Maybe Another Time, Post-Meridian, When you got no place to go...

There are two things that I had a problem with while writing this story. Coming up with a title, and deciding on the name of the main character. Maybe Another Time is just as much a place holder as Post-Meridian and When you got no place to go... were. It's odd because I usually have no problem titling my stories. All I can think of is that this is a more realistic story than I usually write so an obvious title doesn't jump out at me like it usually would.

Naming the main character was/is even more difficult. I can't put my finger on why, but no name really seems to work. Darren is my fifth or so choice after Kelly (original, I know), Steve, Alden, and David. I'm willing to concede that the character is a lot like me, and that's why I can't choose a name that I feel "fits."

As for the story, I wrote it for my Creative Writing class earlier this year. The criteria called for a story broken into three parts, and the people in my group were having a hard time figuring out how to do that. So being the helpful person I am, I gave a very brief example of a brother picking his sister up from the airport. Obviously I expanded on the idea as I was talking to them and turned it into the story below.

I'm proud of what I wrote, though as I was reading it over to put it on here I changed a few things. I feel there's still more I can do with it, so this should be considered the most current iteration. Well, I hope people like it.

Maybe Another Time Pt. 1

_____“Your sister’s flight is going to land-“
_____“I know!” Darren cut his mom off, irritated at the apparent lack of trust. He was just about to close his laptop, get his jacket and leave for the airport when she called up to him. The laptop stayed open however. “At gate B16, 9:43 post meridian, our adventurous Caitlin will finally be home. Goody.” The last part he muttered under his breath. His mom seemed to hear it however.
_____“I don’t want that attitude Darren. Just, please, get off of your computer and go pick up your sister.”
_____Darren complied. He didn’t want to upset his mom any more than the current situation already had, and her voice was beginning to show signs of strain. He closed the laptop and dropped it onto his bed. Looking outside only served to make things worse. The window was spattered with rain drops, and each one had a dull yellow glow from the corner streetlight.

_____It was an especially chilly November, and he could hear the wind rushing steadily against the house. This made the job of picking up his younger sister from the airport even less appealing. Why she can't just get a damn cab. Darren picked up his jacket and went downstairs, certain he had a brooding look on his face. He got to the bottom of the stairs and was turning into the living room when his mom called from the kitchen.

_____“Darren.” His mom’s voice was calm, but tired. He hesitated for a moment, not sure what she was planning to say to him. Probably more excuses for his sister, but he went to the kitchen anyway; he didn’t want to upset her. She was sitting at the small round breakfast table, dressed in her nightgown and leaning over slightly with her hands trying to keep themselves occupied. He went over to her and sat down. For a few seconds there was only silence. Feeling just a little awkward, he looked past his mother and into the back yard. The sliding glass door was bone dry, but he could see the kitchen lights shudder every time a strong gust of wind hit the house. His mom broke the silence.

_____“I don’t want you to say anything to your sister about her trip when you pick her up. She’s had a hard enough time without her brother piling it on. Just pick her up, and bring her home.” Darren was still looking outside, watching the tree in their backyard lean in the wind. “Darren?” His eyes left the tree and met his mother’s.
_____“Yeah.” He knew he sounded non-committal, but he talked through it. “I won’t say anything to her. I don’t even want to talk to her right now if that helps.”
_____“Darren, please. It’s not your sister’s fault. She thought she was ready for school, but it just didn’t work out.” The tiredness in her voice became more apparent, but it held no remorse, and that’s what finally served to set him off as he stood up from the table.
_____“Of course it just didn’t work out. She’d only been there a few months, and I doubt she even tried while she was there. Now because of that wasted effort, there’s a bill sitting around waiting to be paid and you don’t even care!” Darren heard the words he was only thinking come out of his mouth, and he would have regretted them if they weren’t true. He only regretted that his mother was the only one to hear them.
_____“It wasn’t a waste, Darren.” Her voice wasn’t like he thought it would be after saying what he did however; there was only more exhaustion in it. “Caitlin did what she thought was best, and I’d rather have you kids do that than do nothing. Just because you got through college in one go doesn’t mean that’s how everybody should do it.” Darren wanted to argue, but his mother stood up from the table and flattened her nightgown. He stood taller than she did, but the height made very little difference. “Darren, please just go pick up your sister. Okay sweetie?”
_____Darren sighed in mild defeat, though still upset with his sister and seemingly shrank a few inches. “Okay Mom.” She hugged and wished him goodnight, went to her room, and closed the door. The light from underneath met momentarily with the fluorescent light of the kitchen, but it blinked out and broke the connection. Darren looked at the clock on the wall, and headed for the door.

Maybe Another Time Pt. 2

_____It was easy for Darren to get out of the neighborhood as it was usually quiet at that time of night, but just as he suspected, the way to the airport would not be so simple. It had stopped raining, but the streets were so pitch black that they soaked up any and all light. All that could be seen were the intense headlights and the dim, then suddenly bright tail lights of the other cars on the road. Darren loved to drive, but this love was always hampered by the fact that everybody else loved to drive as well.

_____It didn’t help that most of them were terrible at it. Why are you following so close, you jackass? was a constantly recurring thought. Yeah, see? And then that happens. Idiot. Naturally, he always put the blame on the other motorists, because that’s where it usually belonged. Darren knew wasn’t a perfect driver, and was well aware that such a thing didn’t exist. He felt that George Carlin had put it best: Have you ever noticed how anyone going slower than you is an idiot, and anybody going faster than you is a maniac?
_____
_____But Darren wasn’t getting annoyed at the idiots and maniacs. Having to slow down yet again because drivers aren’t patient made him think of his sister, and how it was her fault he had to deal with the huddled masses. He knew he shouldn’t say anything to her, but he was thinking up some mean remarks regardless of the promise he made.
_____“Come on short stack, your loser drop out chariot awaits.”
_____“Hurry up. People with lives have better things to do tonight.”
_____“One of those suitcases is going to have to go on the roof.”

_____The brake lights of the car in front flashed on and bounced as the car practically ground to a halt, catching Darren by surprise. He slammed on his brakes and slid to the right, bumping the empty curb before slotting back into the slow procession of cars. “Sonuva bitch! Pay the fuck attention!” This was directed more to the car ahead of him, as there was still plenty of space between them, but barely any between that car and the one in front of it. He knew he deserved some of the scolding though. From what he could tell, there was no damage, and he felt no difference when he drove away. It was little consolation however, as he still had to put up with these idiots for another seven miles at least.

_____Why she couldn't have gotten a cab.

_____He knew exactly why. Though their parents paid for her to go to college, she was the one who paid for the flight back home. She really pushed for it; she scrounged up what money she had, desperate to prove that she was capable of being independent on at least some level. Even so, He was still the one that had to go and pick her up. He had to watch it all unfold on the sidelines, and keep his mouth shut even if he was trying to be helpful. She refused to talk to him when the trouble started, and that’s what hurt him the most. Now that it was all over, he had to play the nice brother.

_____The scattered cars before him weren’t a bother like they were a few minutes ago. They were all on the freeway now, and everybody liked their space when going 65 miles per hour. But Darren was sick of looking at a sea of idle tail lights, and became a slight maniac to those he was now passing. He officially didn’t care anymore. He didn’t even want to say something nasty to his sister when he got to what would surely be a crowded airport. Maybe he did, but he felt an annoyed silent treatment might be the better choice.

Maybe Another Time Conclusion

_____Thankfully, mid-November turned out to be a not so busy time for air travel. Getting into the airport was a bit of a hassle, having to wait for the cars ahead of him to stop at the parking booth to get their ticket. A lot of them turned out to only be dropping off instead of picking up. Darren watched them stop along the terminal entrances, letting passengers out to make their late flights. Some goodbyes were more sentimental than others, with the driver getting out as well.

_____Darren was grateful to find a parking spot close to the terminal. He knew he’d have to carry some of his sister’s baggage back to the car, and he wanted as little responsibility as possible. She didn’t want his help while she was at school, so she shouldn’t need it now. He looked at the clock on his car stereo and was surprised to see it was already 9:58.

_____“Crap. With my luck she’s probably already off the plane and waiting for me. She better not have called Mom.” Darren turned off his car and got out, locking the door as he did. He avoided puddles on his way to the terminal entrance, but stepped in what was likely the last and deepest one. He swore as his shoe and pants leg dripped, and left a single, wet foot print on the white tile floor of the terminal as he walked. He went to the directory, listening to the ‘squeak-step, squeak-step’ of his feet as he went.

_____It wasn’t that big of an airport, so the baggage claim where Caitlin would be was fairly close by. He got himself pointed in the right direction and briskly walked to the baggage claim, the ‘squeak-step, squeak-step’ slowly fading away as the bottom of his shoe dried. He was not happy, to say the least. He wanted out of that airport, done with the traffic and back home in his bed where he could pretend his sister was somewhere else.

_____He rounded the corner and saw the baggage claim, and the people huddled around it occasionally stepping forward to grab their luggage. A portly older gentleman leaned forward and grabbed a carry on that seemed much too small to handle everything he would need for a trip. The man walked away from the crowd, peeking into his bag as if to make sure nothing was missing. When Darren looked back at the waiting crowd, he saw Caitlin. He was about to call something rude out to her when somebody stepped up and bumped her out of place. She didn’t fall, but she didn’t step back to where she had been.

_____Darren watched his sister just stand there, dejected. She wore a simple jacket, t-shirt and jeans, that all hung limply on her. Her hair wasn’t even the usual raven colored sleek it had always been. Instead it was slightly tussled, with errant strands sticking out. But that was nothing compared to the look on her face. There was a miserable sadness that he’d only seen once before; when she was seven and her favorite toy bear had gone missing. Her lips were tight, holding back a desperate need to break down. From the corner of her eye to the bottom of her chin was a thin, faded grey trail where her tears streamed silently.

_____In that moment, Darren forgot everything about the mean things he was thinking and thought he wanted to say to his sister, who had only wanted to prove her worth and independence. He walked up to her and placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

_____“Hey, Caity.” He said as warmly as he possibly could.
_____She looked at him, the corner of her mouth lifting a tiny amount, and spoke a softly audible “Hi.” Darren felt genuinely surprised that she could manage that much. She was so unlike herself at that moment. Darren put his arm around his sister’s shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Thanks for picking me up Darren.” She snuffed her nose, still trying to keep herself somewhat composed.
_____Darren snuffed his nose too, fighting the urge to cry. “Any time.”


The End

The Sight I Like

Like a low hanging ceiling,
softly lit and threatening collapse,
the winter clouds were both peaceful
and ominous.

Mirroring fog that reflects
electric light, easing the grip of
the murk and dark of early night
that surrounds us.

Edgeless shards, flaking from the whole,
tumbling down and scattering in
the false warmth of iron candles
that never melt.

I like to walk in this new world,
a fresh white slate, never blank for long
when I turn around and see me
as I once was.

I wrote the first stanza of this last October, but I wasn't able to finish or even add on to it since then. Then one day in Creative Writing, I rearranged what I had into smaller lines and the ideas popped into my head.

After some tweaking, chopping and reworking of the stanzas (along with a deadline) I have what I believe to be the final product up there.

It has a lot of imagery and an overall sense of tranquility that usually comes with winter nights, so I think it's effective at evoking the feeling of quiet frosty night. I may not like winter and snow as much as I used to, but I can still appreciate falling snow. As long as it's gone soon.

Everybody, Into the Pool

There are different methods of entry
Diving, falling in, friends having fun
At your expense, a stranger may push
Right into the deep end you go
Under the surface, now as a veil
Separates you from the world above

There’s a gentler way in
The kind that doesn’t arrest
Your breathing, gaining momentum
As you step inch by inch
Into that one of a kind
Miraculous matter, necessary for life

Up to your waist, every lap at your belly
Freezing, adaption, freezing, adaption
Your breast, swelling less
Adaption, adaption, your throat relaxing
You are very nearly swallowed now
It feels nice, so you stand up
To feel a final breath of the world
Once more
Before the mortal plunge


This, is a poem about dying. I had to come up with a metaphor for dying, but for the life of me I couldn't think of one. I stayed up pretty late trying to hammer something out, but it just wasn't coming to me. Then the pool metaphor just popped in my head, and the similarities started to come together as well.

My favorite lines of the poem would have to be the following, because it sums up both water and death perfectly:

Into that one of a kind
Miraculous matter, necessary for life

Scientifically speaking, water is a miraculous matter as there really isn't another substance like it in the universe, and it's necessary for life. In the same way, death is miraculous as well and there's nothing quite like it in the universe either. It's also necessary for life.

This is essentially the final version for now. I've made a few edits since the first draft, just to make it a bit more obvious that it's about death. There's still a bit of ambiguity in there, but once the reader has finished reading, it should be clear what it's about. It has quickly become one of my favorite poems of mine.

I'd love to know what do you think about it.

Dammit McClanaghan: Rogue Cop: Episode 17: The Case of the Ultimate Orphan Fighting League or Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow... blow Pt. 1

____It was a cold day in August. It was cold because of revenge. Because revenge is best served cold. But it might have been the air conditioning. Dammit McClanaghan shivered lightly as he psyched himself up for what he was about to do. The rumors had been swirling for months that the nefarious crime boss Mufasa was putting together an Ultimate Orphan Fighting League. An operation of such epic proportions made the closed office door that stood before him an imposing barrier, saying, “Yeah, good luck with that.” A smack talking door was the least of Dammit’s worries however, as he had a drug dealing, freewheeling, candy stealing… He had some revenge to get.

____“Okay boys. Mufasa’s on the other side of this door. The front desk lady said so, and she seems like a nice person.” Suddenly, there was a courteous ‘ahem’ from down the hall.
____“Sir?” The nice lady from the front desk poked her head into the hallway and called over to Dammit, who, despite speaking as if he were leading a task force, was quite alone. He was a rogue cop after all. The questionably nice lady continued. “While I did say that Mr. Mufasa is in his office, he’s currently not taking any visitors.”
____“That’s fine. Because visiting hours are over.” Dammit ignored the formerly nice lady who now sported a look of confusion, and kicked in the door. “Hey Mufa-” But the door rebounded and slammed shut, the small bronze placard falling to the floor with a clatter. His entrance ruined, he knocked briskly and entered the office of his arch nemesis.
____“Ah, Officer McClanaghan.” the words issued forth slimily as he spoke, like a corrupt insurance adjuster “What an explosive entrance you have.”
____“Hello Mufasa. What a terrible accent you have.”
____“Thank you. I’ve been taking stereotypical villain elocution lessons at the learning annex three times a week.”
____“Really? How’s that been going?”

____The two mortal enemies traded vicious barbs as each searched for a weakness that could be exploited. Their minds like steel traps caught in a knife fight, and neither had thought to bring a gun. While the opportunities offered by the learning annex were fascinating, it was only a distraction. Dammit had come to expose the wicked plot that Mufasa was cooking up, and not even polite conversation could stall him forever.

____“That’s enough Mufasa! Where are the orphans for your Ultimate Orphan Fighting League?!”
____“How would I know, this isn’t a lost and found.”
____“He had me there.”
____“I had you what?”
____“Be quiet, I’m monologuing.” Dammit regained his composure, and continued. “Mufasa had me there. He’d never dabbled in Orphanry before, and it seemed unlikely that he would start now.”
____“Because I haven’t, Officer McClanaghan.” Mufasa made an outward, sweeping gesture with his arms, inviting Dammit to look around. “As you can see, I don’t have any orphans in my office.”

____Dammit couldn’t argue that point, as there were indeed no orphans to be seen amidst all of the men dressed in clean room suits and respirators tending to massive piles of white powder. Dammit wasn’t quite sure what it was that he was looking at, but it looked oddly familiar. He stepped forward to the thick glass wall and scanned the room intently. Mufasa had apparently lost interest in his presence, as he was now shuffling through the rolodex on his desk.

Dammit McClanaghan: Rogue Cop: Episode 17: The Case of the Ultimate Orphan Fighting League or Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow... blow Final

____“What are those men doing in there?” Dammit looked over his shoulder at Mufasa, who had suddenly paused. “Because it looks like they’re making cocaine.”
____“Don’t be silly, Dammit. That’s not cocaine.” His grimy voice briefly paused. “They’re refining flour.”
____“Then why are they wearing clean room suits and respirators?”
____“Because it’s bleached flour, you simpleton. I don’t want my men breathing in bleach fumes, now do I.”
____“Oh, I’m sure there are a lot of things you don’t want. But I have everything I need to bring you in.”

____Dammit pulled out a piece of printer paper, carefully folded, but slightly wrinkled from being in his pocket for the last few hours. He unfolded it and showed it proudly to Mufasa, who remained suspiciously nonplussed. “This is a free conviction coupon, and I’m using it on you.” Dammit smiled triumphantly, and handed it to Mufasa for some inexplicable reason.

____“Free conviction coupon, hmm?” Mufasa examined the document, still “Is that a watermark I see? Very impressive. Did that take a lot of work, or…?”
____“Not really. I found a great plug-in for Photoshop that does ‘em pretty well.”
____“Well, it was all for naught, Officer McClanaghan. You can’t bring me in with a forged conviction coupon. Or a real one for that matter, as you’re no longer on the police force.”
____“I may be rogue, but I’m still a cop!” This was met with silence by Mufasa, who had his hand to his ear. The silence made the room grow still; to the point that even the muffled sound from the clean room with all of the unrefined bleached flour could be heard. Soon, even the sound from the flour lab was drowned out by the crushing silence. The room was so filled with silence- ____“Did you hear me Mufasa?” Dammit asked, undeterred by the fact that the narrator wasn’t finished explaining how quiet the room-
____“I was on the phone. Do you mind?” Mufasa barked at Dammit, who was clearly offended at being treated this way (welcome to the club). “Now look. I don’t have any Ultimate Orphan Fighting League®, and flour futures are a secure investment now.” Mufasa got up from his desk and gently took Dammit by the arm. “You can’t arrest me for having a successful financial future, now can you. Now-“
____“Please stop saying ‘Now’.” Dammit put up little resistance as he was being escorted from his nemesis’ evil lair in Suite E of the Applied Calamity Inc. office complex.
____“I shall do no such thing. Now, I want you to leave my office, apologize to Becky for being so brutish, she’s new after all, and be on your merry, little, rogue cop way.” Mufasa gave one final push, putting McClanaghan out of his office as he closed the door.

____Dammit looked down the hall way and saw Becky, still peeping with a puzzled look, when he realized something he’d missed. Despite being short a pithy remark, Dammit kicked in the door, successfully this time.
____“I told you Stanley, I want at least 18 of them… yes… yeah, it’s going to be single elimination round, so I need some alternates- hey, hold on a second.” Mufasa looked up at Dammit, but before he could say anything, Dammit spoke.
____“Hey, sorry.” He bent over and picked up his wallet that fell out of his pocket as he was being escorted out. “Dropped my wallet. What’s that phone call about?”
____“I’m ordering Chinese… for my men back there.” Despite being in a sound proof, Plexiglas box, the men inside immediately stopped what they were doing, and began to celebrate.
____“Well, you’re gonna need a lot more than 18 then, that’s for sure.” Dammit said, as Mufasa gave a withering smile, and waved him from the room as he continued his phone call.

____Dammit gave a small bow, silently apologizing for the interruption. He made his way down the hallway, spooking Becky, who quickly ran back to her desk. Dammit was so close to finally catching Mufasa, but just like all of the other times, Mufasa had slipped through his fingers. As to what he should do next, he was stumped.
____“I’m stumped.”
____I just said that.

The End
Next Time, On Dammit McClanaghan: Rogue Cop
“Alright, fine. Kill their whole family.”
“You can’t be serious Jokester!”
“Shut your mouth, Dammit! I’m never serious!
Next Time, On Dammit McClanaghan: Rogue Cop: Episode 18: Enter the Jokester

New Poem - The Cowgirl

I've written song lyrics for years now, and I have hundreds of them; complete, unfinished, titled, untitled, nothing but a title and ideas that never managed to form. As far as actual poetry goes though, I don't have much. We've started the poetry section in Creative Writing, and this is my first one. I just wrote it tonight, but the general idea has been kicking around in my head for a while. As usual, comments are desperately wanted and very much appreciated. Not just on this entry either.

I still have my other two stories from class to put on here. One is a serious piece that my professor labeled as an 'Excellent story', and the other is about a rogue cop named Dammit McClanaghan. I'm sure you can accurately guess what genre that one belongs in. So, I present to you, dear reader,

The Cowgirl

I haven’t read you
Your accounts and travels
How you saw the changes
Tectonic shifts in their infancy
The world on the road to brutal discovery
And the cowgirl
Uncomfortable, wrapped too tightly
A square among squares
Yet unable to fit into the same hole
A sight more common today
But you probably knew that

Not all cowgirls are girls
They’re fakes
Wearing the same restricting uniform
Donning the same brand of conformity
The kind everybody wears, but few know
The four brothers
The digital fruit
The apparent apparel line’s labels, screaming single file
Hardcore
If that’s what you’re living for
But you’re too cool to ignore

I haven’t read you, your scroll
I don’t know if she’s there
The fake fitting in
The girl that’s a square
She exists, they all do
Am I different because I know this?
Am I too self aware?

I remember where I heard it
I was in high school
In my English teacher’s classroom
I know that I overheard it
I was just an observer
Just like you, Jack
But people listen to you

Drifting, falling, floating, weightless... Intro

This is the second story I wrote for my Creative Writing class, but it came from an idea for a story I've had for a while. The original story is called '30', and it's about a guy living in a society where people don't celebrate birthdays by single years, but instead every 10 years. So he's 20 turning 30 and reflecting on what he's done and what he has to do now.

As I was writing it however, I realized that a premise like that required more than a few pages to really flesh out. I decided to keep the turning 30 aspect, and made a simple love story instead. Since the birthday would no longer be the focus of the story, I changed the title to 'Drifting, falling, floating, weightless...' which is taken from the chorus of the song 'Major Tom (Coming Home)' by Peter Schilling. I personally got it from the cover by Shiny Toy Guns, which I was listening to over and over as I wrote it. The title also follows the progress of the story, which was a nice little bonus as it was changed after I finished the story.

So, enjoy Drifting, falling, floating, weightless

Drifting, falling, floating, weightless... Pt 1

____Michael walked down a deserted street, ignored the mumbling, oddly familiar shapes, and tried his best to follow a very familiar shape that was very effectively eluding him. The looming, non-descript buildings that lined the street wouldn’t stay still. They leaned over as he walked past, as if to examine the only solid thing to have walked past in however long the street, the shapes or they had existed. Something started to speak in abrupt, shallow, prodding waves.

____Michael knew the very familiar shape was close. He just needed to focus on it; he needed to stop and grab hold of it. The waves of sound called clearer, and ripped Michael’s gaze away from the very familiar shape that had finally started to clarify. Instead he now saw the white matte finish of his ceiling, and could clearly hear his alarm clock and its sharp wail.

____“Happy birthday.” Michael sighed. He reached over the edge of his bed and turned the alarm off. He could now hear the cooling air that was spilling out of the vent above his head. Without even getting up to look out the window he knew it was cloudy outside. The light that streamed in through his window would slowly dim before returning to its unfiltered radiance. The nearly clear and very familiar shape from his dream suddenly came back to him. It was a dream he’d been having more frequently since his birthday came within the “Have you thought about what you’d like for your birthday” question asking distance.

____In the dream, the very familiar shape had yet to be fully revealed, but he already knew the very familiar shape. Even though he knew the very familiar shape, it was still irritating to have the dream interrupted before it had a chance to finish. It never finished.

Drifting, falling, floating, weightless... Pt 2

____Michael was now 30, and just as he knew it wouldn’t, the world around him hadn’t changed in the slightest. The spines of his books, magazines, CD’s and graphic novels sitting on his shelves might get a small fraction more sun bleached than they had been the day before, but they had always done that. Everything sitting in his room had always done what had been expected of them, and that would continue all throughout his birthday today, and beyond. It was comforting, but also restricting.

____Michael reached behind his head and flipped his pillow to the cooler side and stared back up at the ceiling. Down on the real street, a car drove by and Michael watched as the reflected light glided across his ceiling. His room was again silent, save for the unbroken whirr of the vent above his head.

____“Why did I even set my alarm? It’s not like I have work today-” His conversation with himself and his room was interrupted by the ring of his cell phone. He waited to see if it continued to ring, as single one was just a text message, and practically lunged for the phone on the far end of his window sill when it continued to ring. He worked to unplug the charger cord so he could see who it was, but he managed to open the phone in the process. The line was open.

Drifting, falling, floating, weightless... Final

____“Hello?”
____“Happy birthday! Did I wake you up?” The voice that came through was unusually happy for eight in the morning. A gear, dislodged by sleep, slipped back into place and the caller was no longer a mystery.
____“Hey Vanessa.” From out of nowhere, and almost unnoticed, a smile grew on Michael’s face as his birthday got better. “Sorry, no, I accidentally set my alarm last night.”
____“You did that on purpose.” Vanessa smiled as well, and Michael could hear that smile in her voice. It was better than any alarm he’d had before.
____“I did no such thing. I don’t wanna be rudely woken up by a piece of screaming plastic for no reason.” He laughed as he spoke, forgetting the cars driving by on the street below.
____“Would you say the same thing about your cell phone? Hmm?” She said coyly.
____“Not if it’s somebody important calling I wouldn’t. Besides, that’s totally different. Ring tone easily trumps annoying alarm sound.” He could still feel the air from the vent, but the whirr was gone.
____“I agree. But,” she paused, and let out a light, happy sigh. “Am I somebody you would call important?”
____“I don’t even see why I should have to answer that. You already know the answer.” The memory of an interrupting alarm clock dissolved.
____“Say it.” Mock seriousness punctuated the two powerful syllables.
____“Not if I’m going to be coerced into saying-” He could no longer see the ceiling, or his sun bleached belongings
____“Say it, buttface.” She had to control her laughter in order to get this out, but the control was lost when Michael laughed into the phone. The looming, non-descript buildings lost interest, and reverted back to their still selves.
____“Yes, Vanessa. You are an important person. I almost died even getting the phone. I’m still in bed and it’s all the way over there.” Michael pointed to where his phone had been sitting, as if Vanessa had been right there. She laughed, either delighted that Michael would risk his life to talk to her, or that he would put his phone somewhere so dangerous. He wanted nothing more than for there to be no need for a phone for this conversation he was having. The mumbling, oddly familiar shapes had left now too. There wasn’t even an empty street; only what he had always focused on. “Vanessa Fluer Stahl, you are very important to me, and I love you.”
____“I know, Michael. I love you too.”

The End

Decommission - Part One

____A tepid May wind brushed against the weed spotted hill, creating an audible whir in the night air signaling the coming of summer. A man was at the top of the hill, surveying an isolated, stately manor that housed one of the most reviled dictators in the world. Behind the man was a specially selected cadre of rebel soldiers, making final preparations to storm the ‘Presidential Estate’, and remove President Holland from power. Charlie Brand continued to survey the security detail around the building, and shivered in spite of the warming breeze.

____“There are only three teams of two stationed around the perimeter. They’re all smoking and talking to each other.” Charlie lowered his binoculars and looked back at the small group of armed rebels huddled together. “It’s as if they don’t even care about who they’re there to protect.”
____“They don’t. They know the current regime is on its last legs, so why bother with loyalty? It just makes our job tonight that much easier.” Lien Walgren spoke with an agitated tone, anxious to get the mission underway.

____Lien held a high position in the rebellion, and was the first, and only, choice for mission leader. He had long been prepared for tonight, but it was all so unreal now that it was falling so quickly into place. He’d heard the rumors that Holland had become so suspicious of those around him that he kept his all of his advisors and security forces at arm’s length, but was sure it was only spreading propaganda. The barebones security detail should have been proof enough, but it all seemed too easy.

____“Alright. Charlie, come over here.” Charlie put away his binoculars and retreated back to the group.
____“This isn’t what we expected. Should we go over the plan again?” Scott Gibson said hesitantly, and backpedaled, “Y’know, just to be safe.”
____“No, our plan still works with what they’ve got down there. Just remember, non-lethal force is what we’re aiming for. We’re better than Holland and this is our way to prove it to the population.” Lien met the eyes of his squad mates as he said this, wanting to make his intentions plain.
____“The population is out for blood Lien. They’ll only view us as weak if we don’t spill it.”
“They’re the ones responsible for putting Holland in power. They need to see change is possible without a massacre. We get in and out with minimal casualties.”
____“Minimal, huh?” Charlie cracked a smile at Lien, “Well I’m glad you’re being realistic. Is Holland what you would call minimal then?” The squad shared a subdued laugh at this.

____Lien looked at the faces of his comrades in arms, all eager and ready to free the country they loved. His heart swelled with pride, and pushed away his hesitation and mild paranoia. They had all suffered under Holland’s tyranny for years, and this was the opportunity they had all been dreaming of. Lien wasn’t about to squander a chance to galvanize his troops.
____“Yes. Holland is what I would consider ‘minimal’ Charlie.” This was met with enthusiasm, and Lien knew they were ready for anything. “Now, after we neutralize the guards at the gate, Hinckley and Stolitz will split off and take out the others.”
____“Right.” Hinckley and Stolitz spoke in abrupt unison, while Scott wondered why they were going over the plan again.
____“Berkey will stay at the gate while the rest of us enter the manor. Once inside, we’ll split up into the designated teams and lock down every room. I’ll go straight for Holland. Sources put him on the third floor of the east wing. He’s been isolating himself, so I should get to him no problem. Communicators on?” Lien quickly looked at his friends in turn once more, as they all nodded in confirmation.

____They were going to succeed. He could feel it. “Okay. Go.”

Decommission - Part Two

____Silently, the rebel squad of 12 soldiers cascaded down the hill, shrouded in darkness and unnoticed by the two guards at the gate. Too late to react, one of the guards saw them breach the hazy dome of light, and was brought down with a bean bag to his upper chest. Before the other could react, he too was neutralized with a well placed, non-lethal shot. As previously instructed, Hinckley and Stolitz broke left to deal with the rest of the guards. The gate was easily pried open and Berkey stayed behind to stand guard as the remaining nine members entered the manor. Once inside, Lien signaled all members to stop and gather around him.

____“Okay, proceed with caution. It should be a last resort, but if you have to, lethal is an option.” Lien was surprised to find his breathing even, and the words he was speaking to come out so clearly. He thought his body might know something he didn’t. “Charlie, we clear on that?”
____“No doubt there m’friend. I doubt we’ll need it.” Charlie gave that same smile.
____“This place does seem pretty deserted. Like we’re in an abandoned housing development or something.” Mary Urquhart scanned the foyer, mindful as ever. Lien was always glad to have her on missions; she was never off guard. A wide staircase stood prominently in the foyer, along with a few hallways that led off to the rest of the main floor. Three on the main, four on the second, and two on the third.
____“Right. Break off and search the place. Radio to a minimum, unless a case of FUBAR breaks. Go.”

____They all nodded in unison and scattered to their assigned parts of the manor. Lien took up the stairs after Mary, Scott, Charlie and two others; Wilson and Morris. Mary, Scott, Wilson and Morris went to the right as the staircase emptied onto the second floor. Charlie and Lien made their way to the second floor stairs in the east wing and went up halfway, before slowing to a crawl, and then stopping just as their heads could peek into a spacious third floor hallway.

____“Charlie, you go-“
____“I know where to go Lien. You just find that bastard Holland, and take him out.”
____“I love your enthusiasm Charles. Don’t worry. I’ll do what I have to. Now, go.” Charlie smiled again and went off to inspect his part of the manor, and Lien made his way to where Holland was rumored to be holed up.

____In the source reports, which had so far been incredibly accurate and a boon to the rebellion, most of the west wing on the third floor was nothing more than a burnt out husk. A failed assassination attempt on Holland with a defective firebomb months ago was the cause. Holland blamed his security forces for what he saw as willful ignorance, and banished them from his presidential manor. Holland may have been crazy to do it, but paranoia ruled him with an iron fist. For this Lien was thankful. He was starting to get reports of empty rooms from the team members. So far, so good.

____Lien carefully stalked the hallways, stopping at doors to listen for activity and occasionally looking in to verify their non-occupancy. He wanted to be sure his area was neutralized before going after Holland, and after one last room check, he was sure. This was a relief to be sure, but that nagging doubt he’d had before the mission began was starting to bubble up. It’s just nerves. Sometimes things really do go your way. Lien righted himself and made for Holland. It was going to be simple; a show of force, and the demand to come quietly. Holland was paranoid, but not stupid. Don’t let him be stupid.

Decommission - Part Three

____Lien turned the corner and felt his tongue get sucked down his throat as he gasped in surprise. A door was ajar, and it sent a blade of light into the hallway. Lien rounded the corner as quietly as possible and came to the door. He heard two voices inside; one harsh and abusive, the other stern but pleading.

____“It is time for you to depart, Holland. To step down and flee this country that you have driven into the ground. Your time is coming, and death will take you if-“
____“Not even death dares to face me now. It is tired of failure. It has moved on, Desmond.”
____“It has laid that job onto the people! They dare to face you. They will and have!”
____“Fool. They never have. It was the one’s I trusted my life to. They are the ones who thought me to be weak.”
____“And so you have displaced and angered them! In this, you have fulfilled your own prophecy!”
____“You will not speak to your President in such a way! You are only an advisor, Desmond. That can only protect you so much.” Lien’s pulse raced. Desmond Altiers was indeed an advisor, and viewed as second only to Holland in his atrocities committed. If he could get both of them…
____“I have never seen you as President, and I no longer see you as competent.” Lien heard a sharp gasp from Holland, and the click of a gun being cocked. His body was frozen to the wall, he worked viciously to break free and stop what was about to happen.
____“Desmond! Stop! I demand you-“
____“Good bye, Holland.” A gunshot pierced whatever silence was left in the room, and freed Lien from the other side of the wall. He kicked in the door and aimed his gun straight at the mass murderer, who apparently worked on a smaller scale as well.
____“Freeze Altiers! Drop your weapon, and put your hands on your head!” Lien heard Charlie ask if he was okay, but ignored it. “I mean it Altiers! I will send you right alongside him!” Desmond looked at Lien with disinterest, and held a loose grip on his gun.
____“See? This is exactly what I was talking about. Death hands out many contracts. He’s a very busy man after all.”
____“You’d be the person to ask about that, wouldn’t you, Desmond.” Lien felt hatred flare up inside of him. His hands prickling on the gun, his finger burning with the desire to squeeze the trigger. Charlie swore in his ear, furious that he couldn’t find him and that he wouldn’t answer. ____“I’ll say it one more time. Drop the damn gun.”
____“I’ll do you one better, soldier.” Desmond raised the gun to his head. “I’ll make you a hero.”
____“STOP!” Lien shouted, but the report of the second lethal gunshot of the night drowned him out.

____The body of Desmond Altiers crumpled to the floor, and Lien was alone. Charlie screamed in his ear again, but the voice was distant. The hatred in his chest had turned cold, and spread through his body leaving a numb shell. The voice of his friend became clearer, and got closer. When Charlie came through the door he took a few seconds to adjust to the scene. It was nothing like what he was expecting, but he understood quickly.

____“You’re alright? Lien?” Charlie wanted to be absolutely sure of what he was seeing. Lien could feel the warmth return, but the rest was slow coming.
____“Yeah. I’m fine.” He was about to explain what had happened when Charlie spoke.
____“You got both of them. The Devil and the Details.” It was a commonly known moniker for the two evil men who now lied dead on the floor. Lien was about to explain what happened, but he couldn’t.
____“I did.” His senses were returning, but the truth wouldn’t come out. “They didn’t give me any choice, and Altiers had a gun. It was them or me, so I chose me.”
____“Damn right you did.” Charlie patted him on the shoulder, and gave that same winning smile he always had when things were going as he thought they should. “Come on. We should call HQ. They’ll want to know about what you did. They’ll probably claim this place too. Maybe even burn it down. That’d be a shame, but it’s probably… Lien? Are you sure you’re okay?” Charlie hadn’t even noticed that Lien was rooted to the same spot.
____“Yeah. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” The words came out recited and flat, despite his efforts to sound natural. He continued on before Charlie could ask again. “You’re right. Contact HQ. They’ll want this place for their own. I’ll be out in a minute.”
____“Alright. Just remember, you’re a hero Lien.” Charlie stood up straight, jokingly saluted Lien, and left the room. Lien was once again left in the room with two very evil men who had successfully destroyed each other.

____“A hero, huh? Might as well be me.”
____But you didn’t do anything. You stood and watched.
____“I’m the hero. I did what I had to do.”
____But you didn’t do anything.
____“That’s not how they’re going to see it. And that’s what matters.” The voice didn’t have a rebuttal for that one. Lien was worried it might never have a rebuttal again.

The End