Betty (part 3!)

The thing crept through the shadows on the wood flooring on all fours. It knew she was here, it could sense it. The thing grinned in the darkness anticipating the mayhem it would bring down. She’d been killing it’s kind for too long. It was time for her to get what she had coming. The thing pulled the shadows in around it like a loose cloak as it cautiously crept forward. It could always call on the darkness- darkness was it’s element. A thin stream of putrid saliva dribbled down the things chin and it pulled it’s forearm up and wiped the drool away with a sneer.

Closer.

She would belong to it soon. She would learn firsthand how it meticulously went about it’s evil tasks. She would learn to appreciate how talented it actually was. The thing crept up to the foot of the bed and took a quiet, purging breath. It hated having to breathe, reminding it of the confines of the body it took on. But it needed a solid form to complete it’s task.

It gripped the foot board of the bed and leaned back a little only to lunge upward on to the mattress. It’s eyes grew wide and time stood still as the details of the situation sunk in. She wasn’t on the bed. It heard the resonant sound of metal against metal as what sounded like a chain slid down and thumped on the floor. It was her. The thing froze in it’s attack as a look of confusion stole it’s face. She was supposed to be where it had sensed her. She always kept her filthy satchel that carried the essence of it’s ilk. She never let it out of her reach and it could sense it’s defeated brethren calling out to be restored. It looked down and saw the satchel on the bed.

She was sitting in a chair close by. She had a boot propped up on one armrest as she leaned on the other. Her lovely face that it had so wanted to destroy rested idly in her upturned palm. In her other hand that lay casually across her waist it could see light from the window glinting off of a heavy chain. It slowly crouched down and gripped the leather strap of the satchel as it let out a low guttural growl. The whole time it kept it’s empty eye’s on her. She silently returned the glare.

It made the move to attack, pulling a wicked curved blade from it’s belt with one hand while desperately clutching the coveted satchel in the other. It let out a deep cry that seemed to have an unearthly quality as it slashed the blade toward her ivory throat. Without standing she whipped the chain forward with such swiftness that the thing expected should be impossible for a pathetic woman. The chain snapped itself into place around the things arm before it could make an evasive move. She smiled as she heard it’s bones popping and snapping from the shoulder down to it’s wrist and hand. Before the thing knew it she was up out of her seat forcing a cold steel barrel into it’s mouth breaking several teeth and forcing it backwards onto the bed. It tried to mumble threats out past the barrel but the waiting bullet didn’t want to hear any of it.

With her knee on the things chest and a sturdy grip on the chain around it’s arm she pulled back the hammer and silenced the already stifled voice. The human head shattered around it’s host and she released the chain so as to free up a hand to execute the final move on her prey. She plunged her now free hand into the blackness before her and, like so many times before, dark ooze spurted out as she groped for the essence. The thing shuddered one last time and went limp as she pulled out the cool, dark orb. She pried the human fingers off the strap of her satchel and lifted the flap to lay evil to it’s resting place.

Betty stood back and wiped her hand clean on the chest of thing resting on her bed. She took in the mess on her silk sheets and kicked the thing on it’s shin. “You bastard, now I have to burn these sheets as well.” With that she turned away from the mess and walked out of the room, turning lights on as she went. She headed out to the kitchen and whipped the refrigerator door open. Bottles clanged together in the door and she reached down and picked one out. She closed the door and pulled off a magnet that spelt out ‘El Paso’ and embedded in the ‘o’ was a wide bottle opener. She’d picked it up as a souvenir while doing some hunting in the area.

Betty was a Shade huntress. The Shades had one purpose in this world and that was to spread evil like a cancer. And they were good at their job. She was better at hers. She opened the bottle and raised the cold beverage to her lips and pulled in a deep swig of sweet hops and barley.

It's a long one.

My husband and I have been married almost four years. I know that may seem like we’re still newlyweds to some of you old-farts out there. Maybe it’s just because we’re in the military, but so many of the young people that I’ve met over the past few years already have a divorce under their belts. I get phone calls from friends my age who tell me of their dissolutions, and I hear their defeated tones and their cracking voices. It breaks my heart.

I’ve been with my husband for a total of six years. When we first started dating I thought the world would surely end when we had to say goodbye for the evening. Every moment apart was torment. After we’d been dating a couple of months his parents asked him to go on a family vacation. He was gone a week. Multiple times throughout the day I would receive phone calls from him telling me how miserable he was and how much he wanted to come home to see me. I responded in kind and we passionately expressed how happy we were to have each other.

Husband was going to college and ROTC back then. At the time I was already aware that he would be contracted to spend four years active duty with the Army upon graduation. When Husband asked me to marry him I said ‘yes’ and we were both thrilled and excited. He waited for the right moment, though, and he warned me that being a military spouse could be very challenging. He somberly expressed that hours would be long, he would be out for weeks to train, and some day a deployment would surface in our lives and that would be the biggest challenge of all.

With determination I told him that I was up for anything if it meant spending the rest of our lives together. I loved him deeply and nothing would change that. I told him that there was no way I could imagine the difficulties ahead but I knew myself. I would not quit, I’m a veteran of longsuffering and I have a stubbornness that can be both strength and flaw. The point is: I’m tough and I know it.

We married, we never had to say goodbye in the evenings again. Yes, we were ‘old fashioned’ and respected each other enough to hold off on the hanky panky until post-wedding. Either that or we were brainwashed by our church… I’m glad we did things that way because now we know that if we can control ourselves with each other then we will be that much stronger against future temptations.

A year flew by and the time came to move across the country so that Husband could begin his training as a U.S. Army Infantry Officer. I’m proud to just say it. We spent a year at Ft. Benning, GA, and of all the crap life has thrown at me in my precious few years on this earth, this was by far the worst year of them all.

My love would be gone, at first, for weeks at a time. He would be within miles of me but unable to come home. Some nights I would receive the call that he might have an hour free to see me if I wanted to come out and meet him. So I would rush out the door and drive out to the training site and sit in my car. The first few times I waited for hours for the men to be released. We were SO new to the Army… I learned to keep books and food in the car at all times. Some nights I would wait just to be able to see him long enough to share a tired, and most likely fragrant, embrace. And then I would be on my way back to an empty home in a place where I knew no one, in a land that was so different from my home. On many nights such as this I would have to pull the car over because I could not see the road through my tears.

It’s hard to be the one waiting. Ever stood in front of your toaster waiting for those damn pop-tarts to get with the program and spring up and do their job to fill your belly? We’d talked about this, how it was harder on me to wait than it was for him, because he was so busy that most often he had no concept of time. All I had was time.

As the year went by Husband was gone more and more. I started to become cynical and jaded by the Army. I took it personal that They kept my husband from me and I started to forget that this was what I signed up for when I said ‘I do’. I slowly started to disconnect from my husband so that the next time he had to go away it wouldn’t hurt so bad. Over time I could see him off and go home and be glad to have my space back to the way I liked it. My home was always clean when it was just me, I would stay up late without anyone pawing for me to come to bed. The toilette seat was ALWAYS down.

When Husband came home from four months in Ranger school I told him he better buy me dinner and get to know me before he tried anything funny. I felt so estranged from him and he respected my wishes. When he would come home all we would do is talk. We’d both been changing so much that we had to get to know each other. The wonderful thing throughout all of these trials was that the core of whom we were, and who we each fell in love with in the first place never changed.

I have been reflecting on this because Husband is, once again, in ‘the field’. Now when he goes I say, ‘Later, dude, see you when you get back’, and we exchange words of love and I’m secretly excited that I don’t have to take turns playing Guitar Hero with anyone. Oh, how things have changed. I look back and I miss the painful pining; I feel like we’ve lost some innocent passion. But now we are more weathered and mature and we so often say that ‘if we can withstand this, we can withstand anything’. I just look forward to the day that we don’t have to ‘withstand’ anything and we can just be together.

Tell me, does that day ever come?

Join me!

On a journey to improve my vocabulary!

Introducing: 'The Vocab Word of the Day'!

Yup, my intent here is to go through the dictionary and pull out words that I either a) enjoy, or b) are new to me. I will be skipping the obvious ones, so if you feel I'm depriving you of a word go read the 'aard-vark' and 'ab-ba-cy's by your self! Feel free to use the 'word of the day' in a comment here, in your own blog, or whilst cursing at your neighbors barking dog!

i.e. ab-at-oir; n. a slaughter house

Now I know we can get creative with this one! Isn't this fun?!

Ok, I'm a little too excited about the dictionary here, I'm just gonna back off and chill out.

Sometimes I take pictures...

And sometimes they even look kinda cool...

Forlorn

I am.

I wear unhappiness like a dark slip underneath a garment of false joy.

(just write something)

I have nothing of value to say. All my words are like a fine mist: once expressed to scatter and flee.

(just write something)

But nothing in me cries out.

(Just write something)

Yet every fiber of my soul is screaming, every thought clanging an empty tin against bars of confinement.

(just WRITE something)

So that I can expose my dissonance of thoughts and feelings?

I have nothing to say.

Uh oh...

I just made a bowl of guacamole with the intention of keeping it in the fridge for snacking. Fresh avocado, onions, peppers, tomato, garlic. The usual suspects. I shamelessly sat here and devoured the entire contents of said guacamole while reading.

I feel like it would be the right thing to do to warn Husband to just not come home tonight... unless he wants to be assaulted with spicy avocado farts all evening. My stomach is already gurgling and growling. I think I heard it cursing the day I (well technically we) was (were) born. I might have to borrow a diaper from the Gremlin.

Today has definitely been a day of light blogging. I will get down to the meat and potatoes of my creativity later. For now, I'm just going to ride out this high and squeeze out the most offensive toots before anyone has to palate this fine aroma. I think the baby's eye's are watering...

Theme of the Day

For those of you that have sunshine today, enjoy it. It's July, it's raining, and if Army didn't own Husband you better believe we'd be movin the hell out.

I could give two turds about Annie Lennox, but this song says it all.

I'm awake.

I miss sleeping in. Gremlin squeaked and chirped in her crib for about an hour this morning before I decided to go and greet her bouncing pent up energy complete with the fullest damn diaper I've ever seen. Insert 'mommy guilt' here.

I almost never ask Husband to wake up with her because he works hard enough already. Millions of women out there will argue until they're blue that being a stay at home mom is work. I'm not saying that it's not, but I enjoy this more than any JOB I've ever had. I just woke up from a nightmare that I had to go back to my first job as a 'sandwich artist'. I'll take motherhood any day.

But I still miss sleeping in. There is no 'off' day.

Not to mention...

I just found out about an hour ago that 2 out of 3 of my older brothers are coming up to see me tonight, probably with girlfriends and a dog in tow. This is dangerous news. We will probably revert back to our childhood and eat pizza, play video games and drink all weekend. Only now the drinking is legal.

Shhh, don't tell Bane.

This is also dangerous because Husband had to leave today to go out in the field for training. He usually baby sits us and makes sure we don't do anything too stupid, or get in fights. Maybe one of the girlfriends will be broken in as our new baby sitter. Just kidding, it'll be me, since I'm the one with the Gremlin.

And again, they all said: "Happy Birthday, Maiden!"

Bad news Folks,

Husband just got me Guitar Hero III for the Wii for my birthday.

And they all said: “Happy Birthday, Maiden!”

Anyways, you may never see me again. I’m addicted. Go out and buy it and you’ll understand.

And for those of you out there who are bored:

Betty (Part Deux)

When she walked out into the main room Harry paused his pacing and shot Betty an impatient glare. “Can you hurry the fuck up, Betty? I want to get this guy out of here; the others are going to come after him soon if they sense we still have him.”

“Your fly’s down, Harry. Could you stop being such a slob?” She strode across the room and came to a stop in front of a door. She breathed in and placed her hand on the door knob. In one fluid motion, Betty opened the door and aimed her rifle at the creature chained to its chair in the center of the dark room. She fired a slug right through its forehead by way of introduction.

“Aw, fuck me, Betty! Was that really necessary?” The creature tried to pull its hands up to inspect the wound but came short when the chain snapped taut.

“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that…” Betty pulled an empty chair in front of the creature and stomped her boot onto it, leaning her rifle across her lap and cocking her head to one side while she watched the creature. Its human shell began sliding off of the head revealing a black void that threatened to suck what light there was out of the room.

Aw man, Gremlin just woke up... more to come later.

As I was saying... here's the rest of this part:

“What were you going to do with that little girl?” Betty asked.

“Why, you jealous?” The creature was turning into a mess, the head of its human shell slid down to the shoulder of the shadowy form. As it spoke the contorted mouth still moved in unison to the things voice. Betty let loose another slug into the creatures’ groin. The thing writhed in the chair. If it’d had a face of its own it would have been lost in pain.

“I love that you guys feel human pain while your shell is still attached. It’s like a small gift from the On High.” With that Betty reached her hands forward and grasped the things black head. She stared into the void and forced her fingers into it. Black ooze gushed out and dripped down her forearms. The thing quaked in its seat, the torment so deep that it couldn’t make a sound. Betty’s fingers searched for her prize. When she felt something cold and round she pulled her hands free creating a sucking sound and spurting black ooze from the newly created holes in the sides of the things head. She held her prize up in front of her and inspected it with a growing smile. Satisfied with the kill she opened the satchel that hung from her belt and dropped the cold black orb. It made a dull sound as it settled against others of its kind.

Eiri (Part 3)

With shaking hands, Eiri reached out to the stone before her. She slowly put her weight to it and brought her right knee tightly up to her chest. With most of her weight on the stone she peeked over her shoulder, the toes of her left foot were reluctantly balancing on the window sill. She brought her left foot up to the stone slab and remained in a crouched position. The stone felt alive beneath her and the glowing letters that spelt her name reflected off of her face and sparkled in her eyes. The slab was large enough, and wide enough, for her to stand but her nerves were going wild as if she’d just received six shots of espresso and a traffic ticket. Eiri hated getting pulled over while driving, the times that it had happened her hands would shake so bad that she could hardly open the glove compartment and find her paperwork. Much like they were shaking now.

There was only a small gap between the second slab in front of her and the one she was on. On her hands and knees, Eiri slowly crept onto the waiting stone. As soon as she made contact with it more letters began to sparkle into existence.

‘Every’

Every? Every what? While she puzzled over the glowing letters the first stone had moved beneath the one she was on and settled into place before her. Eiri realized she was beginning to feel like a mouse being passed hand over hand for someone else’s amusement. She reached out to the next stone.

‘Step’

She steadied herself as the stone passed beneath her and then moved across to continue her strange journey.

‘You’

She looked down to the ground and her body went rigid. She’d been so swept up in her curiosity that she’d forgotten she was floating on a stone slab two stories above the ground. She looked back to her apartment and estimated that she must be almost fifteen feet away. The cats watched her from the window sill, their tails swishing and their eyes glowing in the moonlight. Eiri started to shake all over, not just her hands. The spell of the moment was gone and she wanted to go back to the safety of her home. She chided herself for being so reckless, and turned around on her hands and knees. The second stone did not float beneath her in the other direction like it had been. The realization that she could not go back the way she came sent her into a panic. She noticed that the stones seemed to be leading her closer to the large oak tree and decided that she would continue on and then try to climb down the tree.

She moved to the next stone, more letters appeared.

‘Take’

And the next…

‘Brings’

She moved on…

‘You’

To the next stone…

‘Farther’

And again…

‘From’

As she climbed onto the next stone she realized she was nose to trunk with the grand oak tree. She watched and waited as the final letters made their sparkling entrance.

‘Home.’

She pieced together all the words in her head: Eiri, Every Step You Take Brings You Farther From Home. “Well, if that’s not redundant, I don’t know what is,” she mused aloud. She placed a hand on the tree to steady herself to standing, intent on finding a way down to the solid earth. The tree moved against her hand and she pulled away, startled.

Oh my

I've been sifting through Bane's blog roll, trying to get to know the new readers he's sent my way. I'm surprised to find myself linked in a handful of *your* sites. You'll find no false modesty here, just genuine shawk. I have been enjoying many a blogs, but you won't find me commenting or adding to a blog roll just yet. I'm a bit shy (ha!) and I'll need to take some time to warm up to you experienced blogulars (like regulars? no? ok...).

Carnival

So, you scavengers, let’s get personal. I have spawned, as you may well know. I’m currently raising a small creature that we shall just refer to as… The Gremlin. The Gremlin is 9 months old, and people tell me all the time how cute she is. Me? I don’t see cute, I see poop, mess, and crying, drooling, grinning, slave-driving madness. But I love and adore said Gremlin. Most likely because I am narcissistic and everyone tells me how beautiful she is and how she is a ‘spitting image’ of me. They got ‘spitting’ right.

Anyways, to the point: I love the fair, carnival, whatever. If it has rickety rides run by carnies that would rather be groping me than the seat belt in my lap, I’m there. When my husband and I are driving and we see a Ferris wheel on the horizon, he cringes and hopes I don’t notice it. I ALWAYS notice it. It’s like a sixth sense. I don’t know what I like best, seeing the toothless people or the cotton candy hanging from the various venues. I always feel a renewed appreciation for my teeth after visiting a carnival, at the same time I suck down the cotton candy as if I were in Heaven, and the good Lord would be kicking me back to Earth soon, so I better suck down as much cotton candy as I can.

Today I went to my first carnival since The Gremlin was born. It was the worst thing in the world. I went on the Kamikaze whilst my husband waited with Gremlin on the trampled grass below. They watched as I enjoyed myself. I felt like I was masturbating in one of those cop interrogation rooms with the two-way mirrors. I was having a blast, but I was all alone. My husband couldn’t ride with me because someone would be likely to snatch Gremlin. Insert long, drawn out sigh…

It was hard for me to accept that I was an adult and I could no longer run free to every ride in sight. Now I was the one paying for the tickets and treats. Every dime spent frivolously was one that could have whittled away at our debt. I’ve decided that this is why so many of us desire riches. We’re just trying to attain that childish freedom and lack of financial concern that we once had. When we are young, the world is our oyster because we don’t know any better, but when we are older the world is our oyster if we can afford it.

I can’t wait for Gremlin to grow up so that we can go on rides together and I can tell her “let’s get your seat belt on so the toothless man doesn’t try to touch your na na”. But at the same time I want her to stay compact and pure.

Ah, well. The fair takes precedence.

Ugh...

So, as I've been trying to get more familiar with blogger I've managed to lose my comments AGAIN. I should have taken that whole 'save a backup of your template' thing a little more serious. I still have your comments on haloscan so I didn't completely snub those of you that have been giving me feedback. Which, by the way, I really appreciate. This whole 'Blogger' thing is like crack, I can see why so many of you keep up with it.

Update:
I redid my page, I'm not going to try to be fancy with my layout anymore unless I have a certified HTML nerd by my side. I use to think I was savvy with this kind of stuff. Oy... I attempted to place the comments where they belong, and if I mislplaced them, who cares?

Wow...

Artist: George Grie

Short Story Sheila

When I was a sophomore in High School I took a short story class. Since I enjoyed writing I thought it would be a clever way to beat the system. You see, from past experiences I’d learned that teachers wanted me to dislike them and the drudgery they put me through. But with a short story class I would actually enjoy myself, I thought, therefore the teachers lose.

I found room ‘207’ and tucked my class schedule back in my pocket. When I first walked into the class I realized I had, once again, been had. The tables were formed in a half circle bringing focus to the teachers’ desk in the front of the room. Sitting on top of that front desk, as if it were her throne, was Sheila. She didn’t want us to call her by her last name because it was ‘too formal’. She had her nose pierced and her hair cropped short. She was no longer the hot piece of ass that she may have once been. Her clothes were too tight and I couldn’t help but look at her cleavage. I was threatened by the cleavage, with its moles and wrinkles. What if that happened to me some day? The main lights were off so the room was dim. At first I thought Sheila was just trying to create ‘ambiance’ but I later came to realize that she kept the lights low so that students wouldn’t notice her tentacles creeping out and latching onto the back of their skulls. Sheila and I had an unspoken battle for the whole semester because every time she tried to latch one of her creepy tentacles to the back of my skull I would ‘shoo’ it away whilst all the other students unknowingly absorbed her poison, their brains turning into soup. Oh well, I didn’t like any of them anyways.

For the first half of every class Sheila would read us her idea of an outstanding short story, and then for the second half she would instruct us to write one of our own. I couldn’t believe this woman was getting paid. Every story she read had its roots in some manner of cultural or racial adversity. She seemed especially fond of stories with Hispanic authors. When she would read the conversations in those stories she would don a Spanish accent that I could tell she was very proud of. As she read I would picture a rocket coming through the wall and blasting her to smithereens.

Every story I turned in came back to me with a large red ‘D-‘ scribbled over the heading. She wasn’t bold enough to flunk me even though she would have loved nothing more. I wrote of aliens coming down from space and observing humans in their infinite stupidity. I wrote of a young girl who went to high school and couldn’t relate to anyone around her and the various other struggles she dealt with. What I did not write about was how much I hated America or how much every other race was superior to my own. Therefore, I was the enemy. Perhaps she thought I was too prideful and she saw it as her sole mission to break me. I accepted every low grade as the highest form of compliment.

When the semester was over I was glad to dust my hands and wave farewell to Sheila. I had injured her winning streak for turning brains into soup and she was glad to see me go.

A couple of years later I decided I wanted to take the Psychology class. When the counselor printed out my class schedule I grabbed it to inspect the details.

Psychology- Room 207, Sheila

Fuck me.

It turned out the school had lost a lot of money over the years and they couldn’t afford enough teachers to cover each specific subject. The choir teacher was also the math teacher; the biology teacher was also the P.E. teacher, and so on.

I flunked psychology due to poor attendance.

Just for fun... (meet Betty)

“I never claimed to be a lady. Now give me my gun and clear out so I can finish taking this shit.” Betty Hazard was a dangerous woman. “And don’t even think about lighting that fucking cigarette, the air is so goddamn thick in here you’d likely kill us all.” Harry handed her the long rifle and left the room as quickly as if his ex-wife were in the corner waving legal papers at him. Betty kicked the bathroom door shut. Her legs were like James Bond, as dangerous as they were sexy. She perched the stock of her gun on her thigh, leaning the long barrel up against her shoulder. The thin strap of her tank-top slid down to her elbow as she reached back to flush.

Betty chuckled at her own joke as she swiped her cigarettes off of the counter and lit one while the gun rested in the crook of her arm. She didn’t really care what Harry did as long as she got a moment alone. She inhaled the smoke, savoring the moment, and opened her mouth just slightly. She enjoyed the way the smoke drifted upwards in front of her. People thought she was just being cunning when she told them her name. With her black, wavy hair and red lips and a name like ‘Betty Hazard’ people thought she was full of shit. Not anymore. She leaned the rifle against the wall and shimmied her stockings up under her skirt.

She stepped over to the sink and leaned towards the mirror above it. She opened her lips wide to inspect her teeth and rubbed the smeared make-up out from under her eyes. She was tired, but she had a job to do.

“You can do this.” She confided to herself. “It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve had to kill one.” She listened to Harry pacing outside the bathroom door. With a strengthened resolve she stuffed the soft pack of smokes into her blouse and snatched her gun from its resting place.

Haloscan

Is cool. But, unfortunately, by installing it I lost the scant few comments that I did have. So thanks dad and Firefly, your comments were appreciated, but alas... they've gone to a better place. And to any other readers that may be lingering out there, thanks for stopping by.

More story time... (Eiri Part Deux)

Eiri decided it was time to go to bed. The thought of waking up to a new day sounded incredibly refreshing. She picked up one of the cats as she walked through her apartment turning off all of the lights. She always held a cat when she closed down for the night and no one else was home. She supposed it made her feel more secure, although she didn’t quite know what help a cat would be if there was any real danger. If someone broke in maybe she could throw the cat at the intruder. Claws would instinctively go out and she would have seconds more to flee or call for help.
As she crawled into bed the second cat came running, knowing it was time to settle down for the night. Eiri thought she saw something move in the corner of her room. Her vision was still adjusting to the darkness and she knew the shadows were just playing tricks on her. She rolled over to look out the window. Sometimes it helped bring on her night vision to focus on something like the shape of a tree against the night sky. There was a grand oak tree just outside her window. It swayed lightly in the breeze casting dancing shadows into her bedroom. The swaying tree seemed to have a relaxing, hypnotic effect on her and she let her thoughts meander where they wanted to. Sleep was exactly what she needed.
Eiri scanned her room one more time now that she could see a little more clearly. Everything looked as it should be. She looked out the window once more to take in the beauty of the oak tree when something just outside of her window caught her attention. She squinted, trying to make out what it was. Curiosity kicked fear to the curb and she slowly got out of bed and walked to the window, hunched over so as to get a better look. Something was floating against the ledge. She lifted the heavy glass window upwards until it couldn’t go any farther. She crouched down to be level with the object and touched it with the tips of her fingers. It was a stone slab, smooth and cool. When she pulled her fingers away letters started forming in the center.
‘Eiri,’
She held her breath. The stone slab continued to float there, right in front of her. Then a second slab came floating out of the night beyond and placed itself right in front of the first. With the second slab floating there, they started to look somewhat like stepping stones. Eiri let out a low whistle. She reached out and pressed her palm hard against the first stone. It didn’t budge. The letters spelling out her name sparkled brightly in response to her touch.
“What the…” She twisted to her right and picked up one of the cats that had joined in her curiosity. She placed the cat experimentally onto the stone. The cat lightly paced back and forth on the stone, purring with its back arched, delighted for the attention.
“Well, I’ll be…” She brought the cat back inside and rewarded its bravery with a pat on the head. Eiri felt a strange desire to climb onto the stone floating in front of her, but she admonished herself not to do anything crazy. But the stones seemed real enough, she didn’t think she was imagining this. She tried to reason that something special and unusual could exist in the world. She’d always secretly hoped that something special and unusual existed, at least. Ever since she was a little girl and she’d read stories about comic super heroes who had supernatural powers she hoped that some things of those stories were real. As she grew up she came to understand that adults created worlds in their imaginations where supernatural things could occur, but it was never real. It was a great disappointment to have to accept reality. But this seemed like reality, too.

why I'm an asshole...

A not so tasteful title for a not so tasteful taste in my mouth. Here I sit wondering who have I become. And also wondering if the man I love and respect can still love and respect the woman he is married to. There are so many things that I am ashamed of in my heart. No, I don’t struggle with infidelity, but at the same time I feel my character flips and flutters like a billowing sheet in the wind. When I am faced with opportunities to be honest I shy away from truth as if it’s a suitor that I would rather have lose interest in me. When faced with responsibility I behave as a child given reign over a pet that would soon die from neglect.

Sometimes I feel as if I have some dormant underlying morbid attraction towards self destruction. Not so much to my physical body anymore, but more towards my soul. I can imagine that I have this beautiful painting of a countryside inside of me that is meant to represent what I could maintain if I would just keep it beautiful; but this monster inside of me would rather splatter tar and feces all over it until it is no longer a beautiful painting but a blasphemy against glory.

When one needs to change after making so many mistakes, what should one do? Perhaps fleeing the country and a good old-fashioned name change is in order. Or maybe do the right thing and face the big faced bully that is responsibility head on. Just look him in his big shiny white teeth and pressed suit and beady eyes and say what you’ve always wanted to say. And that is: Fuck it, I’m just going to die some day anyway and all of this will be one big bad nightmare flushed down the toilet. But I might as well wipe now so it doesn’t get uncomfortable in the meantime.

A story perhaps? (Eiri, Part 1)

“Dear God, please help my internet to work.” She knew it was a wasted request. Not because there was no God; but because there is. Why would God help her do something dishonest? She wasn’t paying for internet; she was letting her laptop scheme against the unsecured airwaves. God does not bless that kind of behavior; he turns his back on it. She wondered if God had turned his back on her altogether. Eiri shook her head to clear her thoughts. She wasn’t in the mood for mind games, especially not her own.
She sat in her recliner looking around her apartment in unreserved boredom. She looked at the furniture she had bought but hadn’t needed. Why provide seats that no one is going to sit in? It was only her in the apartment. It seemed it was always only her. She regarded her laptop with frustration. No internet.
Damn it.
She had run out of things to do. Her idea of killing time was getting more and more violent as the days passed. She had spent money. She had gotten a job. She spent more money, read a couple books, and then wondered why anyone would want to trade this rare aimlessness for a job. Time, she thought, was too precious a gift to be spent with such disregard. Yet she didn’t care, time could account for itself if need be. Her short black hair tried as best it could to frame her sad face. It curled away as if to say ‘I quit. There is no meaning to my efforts, I’m not even appreciated for all the work I do around here.’ And her eyebrows would curl upward in curiosity as to what the hair was making such a big fuss about. Eiri always thought her hair was making a big fuss about something or other. Her eyes stood out front on her face trying to let everybody know they had control of the situation, even if there wasn’t a situation needing to be controlled.
Her eyes stood at attention as a small cat zipped in front of the screen in a fervor. At least the cat has something urgent to deal with, she thought. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the second cat getting a surprise attack by an aerial maneuver from the first. Ah, sweet simplicity. Eiri hungered for something. As she walked to the kitchen she realized, with a start, that it was not food she hungered for. Anything but food, actually. Food suddenly became symbolic of everything that was repetitious in her life. She always had to eat: she always had to be socially polite. She always had to eat: she always had to call her mother on her birthday. And so on. As she glanced out the window into the darkness, she realized what she wanted. Change. Not the kind you can spend quickly either. Constant change would be nice. It was as if she had a short attention span for life, not just boring books or dreary lectures. She flopped back down in her recliner.
One of the cats threw up a little and swallowed it back down. She felt a little sick as well, but surely for a different reason. Her wedding pictures stood proudly on the wall as if to mock her. They held her husband and she did not. He would not be returning home for some time. Someone somewhere had told him that his country needed him. But she needed him too. She chided herself for being so selfish. A heavy sigh escaped from one of the cats. Thing One and Thing Two she supposed. The cats had exhausted themselves within minutes of squabbling and had each found a cozy spot atop her outstretched legs to rejuvenate for the next brawl.
She always had to eat: she always had to be a pillow for the cats.
Her head spun from the overwhelming monotony of it all, when all of a sudden... Oh, nothing, just a knock on the neighbors door, not hers. But the knock came again. Eiri raised a reluctant eyebrow. Just one minute, she thought, was that her door or the neighbors? She wasn’t in the mood to see any visitors anyway. The knock came again. It had the same number of raps each time, same volume. But to her, it was just more and more irritating. She stood up briskly causing the cats to fall to the floor in a blinking daze.
As she peered through the peep-hole in the door confusion washed over her. Mostly because she had no idea who the man standing on the other side of the three inch thick piece of wood was; but also because whoever it was wore a bright yellow hat that, she thought, looked like a giant chicken. Curiosity got the best of her and she opened her door just so slightly so as to hide her pajamas.
“Uh, someone order Change?” He asked with an English sort of accent and gave a hesitant smile. Eiri closed the door, walked away, looked up at the ceiling for a second, and went back to reopen the door.
“I’m sorry?”
“For what?” he beckoned.
“As in ‘come again.’”
“You want me to go down the stairs and come back up? Well that’s just silly, but ok…” The strange man turned to descend the stairs.
“No! I mean, no. Just, who are you and why are you on my doorstep? And, uh, did you realize you have a, uh, chicken on your head?” She made a small gesture towards his cranial garment. “Oh, this?” he joined her gesture with one of his own. “It’s just something I think is fun to, uh, well, never mind this.” With that he threw the obscenely yellow chicken hat over the balcony and rolled his eyes in the opposite direction, pretending that he didn’t know what his hands were doing. Without the hat she realized that he was actually quite charming, with his dark hair slicked back and wearing a dark pin-striped suit. She couldn’t put a finger on his age. He looked young but his features looked like they had seen many decades of use. “Look my dear lady; I just got a call to come out here. They said someone needed ‘change’. Hi, I’m ‘change’ but you can call me Alexander.” With that he extended a hand, a slight bow and a tight smile that revealed very white teeth that were trying to hide behind curled lips.
“Oh, right then, ‘Change.’ Cup o’ tea then?” she said without meaning it at all.
“Oh, thank you! I’d love a cup!” he exclaimed.
“No, it’s called sarcasm. The last thing I’m going to do is invite a crazed man refers to himself as ‘change’ into my home while I sit back and let him do whatever it is that crazy people do. Good night, good luck, and don’t come back.” With that she closed the door and stood behind it to watch through the tiny hole. She was startled backwards when her eye suddenly met his enlarged eye through the tiny window in the door.
“I can see you through your peep-hole!” he hollered through the door.
“Go away!” She tried to quietly press her face against the door to see if he had left. No one was there. Then, slowly, his eye reappeared opposite to hers and she let out a startled scream. She heard him let out a little laugh on the other side. “This isn’t funny! You’re very creepy!” “Alright,” she heard him say, “have it your way.” She watched through the door as he vanished into thin air at the snap of his bony fingers.
Eiri took in a deep breath, tried to recount what had just happened, and let the breath out slowly. With a dazed look in her eyes she walked back to the kitchen and decided that a cup of tea did sound nice. She very much wanted to relax and pretend the last five minutes never happened.
As she stepped softly towards her recliner so as not to spill the tea there came another knock on her door. Somewhere in her brain one of the connectors decided it would be a good idea for her to drop the tea. She cursed as she shook some few remaining droplets off of her hands.
“I thought I told you to leave!” she said angrily as she strode to the door once again. She pulled the door open with a huff, and a bit of surprise. It was the elderly widow that lived below her. She was holding a large yellow chicken hat in one of her hands.
“Did you drop this, dear?” she enquired sweetly.
“I’m very sorry Ms. Nesbitt. It must have fallen. You see, I’ve just joined a play and that’s part of my costume.” She accepted the hat dumbly.
“Right, that’s very interesting but you gave my little Nibbles an awful fright.” Nibbles was a wretched excuse for a poodle that was always barking as if every body took elative joy in his shrill tones.
“I’m very sorry again, Ms. Nesbitt. I’ll try to be more careful when I am practicing my lines. Sometimes I just get so carried away. Goodnight, Ms. Nesbitt.”
“Goodnight then, I suppose. And you should clean up that tea over there; it looks as if it’s been soaking in your carpet for a bit.”
Eiri looked over her shoulder with a wince. “Thank you, goodbye now. Send my regards to Nibblets.”
“Nibbles!” The old woman tried to correct her but realized she was speaking to a door and no longer Eiri.
As she rushed to clean up the tea she looked at the chicken hat with a deep resentment and tossed it onto the couch. The nerve of some people, she thought. What she expected to be an evening of private reflection had turned into a nonsensical mess with one disturbance after another. One of the cats dipped it’s tongue repeatedly over the spilt tea and walked away apparently dissatisfied. On a whim she grabbed the plush chicken hat and pressed it down on the tea to soak it up. The dumb thing might as well serve a purpose, she thought. When she picked the tea soaked hat up, ready to throw it in the garbage, a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. It was a small, tasteful business card; even more tasteful with brown tea shriveling up one of the corners. In delicate silver embossed letters it read:
Alexander Swizzeli
A change could do you good!
Eiri crumpled up the card in an angry fist and threw all items belonging to Alexander Swizzeli in the garbage. As the lid closed with a bang the image of his smiling face flashed in her head and she blinked it away.

Blood.

It's the middle of the night. I wake up. I slowly become aware of my husband next to me in bed. I try to take in my surroundings; my thoughts are foggy as sleep begs to hold on. But something in the conscious world is trying to grab my attention. I look to the window and notice only a glow from a lamp over the garage with darkness swarming around it like a bully. I notice the bedding beneath me is soaked. It's a foreign feeling and suddenly I'm overcome with shame that I must have wet myself in my sleep. I rigidly attempt to scoot my way out of bed, trying not to bend my abdomen, protecting the recent surgery.

I shuffle over to the dresser and reach up to turn on the paper star lamp my husband got for me on our honeymoon. With the effort of reaching upwards I feel warm liquid gush between my legs. With the lamp on I can now see that I’m bleeding onto the carpet. I pull my nightgown between my legs, futilely trying to contain the mess.

“Honey… wake up, I need your help.” He doesn’t even stir. “Please, wake up.” A little louder this time. He turns towards me and blinks his eyes open. “Now don’t be scared, I’m fine, but there’s a lot of blood.”

I watch him quickly take everything in: the large puddle of blood where I had been sleeping, my night gown clutched and crimson between my legs. In an instant his face had gone from vacant and sleepy to alert and ashen.

I shuffle my way into the bathroom, the effort of lifting my feet to stand in the tub brings on another gush of blood. He follows me with phone in hand.

“Can you get me a towel, please? I need something to soak this up. I don’t feel light-headed or anything, it just looks scary.” My husband had turned in to a mute slave. Too scared to speak and ready to do my bidding without question. While I wait in the tub I wonder why he can’t be like this all the time. He rushes in to hand me a light blue towel. “Call Labor and Delivery and ask them if this is normal or if I need to get to the hospital.”

He nods his head and flips the cell phone open and dials. While he waits for someone to pick up on the other side he tucks his free hand in his armpit and watches me standing in the tub while the bath towel between my legs turns from light blue to deep red. I feel bad that he is more terrified than I am. I try to reassure him by telling him that I really do feel ok.

“Uh, hi… my wife just had a baby there the other day and we were told to call if she experiences any unusual bleeding. Well, there’s a lot of blood.” He pushes the button to turn the speaker on so that I can hear.

“Okay, how much blood?” The voice on the line sounds tired. I wondered if we disturbed her game of solitaire.

“Well, she’s standing in the tub right now soaking through a bath towel.”

“Okay, well she probably just started her period.”

I scoff. “If this is a period, then it’s the scariest one I’ve ever had.” My husband repeats what I said to the nurse on the phone.

“Well, if it’s that bad then maybe you need to call 9-1-1.” I can tell by her tone that she thinks we’re over reacting. She’s not impressed. She probably gets phone calls all through the night with new parents terrified of every new aspect of having a baby. Maybe she just thinks we’re all crying ‘wolf’ at this point.

“I really do feel fine, maybe a little light headed. But I would like to go in just to make sure everything checks out.” Again he repeats my words to the nurse.

“You can come in if you want, but it probably is just your period starting.” I share an unconvinced look with my husband. I can see that the nurse’s nonchalant attitude is making him angry. He looks as if he wants to reach through the phone and swiftly pull the nurse’s face towards the counter in front of her and introduce her pearly whites to a pain they’ve never met before.

“Alright, we’d like to come in, you can expect us to be there in half an hour.” He flips the phone closed and looks at me, awaiting his next set of orders.

“Well, I guess you can load the baby up and I’ll start making my way down to the car. I’ll need another towel so I don’t mess up the car.” He acknowledges his approval of my plan and quietly gathers up the baby.

We eventually make our way into the car and head out into the night. We ride in silence and I can feel the flow subsiding. I watch the lamps over the highway pass by and I ponder my own mortality. I knew everything would be ok, but something dark inside of me wanted to believe otherwise. I felt my husband reach over and take hold of my hand. It was strange to see him look so helpless. I squeeze his hand reassuringly.