the beginning for you, but you will learn true devotion to Mary soon enough.”

I look at Max, and he squints when he looks back.

“Put a hat on, Dis. Geez your eyes are bright. I hadn't realized how bright of a shadow you had.”

Rummaging through my bag again produces a billed beanie which I slip on, casting a shadow over my eyes by tilting it slightly. I look back at him; he doesn't squint this time.

“Much better. You'll notice when I twisted my cap around, my eyes shone. They brightened the room. They are useful for this, and for showing the Dead you are Alive. But don't go around glowing your eyes into everyone's faces. If they're truly Dead, they'll run from you. You're a hunter right now, that weed you smoke makes you so. That's why the meditation is important. You're a warrior, Dismus, but a holy warrior. This means you must be careful, you are the most susceptible to fall. This place may seem strange to you, but you have to understand that it is a reality. You are now in the subconscious world. Here, only those in touch with the subconscious control their actions.”

He takes off a rosary I hadn't noticed him wearing earlier.

“We pray this,” he says, “then, we go hunting.”

I stop him here.

“Maybe I'm just stoned, but what are we hunting?” I ask, rising to my feet. He rises also.

“I mean, I don't remember any of this being explained. I don't know what's going on here.”

“You fell. I found you, Dismus, in your weakened state, and pleaded for your life. God granted it, for you have the spirit of a great warrior. But if you don't fight for us now...”

He pulls a large pistol with a cross carved into the wood-grain handle from the waistband of his pants and points it in my face.

“...then I'm afraid I have no choice.”

I stare at the barrel. The devil was nicer than this. I am sure he's of God now. There is no room for fluff with God.

“More explanation,” I said, lowering the gun with my hand, “less threatening.”

“Sorry,” he smiles. “Just can't be too careful. But you're right.”

He puts the gun away.

“The worlds are divided, Dismus. The Living and the Dead walk side by side in your world, but in ours, this is how it is. The Living have their cities, the Dead have theirs. There are those like you—and me—who live in the outskirts, fighting the wars on the front-lines.”

I look at him again, and notice for the first time the scars on his face and arms. His jeans are more tattered than I had realized, and I realize now that so are mine. Both of our faces are smudged with dirt.
I look down at my hands; they are dirty too.

“The rosary is our greatest weapon on the surface, but here we use a little bit more imposing methods of demon suppression." His hand moves to the butt of his gun.

"If you die here, you die for good, but to die here you have to be left behind. I won't leave you, you don't leave me. I need you as much as you need me, Dismus. We're going to face many demons together and they are very powerful. Should I fall, pick me up. I will pick you up when you fall. The demons work on a different system. They have already fallen, and the ones we kill are more like recycled.”

I look into his eyes. He is looking into mine. I take the time to consider all that has happened in the past 12 hours. The devil still feels he has claim over my soul. But here, God is here offering me a chance to take it back by force. I look at the rosary in Max's hand, and kneel.

I accept, God.

He kneels next to me, and we pray. An overwhelming peace ensues, and twenty minutes later we rise. I look at him and can see his eyes are glowing brighter than before.

He picks up his bag, puts it on his back, and tightens the straps. I pick up my sling bag and throw it over my shoulder, tightening the strap to a comfortable height. He cocks his hat to the left again, and looks over at me. I pull my beanie down a little. My heart is racing. I have no idea what to expect. I'm entering the world for the first time.

“You will fight. Here,” he says, “and in your world. You will begin to see people for their true selves. Be prepared for the worst.”

I look at my feet.

How long will you keep going, little ones? How far will you travel before you are worn to the bone?

Hopefully far enough.

“Hey,” Max says, grabbing my arm. “Come back to me. Let's do this. Your shadow led them here. Can't you hear them?”

I could. For the first time, I noticed the whispers around the building. They were getting closer by the second. Some were becoming screams.

“The church, though abandoned, is the last place they'll look. But they will look here. You ready?”

I'm not. But I don't see any other choice. I speak for the first time in a while.

“In the famous words of Snoop Dogg, Max: 'Ain't nothin' to it but to do it.' ”

He smiles, his eyes glowing brighter than normal. The room brightens even more as my own excitement grows. He hands me a pistol and a couple of clips.

“Let's kill some demons.”

We slip into the recesses of the Church, and I promise God that if I make it through the night I will fight for him. I can only hope he is listening as the enemies' battle cries echo in and stab at our ears. I load and cock the gun, leaning against the wall opposite from Max. His eyes are closed, he must be praying too. The whispers have all become screams. I watch as each scream makes his closed eyes pinch together. His mouth moves silently.

The screams stop, replaced now by footsteps. Light footsteps. One set of footsteps.

“Disssssmusssss...” I hear a voice that sounds like my own, but the forked tongue effect is more obvious now that the voice isn't in my head.

“Silvertongue!” I yell, tearing down the hallway, Max close behind. “You twisted my mind you sonofabitch! You led the weakest of the sheep astray, and now you will feel my shepherd's hand!”

I burst through a doorway and come out behind Silvertongue. His shape is nothing I could have expected, and luckily I am the only one who is stopped by his appearance. I had expected something a little less... winged and beautiful. Max makes quick work of his kneecaps with the bat he has pulled from his pack, knocking them both out in one sweep from behind. Silvertongue screams out, and a knife from his sleeve finds Max's arm, leaving a large gash. Max drops the bat, and I push him to the side. I rip off my beanie and stare Silvertongue in the eyes, stepping on the hand that holds the knife. The light makes him cower more than his broken knees already do.

“Look at me in the eyes, Silvertongue. I know that you cannot die here, that you will merely reappear in your city, but when you do, I want you to remember the warning I pass on to you now.”

At this point I put the gun to his forehead.

“You and your gang torment the souls of my world, like children with magnifying glasses burning ants. Well I'm here to show you how bad an ant bite can sting.”

I turn the gun and shoot a hole through Silvertongue's shoulder. His face twists, but he doesn't cry out. Instead, he smiles. I shoot him again, twice in his stomach, once in his arm.

“Dismus," he laughs, blood gurgling in his throat, "we will never stop. I came alone, to give you a warning. We did like you, Dismus. We really did. It will grieve us all to have to dispose of you like any common riffraff,” 

At this he looks pointedly at Max.

“But you leave us no choice. Prepare then, Dismus, for the fight for your life. You may have won this hand, but the game is far from over, and you're holding a lot of chips. We'll see how long you survive.”

I shoot him in the head, sickened by his words and unwilling to hear any more. Blood covers the ground, and I look at Max. His arm is bleeding, but the wound doesn't look too deep. He sits down, pulling out his rosary. A look of total nonchalant covers his face.

“Next time, we should have a mild plan.”

“Yea, sorry about your arm there. I got excited.”

“I know. But learn to use that excitement the right way.”

“Hey, it's my first day. I'm learning.”

“You'll have to learn quick, tonight is only the beginning.”

We pray another rosary in thanksgiving. We survived my first encounter, that was something to be grateful for. When I open my eyes, after twenty or so minutes, Max's arm is already looking pretty healed.

“God provides, bro.”

I laugh.

“God provides.”

I yawn, and Max turns to me.

“You've taken in a lot. Go to sleep here, wake up in your world. You are strong, Dismus.”

He lights up a cigarette, and I lie down, ready to wake up.

“We'll see each other again,” he says, “We're going to change the world.”



I never wrote more, but if I get inspired again sometime in the near future I may write another night in the city.