Down Time

 I need to apologize for the lack of stories here.  The impact of the pandemic and a toxic work environment squashed any creative impulses I may have had.  There is a concerted endeavor to get these creative juices flowing again.  Keep your eyes open for new stories to begin appearing soon.

Solo Adventuring

 I have had a standing appointment nearly every Wednesday for almost 2 years now.  It is with a group of adventurers travelling a world in order to save it from those that wish to destroy the innocent and bring forth evil.  When people come together to play D&D, anything is possible.

We recently came to the end of a story arc the DM had composed for us.  Without access to his notes, I like to believe we loosely followed his plan and veered away from it only when it was most inconvenient to do so.

During a brief interlude, I thought about my character and what he might do after beating the big boss and before taking on any more challenges.  In his younger days Cordon Lindenbrook had seen his mother killed by hobgoblin forces.  He was unable to help her so he retreated into the shadows physically and emotionally.  So now he returns to a land controlled by his enemies to complete a chore he gave himself.

Before leaving the embattled capitol city of Springhill, he wandered around town until he found a small craftsman that could make a fancier version of his nation's ancient artifact. Cordon describes the belt as he wants it made instead of showing the Belt of Strength to the shopkeeper. He asks for a few additions to the design to draw a wandering eye more quickly. The edge will have silver thread wrapped around it. The buckle will have a circuit of gold thread surrounding it. Instead of an onyx, Cordon commissions a hunk of obsidian to be embedded in the material.

Cordon travels back to the village where he and his mother lived. He uses happy memories to hide the dread he feels. The last time he was here was the night his mother was slain by the hobgoblins. All that is left is demolished forests and destroyed homes covered in weeds. Deep in his former homeland, Cordon is aware of the presence of those watching him. This is no longer a Halfling nation. It is now a wasteland that belongs to the hobgoblin tribes. Cordon isn't sure exactly why he isn't being harassed by the interlopers, but he likes to think his confidence and sure stride is the source of their reluctance.

Upon reaching the outskirts of his former home village, Cordon finds the place he piled some of the larger stones from the bed of a nearby stream. He had run to escape the advance hobgoblin forces after his mother was killed but before they finished torturing her body. Her screams still echo in his mind to this day, more than 30 years after it happened.

Cordon had piled the stones as a marker of where he wished he had been able to bury his mother's remains. A clear spot where the babbling of the stream can be heard and is lightly shaded by leaves high in the trees. He kneels before them and closes his eyes. Over the sighs of the wind weaving through the foliage overhead and the soft twittering of birds in the distance, Cordon imagines hearing her laugh one more time. Before the tears forming in the corner of his eye can become large enough to fall, Cordon places his pack on the ground and extracts a simple box and a shovel. He uses the shovel to dig a hole slightly wider than the box and about two feet deeper than the box is tall.

Cordon picks up the box, his pack, and the shovel, and steps over to a nearby tree. He sits down and catches his breath for a moment. Two apples and a stale slice of bread find their way out of the pack and into the hungry worker. Once Cordon is relaxed, and aware of every set of eyes watching him, he opens the box to reveal it is empty. From his pack, the Halfling pulls out a belt that looks like it has been drawn directly from legends and tales instead of a worn traveler's pack.

With more reverence than an item from a common shop should be given, Cordon carefully folds the belt. The light flickering through the leaves above flashes off the threads of gold and silver embedded in the belt's material. As Cordon lifts the folded belt into the box, the light seems to be completely absorbed by the black stone on top of the folded fabric. The entire forest seems to hold its breath as the belt is lowered into the box and the lid is replaced.

Like a cleric taking an offering to an altar, Cordon carries the box to the hole he had dug. He lowers the box into the ground and uses his hands to shove the dirt over the hole. He carefully spreads the loosened soil around to disguise the former hole. Careful placement of some foliage from nearby camouflages the signs of his work.

The sun gets closer to the horizon and Cordon steps into the growing shadows of the forest. He knows the hidden figures that had been watching him are now more interested in what he has left behind. This is exactly what he had hoped for.

Using the skills he had developed during his recent adventures, Cordon vanishes into the undergrowth. Blended in with the darkness, he watches the area around the piled rocks carefully. An arrow is knocked and he is ready to draw the bow's string in less than a heartbeat if anything moves towards the box he buried.

The sun finally sets and the area grows completely dark. Unable to see anything in the darkness, Cordon stealthily backs away and begins his return journey to Springhill. When he feels like he is safe from any pending attacks, Cordon opens up his cloak. His hand brushes the onyx stone on the belt he wears as he checks the placement of the ancient dagger clipped to the belt.

Cordon knows he will never have a home or family as most people know it. On the other hand, he did have some fun adventures with some recent companions. More chances to kill hobgoblins and gain a little coin will always be welcome. While Cordon has vowed to never become emotionally attached to anyone again, he is aware of the value of his companions and their skills. There is an old adage about new friends, old friends, silver, and gold. Cordon can't remember the exact wording but wants to experience more of the world and collect as much of each of them as he can.

I will admit, some of the details of this story will only be known to the Darling Brothers Entertainment Extravaganza and Friends.  Still, I am hoping this is the first of many tales of their adventures, either alone or together.

Who is among us?

 The game Among Us has blown up recently.  It is a simple game with a deceiver mechanic.  The devs recently announced some lore for the game.  Apparently the impostor in the game is a parasitic shapeshifting invader.  With that in mind, here is a little tale from the view of one of the crewmates.

 

 

Personal Log, Employee #24601

File Code Number 8675309  

For distribution to next of kin only, not for corporate use.

Reviewed by Legal and approved for release.

Just another personal log from another cog in the interstellar corporate machine. Personally, this cog is getting kind of tired of being a part of this particular machine. Sure, the glamour of traveling to other planets and collecting samples and data for later research seemed very attractive. Once you do it though, the grunt work takes a lot of the shine out of it and you just see the dirt and broken machines. You would think a company that could afford to build ships capable of traveling other planets wouldn't let everything be built by the lowest bidder.  They even went cheap on our spacesuits.  Would adding arms instead of forcing is to stretch our the suit itself to perform tasks be that much of an effort?

If I have to reconnect one more set of wires I will snap someone's neck.  It's not just the wires either. I swear we had at least three alerts regarding a reactor meltdown on The Skeld during the return trip from our last mission. To a degree, I can understand needing to destroy meteorites in our path. But there might be fewer of those around if we weren't constantly drifting off course. The navigation computers would pick up a ton of drift every five minutes that we then had to re-calibrate and plot a new course.

I made the mistake of thinking things would be better when we got back to Mira HQ. I don't know why. Just as many broken wires there to fix and a reactor just as wonky. The company is so cheap they can't even install an automatic sprinkler system for the plants in the greenhouse. We have to get a watering can from storage and water them ourselves. A multibillion dollar corporation that reaches other planets and they can't even afford sprinklers. If not sprinklers, at least lights that don't go out every few minutes. Or an air filter that doesn't get clogged by simple leaves. Or a computer network that doesn't require me to walk from room to room downloading data and uploading it again.

The decontamination, at least, works consistently. And that is a bonus as often as we have to traverse it on the way to the lab. There is a fantastic view of the clouds while we sort samples from expeditions and reassemble harmonic crystals. Signs of real research being done at last.

Real research, like what I finally got to do when we reached Polus at last. Not a particularly exciting planet, just likes to shake us all up now and again. Nothing a little rerouting of a ground sensor can't fix. Appropriate for a planetary research base, there are two decontamination rooms to protect the samples we collect while they are being packed up. Can't forget all the temperature sensors to log data from. Such drastic differences between the air over the lava pit and off the cliff edge on the other side of the base.

Damnit, time to refuel the dropship engines again. Even with all this research happe.....glurp. Glooble. Herkar shlep.

Hungry. Must eat. Must spread. Must be more of us.......

END OF LOG.

Fun Words

A friend posted a picture on Facebook one day that featured a list of fun words to say.  I shared the picture on my own Facebook page with a promise to write a story featuring all the words.

For some reason, a court scene came to mind for this particular list of words.

“Your honor, I swear to you on my honor as a member of The Bar, that the events before you are nothing more than a simple misunderstanding that grew out of control. My client is innocent of any shenanigans. He simply wanted a sandwich from the best deli in town on the freshest pumpernickel in three counties. Not an unreasonable request but a strong desire we have all had at one point or another in our lives.”

With the screech of wood on wood, the lawyers pulls his chair back and sits down next to his client. The judge's gaze moves between him and the team of lawyers seated at the opposing table. Seated on her bench, this adjudicator could not bring herself to believe that a simple kerfuffle would require such a strong show of corporate force against a single patron.

With a nod to the legal show of force, the judge says, “You may now call your first witness. This is a simple case. If we don't lollygag and keep the malarkey to a minimum, then we can be done by lunch, dinner at the latest.”

The gaggle of lawyers look at one another then turn to focus on the man wearing the simplest suit among them. He rises, adjusts his coat, and steps around the table to address the judge. He speaks in a soft voice that carries throughout the courtroom so that nobody has to strain to hear him.

“Thank you your honor. We would like to call to the stand the manager of the deli, a Ms. Clarence Johnson.”

A bailiff calls out the door and then holds it open as a woman in a blue pantsuit strides in. She confidently walks up to the witness stand, sits down, and swears to tell the truth without a single pause. Her motions and speech full of confidence and pride.

The lawyer addresses the witness, “Ms. Johnson, can you please tell us what lead to the brouhaha that brings us here today?”

Ms. Johnson's eyes travel around the people in the courtroom, appearing to get the feel for her audience before she speaks. She glares at the single lawyer and his client and begins her testimony. Her voice is commanding and sharp enough that more than one person in the back cringes at her words.

“Your honor, it was a typical day at my business. I operate a deli downtown that is well known for its flavored meats and fresh breads. On the day in question the guy at the table over there entered my establishment appearing completely discombobulated and disheveled. The cashier working the front counter thought he appeared unsavory and requested I handle him before he reached the counter. Not wanting to put my employee through a potentially traumatic experience, I willingly stepped forward.

“The guy stumbled up to the counter and began to spout some gibberish. I calmly asked him what he wanted to order. He started getting louder and more belligerent. I maintained my composure and became flabbergasted when he started cursing at me and using profanities that were not appropriate for the environment of my family establishment. My confusion continued when he lunged at me and grabbed my blouse.

“It was at that point that I called to one of my employees in the back and asked them to contact the police. I then turned back to the guy and suggested he skedaddle before the officers arrived. He became erratic and started wildly gesticulating. He then proceeded to yell and scream at everyone in the dining area and wildly stomping towards the door. One of his feet caught a chair attached to the floor and fell. Before anyone could reach out to assist him up, the guy reached out to a promotional sign to pull himself to his feet. The frame was unable to hold his weight and it toppled on top of him as he fell a second time. He then stood up and lifted the frame from the floor. The sign was completely cattywampus in the frame. The guy staggered out the door before the police arrived.”

The charming corporate lawyer leans against the wall surrounding the witness stand. He looks out at the judge, his fellow legal team, the opposition, and the audience.

“Ms. Johnson, is that the last you heard from the gentleman that created such a disturbance in the deli?”

The witness shakes her head, causing the managed curls at the end of her bob haircut to bounce.

“No, not at all. About 18 days later I received a phone call from a law firm informing me that the deli was being sued for the medical costs incurred by the guy during the incident.”

The comfortably arrogant corporate lawyer struts back to his table and asks one final question with his back to the witness, as though asking it to the room at large. “What would paying those bill mean to the deli?”

Ms. Johnson sniffled slightly and pulled a convenient tissue from her sleeve cuff to dab at her eye. “The immediate costs would impact my plans for an expansion and damage investments in the employee retirement fund. If there were future medical payments required, it could eventually mean the shutdown of the deli itself.”

Another screech of wood on wood as the leader of the legal team sits down. “That is all I have for this witness.”

The judge looks from one lawyer to the Ms. Johnson and then to the single lawyer with his client. “Do you wish to cross-examine this witness?”

Without a sound, the solo lawyer stands up and adjusts his jacket. “Yes your honor, I do have some questions for this witness.”

He walks to the middle of the courtroom and stands with his hands cross in front of his waist. He turns his head slightly to look directly at Ms. Johnson. His eyes focusing into hers as he speaks. “You talked about the deli being your business, the employees being your employees, your plans for expansion. Do you own the Riverside Deli where this incident took place?”

From the opposing table one of the junior lawyers calls out. “Objection! The ownership of the deli has no relevance to this matter. It has no bearing on the circumstances of this case.”

The judge looks at the lawyer standing in the middle of the room before her. Without waiting for a question the lawyer responds. “The question has bearing on the validity of the witness's character and the accuracy of her statements about my client and the events that occurred.”

The judge nods, “I will give you some latitude but you must make it relevant quickly. Ms. Johnson, please answer the question.”

Ms. Johnson's voice is still strong but some of the confidence is gone from her tone. “ I don't own the deli, but I do manage it on behalf of the Miltons. In order to do my job effectively I have to consider every part of that business as mine. Every dollar in and out as though it comes from my personal wallet. Every employee is a member of my own family. That is how I manage the deli in order to make it the best possible business it can be.”

The lawyer stands still as he ponders the answer to his question. After a handful of heartbeats he asks another. “Did you plan on leaving court today feeling like you have bamboozled everyone here?”

Ms. Johnson blinks and all self confidence leaves her face. “I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

“Any manager that invests themselves that much into operating a business owned by someone else would have to be a total nincompoop to not be aware of security cameras and their recordings.”

“When the police arrived we tried to look at the security footage. Something had corrupted the data and the video files were unrecoverable.”

The lawyer uncrosses his hands and places them behind his back. “Yes, the original security surveillance system did seem to have some odd occasions of corrupted data. That is why the owners, George and Liza Milton, installed a new wireless surveillance system they could monitor and record from anywhere, including their home. The same home they were sitting in when they happened to hear their beloved deli mentioned on the police scanner they have in the living room.”

The lawyer raises his hand and signals to one of the bailiffs. A large screen is rolled in with a DVD player and other electronic devices hooked up. The single lawyer pulls a flash drive out of his pocket and inserts it into a port on the DVD player. “Your honor, I would like to enter the following video recording into evidence.”

The judge nods and the lawyer presses the buttons required to play the surveillance recording. Multiple views from multiple cameras appear on the screen. Overhead angles of the deli's cashier stations, dining room, kitchen area, and manager's office. The unmistakable figure of Ms. Johnson can be seen sitting in the manager's office doing something on her smartphone. There are a few people in the dining room with all three people placing orders and others lined up behind them. The lawyer pauses the video and addresses the judge.

“This is mere seconds before my client enters the establishment. Please keep in mind the testimony that Ms. Johnson just gave regarding the actions of my client and her responses.”

All color and confidence flows from the witness's face as the video restarts and everyone on the screen unfreezes. A single figure, dressed differently than he is in the courtroom but recognizable, enters the deli and walks towards the cashier. He calmly and quietly steps in line behind a woman with a bulbous bouffant and a child standing next to her. The mother was paying more attention to her phone than the child.

The child can be seen looking up at its inattentive mother, then to the cashiers busy assisting other customers, and finally at the man now standing at the end of the line. The child glances to check his mother's view one more time. In one fluid motion the child balls up a fist, turns, and lands a blow in the patiently waiting man's groin.

A cashier had looked up just as the blow is landed and the man doubles over. The child just giggles as the man moans. His breath is rough as he tries to get the attention of the mother who just brushes his hand away from her sleeve. The cashier asks the customer she had been helping and steps away from the register. She can be seen moving in and out of multiple camera views hurrying to the manager's office.

“Ms. Johnson, there has been an incident. You need to come up front immediately.”

A deep sigh can be heard as the manager's shoulders rise and fall sharply. Without pausing in what she was doing on her phone, Ms. Johnson can be heard on the recording. Her voice containing none of the peace and friendliness

“Seriously? Do I have to do everything? Can't you peons handle the simplest of problems? Must I do all the thinking and fixing of your little pissant problems?”

“Ma'am, a child has assaulted another customer. I can see what me may want if you would rather get some ice.”

Ms. Johnson can be seen putting her phone down in frustration on her desk and standing up aggressively. “You get the ice. I can't allow you to give away the whole place because of one little love tap. Get the ice and don't screw it up.”

Ms. Johnson can be seen moving through the camera views as she marches to the front of the deli. She can be seen moving through the door that separates the employee area from the section customers are free to roam in. She takes one look at the man still catching his breath and standing in a stooped posture. Her voice is full of contempt and arrogance as she speaks.

“What has happened here?”

The man's speech is breathy and full of pain. “That child punched me. Hit me in the family jewels. I just had a vasectomy and that region is very tender.”

On the recording the attacked man can be seen pointing to the inattentive mother and assaultive child. Ms. Johnson looks in the indicated direction. She practically runs to the mother that still hasn't looked away from her phone. Everyone in the courtroom is shocked as Ms. Johnson gives the mentally absent mother a hug. The people on the screen freeze again as the lawyer once again pauses the playback.

“Ms. Johnson, would you please inform the court who that woman is to you?”

The witness stammers for a second before replying in a quivering voice. “She, she is my sister.”

“Then the child that injured my client would be?”

“My niece.”

The lawyer winks at his client and smiles. “With that cleared up, why don't we let the recording continue?”

Motion returns to the screen once again. Ms. Johnson's excited voice comes over the speakers. “Sister, what brings you to my restaurant today? And how is little Julie this week? Growing like a weed still I see.”

The mother, without looking up from her phone, replies, “Hey there sister. I was doing some shopping when Julian wanted some lunch and we thought you could give us something from your little place here.”

A giggle bubbles from the direction of the young attacker. Ms. Johnson looks down as the little girl giggles again and points in the direction of the her human punching bag. The cashier had returned with a bag of ice that the man was holding gently against his groin. A tiny voice happily says, “That man is silly.”

Ms. Johnson pats her niece on the head affectionately. “And what did the silly man do?”

More giggles. “He made a funny sound when I hit him. He acted like the people in the silly videos.”

The child's mother finally looks down at her offspring. “Dearie, you know you aren't supposed to do things like that.”

Ms. Johnson takes in the whole scene. With a huff she puts her hands on her hips. “Don't worry about it. I'll handle him. Maybe a free side or something will fix him up.”

The lawyer freezes the screen one final time. He nods to the bailiff who rolls the monitor out of the courtroom. “Now Ms. Johnson, I say again, did you plan on leaving here feeling like you bamboozled all of us?”

Thank you for giving this little impulse write a read.  Please let me know what you think here on the blog or at my Facebook page.

Delivery

Life has been hectic lately.  Basically, this is a quick and dirty story about a sword that has been in my head for a long time.  It also mentions the legend of Orion.  The legend isn't accurate, but I like to think it's a good one.

I never thought my hobby and job would come together so completely. Who would have thought working for a small package handling service and a passion for ancient weapons would come together in one fantastic event?

I work for a small company that handles packages that can't be trusted to the major corporations. It's a small market and our customers are few, but very loyal. The boss likes to call us “Logistics and transportation specialists.” Really, we are just delivery boys and girls for the rich and elite. It is not unusual for me to have ancient paintings, some fancy device for the kitchen nobody really needs, and a case of first edition novels in the van while I cruise down one interstate or another. There are some days I spend my entire shift waiting around the office/warehouse for something to transport. Since I get paid the same either way, it doesn't matter to me if I actually have to work or not.

When I'm not on the road, I spend my free time sifting through legends and old tales looking for descriptions of weapons. I have a sketchbook full of notes and drawings of swords, bows, staves, hammers, and anything else that could be wielded. I don't bother with average weapons carried by every-day soldiers. Just specific items featured in legends or used by legendary heroes. I have three different variations of the flute used by the Pied Piper of Hamelin. Excalibur takes up nearly the back half of the book due to the varying accounts of its description, some more reliable than others.

One legend, because it is so rarely told, is the one of the hunter, Orion. Many people know of the constellation of the Hunter. Almost nobody knows why he is there. In the ancient days, he was a hero that traveled from village to village. Orion defended them from monsters and bandits and showed the villagers how to hunt large prey for their meals. He would then leave the village with no reward or prize of any kind. While the details of his description and actions vary, one thing is constant between all the stories. His sword. Every legend from every village spoke of the same sword. Because of the way the blade “blossomed” at the tip and Orion's efficiency in ending combat with it, it was frequently called the Omega Rose.

I was called to the back warehouse to get a custom container and take it for a special delivery. The customer was paying extra to have the run made immediately instead of waiting for other items headed in the same direction. I walked into the warehouse and heard a very loud bang. Around a corner I see a new hire standing over a black case similar to a guitar case but longer laying on the ground. A narrow crack ran from one side of the case's top to the other. Because of the average value of the items we transport, any incident of damage to the outside of a package requires a call to the owner and an inspection of the contents for damages.

The customer had just left the office's parking lot so he was fine with turning around and coming back to inspect his package. He used a complicated key to unlock a retaining rod and opened the case. Nestled in custom cut padding was the finest and darkest blade I had ever seen. The metal was black with deeper black highlights weaving back and forth across the width. While the blade seemed to absorb all the light that struck it, the hilt and handle shined more than a spotlight. My eyes ran up and down the length of the blade a couple of times before my brain finally realized what I was seeing.

I glanced at the owner as he held the case open. My mouth was numb and dry as I tried to speak. “Is that... Could that really be...?”

Without looking away from his careful inspection of the sword, he replied. “Forged in a pit of Hell from a stone out of the heavens. Bane of every foe of the wielder. Not a weapon of mass destruction, but certainly a weapon massive death. Carried by Orion himself. It is indeed the Omega Rose.”

I blinked repeatedly as he spoke. A blade I had dreamed about numerous times was sitting in front of me. I was lightheaded and couldn't believe what was right there. “This has to be a replica. There's no way it could be the real thing.”

The owner only smiled. “If it's a replica, it's a very good one. I've had it my whole life. Had it weighed and the balance checked so I could make a practice sword that matched it. If I ever need to wield it again, I would be ready.”

I reached out towards the sword so I could prove to myself I wasn't imagining it. Before touching the smooth blade, I glanced at the owner and he simply nodded. The blade felt like nothing more than solid air. I slid my finger up and down the flat of the blade. I could feel the pressure of fingers on the metal, but there was no friction. I pulled my hand away and looked at my fingertips to make sure they were still real.

The owner slowly closed the case and replaced the retaining rod and lock. As everything clicked into place, I felt as though a bright part of my life was being shut away. “Everything looks fine. Honestly, the case is more to hide what the sword is than actually protect it. Anything that would damage that blade would probably leave massive piles of rubble behind anyway. Now, do I need to carry this to the truck or would you like to load it?”

“I....I'll take it for you. The destination should already be programmed into the truck's automatic GPS. Thank you for letting me carry this for you.” With that said, I grabbed the case by the handle and carried it to the loading door. Even though the blade of my dreams would be in a case a few feet behind me and not in my hands, this would still be the best three days of my life.

Are there any constellations you have wondered why they are the type of figures they are?

Technomancy

In many areas, high technology and magic use seem to be mutually exclusive.  The two contrast each other so much, rarely are the featured together.  There are some exceptions of course.  The Harry Dresden books by Jim Butcher is the first example to come to my mind.  However, this has magic as an underground ability that exists in the shadows of modern life.  In these books, technology fails to work around power magic.

What if this didn't have to be?  What if magic and technology could coexist?  Like any other tale of the modern world, this would include people trying to do wrong with their skills and abilities and others trying to find and stop the evildoers.

One of these days I will learn not to answer my phone when the caller ID tells me it is the local PD on the other end.  I have no problems with law enforcement and they don't have any problems with me.  It's the tremendous amount of work that always follows one of those calls and the torturous bureaucratic chain of hoops I have to leap through in order to get paid for that work.  I am grateful for the pay since my public service clients are just barely enough to cover my costs in a good month, but investigating and consulting for the Police is so much more involved than locating the occasional missing husband or lifting an ancient curse that may or may not have been placed on a household.

I get out of my own head as I get near the address Detective Anderson had given me.  It was impossible to pull up to the front door of the building through the array of Police cars parked up and down the block and the yellow Crime Scene tape strung across the sidewalk.  Instead, I park in an alley around the corner.  Getting out, I activate the alarm and wave my hand to activate the magical wards.  Like the alarm, the wards wouldn't stop anyone from stealing my car, but would notify me and any other magic user in the area if someone tried.  In that case, other little tricks and spells I had in place would help me track the thief and teach them a little lesson at the same time.  The additions I made weren't exactly factory approved and would void any warranty and insurance policies, but I fee; better with them in place.  With the car protected, I nod and turn towards the street and start walking to the officers guarding the yellow tape as though it is the most precious material in the world.

The officer sees me coming and makes sure I am aware he sees me.  When I get within a few steps, he tries to puff up but doesn't seem any more impressive.  He puts a hand out to stop me in my tracks.  "You will have to find a way around.  This is a crime scene and nobody is allowed to enter."

This guy must be new to the Force.  It doesn't take long for me to become known to any officer on the job for more than six months.  With the types of cases I get called for, none of them forget me after we have met.  I keep my hands behind my back and move my fingers in a familiar yet complicated sequence.  A mote of light nearly invisible in the bright sun of the day appears and floats behind me.  A quick mental command sends it quickly far above my head and over the officer in front of me.  Quicker than he could blink, the mote of light is behind him and in the building, seeking out the target I had sent it after.

I stop and stand before the officer with my hands behind my back.  I don't puff up like he did, but I know I can easily take care of myself if the need arises.  There is no need to look more impressive with the energies I have at my command.  "I won't be looking for another way around.  As a matter of fact, I will be walking past that tape and entering the building behind you in just a minute or two."

The officer is torn between confusion and confidence in his position.  He knows he shouldn't let anyone pass, but the authority in my words has him unsure about my identity as just a passing civilian.  Before his mind can settle itself, Detective Anderson comes up behind him and puts a hand on the officer's shoulder.  Despite its gruffness, his voice calmed the officer and his authority cleared up any confusion.  "Let her pass.  She is with me.  Also, learn her face, she will not be delayed any time she shows up at a crime scene."

The officer raises the crime scene tape above his head and gestures me through with a quick "Yes, sir."  I poorly hide my smile as I nod at him after ducking under the tape and walking towards the front door with the chubby detective.

Anderson shakes his head as we walk side by side.  "I keep telling you that you need to get yourself an official license.  Then we could avoid moments like this every time some rookie is on duty."

I no longer try to hide my smile and let it stretch across my face.  "We've done this enough times, you know I won't ever get a government-issued badge as PD Mage.  It would cause too many issues with my side projects.  I also don't like the idea of someone remotely watching every little spell I cast.  Besides, that rookie will remember me more now than if I had just flashed some fancy piece of metal."

Anderson's voice loses all of the authority it had when speaking to the officer.  "I know all of that.  I just want to avoid the need for you to use that damn little wisp thing.  It creeps me out every time it buzzes in and whispers your name in my ear.  Give me the shivers every single time."

I chuckle as another officer opens the doors in front of us and Detective Anderson and I enter a large lobby.  "It's a sprite, not a wisp.  You wouldn't want me to summon a wisp and send it in your direction, trust me."

Anderson doesn't appear to be relieved by my clarification.  "They are all creepy critters to me.  You can give me a detailed lesson later.  Right now, we need to discuss why you are here."

I look away from Anderson and take in the lobby around us.  My first impression was that we were in the front room of a classic theater.  It took me a moment to realize we were in a bank instead.  Velvet ropes on gold plated stands for herding customers to the counter in the middle of the space where tellers would normally be waiting.  A number of desks sit behind a short wall to one side.  A hallway extends to unknown recesses opposite the enclosed desks.  A single door sits in the wall behind the teller counter directly across from the front doors.  Two officers, one to each side, stand watching over the door.

"I'm guessing someone robbed the bank and you want me to help you figure out how."

"The how is fairly easy to figure out.  The bank's cameras caught the whole thing.  What we need your help with is the who."

"If the cameras caught everything, why do you even need my help at all."

"It's because of what the cameras saw that we need your help.  Just three figures walking through the lobby full of customers and past the open door to the vault.  There two of them stand and wait while the third one walks through the vault door."

"I'm still confused as to why you need me.  Cameras see the figures and a lobby full of people?  What is the mystery here?"

"On the cameras the figures are nothing more than white blurs.  Almost like walking blobs of static.  None of the customers or employees saw anyone at all.  None of them could give any kind of description because they couldn't see anyone at all."

"So your perps used an invisibility spell or artifact.  The people here would be unable to see them and the visual distortion would be projected to the camera system.  Only a practiced Viewer here at the time would be able to see them.  Well, what about when they opened the vault door?  Did they leave any fingerprints or DNA or anything?"

Anderson waves the officers away as he opens the door to the vault room.  "That's just it, the suspect didn't open the vault door.  He or she walked THROUGH it while it was still closed and opened it for their accomplices from the inside.  This despite a mild electrical current being run through it and layers of wards on each side."

You take a good look at the oversized round metal door and skim over the protective runes engraved on it.  "That does complicate things a bit.  I understand now why you called me."

What would you do if you could control both magic and technology?  Would you do good or evil?  Would you help people or keep your abilities to yourself?

The Heat is On

It is hot.  Working in the heat and humidity has been draining me much more than usual.  I'm not using the usual summer weather as an excuse for being lazy and late with my post, but I have been exhausted lately.

With all of that in mind, here is a story I wrote with the prompt of, "A battle between some of your world's mages and their armies."

Flags flutter from the tops of tall poles. Tents line each side of a field. A field that was once covered in beautiful flowers. Now it is full of craters and stains. The grass is trampled and contains marks where bodies have been dragged away. As the sun rises over the camps, a single figure stands before the largest tent on each side.

The figures begin chanting in an ancient language. While their tones are similar, the words themselves are different. They gesture and move their arms in similar yet varying fashions. The chanted words begin to shape alter reality. Air shimmers and shifts. Wispy clouds overhead start building and becoming looming storms. The ground itself moves underfoot as tremendous powers are flexed and released.

The ground in one camp rises more and more. Small bumps become mounds. The mounds form new, unnatural shapes. Arms develop and muddy bases split into legs. The humanoid piles of solid and grass begin to line up in ranks between their camp and the field. Branches and twigs gather themselves into piles. The piles become laid out in skeletal shapes. Smaller pieces of wood form hands and fingers. They grip wooden bows that form themselves in the palms of the developing archers.

The magic being wielded on the other side has a different effect. Instead of rising up, here the ground splits open. Skeletal hands of true bone reach out of the chasms and grasp the ground above. With a grip as strong as Death itself, the multitude of hands grab the dirt and pull. Arms of bone begin to emerge from the holes. The arms are followed by torsos and heads as skeletal warriors of every type and size emerge ready to do battle. Some have swords strapped to their thin waists. Others have bows slung over their bare shoulder blades. A few are dragging studded clubs on the ground as they lurch towards battle.

Silence echoes across the land as the wizards each complete their summoning spells. Two unnatural armies face each other. The minions of each side advance towards the field. The commanding wizards stand and watch. Looks of concentration on their respective faces. Eyes darting from inhuman soldier to soldier. Slow advances become rushing charges as each army fills the field of battle.

Suddenly, the one sound that could bring the entire conflict to a halt booms across the entire realm.

"Sam, honey. It's time for dinner. Come inside and clean up."

A child stands up, multiple figurines and toys at their feet. "But Mom, I just started having fun."

"Dinner time is now. You need to clean up and wash your hands. If there is some light left, you can play more after you eat."

Now I will go back to a bit of a project I hope to have ready for my next post, maybe.

Other Point of View

My last blog post was a story about odd voices being heard in an abandoned hospital wing.  Today's post is the same story, but from a different point of view.  This time is the patient that is telling their side of the tale.

I have no idea what all has happened to me over the last few days. My doctor said the procedure would be a simple one. While I would have to stay in the hospital overnight, it shouldn't have been more than a day or two. I checked in almost a week ago and they still haven't given me a definite release date yet.

I have a grasp on most of the medical issues that have kept me from going home. They are all dictated clearly on my chart. An unexpected allergy to the anesthesia caused some complications during the surgery. It took me an extra day to recover from the anaphylactic shock before they could go to an alternate anesthesia and actually perform the surgery that I first needed. It took me longer than normal to completely wake up from the alternate anesthesia The doctor had actually told me this was a possibility with what they had experienced during the first attempt at my surgery. It was what happened while I was in and out of it during the day it took me to wake up that has me confused.

I only remember flashes and bits and pieces. I was on a gurney and being wheeled down a bright hallway. There were lots of people and noises. I can only guess that something major was happening. Next thing I know, I'm still on the gurney but in a darker part of the hospital. I'm being wheeled into a room with yellow walls instead of the white I've seen everywhere else. The attendant rolls my gurney into a space by the window and quickly leaves. I was too in and out of consciousness to realize I was now completely alone. At least I thought I was.

I couldn't tell you how much time passed while I was alone in that room. I just remember waking up to voices and nobody being there. Generally, it was only one person talking. It was difficult to make out his words, either from his soft voice or because the drugs in my system. I did think I heard the name Dr. Rizowski. I got the impression he was speaking to me, but I couldn't see him to be certain. Sometimes, I would hear more than one voice. Whole conversations passing back and forth over my sleeping body. I understood none of it.

Finally, I was starting to have more waking moments than not. The voices were still there. I looked around the room and saw nobody was there. I looked over the walls for a television or radio, there wasn't one at all. The only other thing I could think of was a loud TV or radio in another room. An orderly eventually came into the room and apologized for me being left alone for so long. Apparently, there had been a major accident involving a cattle truck and a passenger train. The hospital staff had been swamped with injured people and a couple of officers that were hurt by panicked cows. What happened next extended my stay in the hospital for a few days under observation.

The orderly repeatedly apologized for me being left in an abandoned wing of the hospital. It was little more than a mumble, but I told him I had heard voices in that wing. The orderly only shook his head. He said the entire wing had been unused since the hospital expanded. The previous guy had been in a rush to help with the people hurt in the train and had left me somewhere he felt would be out of the way. It had taken the majority of the day for someone to realize I wasn't where I was supposed to be and start looking for me. I mentioned that Dr. Rizowski had visited with me. The orderly suddenly stopped and asked me to repeat the name. I did and he was silent the rest of the trip to my new room.

I was watching some pointless show in my new room when someone from the psychological department came to visit me. The orderly had mentioned what I had said to her and she wanted to check on my mental faculties before signing my release. She informed me that there was no Dr. Rizowski currently working in the hospital. The only doctor with a name like that had been killed by a patient's disgruntled family member years ago. The hospital kept me three extra days to ensure my reactions to the anesthesia hadn't done any permanent damage to my brain. I quickly realized I didn't want to tell them about all of the other voices in that room so they would let me go home sooner.

Healers

A friend of mine had a recent visit to a hospital for a quick surgical operation.  After her recovery, she mentioned a drug induced dream she had during her stay.  Today's blog post was inspired by her spooky tale.

I first walked through the doors of this hospital so long ago. The years have passed in a single breath. I spend so much time here, it seems like I never really leave. Patients are rolled in and rolled out. More patients have come and gone, most of them successfully, than I care to count. So many patients use this hospital that they were able to afford a major expansion.

New wings of the building with fancy new machines and operating rooms with the equipment to allow doctors to perform all the advanced new techniques. The new rooms and fancy hallways meant the older wings would be used less and less. Eventually, the hospital bigwigs stopped sending patients down these halls and putting them in these rooms. Janitorial would only send someone to clean the floors as a hazing ritual for new hires. Maintenance would park inoperable gurneys and other pieces of equipment in the vacant halls while they waited for parts or an order for disposal. I was the only one that still regularly walked these hallways and entered these rooms.

I guess I shouldn't say that patients were never put in these unused rooms. Sometimes an intern would mislabel some transfer orders for a comatose patient or a doctor would want to temporarily “relocate” a patient that was healthy but still being difficult. Then they would be put in a room and I would watch over them. I would discuss their condition with them even though they generally were in no condition to hear me. Eventually, the intern's mistake would be uncovered or the doctor's nerves would have settled and someone would come to collect the patient I had carefully watched over. They would be would be returned to the normal, active, upstanding, shiny new areas of the hospital.

Even though it was rare for patients to be placed in the rooms I watched over, I was not alone. Many former patients would greet me in the halls. We would discuss many topics of the day. The weather, the local scholastic and professional sports teams, the latest entertainment releases. Conversations with these friendly souls did wonders to diminish the omnipresent boredom and silence when there were no patients for me to visit during my rounds. When a particularly difficult case would come under my watch, I would sometimes ask one of these former patients to visit and speak with the patient while I continued with my rounds. I will never get a chance to see follow-up reports or read dismissal charts. Because of this, I can't be certain if my efforts have any actual impact or not, but I believe strongly enough that it does good that I will keep on doing it as long as the hospital keeps accepting patients.

****** ****** *******

“Sir, I know you asked me not to report this any more, but it's happening again. We've had patients saying they have heard voices while in the older wings of the hospital.”

An older doctor sighs heavily. His impatience and exhaustion with the topic obvious. “Jensen, we will go over this one more time. The original wing of this hospital is unused and only rarely entered. Any patients that say they hear voices there are experiencing drug induced auditory hallucinations. We've sent out a number of memos requesting that patients no longer be placed in those rooms. If we are still getting reports of voices being heard in that wing, it seems those memos have gone unheeded. It seems we must draft a new one immediately and make sure every one pays attention. We must not let rumors grow that this is a haunted hospital.”

“But sir, these patient stateme.......”

“This is not a haunted hospital! There is no ghost of a doctor that died from a stroke while on his rounds. While patients have died in the long history of this facility, their spirits do not roam the unused halls. The patients that reported these voices were experiencing a side effect of the drugs that had been administered to them. This is the last time we will speak of this. If you mention it again, that will be the last words you utter as an employee of this hospital.”

Have you ever had an odd dream during an illness or while on one medication or another?

All Alone

One common thread through all of humanity is the occasional desire to be alone.  Even the heartiest of party animals desires a moment now and then to collect their thoughts.  For some people, this desire is much more powerful.  They avoid society at large except when absolutely necessary.  In this instance, the desire to be alone seems to become extremely dominant.

I've always felt a little lonely.  Even when in a group of people, I was still by myself.  Out at the club, I could be found in a quiet corner sipping on the one or two drinks I would order all night long.  If I attended an "intimate" party at a friend's apartment, most of my time would be spent looking out the nearest window or conversing with the resident cat.  At the few concerts I could be convinced to go to, everyone else would be standing up and singing their throats raw while I would be quietly sitting in my seat checking my social media feeds.  Honestly, most people didn't even notice my presence or absence in these situations.  I go more to avoid any awkward questions than out of any actual desire to party, dance at a club, or sing along with a band.

This weekend I took a chance to be truly alone with myself for a change.  I packed up some supplies, requested a week off from work, and headed up into the mountains for some camping.  Nobody for miles around.  No cell phone signal to interrupt my thoughts with calls or alerts.  No traffic rushing by outside my window.  Just me and my thoughts.  It was ideal until I woke up with a view different than the one I had fallen asleep with.

Plains roll out before me instead of the mountains.  Small flowers have replaced the old-growth forest.  The blue sky seems the same, just a different shade of blue than I'm used to.  A few puffy clouds drift near the horizons, not close or large enough for me to imagine any interesting forms out of their wispy shapes.

It takes me a minute to realize the complete lack of noise.  No chirping birds.  No insects buzzing by.  No animals growling as they rustle through the underbrush.  Even the wind seems to be particularly silent in the trees.

I have the feeling that I am so alone that even the Earth itself is ignoring me.  For once in my life, I am truly comfortable.  If only there was some way to tell exactly where I am and how I got here in the first place.  I'm less concerned with being able to get home than I am with getting back here to decompress later.

If you had one place to be completely by yourself, how often would you go there and how long would you stay?

More to come

It seems like I have had a number of projects all hitting me at once.  Finishing editing on a book and sending it to the publisher, working on ideas for longer Choose-Your-Own-Adventure style stories, family adventures, life in general, and many other things.  

One project required quite a bit of research and study.  Now I'm doing a preliminary writing of a story for a comic book.  The tricky part of it all will be the art.  Anyone that's seen my digital graphics knows I have little to no artistic talents.  Once I am done, I will be handing off the work to another to bring my ideas to print.  To aid them, I hope, I have began doing some rough layouts.  This is the idea I have for the first page.

Once I get things more polished and in process, I will let you know.  In the meantime, here are some of the stories from the group I'm working with.

Guard Duty

Aspects of this story have been plaguing my mind for about half of my life.  While this particular scene takes place deep underground, I have a specific physical location in mind.  There are still many aspects of the story itself still missing, but I believe I have one major character and a starting location all sorted out.

I sit here on my throne, at least that's what I consider it. It's truly little more than a stone that happens to be the right height for me to sit on comfortably and offer my aged back some support. On cold days, I am not above placing a couple layers of skins on the seat. Just to keep the cold stone from sapping too much of my strength, not out of a desire for padding. My time here is one of duty, comfort has no place when discharging a responsibility.

Here, I watch. Here, I observe the happenings around the world. Here I sit and see all that is to be seen and contemplate how I would go about solving the problems of society. There are many things I could do to solve those problems. Things I could move. People I could assist. Other people I could eliminate entirely. So many things I could do to solve all the problems there are and everyone alive would be better off afterwards. However, I am not permitted to do so until the time is right.

Such are my orders. Orders that were given to me at the same time as the powers I now possess. Powers that are granted by the very crystal that I now watch over. Powers that would forever solve humanity's problems, if the person wielding them didn't mind becoming the subject of adoration of hundreds of thousands of people and the hatred of millions more. Such is the reasoning of those that instructed him when he first accepted his post. Now, he just sits and watches the world go by without acknowledging his existence. Just as he likes it.

Not for the first time, I look around this place that has been my home for far too many lifetimes to count. It is a large underground chasm with more open space inside that many cathedrals. My chair sits on a 10 foot high ledge at one end of it. Along each side in front of me is two rows of statues. Four of them to each side, all facing towards each other. The statues are of humans wearing majestic hooded robes. From the area the robes pool around their feet to the top of their hoods is easily 20 feet. The faces on the statues all appear similar, but I have looked each of them over enough times to know the differences between the individuals. To a casual observer, the different figures would appear to be close cousins. After such a long time in the company of these stone-faced individuals, I know how unrelated they really are.

On the floor of the cavern, between the statues, is the only source of light I have had for my entire time here. It is a giant crystal that shines bright enough that I think the sun would seem pale in comparison, should I ever see it directly again. This crystal was created by the people that assigned me to sit here and watch. The same people that made the statues that stand in observance with me around the crystal. They imbued the crystal with its power and created it to continue to collect power over time. For generations I have sat here and watched it gather the light energy of life itself. I will continue to do so until the timing is right and the power is ready to be released, however many more generations that will take.

Adventure of Your Choice

One of my favorite series growing up was the Choose Your Own Adventure books.  Stories I could read over and over, taking different routes and reaching different endings each time.  I mentioned them before in relation to Wil Wheaton reading them live online.

For some reason, I recently got the idea to try and write a story in a similar style.  Obviously, some adaption had to be made for the digital method of choosing story options instead of simply turning pages.  I hope you enjoy it.

You are the First Officer of an exploratory space vessel. You stand and look over the bridge and see the other five officers working at their stations. The Captain sits in his raised chair next to your position. The bridge is relatively quiet as the large display screen shows a map of nearby solar systems and the status of various ship systems. All power levels, environmental systems, and faster-than-light engines are all showing green and functioning properly.

The peace is broken by the communications officer speaking up. “Sir, we have an incoming communication. It appears to be a distress signal from a colony ship en-route to Tau Ceti. A malfunction took out their FTL drive and some of their environmental systems.”

Captain Hogarth issues commands in a clipped tone. “Navigation, plot the colony ship's location and put it up on the main screen. Communications, reply that we are on our way and get their registry and the number of people aboard. Also, relay the signal to any other ships in the neighborhood. We don't enough space to transport an entire colony's population.”

You look down at the Captain as the two officers acknowledge and execute their orders. “Should I alert the Medical Bay that we will have injured incoming?”

“Let's wait and see how many people are hurt and whether their own medical facilities are functional first. No need to get the doctors and nurses all hot and bothered for nothing. We should notify the Marines that they will need to gear up to board in unknown conditions.”

You nod at him and glance at the navigational display as the colony ship appears on it. Even with the FTL drive at full power, it will take just over two hours to reach the same region as the stranded ship, then another hour running on the sublight engines to get close enough to dock.

If you use the ship's interior communications system to contact the Marine squad, click HERE.

If you take the lift down to the crew quarters and notify the Marine Lieutenant directly, click HERE.

This post was challenging on two fronts.  It was fun writing a story that takes many paths because I didn't need to decide which direction a story should take, I could let it take all the directions that came to mind.  The other challenge was creating the different pages for the different choices and linking them all properly.  In all honesty, I may do this again if people like the format.

Are there any other directions you would like to see the story go?  Comment below what you think.

Universal Power

There have been so many cosmic powers given to different types of characters.  Different versions of Captain Marvel have had stellar abilities.  Spider-Man briefly became Captain Universe.  The residents of Oa, founders of the Green Lantern Corps, have abilities that are practically god-like.  Many gods themselves have had heroic tales told about them.  The majority of these powers could be considered to be at the "galactic" level of cosmic powers.  What if a an average person were suddenly given "universal" level powers?

I know everything.  The bindings between electrons of different atoms are a breeze to calculate.  The secrets of gravity are but a plaything to me now.  I can also see everything.  I can tell what Heisenberg postulated was impossible.  I can watch as as galaxies collide and planets collide into rubble.  I can see life forming in the deepest recesses and intelligence developing in the light.  I can see how time flows and know how truly easy it is to move back and forth in the stream.  Normally, a person might be surprised to suddenly having the knowledge of everything that is and ever was.  I was comforted by one more thing I knew.  In addition to waking up knowing everything there is to know in all of existence, I also know why I've been given this knowledge.  I have been tasked with saving the universe.

Every few eons, as measured by our traditional meager human methods of tracking time, two great powers rise in the universe.  One is bent on manipulating every fiber of every type of energy for its own benefit.  If someone or something will not comply, it is destroyed without any further thought.  The other power prefers to let all life and existence continue on without any influence at all.  When the two powers rise, they come together and have a contest to determine which one shall maintain control of all existence for the next few eons.

Since the powers cannot influence the universe with their combat, the powers each select a handful of lifeforms and imbue them with the knowledge and abilities required to combat those selected by the other side.  Knowledge nearly as expansive as the powers themselves posses.  Awareness beyond that which any human scientist could ever even dream of.  Enhanced strength and the ability to survive in the vacuum of space.  Imagine The Incredible Hulk, Superman, Mister Terrific, and Sherlock Holmes all rolled into one powerful superhero.  Then multiply that by about a quadrillion and you might get close to a small inkling of what I've been given.

With the entire universe being at stake, a simple game of darts or one-on-one isn't going to be sufficient.  Instead something akin to an intergalactic obstacle course is established.  Tasks are assigned that require a combination of the newly gifted abilities and some of the organic intuition and creativity that is required in the short life of a mortal being.  Imagine a puzzle style video game where one level is altering atoms to create an element with specific magnetic and conductive properties and the next is is positioning planets and moons in a solar system in order to achieve balanced orbits around the central star.  Unfortunately, getting a Game Over means more than just having to load the last save point.

Even with all my new knowledge, I have no clue how long this competition is going to take.  I also don't know which team I'm on.  Should I help or hinder any fellow competitors I come across?  How can I tell if we are on the same or opposing sides?  Given what I know of the powers that are in competition, is this even a contest I want to win?

If you had the power to do anything, absolutely anything, how would you use it?  Would you achieve some personal goal or do something for the betterment of humanity?

The Reason Behind the Hunt

So many heroes are motivated by tragedy.  The main character of my current works in progress is no exception.  He decided to hunt Demons after watching his mother die.  While I work through and touch up my first draft, here is what you might call my hero's origin story.

I still haven't settled on a name for him yet.  In the meantime, I use "SonHunter" as a placeholder.

SonHunter had taken his pregnant wife and first two daughters to a local festival to boost the town's morale in the face of the Demon threat. A celebration to remind everyone of the days before Demons brought humanity down through fear and random destruction. His mother had been feeling ill and decided to stay home. He was never sure if she was truly ill or that was part of the Demon's plan to get her alone.

SonHunter was walking with his wife and children when the screaming started. He hurried his wife and children along so he could get them safely into the house before investigating the source of the suffering sounds. It was only when he saw the flames licking at the sky behind the house his family shared with his parents that he became truly afraid. He began running, ignoring the words of his pregnant wife and cries of his frightened young daughters.

SonHunter reached the field behind the house to see his mother's body completely engulfed in flames. Her clothes nothing but ash floating in the air as the Omega Demon stood nearby, laughing as the last breath of life left the woman. SonHunter reached into his pocket and grasped the crystal he kept there in case of emergencies without breaking his running stride. A primal roar of rage came out of him as he charged at the Demon. “You foul beast from Hell! What have you done?”

The Demon turned at his words and raised one hand. It seemed to grin as it snapped its fingers. SonHunter suddenly found himself frozen in place, mid-stride in his run at revenge. The Demon licked its lips in anticipation of more fun as it looked SonHunter up and down. Its attention wandered only when the sound of the cries of SonHunter's daughters came around the corner of the house, closely followed by the two girls with tears streaming down their faces clinging to their mother's hands.

The Demon turned to look at the new arrivals. SonHunter had never heard of any Demons speaking out loud until that moment. “Ah, even sweeter little things to play with.”

The fury in SonHunter began to build and rise. His vision tunneled in on the Demon, blanking out the rest of the world. He tried to force his limbs to move. Pressing against the Demon's imposed paralysis with every ounce of will he had. He had lost his mother. He refused to lose his wife and children as well. Not today, not now, not ever.

With another roar that seemed to shock the Earth itself with its ferocity, SonHunter shattered the spell the Demon had him under. He charged once again at the figure of evil and torture. The Demon's face was locked into a look of shock right up to the moment SonHunter thrust the crystal at its chest. The shock momentarily became pain before disappearing completely in the flash of light that signified a Demon's capture.

SonHunter's wife stood frozen in place, as though the Demon's spell had hit her when he broke free of it. The girls, his own daughters, cowered in fear behind her legs. Peering around their mother at the previously enraged form of their father. Fresh tears now flowing down their faces.

SonHunter took a step towards them. They all stepped back as one. He turned and walked towards the flaming remains of the bonfire and his own mother. Tears flowed down his own face. Tears from the heat of the nearby flames. Tears from the sudden loss of his mother. Tears from the reactions of his wife and children. Tears of a lack of hope for future happiness. On his face, he could feel a pair of cool streaks in the heat still radiating from the deadly fire.

Do you think anything more can be added to help the story along?  Do you have a suggestion for my main character's name?

Journalist's Journal

The government is always releasing information and reports.  So many people review these pages, it's doubtful any part of the original writing is left when it reaches the public view.  What if there was an ongoing event that the public was clamoring to hear about?  Who would write about what was happening?  I couldn't help but wonder how someone would record their thoughts about what was going on outside of the reports they knew would be seen and edited by government officials.

I have decided to keep this journal because more of the story needs to be told than is in the public record. Recent events have filled headlines across the country for weeks. Rampant violence in city streets. The central neighborhoods of small towns razed to the ground. It seemed to happen all over the country at once. Within a matter of weeks, Governors from nearly every state were dispatching their National Guard troops and requesting help from the Military.

The Federal Government sent troops to aid the local agencies. The President, in an attempt to improve her public image, hired a number of civilian writers to embed with the troops in the streets. My entire responsibility was to write down what I saw so it could be reported from a civilian point of view instead of some government mouthpiece. The idea was to appear more transparent than many previous administrations. Since everything I write is filtered through the high muckety mucks before it is released to the public, their activities are as transparent as a brick wall.

One part of the official statements that I have an issue with is the comments that the incidents are being contained. How can you contain something without knowing what is causing it? I was filing a report in the communications tent when I overheard an officer on the radio. Some scientists at a lab had failed, again, to locate the exact cause of the change in people. I'm not a doctor so I didn't completely understand everything that was said, but I did manage to catch a few words. Neurons, degradation, and adrenaline all stuck in my head as important to the conversation. It took longer than normal for me to process and flag my report. I intentionally delayed things so I could hear more of the conversation than I should have. While I didn't understand everything, I was able to determine that nobody had any kind of control over the situation.

Yesterday was my first encounter with people influenced by whatever is happening. I know none of this will make it to the public, but I have to record it anyway. I was put with eight soldiers to patrol an abandoned neighborhood. All of them were armed with machine guns, I was equipped with only my pen and a notepad. An APC carted us and a few other soldiers into the town. Our assigned patrol was the closest to the camp that is our headquarters, so we were the first group to unload. Once the APC was a couple of blocks away, everyone's attitude relaxed considerably. We weren't on an official military patrol, we were a bunch of friends chatting and strolling down the street. Jokes were passed around and cigarettes were lit. Everyone with a gun had it hanging loose with the safeties on. Nobody was ready for any kind of action. That's why we were all struck so hard by the ambush.

I don't know if the pack had planned the attack or we happened to walk into them as we rounded a corner. Either way, two of the soldiers were severely injured before we fought back. I dropped to the ground and kept my eyes open to see as much as I could. It was my first time to see what we were really up against. My first chance to see what the reports I had been writing and filing were truly about. My first view of what all of this was about.

As the attackers came at us, my first impression was one of a group of sweaty bodybuilders. Muscles rippled over muscles. Pecs flexing and pressing through tank tops and t-shirts. Calve and thighs busting the seams of tiny shorts. Skin stretched almost to the breaking point. Meaty hands swinging at the helmeted heads of the soldiers. Inhuman roars came from the attackers' mouths as they charged at us. These beasts were the embodiment of everything dark in the human soul wrapped in a bulky flesh. This is what the government says it has control over. The soldier that had his arm ripped off by one of the attackers might disagree with that. Fortunately, we managed to kill all of the animals before any one of our group was killed. It was a long walk back to the rendezvous point with the APC. The soldiers were all quiet, except for the occasional groan from the man with the shattered thigh bone that was leaning on my shoulder as we moved through the streets. A pair of medics treated the most severely injured soldiers on the way back to headquarters. Once there, I was given a packet of data from the other patrols to integrate into my report. I put the raw information in with some of the impressions I got from the attack I saw with my own eyes. I knew that not all of what I had to say would make it to the public. However, I added a few things that probably wouldn't make it past the censors just in case.

Weeks went by and I wasn't sent out on any more patrols. I was able to speak with soldiers as they came back. Many of them were injured. From what they told me, they had been attacked like the group I had been with. It did seem like fewer and fewer soldiers were coming back injured. There was no way for me to be able to tell if it was because there were fewer attackers or the soldiers were just more aware. Either way, word around the camp was that we would be moving along before too long. I was having lunch with a particularly lovely female soldier when she mentioned the duration of her orders. Apparently, their mission here was to eliminate all of the “infected subjects” before moving on to the next town and do it again. Lather, rinse, kill, repeat. With me as the happy writer telling everyone what was happening in the best light possible.

Would you want to know the truth behind an ongoing tragedy or are you fine with knowing only what someone else wants you to know?

Waking the Dead

I recently saw a picture of a unique headstone.  The epitaph engraved in the stone got the gears in my mind whirring.  While I haven't done a zombie story before, I thought I might give one a try.  Sort of.

There was no way of knowing anything like this would happen.  Although, looking back, it should have been kind of obvious.  I had gone in for my annual employee-mandated physical.  The doctor declared me alive and fit enough to continue working.  All of my vital signs were good and the tests they ran on my blood all came back just fine.

The company paid for a catered lunch for everyone.  It was largely a bribe to make sure we all showed up for our physicals.  It was also a chance for the company to have a captive audience while someone read off all the announcements they wanted to make us aware of.  Of course, hardly anyone paid any attention.  We had already received these important announcements in emails, through notices in the break room, and in our weekly meetings with our supervisors.  Everyone just kept on eating and talking to each other while some poor soul droned on about safety initiatives and corporate goals achieved.  In more than 15 years with the company, I can gladly say I don't think I ever heard a single word that was said by the announcer at these lunches.

This year something new finally happened.  The corporate speaker said the doctor's office that had just finished with us had a request to make.  A young and attractive nurse walked up to the stage at the front of the conference room where the lunch had been served.  She said that a research lab had recently been approved to test a new flu vaccine on humans.  Since all of our basic health statistics was now on file, the doctor was offering $200 to anyone that wanted to be a test subject for this vaccine.  I figured I would go for it.  I just had to get a small needle in my arm and I would have plenty of money for beer at the bar without my wife complaining about me dipping into our grocery fund.  Why not, what could go wrong?

For the first few days, everything was fine.  I didn't feel any different.  Just my normal self with the normal aches and pains of a normal life.  Until the day I woke up in the morning with pain in my toes.  It almost felt like my toenails were trying to slice into my toes themselves.  At the same time, my toe bones were trying to press themselves out from the inside.  Fortunately, this lasted less than two minutes.  At first, I figured it was just a cramp or something.

Over the next couple of weeks, the pain spread from my toes and up through my body.  It was enough to wake me up each morning, but didn't last long enough to have any impact on my day.  My wife kept urging me to go see our doctor.  As long as I could keep working and hanging out at the bar after my shift, I wasn't going to bother.  What harm could a little bit of pain do anyway?

My wife finally got her way and I went to see a doctor when the pain reached the top of my legs.  For about three minutes I just laid in bed.  I probably could have moved my legs, but I didn't want to because of the sheer amount of pain coming from them.  Every muscle was irritated by the skin around it and the bones underneath it.  The bones were being squeezed and compressed by my muscles.  My skin seemed to be outraged by everything and wanted to let me know about it.

Even though I had called my family doctor, not the corporate one that did my physical, right away, his first appointment wasn't until three that afternoon.  Just like all the other days, the pain had faded shortly after I woke up.  There was nothing for my doctor to detect.  He still gave me a full examination to be sure.

A few days after that, I woke up with pain from my shoulders down. I carefully rolled over to look for support from my wife.  She wasn't there.  She had called the doctor before I would wake up.  He was coming into my room as I laid there, curled up in the fetal position.  Every part of my chest screamed in agony at me.  The doctor did as much of an examination as he could with me in a tight little ball.  He did manage to draw some blood despite my immobility.  After a few moments, like every other day, the pain faded and I was able to continue with my day.

The day after that was the most painful morning of my life, literally.  Every part of my body was screaming in pain.  My hair trapped between my head and the pillow was quivering in agony.  My earlobes burned with the sound of my very heartbeat.  My eyes burned as though I was staring at the sun, even with them closed.  I would have screamed but my lungs hurt too much to expel the air necessary.

My wife called an ambulance and our doctor.  She came into the bedroom in a worrying fit as I was about to pass out from the pain.  I barely managed to roll over and look at her.  As my mind started to retreat into darkness to escape the extreme agony, I managed a slight grin and whispered to her, "Wake me if anything interesting happens."

Unfortunately, the ambulance didn't arrive before my escape into the darkness became a complete retreat.  They declared me dead.  A funeral was held a couple of weeks later.  I can only guess it was a beautiful ceremony since I wasn't exactly in a position to see it myself.  Per our agreement before we were married, my wife had my final words to her engraved on my headstone.  It is probably one of the more unique phrases in that particular cemetery.  It is much more memorable than the typical "Beloved son and father." or "Loved by all."

I have no way of knowing how long I was in the coffin.  I just know that I was suddenly awake and aware.  None of the progressively expanding pain that had plagued me near the end of my life.  Just a sudden sense of being awake and in darkness.  A lot of darkness.

I felt above me and pushed against the lid of my coffin without realizing I was in one.  I sat up and looked around.  I should have been in a panic and freaking out about waking up in a coffin above the ground of a cemetery.  I was a little surprised at how calm I was feeling about it all.  I realized two things at about the same time.  First was that my body was oddly intact for someone that was in a coffin.  The second was that I couldn't tell if it was early morning or late afternoon since both horizons glowed as though the sun was just out of view.  Apparently something very interesting had just happened.

Zombies have been the mindless villains of so many stories, why not have one as a hero?  On a side note, is there a unique phrase or quote you want on your headstone?