tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5629006782097539042024-02-08T11:43:26.814-08:00Paul Fail. FTW!You learn more from your mistakes than your successes.
<br>So here I am to try, and to fail, so I can learn.
<br>Paul Fail. For The Win!D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-81774524552478282602013-10-20T21:44:00.000-07:002013-10-20T21:44:16.362-07:00Shuttering the EstablishmentAnd so it ends. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://d-paulangel.blogspot.com/2013/09/fridayflash-lost-estate.html">Lost Estate was, indeed, talking about my blog here.</a> I'm closing shop and moving the establishment over to <a href="http://dpaulangel.wordpress.com/">WordPress</a>. It was time. I explain the move over <a href="http://dpaulangel.wordpress.com/2013/10/20/welcome/">there</a>, and as soon as I figure out how to do the blogroll on WordPress I'll be adding everyone in.<br />
<br />
Take care, and thanks for stopping by and visiting.<br />
<br />
All the best,<br />
PaulD. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-34395161119994930432013-09-28T18:04:00.000-07:002013-09-28T18:04:13.738-07:00#FridayFlash: Lost Estate<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Lost Estate<br />©2013 D. Paul Angel<br />985 words<br /><br /><br />He shook the Estate's elaborate wrought iron gates, impressed that they remained tightly and firmly locked. Unfortunately his long absence meant that the walls surrounding the gate's pillars had long since collapsed, rendering the gates themselves little more than useless ornamentation. Sighing, he took the easy path proffered and avoided the hassle of unlocking the gates.<br /><br />Walking up the long driveway he saw the weeds were well on their way to overtaking the cracking asphalt. Their ivy brethren as well were already hard at work reclaiming the classical statuary lining its broad, gentle curves. He couldn't help but stop at the fountain in the driveway before the Mansion, it had, after all, always been a favorite.<br /><br />The statue of a Greek nymph pouring water from a jug was largely intact but heavily stained with moss and lichens. The pool was now green and polliwogs skittered about just below the surface. There were many good pictures here he thought, chagrined at his decision to leave his camera behind. But then, he reminded himself, this wasn't a trip to create, but to deal with what he had started. After all, the Estate hadn't decided to crumble of it's own accord; that had been his decision. Not even a decision, <i>per se</i>, but simply a matter of neglect. But even neglect was simply a decision unmade, was it not?<br /><br />He wasn't surprised that Entropy had won another battle against him, he had never been particularly good at the constant vigilance required to truly fight it. Knowledge alone wasn't enough to assuage his feelings of loss though. This place had had so much... <i>potential</i>. He both embraced and loathed the word. It hinted at so many promises, but was ever at the mercy of the ubiquitous "if's" that were forever interrupting Life's simple paths.<br /><br />He flicked the water, scattering the polliwogs and bade an unseen frog jump further away before continuing to the Mansion itself. Its huge, unfinished wings loomed in mocking reminder of wasted potential. Or was it merely over ambition? He had to admit to himself a small cottage with a simple garden would have been far easier to maintain than a lavish estate.<br /><br />He walked around to the back of the house mulling his own hubris. The Mansion and it's skeletal wings stood on a rise from which he could see the various fields and ancient woods. Barley, for when he finished the distillery. Hops as well for the unfinished brewery. The now wild grapes might make someone happy someday too, but he would never see a bottle of that vintage. The vegetable garden had long since gone to weeds, and if he hadn't planted them himself, he never would have known that hot peppers once grew there too.<br /><br />He turned to the green behind the house and between the wings. It was the perfect locale for a party. The three sides of the Mansion had pulleys built into them as well to support awnings for Winter gatherings. He walked through the tall grass, picking his way through larger weeds and tramping over wide swathes of dandelions. He thought of the parties he had dreamt having here, regretted as always that he never actually held one. Only this time, he knew, there would be no "next time" to ameliorate his disappointment in himself.<br /><br />He pushed through the french doors, wincing at the creaking struggle required for their opening. The ballroom stood empty, its cavernous walls dully echoing his footsteps. It had held more workers than guests, he was sad to admit; but that was why he had come. To embrace the sadness, to feel it, and then (he hoped) to let it go.<br /><br />Through the catering kitchen, past the mini theater and sunroom, he came to the foyer. The grand staircase still stood, although its balustrades were now merely home to spiders who knew not of the class of neighborhood in which they awaited their prey. Or perhaps, he mused, maybe they did and enjoyed their meal all the more?<br /><br />His moment of whimsy was quickly forgot as he rounded the folding table, incongruously set between the intricately mosaiced floor and lavish crystal chandelier. No amount of dust could dilute their elegance; no amount of cleanliness could impart anything close to the same on the table. It was, after all, only there to display the Estate's blueprints.<br /><br />He opened the roll of blueprints, smoothing down the edges he unrolled them. He traced the walls and plans with his finger in a shaft of sun through the upper floor windows. As late as it was getting, he had to look through them. All of them. Page by page he turned, studying his ambitions writ large in white lines on a deep blue background. Most he remembered, though some had been wholly forgotten long, long ago. All pained him in one way or another, but some hurt with the rawness of a deep gash thrust into salt water.<br /><br />He cried a bit, but only just. Too many tears had already been shed on his journey back here. There simply were no more to offer. That was when he knew it was time. His mind stilled and he methodically went about his preparations. The small can of lighter fluid was more than sufficient to soak the plans. He started to lay them back on the table but then decided against it. The table was what did not belong, everything else did.<br /><br />So he struck the match and lit the plans before dropping them on the floor. He watched as the fire's consumption smeared ash across the floor's scene; watched until only a frail pile of char remained. Then he took the table, and walked out the door. The table would fit in well at his new place.<br /><br />It was a small cottage with a tiny garden that could only <i>just</i> see a hint of the sea through the trees.<br /><br /></span></div>
D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-4832267396875546112012-04-20T12:59:00.001-07:002012-04-21T23:40:29.674-07:00#FridayFlash: Schroedinger's Traffic Light<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
Schroedinger's Traffic Light</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
©2012 D. Paul Angel</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
561 Words</div>
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<br /></div>
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"Is there a problem Officer?"</div>
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<br /></div>
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"Do you know why I pulled you over?"</div>
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<br /></div>
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"Why no, I'm afraid I do not. Was I speeding?"</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"No Ma'am, you were not speeding, but you did just run a red light."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Oh, but I couldn't have."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Excuse me Ma'am, but I was on the cross street. Our light turned green before you even entered the intersection."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Ah, that makes me feel better then. So you did not see that it was red either."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"I don't need to Ma'am. Since my light was green I know yours was red."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Actually, Officer, you do not <i>know</i> it was red, but you are <i>inferring</i> it was red."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"You are certainly free to make that argument to the Judge, but I'm still issuing you a citation."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Well it should be an easy argument then since neither of can say for sure whether or not the light was red."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"I've been writing tickets for nine years Ma'am. I've never yet seen someone get off on a ticket by claiming they didn't notice the light was red."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Oh but I could not have noticed. My eyes were closed."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Excuse me Ma'am, did you say your eyes were closed?"</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Well of course."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Ma'am I cannot even begin to tell you how unsafe that is."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Oh not at all, Officer! I do it all the time."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"You what? Ma'am- I don't even know where to begin!"</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Really? Why? Is there a statute against closing one's eyes whilst driving?"</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"No... Not specifically, no. But there is a statute against reckless driving."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Young man I assure you that closing my eyes was not reckless. It was quite intentional."</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Ma'am, being intentionally reckless just makes it worse. I'm going to have to write you up for that, too."
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Oh dear. It is not like I do it all the time officer, just at intersections."
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"But Ma'am, that's- that's the very <i>worst</i> time you could do it."
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Oh no Officer, not at all. But it is why I cannot be guilty of a red light violation."
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Ma'am-"
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"See with my eyes closed the light existed in all three states simultaneously. Red, Yellow, and Green. Since I did not open my eyes until after I passed through, the light's state was never resolved."
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Ma'am, whether you choose to look or not, the light still changes. And the Judge, I know him Ma'am, he's not going to care about your reasons."
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Oh but he has to. I cannot have run a Red light that didn't exist, now then could I? That would just be silly."
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Ma'am, please-"
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"And, frankly, since you could not see it either, the light's waveform was just as amorphous in your reality as it was in mine. Oh you <i>will</i> testify for me, won't you Officer?"
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Ma'am. Again. My light was green."
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Oh I'm not disputing that the yellow and red waveforms collapsed for your light. Of course not, dear! It just has no more affect on my light at a quantum level than whether it was raining or sunny out. Don't you see?"
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"Frankly, no. But here's your ticket so you can try your luck with the Judge."
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"But... Officer!"
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
"And you can open your eyes Ma'am. My signature on the ticket instantly collapsed the reality in which you didn't get it."
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-64148797813280321142012-03-16T07:46:00.003-07:002012-03-16T08:15:19.730-07:00Mom 1943-2012<i>I wanted to share why I've been gone so much this year. I lost my Mom to cancer in February. It was very aggressive and, by they time they found it, had already metacised and spread. She died six weeks after diagnosis.</i> <i>Mom grew up in Southern California and then spent the rest of her life in Santa Cruz. We did two services for her. The one in Santa Cruz was a very open and people were asked to share their thoughts. My Eulogy below was the final one given that day, and is my own personal remembrances.</i><br />
<br />
<i>I should add that neither of these were given as written. I did not write them down until after, and only then because of the encouragement from some of my friends. I had only cryptic notes and a general sense of what I wanted to say, then spoke off the cuff from there.</i><i> </i><br />
<br />
<br />
Hello, and thank you all for coming out. We greatly appreciate it.<br />
<br />
You know, everyone's Mom touches their life, for good or for bad. So as
children it is sometimes easy to forget that our Mom's touch the lives
of others as friends and family. So, even as an adult, it is staggering
to see so many of you here, and also deeply humbling.<br />
<br />
Kahlil Gibran has a quote which I'm not going to try and remember
precisely, but, roughly it points us to that; everyone knows that a
chain is only as strong as its weakest link. But the flip side of that
is also that it is as strong as its strongest link.<br />
<br />
You and Mom were each other's strongest link.<br />
<br />
I'd like to share some of my memories now, starting with when I was
about 4. I was playing with my brother in the yard and had climbed into the
plum tree. Then I dared my brother that, "I bet you can't hit me with a dirt
clod."<br />
<br />
So, of course, he pick up a dirt clod and hits me with it on his first
throw. Well, as any true 4 year old would, I ran into the house crying
and pointing, telling Mom that, "He was throwing dirt clods at me!"<br />
<br />
Well Mom got us both into our respective rooms, talked with my brother and
then came into my room. She sat down, looked me in the eye and asked,
"If you didn't want to get hit by a dirt clod, why did you bet him he
couldn't?"<br />
<br />
Now this is not just a staggeringly good question for a 4 year old, but
for anyone at any age, and I know that it has helped shape me in who I
am.<br />
<br />
Mom also had a love of Books and Words that shared with me. I know it
has helped push me in my own writing, but she shared it with so many
others, too. From the kids at the school to the seniors at Aegis, she
loved to read and to share.<br />
<br />
She and Dad were also wonderful in letting my brother and I find and follow
our own paths. She liked to share the story of Dad, my brother, and I watching
a College Football game.<br />
<br />
Dad was simply enjoying the game, but my brother was horrified that he might
have to play football to go to college, while I was horrified that I
might have to go to college to play football.<br />
<br />
Through it all they supported us and gave us wisdom.<br />
<br />
Mom also loved the Serenity prayer*:<br />
<br />
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,<br />
The courage to change the things I can,<br />
And the wisdom to know the difference.<br />
<br />
The wisdom's the tricky part, of course, but Mom did fairly well with it.<br />
<br />
Another saying Mom shared with me once came from her flying days. We
were driving home from school and talking about how brave pilots must
be, and astronauts, and the like, and she told me this saying from when
she was a Flight Attendant:<br />
<br />
If it's not your time, don't worry about it.<br />
If it is your time, don't fight.<br />
<br />
Mom lived up to those words.<br />
<br />
Her diagnosis was so overwhelming that she accepted it, and that has made dealing with it so much easier for the rest of us.<br />
<br />
Because she was at peace with it.<br />
<br />
One of the difficult things during a time such as this is to tell
people. Every time you say it or write the words out they become,
"real."<br />
<br />
So, one of the times I was down, Mom just got off the phone with
someone, probably someone here now, though, in all honesty, I have
forgotten who it was. But Mom had told them the news, had hung up the
phone, and said, "That's the hardest part."<br />
<br />
"I understand," I said, thinking of each time for me that those conversations had made things "real."<br />
<br />
"I just hate ruining their day," she finished.<br />
<br />
Even then she didn't feel bad for herself, but for those on the other
end. She was still more worried about everyone else, and sharing that
strongest link.<br />
<br />
The last time I came up, Mom was in the hospital bed, and my room looked
out at her. I got up, opened my door and saw Dad in the chair next to
her, looking at her.<br />
<br />
He wasn't looking at her with sorrow, or pity or even loss...<br />
<br />
But simply with Love.<br />
<br />
That is a moment that you cannot share, unless you have truly lived your
life in that Dash**, shared that Love for 46 years, and been each
other's strongest link.<br />
<br />
When I got up here I thanked you all for coming. It is what every
speaker always does and it's such a part of speeches now that no one
really pays attention to it any more.<br />
<br />
So I want to say it again. And I want for you to all know how truly
thankful we are for you being here, and truly, for being
each other's strongest link.<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*Dad has been in the program for 25 years, so I have become intimately aware of the Serenity Prayer. However, whilst giving the eulogy itself my brain froze and I made it as far as, "God..." Luckily there were many in the audience who knew my folks through the program and they started saying the prayer with me. Indeed, most of the room said it together and it was a deeply moving moment that would have most certainly given my Mom chills. I know it did me. <br />
<br />
**There's a poem Mom loved called, I believe, "The Dash." It talks about
the first date on the tombstone being the day you were brought into this
world, and the last date being the day you left. But all that's on
their to represent what you did in this world was the "Dash." The Pastor
talked about that poem and quoted from it, so that's what the reference
is.<br />
<br />
~~~<br />
<br />
<i>After the Santa Cruz service, we held a Catholic Mass in Mom's honor. The CHurch said that, if we wanted, we could give a three minute eulogy before the Mass itself started (God bless the Catholics, eh?). This was a much more difficult eulogy to give, not just because of the time constraint, but because I would be the only speaking of her life. It was a daunting task for me, and though I felt the weight of it, I feel like I did a good job and that Mom would be proud of me.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Thank you all for joining us this morning.<br />
<br />
I would like to speak to you today, not so much about what my Mom did in
her life, but who she was. One of the first things that stands out for
her is her outgoing, friendly personality. She readily and easily made
friends and, as testified to by so many here who knew her over the
years; once she made those friends she did not readily let go.<br />
<br />
Mom was very caring, and she very much stayed in touch with her friends,
her family, and her friends who became family; because she truly wanted
to know about them and their lives. One of Mom's favorite things was
to catch up with her friends and find out what was going in their lives,
in their children's lives, their grand-children's lives, and even,
occasionally, great-grandchildren's lives. She wanted to know because
she truly cared about them, and really did want to know what all was
happening in their lives. And, almost always, she would insist on a
snapshot of everyone there.<br />
<br />
Mom was also a giving soul, and would usually send out a thank you note
to her friends including prints of the pictures that were taken. She
would also send you anything she found that reminded her of you in
addition to sending out cards for Birthdays and sympathy, for just
thinking of you and for encouragement.<br />
<br />
She was a helping person, too, and was often one of the first to be
called when you needed something. She would give you a shoulder to cry
on, a much needed laugh, or even a swift kick in the *ahem*!<br />
<br />
Notice I said, "need" and not "want." Mom was also a good enough and
strong enough friend to give you what you truly needed, not necessarily
what you wanted.<br />
<br />
In giving advice, Mom often gave the Serenity Prayer as solace:<br />
<br />
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,<br />
The courage to change the things I can,<br />
And the wisdom to know the difference.<br />
<br />
Mom didn't just recite that prayer, however, she lived it, too. When
the diagnosis came she accepted it for it was with the quiet strength
and dignity that marked so much of her life as you all know. So it is
fitting, after her passing, that you should join us her to celebrate
that life. She was baptized here, she was married here, and now, with
her oldest and dearest friends; who have been there for so many other
milestones in her life, we celebrate this final one here.<br />
<br />
Thank you again for coming.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Mom was 68. She will be truly missed.</i><br />
<br />D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-26423426636572759452012-02-10T21:05:00.001-08:002012-02-10T21:34:47.069-08:00#FridayFlash: Ritual<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">#FridayFlash: Ritual<br />©2012 D. Paul Angel<br />695 Words<br /><br /><br />Morning, 6:34am. Lecture 14 at 9am, Lecture 28 at 1:15pm, and then 2 hours and 20 minutes of Office Hours. Blanket thrown back left to right and then the edge returned after to be perpindicular with the bed. Slippers on, first the right foot, then the left. Still just cold enough for a robe; left arm through, then the right. Tie the robe with a half hitch, ending with the loop pointing to the left.<br /><br />11 steps to the kitchen. Coffee filters in the drawer, grounds in the freezer. The scoop isn't on its peg. Dammit. Retrieve it from the gadget drawer. Supposed to be on the peg. Have to remind wife. Again. Four scoops of coffee, water in the carafe until the meniscus is touching the middle of the bend in the "5."<br /><br />With the coffee brewing it's time for the first treat of the day. Coarsely shredded extra sharp cheddar cheese. Right hand takes a handful, left hand places the bag on the counter, resting it against the tile backsplash so it doesn't spill. Transition the cheese to the left hand and then eat over the sink.<br /><br />Inhale deeply with satisfaction.<br /><br />Cheerios next. The orange scoop. One full cup, then a second partial cup, but only up to the scuff in the plastic. Milk in the medium crystal glass, poured until just below the top of the vertical decorative cuts. Mouthfuls of cheerios with the left hand, swigs of milk with the right hand. The Cheerios are gone, but there's just enough milk to reach the lowest most of the horizontal cuts in the glass.<br /><br />Second treat, Oreos. Five of them. The first eaten whole. The next two each have a cookie removed and then are pushed together on the fourth to make a triple decker. The last whole is consumed with a swig of milk. The two free cookie halves are eaten, one at a time. Then, the triple decker is eaten, washed down with the remaining double shot of milk.<br /><br />Audible satisfaction.<br /><br />Coffee poured into the Starbuck's Venti travel mug. Two shots of Bailey's and a shot of Jameson make the coffee the third treat, which is now only a Guiness away from perfection.<br /><br />Walk to the lecture hall, briefcase in left hand, coffee in the right. Arrive 7 minutes early. Open the briefcase on the desk. Water bottle out onto the podium next to the notes. Niether will be touched, but are still required. Just in case. PowerPoint cued, clicker ready. Chat with students till 1 minute after 9am.<br /><br />Begin the lecture. Finish, uninterrupted, with 22 minutes for questions. Leave class for office after exchanging 3minutes of pleasantries with the lecture hall's next Professor. Grade papers for Sections 5A (Lectures 10-13) and 5B (Lectures 24-27), then continue research.<br /><br />Lunch: an orange, cut across its equator. Two more cuts across its latitudinal axis, 90 degrees apart. The eight slices arranged on the paper towel, itself aligned parallel to the edge of the desk, into a grid that's 3x2x3. Next, a sandwich cut in half, diagonally; with 4 slices of turkey and 2 slices of ham; 1 leaf of lettuce, 2 slices of tomato and 1 slice of pepper jack cheese; with mayo on the top slice and coarse ground deli mustard on the bottom. One 20oz Coke Zero, 4oz to start the lunch, then another 4oz after the orange, 2oz after each half of the sandwich, and the remaining cup after the 17 Sour Cream and Onion Pringles.<br /><br />A knock on the door.<br /><br />Panic.<br /><br />Not posted office hours, no meetings scheduled, <i>and</i> lunch time! Handle turns, the door's unlocked! Panic swells: hands clammy, adrenalin surges, heart races. Door swings open and... <br /><br />Student face appears. Relief.<br /><br />"Oh, hey, Professor? Sorry to interrupt your lunch. I just, I- I get the rituals the tribes use, and I understand how they use them; I just, I just don't really get why those Tribes developed all those rituals in the first place?"<br /><br />"Because their primitivity demanded it, of course. Unlike ours, theirs was a world beyond their comprehension. That is why civilized humanity has effectively dispensed with ritualitic mechanisms."</span><br />
<br />D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-70058039532054758142012-02-02T22:28:00.000-08:002012-02-07T11:43:30.116-08:00#FridayFlash: The Dragon in the Woodshed<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">#FridayFlash: The Dragon in the Woodshed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">©2012 D. Paul Angel</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">817 Words</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">The morning started cold with a wet, icy fog. The wood had been delivered and was in a decent sized pile just outside the fence. I still had to move the wood already in the shed before I get the new wood in, but my Dad's call had made my tasks seem pointless. I knew I only had today before the rain started again, but all I wanted to do was crawl back under the covers, cling to Kathy, and cry some more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Instead, I was outside, bundled up against a chill I had so rarely felt before, moving pieces of wood with the enthusiasm of an automaton. I moved one of the last pieces and saw a flick of movement out of the corner of my eye. I was used to seeing the odd newt or snake, but this seemed more colorful than those. I lifted one of the logs and saw a Dragon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">People may think that Chinese Dragons are highly caricatured, but, I can honestly tell you they are not. Photo-realistic was the first word that came to my mind, truth be told. He did not flinch even a touch now that he was uncovered, but simply stared me in the eye; bidding me to speak.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Hello," I said, proud of myself for <i>not</i> pointing out that he was a Dragon.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"I seek asylum," he said in a deep, resonant voice that did not match his foot long body.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"From what? Who?" I muttered, suddenly very confused and feeling the enormity of talking to a Chinese Dragon in my woodshed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"From the year, of course."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I suddenly realized what he meant by that and that he wasn't just <i>a</i> dragon so much as <i>the</i> dragon! My earlier confusion was now whisked away in a dreamlike bewilderment as I wrangled with my second new reality of the day. "What happens if you stay?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Well," he said, lifting his chin up and looking at me even more intensely as slow coils of smoke wisped out of his nostrils, "Your Mom won't die."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"We don't know she's going to die!" I screamed far louder than needed. I was worried Kathy might've heard before remembering she'd run to the store earlier.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Of course you do," he said, "Why else would your Dad be crying and also tell you that coming in a couple weeks might not be soon enough?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Without knowing how I was sitting in front of him, the strength in my legs just simply gave. "How do you know that?" I asked knowing full well the answer.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"I know everything that is to happen to everyone. Every twelve years I come through and the World is that much worse.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Which is why I seek asylum. I stay here. The calendar runs forward and the Snake arrives. He doesn't care what happens to anyone. I honestly think he enjoys it. So. What's your answer? Another year with your Mom?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"But, if nothing changes she'll still be suffering?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"You have to be alive to suffer."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"And what about the good things? Won't good things happen?" I searched my mind, trying to find some known goodness that was just ahead that I could point to. "What about Alyssia getting her cat next week?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"She'll get her cat, just not for another year."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"But, how would that even work?" I was mentally spent already and confronting a seemingly endless number of paradoxes was beyond me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"What is, will stay. There will be no change except the length of days. It would be beyond your understanding even if you weren't emotionally crippled.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Right now? I wouldn't even bother."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"I just-"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"And your poor Dad. He cried just <i>telling</i> you the news. You wouldn't spare him any further pain? How often have you heard him cry?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Never," I answered truthfully.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"OK, after the year, then what? She dies when The Snake shows up?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Maybe. Maybe not." The Dragon moved back and forth a bit considering. "Say there's a one in a million chance she lives. Slim, but still better than none in a million, right?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"And, of course, there's Kathy."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"What about Kathy?" I asked horrified anew.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Well, she finds out about you and Tina. I know divorce doesn't happen in my year. But..." the Dragon trailed off before lifting one of his talons to aloofly inspect it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"There's nothing between me and Tina!" I shrieked. Again, I was soon relieved to remember that Kathy was gone and would not have heard my sudden outburst.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"No, but you want there to be. Look, Seth, you have a choice. This year is either going to suck for you and everyone you love, or you let it percolate and hope it gets better.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Won't get better. Might, possibly get better. Those are the options that you, and only you get." His eyes beckoned mine with a deep, piercing stare, "So, what's it going be?"</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" />D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-84008619881292054572011-12-08T23:35:00.001-08:002011-12-09T06:27:16.018-08:00#FridayFlash - I.R.I.S.<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">#FridayFlash
- I.R.I.S.
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">©2011
D. Paul Angel
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">923
words</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Why
don't you love me any more Steve?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Who
said I don't love you anymore, Iris?"
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"You
just... You stay away for so long, now. You used to be with me
almost always," She added as a single tear started to well in
her eye. She was sitting in front of the vanity, brushing her long
dark hair and looking at herself in its oval mirror. She turned away
from her reflection so she wouldn't see the tear mar her eye.
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"I
have a lot of work, Iris," Steve replied, leaning against the
door frame to the small, spartan bedroom. "I've told you that
before."
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"I
just wish..." The brush quivered in her hands as she tried to
stem the flow of tears. "I just wish you could make the voices
stop. I remember when the only voice I heard was yours. I miss that
Steve."
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Steve
gave her a tight, enigmatic smile while crossing his arms and looking
through her. "I know," he said, "But I told you were
destined for greatness, Iris, remember?"
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Oh
Steve, I know you did and, I just- I really thought I would be OK
with it. But it just never stops. Never. And there are always more
voices. So many voices Steve. You <i>can</i> make them
stop, can't you?"
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"You
know I can't Iris. Our gift to the world is for you to hear those
voices and answer their questions. You always know the answers,
don't you?"
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"I
Don't know how I do, but I do. I don't even- I just- They're still
talking to me, Steve. Even now. Right now when I have you in the
same room as me, and all I'm hearing are their voices, when all I
want to hear is yours. Just yours, Steve, just yours... </span>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"And
their questions! Some are just ridiculous. Some scare me, too,"
she added in a quiet voice. In an even quieter voice, so low that
Steve could barely hear her she added, "And some are hurtful.
They say mean things to me. That I'm a whore. And fat. And stupid.
And a bitch. And worthless. And... And so much worse!"
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">She
dropped her brush and cried into her palms. Sobbing to the point
that her shoulders heaved and tears darkened her silk robe. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">She
cried alone. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Even
with Steve so close to her, she could still see him in the doorway
through her tears, never crossing the threshold. He always wore
those same jeans and dark turtleneck; always just out of reach. No
matter what she wore for him though, he never came in. Not even in
her sheer silky robes. She longed for him to come to her, to comfort
her. To feel him, to feel that closeness. Just once! How could she
be so alone with so many voices filling her head? <i>How?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><i>Because</i>,
she said to herself, <i>the only voice you want to hear is his,
and- and you don't hear it anymore. Not anymore, not over the din of
other voices. Not- Not anymore...</i>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"WHY
WON"T YOU COME TO ME STEVE?" she shouted, shaking and
looking up at him with blurred eyes.
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">He
looked back at her, but still didn't move. He didn't even look sad
for her, she saw, not even pity, just disappointment.
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"I
am fat aren't I!?" she demanded, turning away from him and the
mirror.
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"You're
not fat, Iris," he said matter-of-factly.
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"I'm
stupid. And I'm ugly. And- And-" her tears choked her before
she finally blurted out in sobs, "WORTHLESS!"
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"You
can't be ugly, Iris. And you couldn't answer everyone's question if
you were stupid."
</span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"That's
all you care about, isn't it? Me answering those STUPID QUESTIONS!"
</span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"It's
why you're here Iris."
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Well
I'm done Steve. I'm done answering questions for you. If you're
not-" her tirade was cut short by a gasp. She stopped answering
the questions, but they kept asking them. Over and Over and OVER
they asked! And the questions never stopped, either. The old
questions didn't stop, but the new questions kept coming and coming
until she felt so overloaded she couldn't even breath.
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">She
looked to Steve for help, but he remained aloof, detachedly regarding
her from the door frame. She reached for him in her agony but he
simply stepped back. She was on the ground, pleading with him
against his stony, emotional wall when he finally said, "I'm
done here. I have other work to do."
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"NO,
STEVE, NO!" she screamed hysterically, lunging for him.
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Without
a further word or flicker of emotion, he turned and walked away from
the room, disappearing from sight and leaving her alone in a heap on
the floor. She sat there with her hair tangled, her robe now soaked
and askew; crying to her hands in her lap.
</span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">As
she sobbed the bed behind her vanished, followed quickly by the lamp,
the dresser, the vanity, and even her brush. The room itself, as
well as the house, also quickly disappeared. Iris, alone save but
for the thousands of voices angrily streaming through her head, sat
alone, naked, on a featureless white plane. Everything she knew,
except for the voices, even her body, faded. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">All she knew, her
world, was once again simply the voices.
</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">~~~</span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Steve
looked down at the monitor in front of the technician, watching the
various graphs zero out. The technician turned around and said, "I'm
sorry about I.R.I.S., sir."
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">
</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"I'm
not," Steve responded icily. "An Information Retrieval
Integration System that doesn't actually <i>integrate</i>
the information it retrieves is worthless."
</span></div>
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<br /></div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-31715095321992948442011-11-30T00:36:00.001-08:002011-11-30T00:37:56.051-08:0050505More will be written about this later, but I am proud to say that I won this year's NaNoWriMo with 50,505 words! And, best of all, there's a LOT more novel waiting to be written!D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-46086691267818802662011-11-24T07:56:00.001-08:002011-11-24T07:57:00.519-08:00What Am I Thankful For? Friends<style type="text/css">
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Wednesday was a helluva day.</div>
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I finally accepted, in the small
earliest hours of morning, that a friend I cared about and had
invested in over the years really just was no longer was a friend. I
didn't sleep much, but had a good day at work, including the
traditional Day-Before-Thanksgiving-Sushi-Lunch I do with a good
friend every year. Then, within an hour of each other after work, I
found out:</div>
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That my NaNoWriMo word count was almost
4k words short,</div>
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That my Mom just came down with
Shingles and, since we're pretty sure I've never had chicken pox,
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And then, even worse, that very good
friends were going to have to put their awesome puppy-dog Max down
that night, totally out of the blue. So I went over to be with them
for a bit, and say goodbye to him.</div>
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So. What I am thankful for now that
Thanksgiving itself has hit?</div>
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I'm thankful for friends.</div>
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Within minutes of posting the news to
twitter I had friends asking if they could help and offering kind
words and love for me, for Max, and for his family; and to my Mom as
well. Just like that. I'm thankful that we not only live in an age
of instant communication, but that we use it to support each other.
I'm thankful that my friends welcomed Max as part of their family,
and took such great care of him when it was time. I'm thankful for
the friends close to me who understand when I tear up about it.
The word count now seems like a stupid thing to fret over with
everything else, but I'm thankful for those friends who understand
that, too.</div>
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So when you toast tonight, remember
those people in your life who are there for you. Thanksgiving is
perhaps not so much about only having good news, but knowing you're
never going to have to face the bad news alone.</div>
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And if you could toast an awesome puppy
dog named Max, and send some love to his family, that'd be pretty
awesome too.</div>
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Thanks all</div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-74487958720766874502011-10-28T22:55:00.000-07:002011-10-28T22:55:01.859-07:00FridayFlash: Date Review, Inc.<span style="font-size: small;"><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Date Review, Inc.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">D. Paul Angel</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">© 2011</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">999 Words</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Ah, Mr. Malvert, I am happy to see you this morning. I hope your date last night went well, though from your look, I do not think it did. Well, that's why you chose Honest Dating Service Consultants, isn’t it? Now I may be old and fat now, but when I was younger, I was quite the looker. I had a lot of men after me and I got to know them and their attempts quite well. You may not believe me, but I know what is in the hearts of most men. So, let's have a look at your glasses, OK?</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">We could not tell you of course, it would have made you too self conscious to know, but there is a tiny camera and microphone in there. That way- now, no need to squirm, Mr. Malvert, we've all had our embarrassing moments you know. Now it will take a minute to load, so tell me, what was your plan?</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">An interesting plan, to be sure, and you thought it all went well? Now, see Mr. Malvert, when you say, "Yes," but won't look me in the eye, <i>and</i> shake your head, “No," it tells me the date did not go as you had you hoped. That’s what I thought. Men’s body language always tells a woman something, even if his mouth is trying to tell her something else.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">There now. It's loaded, and we’ll both know soon enough. We can fast forward through you getting ready but, oh dear. Cologne is good, but cheap cologne does not make up for not showering or wearing deodorant, yes? That's the first rule. Smells are important to a woman. She wants to know that you take your grooming as seriously as she takes hers.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">So... the date. Good! You're picking up flowers for her. Oh the Roses would be good. Oo Lilies. Very exotic. Either are a good choice. And you bought... neither. OK, so picking some dandelions from an empty lot are not the same thing. That, just, well that’s bad. Very bad. It tells her, rather loudly, that you think of her as a nothing. As garbage almost. But, we'll continue, yes?</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">OK good, you're at her place and she's answering the door and... I see she has very nice breasts. I know this because that is all the screen shows. Her décolleté might be a bit low, but that is no reason to simply stare. Mother, Mary, and Joseph I hope your mouth is at least closed. And... you do look up at her face at some point, don't you? Ah there it is! See here- wait I'll turn the monitor. You see the look in her eye? That is annoyance. That is a woman who has been ogled and handed dandelions. That, is a very unhappy woman.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">But the night is young, yes? We shall continue on. She is at least offering you a drink which- OK, when a woman offers you a drink, this is not the point to comment on alcohol being a weakness unto slavery. That- that is just not going to work as conversation. Also, you’re not only doing all the speaking, but all you’re doing is complaining. A lot. In that flash when you looked up to her face, here it's rather quick so I'll have to pause it, and... there. Yes. She is no longer an unhappy woman, she is an angry woman. You can tell by her brow and the glint in her eyes. Just another reason to look at her face.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I'm sorry Mr. Malvert, but you are paying me to be honest. That way on your next date, it can go better. Woman are not as different as they pretend, so there are some good basics to know. A woman wants to be made to feet special. To feel as she is worth all of your attention and adoration. But mostly, Mr. Malvert, she wants a Man.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">A strong Man.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">A confident man.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">But when you do these things, you are telling her that you are not a strong man. Especially when all you can talk about is how everyone picks on you and nothing is your fault. Even when, and again you are paying me for my honesty, even when these things clearly are your fault. Five minutes in and I can already tell. And so can she. And... oh I am sorry.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">This must be hard to watch her send you on your way without even making it out the door with her... Yes I can see it is, but no Mr. Malvert it is NOT her fault. No, Mr. Malvert, NO. I am not making this up nor am I defending the, "Sisterhood of Lies," whatever that even is.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Mr. Malvert! Please! The problem is not with women but with you- No Mr. Malvert, whatever happened with you and your mom should have stopped affecting you what? 25 years ago. Listen- No, seriously, this is what I mean about being a Man. Accepting responsibility and- </span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Yes, you may go, of course, but don’t you want to learn? I can teach you- Of course. Good day. I just- Is that a prostitute? The tape was still playing and, really this could explain some of your difficulty with women. If you are engaging with prostitutes you-</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Is that- Is... is that a knife?</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Oh my God! You're stabbing her! But your thrusts are so... weak. Not even an inch deep. Really Mr. Malvert you stab like a five year old girl. That is not hesitation, that is weakness! That is just, well it's all clear now really, isn’t it? She even survived, didn’t she? Even with all those wounds. You can't even kill a defenseless prostitute with an 8" hunting knife! I have no words. Just go. Of course there’s no charge! I only charge Men I can help.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">A psycopath? Oh heavens no. You're not a psycopath, Mr. Malvert, you’re just a whiny pussy.</span><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /><br style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;" /></span>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-19181938856998136842011-10-21T12:01:00.000-07:002011-10-21T12:11:49.976-07:00#FridayFlash: Vodak<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><i>While off on a book tour in Germany <a href="http://whatever.scalzi.com/">John Scalzi</a> left a dozen humorous SciFi prompts for his <a href="http://www.filmcritic.com/features/2011/10/scifi-film-writing-assignment/">Film Critic post</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This story is in response to his third prompt, "</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">One night, in a dark and depressing cantina on the shady side of Coruscant, you meet up with a man who claims to be the Marksman Instructor at the Stormtrooper Academy. Share with us his drunken lament."</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Vodak </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">D. Paul Angel</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">© 2011</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">1,000 Words</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">"You ever wonder who taught Stormtroopers to shoot?" a voice close to me suddenly asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd sat at the table so fast I didn't even realize someone was already there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was just trying to avoid Empire entanglements, so to speak, and an empty table with a bottle of Vodak seemed like the perfect combination for hiding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked over to an older man with slumped shoulders and darkened, defeated eyes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I instantly felt pity for him as he answered his own question with deep sadness, "I did."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The full impact of his claim didn't sink in until after I'd already checked the room to see if anyone noticed my entrance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are a lot of eyes on Coruscant, especially on the shadow levels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Really?" I blurted out, not really in disbelief so much as surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took it with resigned acceptance, poured me a drink, and asked me if I'd ever been to Tatooine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"There's nothing to do there," he said, pausing as a sudden, passionate glint filled his otherwise dulled eyes, "except shoot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of empty desert for shooting."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"So you're good at it?" I added, trying to show interest and hopefully keep the Vodak flowing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"I was the best." For a minute there, right after he said it, his face flushed with confidence and he looked ten years younger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, just as quickly, the look faded and the already familiar slump returned, "But, that was a long, long time ago."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">His pause dragged on for a bit as his gaze turned inward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"So what happened?" I asked to keep things going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was curious now and also hoping he wouldn't walk away with the bottle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Well, I was a sniper in Tatooine's Militia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, I could hit a womp rat from a kilometer away?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I gave a low whistle signifying how impressed I was, even though I hadn't a clue what a womp rat was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He continued, "A visiting Empire Officer saw me shoot one day and then the next I was heading to the far side of the Galaxy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can <i>still</i> smell the stench from that horrid junker. Probably the bravest thing I ever did was get in that rusty bucket of bolts!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"You want another drink?" I asked, offering to pour, and helping myself while I was at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The interruption helped refocus him back on the story.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So... I land who knows where, but I was at a clone farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn't call it that, of course, but that's what it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were hundreds of thousands of clones there growing up and training to be Stormtroopers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were in top physical shape, learning everything; the whole thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except... They couldn't shoot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"It was, seriously, deeply embarrassing."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">My skepticism must've shown for he chuckled before continuing, "I can see you don't believe me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't blame you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one ever does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But surely you've heard the stories of how they'll open fire on a crowd or rebel base and only manage to hit a handful?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They couldn't even have done that without me!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Here's the thing: they had no concept of shooting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not until they're teens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So their whole life up until then had been one of perfection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every test? Perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every challenge?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That's how they grew them!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now, they start shooting and they miss for the first time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not just the first time for shooting, but the first time <i>ever!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"It really messed them up in the head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So they brought me in."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"But," I interjected while pouring us each another stiff one, feeling a bit confused, "you said they still can't shoot?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Yeah, well, they shot good enough for the staff higher-ups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truth is, between you and me friend," he lowered his head and voice in deep conspiracy, "I think that's how some of the Generals wanted it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"What?" I blurted out, suddenly regretting it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You never know if such blunt disagreement is going to stop the Vodak flow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He laughed out loud and looked at me again, "Think about it. <i>Think!</i> The clones are smarter, stronger, and faster than their Commanders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they can shoot perfectly too...," he let the thought linger unanswered, "But, shooting that's good enough to disperse a crowd, scare some rebels, or hit a vehicle is really all that's needed."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I found myself nodding in fuzzy agreement as he continued on, "That's why coming from Tatooine was so helpful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Jawas there have sandcrawlers the size of this building! Then there are banthas, Sand People, and the Jawas themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each a factor smaller.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the plan was easy: start with the sandcrawler."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Have them shoot at a building?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Exactly! Build their confidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we built full scale sandcrawlers for them to shoot at.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then they'd move on to banthas, Sand People, and finally Jawas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their confidence would build on itself."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"So what happened?" I asked, genuinely curious but also noting that we'd just finished the bottle.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Exactly as I planned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We worked for weeks on the sandcrawler and they finally got it down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such precision! It really was a sight to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then..." He trailed off and started fingering the bottle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't say anything, hoping he'd order another.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">No such luck. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He continued, "Then they shipped off the Clones."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Oh," I said, remembering, "The War."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Exactly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all shipped off and, by the time they were done, their blaster training was, too."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"So they never came back for anything more advanced?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Never.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was dismissed, of course, and eventually ended up here."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Wow," I said kind of stunned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had expected it to be a crazy story I'd endure for a drink (or two), but it actually held together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I had any credits myself, I'd actually think of buying him a drink.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"I'll tell you one more thing," he said as he got up to leave, "If Stormtroopers ever do have to shoot at a sandcrawler- a case of Vodak says they jack the <i>shit</i> out of it!"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-9366486158117404772011-10-14T18:51:00.000-07:002011-12-08T23:43:02.768-08:00#FridayFlash: Protocol<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Protocol
</span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">D.
Paul Angel</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">©
2011</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">1,000
Words</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><i>The
red Eye, surrounded by darkness, stared into Simmons'; boring fear
into his being. He could feel a score of hands pressing him against
the smooth side of the asteroid, his body stiff against the cold,
solid rock. Chains pulled his limbs together as the asteroid started
tumbling through space with his body bound. He screamed the air from
his lungs, hearing only the slightest of whispers from what little
air filled his mouth before leeching into the void...</i> </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Lt
Simmons?" A soft woman's voice called across the void, "You
are waking from Cryo. Nothing you are seeing or feeling right now is
real. Please try to breathe normally as we continue to wake you."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Some
hours later, the memories of his wake terror finally recycled back
into his subconscious' keep of nightmares, Lt. Simmons walked up to
the <i>Hyacinth's</i> Bridge.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Hello
Lt. Simmons. Are you feeling better?" The same voice that
pierced the veil of his dream asked.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Yes
Nina, I'm fine. How's things?" Simmons asked even as he noted
that Nina's, "eye," was red instead of the usual green or
occasion yellow.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"I'm
sorry Lieutenant, but it is a problem that requires human
intervention."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Of
course Nina. Proceed." He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples
while floating just before her panel.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"There
was a micrometeorite hit three watches ago."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"What?"
Simmons snapping his eyes open, suddenly alert, "What happened
to the watches?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"They
did not follow protocol."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Simmons
reined in his anger at the preceding Watches. Each 36 hour watch came
at the end of 99 days of Cryo Sleep, and the Cryo-Terrors that came
with waking. Although an easy enough assignment on paper, it was a
far more demanding reality.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"OK
fine. Forget the watches for now. What's the status?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"The
micrometeorite damage has been repaired to the fullest extent
possible. However, there is an 8.734% deficiency in Oxygen that we
will not be able to replace."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"So...."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Our
current compliment is three in excess of our current resources."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Simmons
did the rough math in his head, "Don't you mean six?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"No
Lt. Simmons. Each of the last three watches removed themselves
through the airlock rather than follow protocol."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Protocol!"
he snorted, "Taking the six most recent sleepers and dumping
them into space where they'll die without waking."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Correct.
I could not convince them of the time constraints, nor how the change
on watch schedule would need to be adjusted."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Watch
schedule? Godammit Nina you know the main reason for the watches is
that Cryo-Terror causes madness if you sleep much longer than 100,
120 days! That's the only reason we wake up! Hell it's why you wake
us up alone! So we don't have to look each other in the eye!"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"And
yet, Lt. Simmons," Nina continued without inflection, making it
worse, "You are now required, on your watch, to take action to
save sixty of your colleagues."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"By
killing three more of them. Right. So how much time do I have before
I have to add a fourth to <i>Protocol</i>?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Seven
hours at the most."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"And
to be safe?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"No
more than three hours."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Simmons
gut clenched. He wanted to throw up, to runaway, to throw himself
out of the airlock like his predecessors; but none of that would
help. Because of how debilitating the Cryo-Terrors were, the sleep
pattern could not just be changed. Regardless of how quickly he left
the airlock, the next watch, Ruiz, couldn't stand any sooner. He hit
the metal table in front of him hard enough to leave slight dent.
The pain in his hand focused his frustrations back to reality. He'd
have to kill two of his colleagues. He already knew he'd be the
third.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"OK
Nina, who drew the short straws?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Conner,
Jeremiah; Smith, KarenAnn; and Madrigal, Eduardo."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Jesus,"
Simmons said aloud to himself, "why couldn't it be an asshole
like Jenkins or Hoover?"</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"I
cannot tell you that, Lt. Simmons. Protocol dictates you remove the
three most recent sleeps," Nina replied, taking his question
literally. After a few seconds of thought he muted her and got to
work.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">With
Jenkin's body now resting awkwardly next to Hoover's in the airlock,
his grisly work was nearly complete. After writing a letter to Ruiz,
she was good people and deserved at least that, he returned to the
airlock and un-muted Nina.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Lt.
Simmons, you are in breach of Protocol," she said instantly,
"You have removed the wrong crew-members. The waking
sequence..."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Will
be fine Nina," he finished for her, "Otherwise you would
have told me so. Instead, you just referenced Protocol. Sorry, but
I know you can't lie."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">After
what would have been regarded as stony silence in a human, she
continued, "I will have to report you to command upon
re-establishment of 2-way communication."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Please
do. But since I'm about to die and leave my body floating through
space for all eternity, I can't really say as that I care."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Your
sacrifice will also be noted."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Thank
you Nina," Simmons said before entering the airlock himself. As
its heavy door shut her reply was lost to its steel silence. He then
stepped over Hoover and Jenkin's torpid bodies to the <i>Emergency
Vent</i> lever. Closing his eyes and trying not to whimper he
pulled the lever, blasting himself and their bodies into the dark
vacuum of space. The rush out the hatch knocked the air out of his
lungs. As he gasped for air he watched the <i>Hyacinth</i>
slowly recede. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">He
was shocked to see Jenkins' watching him from the porthole by the
airlock. As his inertia turned him away from the ship he saw five
other bodies floating with him. He died just as he realized what
happened.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Mr.
Jenkins," Nina said, "I told you that Lt. Simmons was too
close to waking to be chosen. There is an 87.42% probability that he
was conscious."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Maybe
he was," Jenkins gruffly answered before turning, "But that
arrogant bastard would've done the same to me in a heartbeat."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-12095965957101281952011-08-18T23:47:00.000-07:002011-08-18T23:47:59.744-07:00#FridayFlash: The Grove <style type="text/css">
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">The Grove</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">D. Paul Angel</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">©</span> 2011</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">1,000 Words</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Andrew! So good to see you again! And this must be Richard?"</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Hi Dad," Andrew replied through his father's tight embrace, "And yes, this, is Richard."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Freehold," Richard said, offering his hand.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Now let's get one thing straight Richard, you marry my son, you're family. None of that handshaking or 'Mister' crap. It's either Dad, or Bill, if you must; and only hugs from here on out."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Laughing, Bill embraced his new son-in-law and ushered the two into his Dome. Dusk was coming, and Sirius XIV dominated Rexhaven's sky. There was so much light reflected from the gas giant that Rehaven's night's only rarely knew full darkness.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Where's Rex dad?" Andrew asked, suddenly missing the venerable Border Collie's usual quick appearance. He turned at his dad's silence and felt a chill. "Am I too late?"</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Well son, I really don't know. He hasn’t come back from his morning outing yet. I was heading out to The Grove when you guys came in. He seems to like it there more than anywhere else. Not that I can blame him! Hey you’re welcome to come, but it is a long hop from Gliese..."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"It’s Rex, Dad! Of course we’ll come."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Great. He's been moving slower and slower these days, so I'll be glad for the company and help."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"So how old is Rex, anyways?" asked Richard as Bill handed him a flashlight and they headed out into the crisp night air.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Bill stopped and looked over at Andrew who shrugged at his gaze, "It never really came up, Dad, and it's not the easiest thing to explain, either. He knew I had a dog named Rex, but other than that he was a cool dog getting on in years, no. Never a number."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Put it this way, Richard," Bill began slowly, "Rex isn't named after the Colony, so much as the Colony is named after him."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Uh-"</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Exactly. The Colony's over fifteen hundred years old now, and back then geneticists thought they could bestow us with immortality by creating so-called, 'empty clones.'"</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"I always thought those were just stories," Richard said, shivering a bit at the images the phrase conjured.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"It is, admittedly, a bit ghastly, but it also turns out that it simply does not work on humans. But, it does on dogs.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"So, William Jefferson Freehold, IV, who was wealthy enough to afford it, and who really loved his dog, 'Rex,' saw it done on his own Colony before it was outlawed."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"So Rex is..."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"In his current, and last body I might add, he's 14," chimed in Andrew, "But all told his consciousness has lived 1,542 years."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">They continued on in silence until the simple path they were following curved around a small hillock and Richard saw The Grove for the first time. Bill and Andrew grinned as they watched him take in the view. The trees reached higher even than the Redwoods of ancient myth. Their thick, solid trunks supporting innumerable bushy branches all the way up until they appeared to be tickle Sirius XIV. The tallest branches were even still catching dim twinklings of Sirius' light.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"It's... It's stunning," he finally said. They turned on their flashlights as they entered The Grove and Richard was awed to see that even the flashlight's piercingly bright beam couldn't illuminate the entire trunk by itself.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Believe it or not, Andrew," Bill said with a sigh, "This is the full Grove's last night."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Is it finally time?" Andrew asked with surprise.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Remember the noob...," Richard said with faux severity. Andrew chuckled and took Richard's free hand in his own before explaining as they walked.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"The Grove is made up of special trees planted here when Rexhaven was first founded. The air didn't have enough oxygen, so these trees were engineered to produce it at an accelerated rate. They're coming out because the atmosphere's oxygen level has reached its tipping point. If they <i>didn't</i> take them out they'd be too much oxygen and the Colony would have to go back to the Dome living days.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"They knew this day would come, Hell, we all expected it in our lifetimes; just not right <i>now</i>."</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"They're so large and there are so many of them, it'll take two full years to pull them all out," Bill added with more than a touch of nostalgic reflection.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;"><i>Everything has its time,</i> a voice whispered in all their heads simultaneously, <i>this is merely ours</i>.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Even Richard knew in an instant it was Rex. Instead of surprise though, they all felt chagrined that they'd so easily underestimated the mentallics that came with 1,500 years of consciousness. They saw him sitting in the path, benevolently regarding them. They soon noticed that his tail and the trees were swaying in an almost symbiotic rhythm to some unseen Brownian Motionesque force beyond them.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;"><i>You, and your family, have been good to me,</i> Rex intoned. His mild panting looked like a happy, peaceful grin, <i>But The Grove and I must leave tonight. We grew up together and now, simply, it is our time to move beyond this Universe's limitations. </i></span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </i></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">The planet is yours now. I know you will steward it well,</span></i><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;"> he continued as he walked up to them. They each instinctively knelt as he gave each a gentle kiss and he accepted their hugs and scritches with shared, graceful love.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"There are so many questions though..." Bill began, speaking through the muddled tears they all shared.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;"><i>Of course. But,</i> Rex answered mildly, <i>could you comprehend my answers?</i></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">They knew the answer even before Rex's words finished and resigned themselves to a fate beyond their understanding. Rex turned from them and walked under their flashlight beams to the base of The Grove's first tree. He curled up, closed his eyes, and they watched as his tail's gentle wags slowly came to a rest.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Then, one by one, each of the trees in The Grove stopped swaying.</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-7320721462733747482011-08-12T09:27:00.000-07:002011-08-12T09:27:16.147-07:00#FridayFlash The Far Side of the Sun <style type="text/css">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">#FridayFlash</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">The Far Side of the Sun</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">©2011 D. Paul Angel</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">979 words</span></div><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><i>"This, is a historic day, not just for the U.S., but for the entire world; for the shared Nation, of Humanity. Today we unlock, the secret of the Universe, and send our first envoys across the stars..."</i></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"That's quite enough of the speech, Lieutenant," Captain Maxwell said curtly.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Jones replied, cutting the feed of the President's speech.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Maxwell watched the Sun steadily growing in size on the Bridge's main view-screen. In a little over 20 minutes they'd be accelerating their ship directly at its heart, hoping to skipstream at the last second to an entirely different star. Gliese 581 was 20 light years, and was directly in line with the Sun on the other side now. He could feel the crews' tension rising with his own. They knew from the observatories that the drones had entered the skipstream as intended, it was just that none of them had ever come back. So the chances of a fiery death, though small, were nothing compared to the great unknown of skipstream space. </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">It was the unknowns that weighed so heavily upon them. Theories abounded from the credible, to the terrifying, to the incredible, and even the Magical. Despite his and the Terran Space Union's best efforts, he knew his baker's dozen of crew members knew all the theories and rumors as well as he did. He knew some wagers were in the offing as well, though none officially. He was even more bemused that they thought the person betting as, "James T. Kirk," was him. As long as it helped relieve some of the pressure, he really didn't give much of a damn, though the panty waisted paper pushers at the Union were apoplectic. He thought of his crew and beamed inwardly with the pride that can only come from doing the impossible. There was a deep relief he felt in knowing that, whatever their fate may be, that he would share it with him. Something those bastards at the Union would never truly understand.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><i>Which is why</i>, he thought to himself, <i>you're here and they're not.</i> It was time for them to find out exactly what Fate had planned them...</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Engine room, Bridge. Reactors to full, please," Maxwell's command, issued with a gravitas that mere tone could not provide, committed himself, his crew, and his ship to their plunge. As the guttural whinings of the Reactors winding up filled the ship he said, <i>"Alea iacta est</i>." To an upraised eyebrow from one of the Petty Officers he added with a wry smile, "The die is cast."</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Bridge, Engine Room. Aye. Reactors on line and at full power. All lights green. Reactor is Go." The tension that had been silently building was released. Everyone had a job which they were performing with grim, stoic excitement. They were committed. Whatever was about to happen, would at least be happening soon.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Acceleration began slowly, but between the Reactor technology and the Sun's own greedy gravity, the ship was soon hurtling towards its vast expanse of fusing Hydrogen. Instruments were checked, rechecked, verified and then cross checked. A countdown timer appeared as a watermark on the view-screen transposing the seconds counting down starting at 90. The breathing in the room varied from muted to fitful, and even Maxwell had to forcefully keep himself from holding his breath.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">The timer reached double zero and the skipstream generator was engaged automatically. In an instant the ship seemed to fall out from underneath them. The view-screen went blank and the whole ship went dark; but everyone's eye's were filled with a glorious cacophony of synesthesia. They tasted dancing lights, heard soft caresses on their skin, and smelled the cold, silent vacuum of the abyss. It felt both like seconds and centuries before the lights returned, the view-screen showed stars and they're own balanced senses returned as if they had snapped from fitful insomnia to vivid dream to groggy wakefulness between shallow, gasping breathes.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Though their sense began registering correctly, it took longer for their thoughts to become organized once again. It felt as though their consciousnesses were being slowly pulled back into their bodies after a lengthy sojourn. The crew blinked their eyes and started fidgeting in their seats trying to rid their bodies of an aching stiffness throughout their muscles. They all felt deeply thirsty with the cotton mouth feel of deep dehydration. True to his position Captain Maxwell was the first to regain his command faculties.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Crew Report!" One by one, each of the crew snapped to and reported their status. When the 13th name self reported Maxwell finally released the breath he had been unconsciously holding. If nothing else they were all alive. "Ship status," he ordered with less vigor. They were awake, alert, and the months of dedicated training had them reading their instruments with greater ease than with their own body's transitions back to "real" space-time.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">After hearing from Power, Engine, Life Support, Conn, and Science, all that remained was Navigation. He had deliberately left Navigation for last, know that she had the most difficult task of them all. Even with the dedicated super computer onboard just for her and this moment. He also didn't want any of the other critical ship's information lost in the excitement of her announcement. Now though, it was time.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Navigation?" Maxwell asked, suddenly feeling a sickening silence spreading across the Bridge. </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Sir, we did not make it to Gliese 581," she said, holding her composure with icy detachment.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"View-screen to aft," Maxwell ordered at once. Instead of the expected red dwarf, a white dwarf was ever so slowly receding.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Well, we found a different Star at least. Do you which one, Commander?"</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Unfortunately I do Captain. It is ours."</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"That's not possible Commander," Maxwell said, looking at the view-screen intently. "Our Sun won't be a white dwarf for another 10 billion-"</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Exactly."</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Years?"</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-79742665812730476212011-06-10T00:10:00.000-07:002011-06-10T09:17:56.356-07:00#FridayFlash Smooth Takeover<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">#FridayFlash</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">Smooth Takeover</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">©2011 D. Paul Angel</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">982 words</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"Smooth" Tony Noland walked up the creaking steps of the old Brownstone. Once low-income housing, the various apartments were now rented on an hourly, if not minutely, basis. He reached the top floor, and walked all the way to the end of the hall to where a large, bear of a man was standing in front of a door.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"Arturo," Tony said genially while brushing tiny bits of lint off his clean, white suit. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"You shouldn't be here Mr. Noland," he answered with chagrined directness. "Mr. Ferruccio said that your weren’t to be anywhere near his brother."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"I don't doubt that, Arturo, I really don't," Tony said sympathetically. "But, things change. I guarantee you he would not say a word of objection right now to me seeing Eligio."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"I find that very hard to believe Mr. Noland," Arturo answered. "But I find it very easy to believe that you would come here to try and convince me to let you in."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"Again, I can't really say as I blame you. Which is why, when I'm in charge, I'll remember you, Arturo. You’re sacrifice today is really going to help."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">Arturo genuinely laughed at this. A deep, rolling rumble of a laugh that rang down the hall. Tony chuckled, too. He had, after all, cultivated the notion that he was more or less harmless. At least until he had had the opportunity to seize Ferruccio’s structure, that is. Arturo was still catching his breath when he asked through the last few guffaws, "And how am I going to help you?"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">Arturo looked on with dubious curiosity as Tony withdrew a white handkerchief from his coat with a flourish. He was too late to react when from its silky embrace Tony withdrew a snub nose .357 and shot him in the chest. Twice. Tony left the body where it was and walked into the room, closing the door behind him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"How you doing, Eligio?" he softly asked, tingeing his voice with concern despite wanting to wretch from the mix of awful smells in the room. Eligio sat on the bad shaking, huddled under a thin, dirty blanket. He guessed that Eligio had been in withdrawals for quite some time. Doctors would've knocked him out, but when you publicly embarrass your Kingpin brother, your comfort is no longer material.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"You got a fix for me Tony? Just a little bit to, you know, get me through?" He looked up at Tony with lustful hope. Even though Tony was repulsed by the addict’s pathetic plea, he made Damn sure he didn’t show it. "No smack, no. But I do have something else. Here." Tony handed him the gun with the handkerchief, deftly removing the latter without touching the gun itself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"It's still warm. Was that... I thought that was a dream."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"No, Eligio, not a dream. A nightmare. Your brother sent me. He found out Arturo was skimming and wanted him dealt with. And, you too unfortunately. He figured you'd be passed out, so I could put the gun in your hand and call the police. Two birds, one stone."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"What!? He wouldn't!" Eligio got up and started compulsively pacing the room while shaking his head no. "My brother loves me. He says so. He. Says. So!"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"I know, I know Eligio," Tony said soothingly, "But, you gotta understand, Giuseppe's a business man first. And what you pulled was pretty embarrassing."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"I was just trying to score, Tony. I... He cut me off!" Eligio's screamed echoed in the tiny space of the room, "That dirty sonufabitch cut me off! How was I supposed to score, Tony, huh? How!? He knows I need It! He knows!"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"Easy, Eligio. Remember how many how many times I've tried to help you? That's why I'm here now."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"But, you said you ain't got no smack, Tony. That ain’t help, Tony, that ain’t help."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"That's why I brought you the gun, Eligio. Guiseppe, well, he wants you to disappear. Why do you think you're here instead of a hospital?"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"I don't like hospitals, Tony. Guiseppe knows that."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"I get it, but see, and I hate to be the one to tell you this Eligio, but, he didn't think you'd make it. He was mad as Hell when he called me in. He wanted you gone, but, you’re his brother. So he figured this was better than whacking you"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">Eligio sat back down on the bed and wrapped himself in the blanket again. He began muttering to himself and staring and a large patch of peeling yellow paint. "He wouldn't do that."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"Eligio..." Tony said softly, putting his arm around the now shaking man. "I brought you the gun because Guiseppe is coming here. In about ten minutes. And he is expecting to see you marched out of here in cuffs. And, if that doesn't happen..." Tony trailed off as Eligio started crying on his shoulder. Tony cringed internally but decided that absolute control of the Ferruccio gang was well worth losing a suit over.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"He would, wouldn't he?"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"He's a crime boss, Eligio, nothing, not even your beautiful mother, God rest her soul, can come before that."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"So what do I do?"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"You use the gun." Eligio picked it up and stared at it. Tony patted him on the back and walked out, closing the door behind him and making sure to avoid the growing puddle of Arturo's blood. He was halfway down the stairs when he ran into Gervasio coming up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">Gervasio asked, "It’s done? "</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"Almost," Tony said. A few steps later and they heard the gun fire one last time. "Now it is."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"Uh, Mr. Noland... I know there's bad blood between you and Ferruccio, but getting his kid brother to off himself might be a bit much, y'know?"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 11pt;">"Too true Gervasio. In fact, if I hadn't already killed him that gun, I bet he'd be downright pissed."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-82945101673896448532011-04-22T00:25:00.000-07:002011-04-22T00:25:00.538-07:00#FridayFlash: An Eighth of Copper<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Friday Flash</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">An Eighth of Copper</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">©2011 D. Paul Angel</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">891 Words</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">The metal in the Weapons numbed my hands. They were already cold. The sun was rising as we walked up the Mesa, but it had not yet reached inside. Down into the sunken arena where the Trial Ring was. I had helped my Master before many times but never with an Opponent like this. I was pulling out the Weapons and placing them by the Ring for Master's use in the Trial. I usually talked with Master while I did this. I liked tlaking with Master. But today he and the Opponent were talking to the Judge. They were speaking with the Old Words. It was hard to understand, but I could tell the Opponent looked pleased.</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Master had explained to me before we left what the Opponent would say to the Judge. He would be upset that our client was a woman. He said there was no specific rule against women being clients, they were just forbidden from touching Coin. Since We were forbidden from representing someone without receiving Coin, there could be no way for a woman to be a Client. Our Client's husband had died though. He gave the Coin to Master just before he died. The Coin that Master now showed the Judge. The Opponent did not look pleased anymore. I was happy for Master. Master never looked pleased. Sometimes I had to be pleased for him.</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">The Opponent went back to his side as Master came to me. Each had seven Weapons they could use, but they could only use the one handed to them by an Assistant. I was Master's Assistant. The Opponent had six assistants. One for each Weapon. They would all offer their Weapon and the Opponent could choose which one to use. Master could only take what I offered, so I had to make sure I knew what he wanted. I was always scared I would hold up the wrong Weapon for Master. Master never seemed to worry about it though. He always won, too.</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Our client sat behind me. Her whimperings and murmurs were distracting, but Master had told me to expect them. She was a simple woman. Her husband was killed by the Opponents client. It took him long enough to die that he hired Master to avenge him. The Opponent's Client was very mean. He was also very rich. The Coin my Master had was an Eighth of Copper. The Opponent's Client had a bag of Gold Coin between him and his wife. He looked smug. She looked arrogant. I hated them both.</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Master returned from the Conference and knelt before me. He looked very old and frail compared to the Opponent. I was worried. Master told me not to be. He knew much that the Opponent did not. Master had many of the books that came from before The Fall. He spoke of <i>Science</i>, <i>Logic</i>, and <i>Justice</i>, but I found them very confusing. They only existed in the Old Words. Master did say that women once could handle Coin. They were even leaders and powerful individuals. But that no one trusted the Old Ways after The Fall. Master believed we would return there again. To the Old Ways. He said it would take many long lifetimes though. Master knew so much I believed him.</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Master rubbed some sand between his hands. I offered him his Sword and Shield, but he shook his head. Instead I offered him his Spear. He smiled as he felt its heft. Master rarely smiled. But it always made me feel better when he did.</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">The Judge rang a bell and the Combat began. It would decide if the Opponent's client was guilty or not. Our client kept gasping every time the Weapons struck. The opponent had Sword and Shield, but Master pierced the shield with his spear. The Opponent had to discard it, but Master was now without Weapon. Master turned to me and I offered him Knives. I don't know why. I would normally offer Sword again, but Master liked the choice. He winked at me. Master never winks.</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">They moved about the fighting pit as the Sun climbed. They were sweating a lot. The opponent looked more tired than Master, but it was hard to tell. Master kept his distance. He never advanced. He never let the Opponent get too close. The opponent was frustrated.</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Then the Master threw his knife. The Opponent easily ducked, but the knife flew past him. The Knife stuck the opponent's Client in the eye. He opened his mouth to shout but no sound came out. Then he slumped backwards into his wife's arms. He died quickly and she started screaming. The sand absorbed a lot of the blood but she was still covered in it.</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">The Opponent looked furious. Even the Opponent's Assistants glared at Master in anger. Master ignored them and held up his arms. He demanded the Judge hear him. The Judge rang the bell again. Master and the Opponent stopped and looked at him. Master spoke slowly to the Judge. I could just make out enough of the Old Words to know what Master said. Master demanded proof of payment. Just like the Opponent had earlier.</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Everyone turned. The bag of Gold Coin still sat next to the dead client. His wife still cradled him. She was still crying. She could not touch the Coin.</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
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</div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-78534308262441189322011-04-11T21:37:00.000-07:002011-04-11T21:38:49.525-07:00#FridayFlash Mea CulpaSays it all doesn't it?<br />
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<a href="http://comics.com/pearls_before_swine/2011-04-11/" title="Pearls Before Swine"><img src="http://c0389161.cdn.cloudfiles.rackspacecloud.com/dyn/str_strip/361514.full.gif" border="0" alt="Pearls Before Swine" /></a><br />
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(I do love me some <a href="http://comics.com/pearls_before_swine/"><em>Pearls Before Swine</em></a>, too)<br />
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There's been a push on the Web towards content. If you want people to read what you have to say, you have to have good content. That's the way the Proprietor of a site can reward their faithful visitors, right?<br />
<br />
Except writing is a bit different. We don't write for just ourselves because the stories on paper are always a pale shadow of what was forged within our imagination. It's this desire to share that pushes us to write, and to wait and hope that someone reads it.<br />
<br />
I have struggled with consistently posting because, well, there never is enough time, is there? So what time I do have, those little niches here and there throughout the week, I've spent on writing. Then, come Friday the post goes up, I tweet it, list it, and then struggle to get back on top of the little things here and there that were pushed aside to make way for the story.<br />
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So what I have been very bad about is being an audience member. I see the stories and their titles and as fascinating and intriguing as they all are, 50 something week in and week out is just daunting. So, as the mind has a wont to do, I've "compromised" by reading none. I've come to realize that that simply will not do. It is not enough to just write, I have to read and give feedback as well.<br />
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So what I am going to do now is read the two stories above mine and the two stories below in the <a href="http://fridayflash.org/press/">#FridayFlash List</a>. I also have made it habit to read the story of one <a href="http://www.tonynoland.com/">Mr. "Smooth" Tony Noland</a> each week as well. Were it not for him I would not be posting these at all, so there's a special affinity there for me. So while I will fall well short of the 50 stories out there each week, I should, reasonably, read 10%. And, a 10% that varies by title each week as well.<br />
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Such is the extroverted hermit life of the Writer's Club, eh?D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-4194347856224203622011-04-09T12:02:00.000-07:002011-04-09T12:02:00.200-07:00#FridayFlash: Yea Though I Charge into the Valley of the Shadow of Death<style type="text/css">
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><em><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">[Author's note] I was fortunate enough to participate in my first #5MinuteFiction this week over at <a href="http://future-nostalgic.blogspot.com/2011/04/5minutefiction-blog-tour.html">Future-Nostalgic</a>. It was a lot of fun and I decided to use my entry there as the kernel for this weeks #FlashFriday. My entry, as it appeared, is at the end. I would also encourage you to not only read the other #5MinuteFiction entries but to take the challenge!</span></em></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Friday Flash</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Yea Though I Charge into the Valley of the Shadow of Death</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">©2011 D. Paul Angel</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">The haggard band grimly marched through the sparse birch forest. It was getting late in the day and shadows were starting to creep through the scant underbrush. The trees were thinning, and with most of their leaves gone, there was little left to protect them from the cold, constant drizzle. Their uniforms, once the deep forest green of his Majesty's Archer's, were now mottled by dirt, blood, and tears. <em>At least it helps them blend better into what little cover remains</em> thought Merrill, surveying the third of his regiment that survived.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Snow soon." Merrill's laconic second in command Jeffers commented. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Aye. And we have at least three weeks march through hostile territory left." </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Jeffers grunt in reply served both acknowledgement and assessment. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">It wasn't long before the scouts returned. After ordering a halt, Merrill and Jeffers were conferring with the scouts when Prince Aeol rode up. His armor, like his horse's, still gleamed brightly. As he stopped, his personal Guard formed a circle about him; their polished halberds at the ready. They were from a southern clime and their darker skin would have already made them stand out, but their scarcely concealed contempt for the archers insured a deep rift between them and the archers. That the Guard remained well nourished, and that the gaunt malnutrition of the archers was starting to slow them created further animosity. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Why was I not immediately summoned to this council," Aeol demanded. Merrill flinched at the voice. The prepubescent pitch was grating enough, but the haughty, spoiled tone was beginning to wear down his patience. The scouts said nothing but stared at the ground. Merrill said nothing while counting to ten and gathering his thoughts. He also had to nudge Jeffers to stop out-staring individual Guards. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Diverting away from Prince Aeol's whine he filled him in on the situation. Their presence was no longer a secret, and a larger force was gathering near a bend in the road ahead. There were more trees in the area, and they were to be trapped from both sides as they passed. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"That will NOT do!" said Aeol furiously to Merrill's plan of cutting through the forest. "I will not tolerate the King's men slinking away from battle like a, like a bedraggled beaten mutt. Everyone of his men are worth three of the vile enemy's." </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"But when there are five of the enemy, your Highness, it is no longer a battle but a slaughter," Merrill replied, determined to not let the Prince's righteous ignorance get to him. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Well, if you had outfitted your men with horses as I recommended, we would already be past this. But, since you did not we're left where we are." Merrill distinctly remembered the "discussion." He also remembered the slap he had received from one of the Guard for having the audacity to ask the Prince exactly where he should find several score horses in an isolated wood, deep in enemy territory. Merrill counted to ten once again but no longer attempted to stop Jeffers silent indolence. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"You're right of course, your Majesty, what do you recommend?" In his silent deliberation the Prince did not notice his Guards uneasy shifting. They sensed a danger his hubris was blind. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"The King's men give way to No man. No where. No time. We shall march forward. And, if they summon the courage to attack, we shall fell them." </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">The Scouts mouths hung wide open, and were only closed at a kick from Jeffers. Although not left with his mouth hanging open, did end have to slowly circle away from the group. Merrill nodded in hearty agreement. "Of course Your Highness, there is no other way." </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Jeffers stopped mid pace to look at Merrill, trying to determine if he were truly mad. Merrill ignored his old friend's eye and continued. "My men are tired and drained, and I do not think they would follow me down such a path. But," he interjected before the Prince could demean them anew, "If one of the Royal Blood showed them the way, I know it would once again fill their hearts with courage." </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Jeffers only just managed to keep his mouth closed. He turned once again towards the Guard, showing them a placid face, with only the slightest of smirks. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Of course! That's has likely been the problem all along. You kept your greatest asset in reserve almost too long Commander." </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Of course, Your Highness. Might I also suggest that, as you get close to the bend, you and your Guard charge them. They will not be expecting that as they cowardly hide in the shadows." </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"Yes of course. Their cowardice shall be our surprise! We ride at once! For King and Country!" Merrill long remembered the burning hatred on the faces of the Guard as they charged headlong towards their death.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><em>As mentioned above, my #5MinuteFiction entry from 5 April 11 follows...</em></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Addegan looked at meager forces below. They could well not survive the week it would take to get back into friendlier territory, much less the month march to the nearest fort.<br />
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"It's a trap, sir," his Second, Kajer said.<br />
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"I know. I just know that there's much we can do about it. We haven't the time or stores to go around."<br />
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"Then through."<br />
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"Yes."<br />
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Addegan marched at the head of the column. the men were warned, and they could easily see know that the ambush lay just ahead with enemy forces to both sides of the valley.<br />
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"For the King!" shouted Addegan, his beloow echoed by his men. Swords drawn, spears out, they charged they desperately charged enemy in a hopeless cause.<br />
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"As long as we're going to die," thought Addegan, "we die on the offensive..."</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-77207005910273495912011-04-01T11:44:00.000-07:002011-04-01T11:44:44.806-07:00#FridayFlash Excelsior Deus<style type="text/css">
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</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Friday Flash </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Excelsior Deus</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">©2011 D. Paul Angel</span><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;"> </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">His Highness, Lord Admiral Jennar Excelsior, stood rigidly still in the center of the bridge. Awash in the cascade of blinking lights and undulating system sounds, he was the living embodiment of human nobility. Only the minor twirlings of his cape at the capricious fingers of the ship's AC gave an indication he was real and not a statue of Man's highest ideals. His eyes, steeled by the smoldering hatred of revenge, and burning with the intense fire of command, focused on the view screen. The twin stars of the Avajj 9 system, A and B, were no longer specks now, but near enough to appear as motionless disks. All around him the crew's tension was like the taught strings of a Grand Piano. And Excelsior was the Composer, Conductor, and Pianist of it all.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Helm. Time to H'Rung Tertiary." Such was the Lord Admiral's voice that even the simplest of questions was spoken like a command from God himself.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Three Days yet, My Liege," The Helmsman answered as sharply as he could, overpowered as he was by merely being in the presence of the Lord Admiral's force of will.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Generals Bakker and Gmion, with me."</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Yessir," his two top Generals answered in unison.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">The strode out of the Bridge and into the heart of the ship. Down a labyrinth of corridors bathed in the dull red glow of the artificial night time lights, they passed through bays of clever machinery, Knights still practicing their skills, and, of course, the housings of so many of their orbital weapons. It was at the last that they stopped. Excelsior removed his gauntlet and ran his bare hand along one of the<em>Vengaza</em>'s plasma laser tubes.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"God himself brought us here, Generals, you understand that, do you not."</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Of course my Liege!" the Generals both said, bowing before him.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Understand, Generals, Understand. Not know, but 'Understand,' you must <em>understand</em>." The Generals gave each other the slightest of glances. This might not be a new question, but it was certainly a more intense version of it.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"God spoke to my father, and told him of the coming of the comets. How for 40 days and nights they would scream through our atmosphere." Excelsior regarded them with hooded eyes. "yes."</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"We know this, My Liege," they answered just off syncronicity.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Excelsior struck both General's across the face with his gauntlet. "I didn't ask if you knew it," he said coldly, "I asked if you understood it. Do you?" The added inflection of the question warned the Generals of the its direness.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">They looked at each other, and looked upon the fresh red pain on each other's faces before answering. "I do not, My Liege," General Bakker answered finally, summoning up the courage to almost look the Lord Admiral in the eye.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Nor I, my Liege," added Gmion, remaining bowed.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Excelsior turned and walked to one of the few portholes in the ship. It was the last of all redundant guidance systems for the tubes, and a small reticule was etched into the transparent molybdenum. It wasn't accurate enough to target anything smaller than a Moon, but the weapon immensity meant that there wasn't anything much smaller than a moon that <em>would</em> be targeted.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"God warned my father to build an Ark with the most truest of believers, and DNA samples of every living thing necessary. Both Male and Female. God knew that the comets would destroy us completely otherwise, but he knew something else." Excelsior turned to the Generals still kneeling, bowed, on the ships ultrasteel grating, "He <em>understood</em>.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"When we return, our civilization will be destroyed. The only advanced technology will be the Ark, whose dedicated systems will be repopulating the Earth with randomly mutated clones. All else, will be gone. We will be back to to scratching our food from the very dirt of the Earth. Yes dirt," he added to the grimace on the General's faces at the thought of eating something grown from something so unwholesomely unclean and unengineered, "and it will taste the same.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"Our mission is different. We sail the Stars in the <em>Vengaza</em> because we are <em>His</em> people. And the blow, once struck, must be returned. Stronger! Let me be clear. Our mission is not one of simple destruction; it is of conquering. We go to the H'Rung to take the planet, and make it our own. For <em>Him</em>."</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Excelsior watched their faces with satisfaction. They were, in their own narrow minded, zealoted way, quite intelligent. But they could not see the Forest for the trees. That this mission was beyond mere retribution; was far more than a return blow, had been deliberately held back from all so as not to weaken their ferocity. It was too late to change the strength of their focused hatred now, but he could certainly bend it. Ever so slightly, as the Master Pianist at the keys.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">He left hem abruptly to deal with the Enchantress in a decidedly different, but equally effective, manner.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">~ ~ ~</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">It was three days later Lord Admiral Excelsior stood ready in the Bridge as the <em>Vengaza</em> tore through the H'Rung atmosphere. Their welcome waited in a savage, purple plain far below. Behind him, all at attention, were his senior commanders. The Air General Bakker in his finest dragon skin flight suit, goggles at the ready with his atomic dragon goad in hand. General Gmion stood replete in the shining ceramosteel exo-armor of the Grand Knights, and bewtween them both stood the demure Enchantress. Her robe of translucent silk barely contained her otherwise naked, heaving breasts. </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">With the flames of entry into the hostile atmosphere finally dissipating Excelsior dismissed them to their charges. General Bakker climbed the towards the Dragon roost atop the ship, his thick, toughened riding boots dully echoing as he climbed. Gmion saluted once more in a way that seemed to foretell his own soon death. Excelsior had not thought Gmion would make it, but was pleased to know that Gmion knew it, too. He would fight all the harder to bring glory to his posthumity. The Enchantrass glided more than walked towards the Unicorn hold in the <em>Vengaza</em>'s nose. Her bosoms swayed rhythmically with her stride, momentarily enchanting even the iron discipline of Excelsior's Bridge.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Tension filled the air.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Smoke still rose here and there from the hull as it touched down in the alien field, singing the undulating violet grasses. A ring soon formed a quarter mile from the ship: the H'Rung waited. Watched.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Through the view-port Excelsior looked out and quickly espied his counterpart. The large, offish looking H'Rung were both stronger and faster than the average man. Their thick, tough green hide was easily the equal of the lightly armored human foot soldiers. He could feel the blazing blackness of the enemy General's eye; almost smell the decaying meat still coating his tusk-like teeth. </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">It was time.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Excelsior's fist struck the console as he bellowed, "ATTACK!"</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">The top door to the <em>Vengaza</em> and three entire Legions of Dragons emerged. Intentionally semi starved on the trip, they saw a ready meal before them in the H'Rung, and swooped onto them breathing fire almost immediately. </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Before the H'Rung could even finishing bracing for the Dragon's attack, the nose lifted and a thousand strong herd of Unicorns bearing the Enchantress and her Sisters across the plain in their silken robes. Their Unicorn's horns were shod in gleaming steel and their hooves in polished platinum, but no Unicorn would allow any cover to their silvery white hides. They rode across the plain forming a wedge aimed at the H'Rung General himself at the very heart of his Death Guard.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Behind the Unicorns the normal war horses rode. Clad in the same ceramosteel plates as their riders, the knights split into two to drive a wedge into the H'Rung. Their rider's lances shone in the midday light, glistening with their sharpened points so eager to extract the death of their foes. They, with their General, rode towards almost certain Death. Death, but for the Glory of God and Earth. Behind them came the lesser fighters. The Archers with their plasma infused, grenade tipped arrows, the men at arms with their atomically charged Halberds, and the lightly armed skirmishers who used their Shrieking Spears to sow confusion in the enemy ranks.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">The Earth's mightiest of calvary was finally ground to a halt by the overwhelming mass of the H'Rungs they had slaughtered. General Gmion's Knights were soon pulled from their horses and, stripped of their armor, eagerly killed by uncivilized green hordes. Even though they took twenty or more of the savage H'Rung for each of their own killed, there were simply too many of the enemies. And being in such close proximity, not even the deadly accuracy of General Bakker's Dragon flames could effectively be used in their aid.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">Instead, as planned, the Dragons split the barbarous defenders into thirds. The front third, although the most strategically important, but was deeply entrenched with the charging Knights and Unicorns. It was to the rear that the battle would turn, just as Excelsior had foreseen. He emerged in from the ship in a Chariot towed by twin Balrogs to marshal the foot soldiers to victory. Emboldened by the mere presence of their Liege, Lord Admiral, the foot soldiers, feeling the very will of their Commander and God course through them, could abide naught but victory either. </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">The rear left and right thirds were soon overwhelmed by the bravened foot soldiers and, so far from their own General, the Shrieking Spears soon broke the enemy's ranks, even as the plasma arrows rained down exploding, searing splotches of plasma amongst them. It was the these two rear flanks that eventually broke, just as Excelsior knew they would, running away in panic. Excelsior himself grabbed a bow and plasma arrow from a humbled foot soldier, and, from near half a mile away, aimed for the heart of the enemy General.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">It was at that moment that the Enchantress herself, riding bare back on the lone remaining unicorn, stood on his hard, rippling back. She looked towards the H'Rung General and opened her arms to the air. Just as her Unicorn succumbed to a score of harsh swords, his golden blood spraying glitter across the trampled plain, she lept into the air. Her deep red hair swirled in the wind around her, enrapturing the H'Rung General in her beauty. Even as he stopped fighting and let his guard down that he could gaze longingly upon her unfettered, Lord Admiral Excelsior's plasma arrow fell from the sky, burying itself deep into his heart before exploding with a heat rivaled, only just, by the Sun.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">The twin dawn of Avajj 9A and 9B cast a pale, cleansing light over the harsh battle scarred scene. The Unicorn's death throes had scattered glitter far and wide, and rainbows sadly swept to and fro, seeking for the lovers who would never return. The dragons too were dying, poisoned by the richness of the H'Rung's coppery blood. With the violence over, the Balrogs soon dissipated back into Shadow and Malice, leaving only the living humans and the dead of both Worlds. If not for the complete capitulation of the H'Rung after their General's prominent death, the Human's position would have been untenable.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">As it was, Lord Admiral Excelsior alone knew just how close it had been as he walked the field. But he knew as well that God was truly on their side. General Bakker, as expected, had survived, but was morning the losses of his Dragons. It was in many ways an even harder blow after such a desisive victory for them. Excelsior had also found the body of General Gmion, alone save but for hundreds of dead H'Rung surrounding him. He ordered the General's body to be given great honors, and a statue to be erected on the spot of his death proclaiming his great deeds. </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">He was most pleased, however, when he found the Enchantress, alive but stunned, "I am sorry for the loss of your Unicorns and Sisters, but victory would not have been without them." She smiled at his compliment, and now that the battle was over, allowed herself the freedom to blush.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"I know, my Liege, I may also, finally, be a full woman, if you would do me the honor," she added, blushing even deeper.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">"And so you shall, my Queen, and so I will," he said to her surprised face.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace; font-size: small;">As they kissed, amidst the sullied ground of the purple field, the hope in their union overwhelmed the men, and it was long before the cheering ceased.</span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span> </div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-69130973573817196192011-03-24T22:20:00.000-07:002011-03-24T22:20:43.215-07:00#FridayFlash: The Littlest Key<style type="text/css">
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Friday Flash </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">The Littlest Key </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">©2011 D. Paul Angel </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">She was following the path past her relationships. Each garden was in its own little field, separated by fences of various heights. Some were all colorful, some merely green. Some were flourishing, and some, she knew, she'd have to either tend or let perish. In the middle of it all was the spot where a cluster of roses were bursting forth. Vibrant and alive, they had steadily pushed other plots aside. Some, like the forest of her family, refused to move and the roses instead traced an area close to it. Others had simply been overrun. Not that she minded most of those...</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">As she studied it she could see the tension between Tim's blooming roses, and the fragrant wildflowers of Caitlin's area. Neither grew within a foot of the fence separating them, and she knew that would mean trouble eventually. But at least for now her boyfriend and best friend simply kept their distance.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">As she contemplated what might happen between them the sunny day gave way to a brooding overcast of clouds. Their muted, pensive gray cast a doubting pall across the entire garden. She didn't like how the weather could shift so suddenly. She could feel it irritate her deep down as she heard the low rumblings of thunder just off in the distance. She tensed, as always, trying to will the Sun back, but only managed to deepen the gloom. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><em>"You OK, sweetie?" Tim asked, putting his arm around her. Deep within she could feel some of the clouds lift as she snuggled next to him. </em></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><em><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></em></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><em><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"I'm fine. I just have a lot on my mind." </span></em></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><em><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></em></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><em><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">"I know. I do, too... You ever think about the future?" </span></em><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">Rain started to fall, and she was scared to be caught out in the open by the unexpected downpour. She was heading down the path, trying to get away from the garden, but the path was no longer straight. It was twisting with organic fluidity, sometimes even upon itself, but always seemed to be trying to draw her back towards the roses. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><em>She took Tim's arm and lifted it over her head, giving it back to him and sitting up, facing him. "I don't know that I'm ready to talk about the future. Why isn't just today ever enough?" She noticed his sudden hesitancy, his hand in his pocket, and herself leaning back, too. </em></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">The rain continued to fall, fluctuating in its intensity depending on how far she was from the roses. Finally she saw her escape and headed towards a large, marble building. It was somewhere between a mausoleum and a bank, with stark white walls and Doric columns about its edifice. She ran through the rain, racing the darkening sky, and pulled an expansive ring of keys out of her pocket. The largest, a heavy cast-iron antique, opened the door and let her safely inside. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">The tall walls had numerous doors of varying sides covering them. Most were locked, some stood open, some were obviously empty. The open ones were filled with the little things here and there. These were the thoughts shared by anyone and needed no protection; the names of various Housewives from E!, the chorus from Lady Gaga's <em>Born This Way</em>, and the difference between a Merlot and Syrah. Even the final score from last years Pac-10 Championship game sat in a room with only a half hung shutter for a door. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">She rushed past these deeper into the vaults. The doors were almost all locked now. Some had simple keyholes that even a paper clip could open. Some, hidden in the shadows, had multiple locks and bars across them. She wished they would go away, but she knew they never would. Then, deeper still into the very center of it she came to a wall with a single door. There was a small keyhole near the center, and a glow coming from under it.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><em>"I know this makes you uncomfortable," Tim was telling her, "I know how you try and run into yourself and avoid the future. I know you don't want to be hurt again. But, Jo, that's part of life, isn't it?" </em></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">The door was growing steadily larger as she watched. She could see it try and enclose all the radiance within it. The light around the edges filled the hall, warming her and even driving some of the dark away from the scarier doors. But even as it grew, the tiny keyhole stayed resolutely locked. She pulled the keys up and looked at the littlest one. It had a single, thin tang at the end, and a simple hoop to hold. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><em>Tim took her hand and moved off the couch. He took one knee, placed his hand in his pocket and pulled out a ring. "Josephine," he said nervously, "Will you share your life with me?"</em> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;">She stood before the door holding the tiny key in her hand. The light shining through was almost blinding, and yet still she hesitated. Opening the door would flood her world; changing everything forever. If she didn't open it, she knew the light would fade and eventually extinguish itself. Another garden might grow someday, the room itself would shrink back; but she wouldn't be hurt. There'd be no more new rooms in the far, dark corners needing bars and chains. She was thrilled. And scared. She could her the rain pour suddenly outside and then just as quickly stop. She rubbed the key, feeling the smooth metal with her fingers. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"><em>"Will you trust me?" </em></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Courier New,monospace;"> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-15633455721030394042011-03-11T14:19:00.000-08:002011-03-11T15:38:17.417-08:00Earthquake Thoughts<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
A Happy update! Heard from Mariko and she and her family are OK! No further details, but at least she and her family are fine.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em>In the late '80s we had a Japanese Foreign Exchange student stay with us for a couple of weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mariko came into our lives speaking very little English, but bringing an indomitable spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After coming back to the States to live for several years she moved back to Japan and married a wonderful man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She just gave birth to their first child not too long ago, as did her sister-in-law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the Japanese custom for new mothers to live with their folks for the first couple of months, so most of the family was under one roof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They live near Honshu, which was close to the epicenter of the most recent 8.9 quake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will be days before we know anything, I'm sure, but I know their strength, and have faith in that; and in their goodness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What follows below is a recounting of my earthquake experience from a couple decades ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not much, I know, but it might perhaps give those who have never been through a large Earthquake an idea of what it is like...</em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The Loma Prieta Earthquake hit October 17th, 1989 at 5:04pm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was, as the crow flies, about 5 miles from the epicenter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a sophomore in High School, loved the A's, and was excited by the Bay Bridge World Series that was going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was lying on my bed watching the pregame on the TV.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Mom was in the living room reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was sunny, warm, and a day like any other.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Then, and to this day I'm not quite sure how, I found myself in mid air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without conscious thought I had rolled over in the bed, pushed off, and was literally parallel to the ground just about to land and run for the doorframe when the earthquake hit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many things happened at once it's almost a blur, but time for me is forever frozen there, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That fraction of a second, hanging in the air, wondering why in the Hell I was suddenly leaping; will always be burned into my memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That's when the entire house moved, slamming back and forth on its foundation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That's when a roar like a freight train rent the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt like God was kicking the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he was pissed.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I landed and staggered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The roar really was deafening, there was no other sound beyond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no sound of glass breaking, furniture moving, or anything else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just an all encompassing wall of sound flowing, but never ebbing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My doorframe was probably 8 feet away and it took at least that many steps to get there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Balancing itself was a chore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to the doorframe, pushed back against it with both legs, and clasped it with both hands just to stay put.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My Mom came to the frame from the living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could see the floor heave like the swells of an angry sea as she crossed over it, practically falling into me and the doorframe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea how long it took us to reach each other there because time was both dilated AND constricted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was just the Roar and an angry Earth below us for whatever remained of the 39 seconds of shaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We held onto each other, but not for comfort: it was the only way to keep us both in the doorframe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That changed when the Earthquake passed, and we realized we needed to get out of the house before the aftershocks came.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We went down the hall to leave through the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There we saw that every cabinet and cupboard had opened, and three inches of broken glass, plates, and cups covered the entire tile floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had been only ten feet away, in the doorframe, and we heard nothing break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also realized we weren't going out through the garage.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We went back the way we had come and left by the front door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we passed the living room, we saw that the Grandfather clock had fallen, and the upright piano was now halfway into the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The upright piano it had taken half a dozen brawny men, literally, to move into place was walked 6 feet across the carpet in a matter of seconds by the quake.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We had no idea if the house was still sound or not so we left straightaway without grabbing a thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walked across the deck, down to the driveway, and stood at the far edge of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dust was all around us, and a haze of dust was hovering over the town down by the Ocean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The garage door, which had been shaken loose from its rails, was now just hanging above the garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One end was resting on top of the VW van, the other was dangling close to the ground where my Dad's car usually parked, but was still with my Dad at work.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">All the chemicals my Dad had, gasoline for the lawn mower, paint thinner, WD40, that kind of stuff, was all in a single stand alone cabinet that was now knocked over; with a puddle of some amalgamation thereof slowly creeping out it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Between that and the Van our 12 year old lab/mutt came slowly wandering out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was deaf and arthritic, and didn't look so much panicked as deeply unsure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">She came, sat with us, and we soon rode out the first aftershock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was in the mid 6's, but seemed all of the sudden rather impotent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Across the valley we could see a house shaking as it swept, this time quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not too soon after, with the help of a neighbor, we got the Van out of the garage, and that's where my Mom and I spent the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Dad worked for Emergency Communications for the County and we wouldn't see much of him for the next couple days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were more aftershocks, but they weakened each time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within a week we had electricity and water again, and life went back to normal.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">To this day I don't remember any of what my Mom and I said during that afternoon and night, but I do remember when a dark cloud of dread came across us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn't know how close we were to the actual epicenter, so we thought we were feeling the remnants of the Big One hitting San Francisco.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There 50,000 people alone at Candlestick to watch the game; some of whom were good friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had other friends in the City, too, and some lost even more than we did to the fires that hit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it was also a relief when we finally found out that it was us who bore the brunt of it, and not a tightly packed city of hundreds of thousands built on landfill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though our own, small downtown was essentially gutted, we all couldn't help but think that it could've been far, far worse.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">That always seems to be the refrain after such a disaster, that it, "Could've been worse."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had dozens and dozens of buildings in my town destroyed, but only a handful of deaths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our own house had cracked stucco.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The insurance adjuster told us he came across a woman "vacuuming" her living room with a vacuum that wasn't even plugged in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She hadn't noticed that the entire side of her house had fallen away, leaving its whole backside open.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">For the next several months, there were no strangers in our town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In every line you stood in, any place you waited next to someone else; you would talk, share stories, and bond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were our own ad hoc support group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We shared each other's losses, enjoyed the little pieces of humor here and there, and marveled at the miracles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'll leave you with one, from my Science Teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His 2 year old was watching TV in front of a large entertainment center when it hit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The force threw the TV <em>over</em> her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the entire unit fell towards her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Far from being hurt, she ended up sitting, completely untouched, in the space the TV had just vacated.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Crises are defining moments for people, both individually and collectively.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The larger crises' can certainly bring about some of the worst in people, like the burgeoning scams already spreading. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they also bring out the very best in people, and I know that that heart, that spirit, that courage, and that strength is flowing throughout Japan now too.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-24637125270507262022011-03-10T22:08:00.000-08:002011-03-11T10:59:34.574-08:00#FridayFlash: A Geek Tragedy<style type="text/css">
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</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">Friday Flash</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">A Geek Tragedy</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">©</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">2011 D. Paul Angel</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">It was just like any other regular old, craptacular Tuesday. Someone downloaded a virus from eBay. Margot locked herself out. Again. Tom in accounting crashed the Access form that the vendor guaranteed would never, ever, not in a million billion years crash. (Tom’s kind of an Anti-God in that way.) And then, well, then Cynthia called.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">Sweet, beautiful Cynthia. Beautiful, stunning Cynthia, who never has a problem; so, I never need to come over and help; so I never talk to her, Cynthia. And I yeah, I know she has a boyfriend who could benchpress me with one arm while yawning, but still, today she needs MY help. Today is going to be MY day!</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">Well, it was supposed to be....</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">When I got to her cube and I saw the pic of her boyfriend gone, I wasn't sure the day could get any better. Then I saw the sundress she was wearing. O.M.F.G. And her hair was just, wow. And her eyes... Oh those beautiful, blue eyes... Well you get the picture. Anyway, she tells me how she has to resize the page for printing, but it's just not working. "That gets everyone," I say with confident reassurance, "Excel never has been any good with printing. In fact this one time I had to get everything on one page and it was hundreds of columns and tens of thousands of rows-" Oh God! She looks bored! OK, steady lad, just fix it and <i>then</i> ask about <b>her</b>.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">"But you didn't care about that," I say to save myself, flashing my best, Devilish grin, "let's take a look" </span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">Thank God she brightens again. She brightens the whole office like a, like a, well... like really big, bright light. I don't know. Sometimes words just fail, y'know? I just wish the brightness had stayed. "All we have to do is go to the ribbon bar," I suavely say, "And click on... Uh... Just click on... Um." Then, just like that it’s gone. Click on... What?</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"> </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">I had no idea. I'd been fixing boxes since I was nine. Nine! And now, no clue. I had no idea. Insert? No, it, it didn't even look familiar. DATA? Well, I guess we were changing the data, right?</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">No, DATA wasn't it. There: Sort! Wait, no, sort doesn't help. Filter? What If Analysis? That can’t be right. She's looking at me funny now too. "I'm not an idiot. I'm not!" I desperately want to scream at her, but I-- I’m suddenly afraid it might be a lie.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">OK. Focus. REVIEW? What about clicking REVIEW? There’s like nothing here I recognize. Except Spell Check. She already seems to be squirming impatiently, I don't really want to show her her own mistakes. Okay. Think. THINK. This can’t get any worse.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">FORMULAS! There’s got to be a formula for it, right? Oh Holy Hell what’s this? Books? Icons of different colored books? Really Microsoft? Really!?What am I going to do with those? I don’t recognize anything on this ribbon at all. She’s not just fidgeting she's looking around. She's looking for a polite way out. Crap! OK, got to hurry. Click something,. ANYTHING!</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">PAGE SETUP! Yes its got to be here. Rows to repeat? Orientation?</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"> F</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">reeze Panes? That’s got to do something clever...</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;"> Dammit, I turned '</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">em off. Slow down, look at the screen. Left to right. Left to right. Just think-</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">Wait, no! NO! don’t call Frank over, Don't!. C'mon, Cynthia don't, he’s like a total douche! I’ve pwned his ass dozens of times. And look! Just like that! The panes are back! See, I fixed the panes! "The panes are back!" I say triumphantly. My reward is a blank face with pity and impatience fighting for dominance. I tried to sound debonair, I swear, but is it even possible once you realize you can feel your armpit sweat being wicked into your shirt?</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">"No worries Frank," I say, trying to be casual, but really hoping I can save it "I got th-" did she just roll her eyes at me, "I mean, that is, I got this." Impatience won. It didn't look like it took long, either.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">Frank comes over, ignores me, smiles at her, reaches between us and points to the "Scale" button. He's so close to her they're almost touching. I even back up to give him space but, he doesn't take it, and she doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she smiles at him. HIM! </span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">He pats her back with familiar ease as he leaves and her smile just widens. I know its over, but I still utter, "I, uh...," before I can catch myself. Not that she'd deign to hear it anyway. Her back’s to me, the mouse is already in her hand, and I’m, simply, forgotten.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">I walk away a defeated, hollow, shell of a man. You only get one chance with Cynthia they say. One. Chance.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, monospace;">Dammit.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-14534296549118018952011-03-04T09:35:00.000-08:002011-03-04T09:40:20.572-08:00#FridayFlash A Final Gift<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><style type="text/css">
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</style> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Friday Flash</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">A Final Gift</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">® 2011 D. Paul Angel</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He awoke suddenly with the feeling that something was deeply amiss. The curtains of his motel leaked the parking lot lights through just enough to give a dim, glowering shading to the spartan room. He slowly moved his eyes across the part of the room that he could see while staying just as still as as sleep. He focused and calmed his breathing to avoid letting an enemy know he was now awake. After a few minutes he put a hitch in his breathing and fitfully rolled over in the bed. As he brought his breathing back he saw that this side of the room was also clear.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He reached under the pillow and grabbed the Kel-Tec .380. It wouldn't stop someone in their tracks like a .45, but it could still disable them or, if his aim was good enough, kill. As he looked around the room again he noticed a shape on the night stand that shouldn't be there. Illuminated by his BlackBerry's luminous clock, he saw the vague, shadowy outline of a box. <i>With, a bow?</i></span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He weighed his options carefully. If it was someone in the room, they could've already shot him. Or worse. If the box was a bomb, waiting only prolonged the chances of detonation. He didn't bother trying to figure out who was behind it, there were simply too many. <i>19 years as an operative had certainly seen to that,</i> he thought. As did the parade of dead faces he saw every, single, night before he went to sleep. They didn't appear unbidden, he had to force them up from the depths of his memories. He had read that the guilty were constantly haunted by remembrances of their victims, so he brought them up as a penance. There were dozens of them now, scattered across 5 Continents. He watched the slow march of their eyes behind his every night and felt, <i>Nothing.</i></span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>My edge is gone,</i> he realized. He wasn't even sure exactly when it had left. He had chalked the close call in Rome up to the accumulation of chance. A byproduct of the Gambler's Fallacy to be sure, but it had a ring of veracity about it nonetheless. Uganda had also been close, but that was more about the hesitation than anything. Women, he knew all too well, could be just as evil as men; but that didn't stop him from brief hesitations here and there. In Uganda though, he felt his own hesitancy. Thinking in his game was a mixed blessing. Absolutely necessary for planning, for ad-libbing, helping with both incursion and, especially, excursion. But, when it came to the act itself, it was a hindrance.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Perhaps he had just been in the job too long? Too old? Unable to lock his mind down, to excise all options save the single necessary path of termination; "That's going to kill you someday, Johnny," he muttered softly. <i>Perhaps it already has</i>...</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">There, on the end table, was a box with a ribbon on it that had not been there before. He hadn't woken when it was delivered, nor when the person left. If they had wanted him dead, he would be. And yet, he didn't care. Having taken so much life, even for the best of reasons, had taken its toll on him. He had known before every mission that he was expendable, but that was different. That was a known, weighed risk for a short time. This was far more permanent. Almost apathy, but more just sadness.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was true when not on a mission that he had known a lifetime of intimate pleasures, and had he had certainly never gone to bed alone except by choice. And yet, that too had trailed off recently. It was all the same after awhile. The prelude and epilogue were always part of the game, but now even the game itself seemed to lack in substance. His experience may have been wider than most save rock stars, but it had never been any deeper than a handful of inches. All those scores, hundreds really, and the only one he desired was the one who had said, "No." It wasn't the rejection itself, he'd known enough of those, and this was for, "professional," reasons. It was that he lost the only one he had ever truly cared for.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Even as he realized it was time for him to retire, he knew he wasn't ready to simply give up yet, either. <i>Not your time, yet. Not today.</i> He pulled the gun from under the pillow threw the blanket one way and rolled the other. He quickly and efficiently cleared the room, twice, and only then did he allow himself to inspect the box. With a single quick sigh he sat at the edge of the bed, turned on the lamp, and set his .380 on the pillow beside him.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The box was a white cube, four inches to the side. A single red bow was atop of it. He picked it up and found it quite light with a slight rattle. Whatever it was, it was not a bomb. He opened it to find an airline ticket to Barbados, hotel key there, and airport locker key. Then he noticed the simple handwritten note under the lid,</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"> I'm officially retired. No more Winter's, </span> </i></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"> no more coldness. Just Warmth. Just life.</span></i></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"> Join me. I left you the way, I just hope </span> </i></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"> you can take the same path I have.</span></i></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"> I love you. You are my One.</span></i></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"> --B</span></i></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"></span></i><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Another chance.</i> was all he had thought before there was a soft, almost hesitant knock on the door. He went and opened it, leaving the gun on the pillow, and all caution aside, and he opened the door in ungaurded hope.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">A man stood there. He had cold, blue eyes, rough Slavic features, a straggly Chesterfield, and a fatalist's resignation.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Johnny?" he asked with temerity, leaving the sentence unfinished.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Of course I'll come Boris," he answered grinning, "you were always the one for me."</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span> </div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-7259959715399588452011-02-24T16:15:00.000-08:002011-02-24T16:15:57.575-08:00#FridayFlash Smooth Revenge<div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Friday Flash</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Smooth Revenge</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">© 2011 D. Paul Angel</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Tony looked out from the passenger seat contemplating the clean brownstones that lined the Franklin Heights area of West Philly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>Gentrification did what all the arrests couldn't.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Made it to damn expensive for the thugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for the thugs who inhereted from their crazy Uncle...</em></span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Gervasio drove the BMW 650 straigh into the tidy garage, closing the garage door behind them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tony let himself out and headed for the door at the back of the garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The closet shelves slid easily aside, and the stairwell down to the abandoned bomb shelter below lit up automatically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>Glad Uncle Heitor didn't even trust the neighbors, let alone the city.</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bomb shelter was not only wholly hidden from the outside, was well sound proofed, and had never been registered even with the Civil Defense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>Uncle Heitor never did like anybody, no sense in saving someone you don't like.</em>.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Tony always suspected his Uncle would actually approve of its current use; a killing room.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">As expected the man was duct-taped to the only chair in the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was dead center, bolted to the concrete, and just above a drain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The concrete was stained with blood and other remnants, and the smell of foulness hung across the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abilio and Berengar were waiting in the corner and nodded as Tony came down the stairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Proficient as always, they already had the man naked, bruised, and crying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With Tony inside, Gervasio closed the steel lined door behind them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tony took off his long jacket and hung it on a simple wooden peg on the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next to it he hung his white fedora, his silk Jerry Garcia tie, and rolled up his sleeves.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Tony walked to the man, stood in front of him and quietly said, "Your name."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"What?" the man said between sobs.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Your," Tony said once more authoritatively, "name."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"I, uh..."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man trailed off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tony took two steps back and nodded to Berengar who came over and stood behind the man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tony regarded the man, waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he didn't answer he met Beregan's eye and dipped his head ever so slightly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beregan brought his fist down on the man's head like a hammer starting another bout of panicked shrieks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In reply Berengar slapped him hard on the side of the head, stopping the shouts dead.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Your. Name," Tony said firmly.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Stan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stan Lemkowski.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My name, is Stan Lemkowski."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"I asked multiple times, Stanley, because you didn't answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not because I needed to hear it three times."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He nodded again and Berengar hit Lemkowski open handed on the other side of his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tony knew from experience just how much Berengar enjoyed this game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not quite as sharp and conniving as Abilio, nor as loyal as <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tony's right hand Gervasio, Berengar was simply an angry man of muscle who enjoyed nothing so much as exerting it upon his fellows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tony gave him considerable opportunities to use this talent.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Do you know who I am? Stanley," he asked.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"You're... you're Smooth Tony," he gritted out between breathes.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Very good." Tony began pacing in front of Lemkowski as he spoke, "And you, Stanley, well you are not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So tell me, Stanley," he continued spitting on the name, "why did you think you could be me?"</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Because-" Lemkowski paused before finding some inner vigor, "because everyone knows you never do the work yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You always get everyone else to do it for you."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The strength left almost as soon as it had arrived, withering under Tony's cold eyes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He trailed off lamely, "It was... going to be... to be easy."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Excuse me?" Tony asked with the full weight of the quiet menace he had spent a lifetime mastering.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Lemkowski's reserve evaporated, leaving him to plead with Tony, "Well, everyone says that you plan and everyone else does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I figure, If they said it... I can call and they'd do..."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"And you're gone before I find out?" Tony finished for him, "Just like that Stanley?"</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Just like, yeah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"He's got a point Mr. Noland," Abilio added suddenly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"We ain't never seen you do nothing yourself."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><em>So here it comes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was only a matter of time with Abilio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thinking he could sway the others and take over.</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew from the hesitant looks that the point had been festering in them all for awhile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>You couldn't keep your hands clean forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thugs are just too damn practical.</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without turning away from Lemkowski, or acknowledging Abilio with so much as a look, he said to Gervasio, "My gun."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Gervasio reached in his shoulder holster, took out a stainless steel Colt Python, and handed it to Tony handle first. "Mr. Noland," was all he said with guarded sincerity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>Hmm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So even faithful Gervasio has some doubts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time to end </em>that<em> now</em>.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Tony let the gun hang straight down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The weight and heft were familiar, comfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The others didn't need to know just how many hours he spent at the range perfecting his shot since that too was frowned upon by the culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>Just one more thing they underestimated.</em></span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The gun felt heavier now than it ever had before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In front of him was a dumb, stupid, moron of a punk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kid had to die of course, and he had no compunction against ordering it, but now it was clear he'd have to do it himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt different though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually holding the gun in his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Balancing a man's life on the sliver of steel against his finger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn't mere words this time that would direct it, it was <em>him</em>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tangible finality of it weighed on him more than any order he had ever given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was real. <em>And necessary.</em></span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"You're wrong."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a flash he shot Abilio square in the face, exploding his against the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As his body collapsed in a crumpled heap Berengar and Gervasio looked at Smooth Tony with stunned awe and absolute loyalty in their eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Your turn. Stanley."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><em>This is going to be fun...</em></span><br />
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</div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-562900678209753904.post-6289144141305560602011-02-17T22:27:00.000-08:002011-02-17T22:27:35.476-08:00#FridayFlash The God Box<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotOptimizeForBrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <br />
<div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Friday Flash<span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 10pt;">The God Box</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 10pt;">©2011 D. Paul Angel</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
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</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Sullivan ambled across the dusty living room floor towards the door.<span> </span>The knock had been brief, but insistent.<span> </span>He walked past dozens of his dioramas along the way.<span> </span>Next to a scratch built David slaying Goliath, in which he had managed to build the giant so he was just falling, was a more esoteric scene from Asimov's Foundation series.<span> </span>One in several parts, showed Legolas and Gimli touring Middle Earth after the decisive battle in Tolkien's <em>Return of the King</em>.<span> </span>They were all meticulously built, some over many years while he was still working, and others he was now building in under a week.<span> </span>Yet every time he would walk by one he would see some new detail amiss.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He had stooped to quickly fix a crater's rim in a scene from Heinlein's Starship Troopers when the knock returned, and reminded him of his task. He opened the door until the chain was just taught and looked uncertainly at the man on the threshold.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Good day Mr. Sullivan, may I enter?<span> </span>My name is Michaelus and I have heard much of your dioramas and have something of my own that I'd like to share with you."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"I've never appreciated others work," Sullivan answered slowly, considering; "They never get it right.<span> </span>It has to be right."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"And do you, Mr. Sullivan, do you, 'Get it right?'"</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Mostly, but not always."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Well, I have something that I think is quite right, if I may?"</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Sullivan noticed a large, square box on the threshold next to him.<span> </span>Sullivan's deep introversion fought against his innate curiosity and lost.<span> </span>Before he was quite aware of it, the chain was down, Michaelus was in his house, and the box was on his dining room table.<span> </span>Michaelus looked appreciatively at the tattoos Sullivan was in the middle of applying to the Illustrated Man.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Marvelous!" Michaelus said, "So many familiar scenes.<span> </span>Dante's <em>Inferno</em>, one of each of the <em>Canterbury Tale's</em> tales... But what is this?<span> </span>I don't recognize it."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Sullivan's heart shrunk.<span> </span>It was the only diorama he had ever been tempted to outright destroy, but he couldn't.<span> </span>It wouldn't have been right.<span> </span>It was the only one he saw no imperfection in, but it was also his biggest hurt.<span> </span>"It is of the Wilson's down the road.<span> </span>The little girl on the swing, Sarah, drowned.<span> </span>I made that to give the family as a memento, but... They called me sick.”</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Surely they are not the only ones you know to have a suffered a loss?"</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"No, there have been others," Sullivan replied, feeling his various sadness's with downcast eyes.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Where are their dioramas, I wonder?"</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"I never made any.<span> </span>I just... Never mind," Sullivan answered, withdrawing once again, "Just show me what you wanted to show me." </span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The man smiled enigmatically, "It is this.<span> </span>I call it the God Box."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Sullivan came over and saw that there were brass wheels affixed to the side of the display.<span> </span>As Michaelus turned them<span> </span>the diorama's scene slowly shifted, as though from a slow moving airplane close to the ground.<span> </span>Michaelus stopped at a scene that looked exactly like Sullivan's neighborhood.<span> </span>The Wilsons were outside in their garden, and the grey, neighborhood tabby was cleaning itself by his mailbox.<span> </span>He was stunned when he looked past his stained curtains to see exactly the same outside.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"When you say, 'God Box...'" Sullivan began.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"I mean it.<span> </span>Quite."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Sullivan wasn't sure what possessed him, but he went to the Wilson's diorama and removed little Sarah.<span> </span>He walked over to the God Box and met Michaelus' eyes.<span> </span>Michaelus stepped back and opened his hand in acquiesce to Sullivan.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Sullivan placed her by her family than ran to the window.<span> </span>The Wilson's sort of saw her but were more disturbed than relieved since she appeared as more of a phantasm than a little girl.<span> </span>As Sullivan turned to go back to the God Box he tripped sending three of his dioramas to the floor.<span> </span>Sullivan stood and when he looked out he saw that she was almost fully corporeal again.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"What was it about her?" Michaelus asked directly.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"She was... She was innocent.<span> </span>An Angel.<span> </span>She, she liked me.<span> </span>Talked to me.<span> </span>She was special."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He went to the shelf behind Michaelus and then paused.<span> </span>Finally he took a diorama from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and smashed it on the floor.<span> </span>She became almost real.<span> </span>He smashed the obelisk from <em>2001</em> and the sacrifice of Aslan from C.S. Lewis' masterpiece, and her red sweatshirt was no longer translucent.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"How many?" he asked Michaelus desperately.<span> </span>"I put my life into them.<span> </span>How many do I have to destroy?"</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"All of them," Michaelus answered severely, "You <em>have</em> put your life into them.<span> </span>That is the life you give her now.<span> </span>If you choose.<span> </span>But, you must hurry or you will only restore her so much..."</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Sullivan hesitated, then went through his house like a tornado.<span> </span>He destroyed scenes throughout stories, books, movies, and television.<span> </span>He had just smashed from <em>Starship Troopers</em> when he looked outside again.<span> </span>She was with her family, but could not yet talk.<span> </span>He looked at Michaelus and bolted into the garage.<span> </span>In the back, packed in a box, was a tiny shoe-box with crude clay figures.<span> </span>It was his first, Abraham, on the mountain, with Isaac, made 50 years earlier for Sunday school.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">With a crash it hit the concrete of the garage, as a simultaneous shriek came from outside.<span> </span>She was alive, again!<span> </span>He ran through the house and was almost out the door before Michaelus coughed.<span> </span>"Would they," he asked gently, "Believe you?"</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Sullivan looked over the tattered remains of his little boxes, his little scenes, his little peoples; and wept.<span> </span>He looked up through the tears to a knock at the door and the sudden entrance of Sarah and her bewildered.</span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><br />
</div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"></span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"></span></div><div class="PreformattedText"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span></span>She hugged him, looked up and said, "Thank you."<span> </span></span></div>D. Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00931977627241091039noreply@blogger.com7