The Wizardry of Otin

R V Wade

2012-01-24T19:40:00.004-05:00

VS.

People argue over this??

Steal a few songs and join the rock and roll hall of fame.

2012-01-14T16:55:00.007-05:00

During my high school years I was a huge music fan. Bands like Led Zeppelin, Queen, and Black Sabbath were some of my favorites. Years later I heard rumors about Led Zep stealing material. Come to find out it was absolutely true...I mean it's one thing to record someone elses song and then give them some credit and even a little financial compensation...but to just steal the material?

Robert Plant and Jimmy Page actually put their names down as writers of these songs. They've even blocked attempts for people to use them as part of movie soundtracks.

If you are a music fan like myself you might be interested in this.....

I think this tarnishes their legacy.

Happy New Year (Unless you're Mayan)

2011-12-31T17:37:00.002-05:00

According to the Mayans the ending is near
So mankind will panic in the shadow of fear
This being said, I want to make clear
That to all of the people whom I hold dear
If by two thousand and thirteen we're not all still here
Then I hope you'll have had a Happy partial New Year!

Death by Chili

2011-11-29T19:11:00.005-05:00

Now normally I'm not a guy who will post a recipe, but I made some chili the other week that will rock your world if you like spicy food. When I say spicy, I MEAN spicy!

I trimmed the fat off of a two lb chuck roast and I put it in a slow cooker along with a large can of crushed tomatoes and a quarter cup of sugar. I set it on high.

I took a small can of habanero Ro*tel tomatoes and put it in a blender along with six whole habanero peppers, four large jalapeno peppers, and half of a small onion. (Do not remove the seeds from the peppers. Only take the stems off)

Once blended I added it to the crock pot.

After two hours, I changed the heat setting to low.

About four hours later I added One 15 oz. can of dark red Kidney beans, one 15oz. can of light red kidney beans, and one 15 oz. can of black beans (Drain all the beans before adding)

Next I put in enough chili seasoning for two pounds of meat.
(I use this particular chili seasoning kit. Use whatever kind you like or just use chili powder.)

After another hour I removed the meat and shredded it with just a fork. I then returned it to the crock pot, thus completing my unbelievably hot, shredded beef, ass burning fire chili!

Try it if you dare and let me know if you can eat it? LOL

What I've been up to

2011-11-18T17:51:00.003-05:00

For the past few years people have been telling me that I should write a book...so I did. Actually I'm working on number three right now. The good news is that my second novel has been picked up by Jeanie Pantelakis, a literary agent at Sullivan Maxx Literary Agency. It's a promising step for me.

I just wanted to thank all of you for your support and encouragement over the past few years. Without your help and friendship, I don't think that I would have taken such a big step. A literary agent doesn't guarantee that I'll be published, but one can hope!

Anyway, that's why I've been so scarce around here. I haven't forgotten anyone. I still see everyone's posts in the reader each morning before I go to work. If it wasn't for you people, I would have never gotten this far...and I Sincerely mean that! See you soon!

The Facebook Dilema

2011-11-06T18:52:00.000-05:00

Stewart Finkle sat at his keyboard, typing away on his Facebook page. Within a minute of posting his latest update, his mother had already commented on his wall.

“When are you going to come see us?” she wrote in capital letters. It had nothing to do with what his post topic was even about.

Stewart was annoyed. He knew that he should have never let his family members friend him. They were all so nosey and intrusive. He had gotten himself into a dilemma. If he removed them, then a bitter battle would ensue within the family. He tried getting rid of them once before, but they became angry and weaseled their way back in. He toyed with the idea of restricting what they could see, but that would have had the same effect. He decided that his best option was to email his sister and ask for her advice.

Twenty minutes after sending out his email, she responded, writing:

Dear Stewie,

Why in the world would you friend your family members? Are you crazy? I think it’s too late to undo the damage. You’re just going to have to live with your mistake,

Love Marie

PS: When are you coming up to see me? I miss you.

Now he was really pissed off. He wanted his sister’s advice and he ended up with another guilt trip about not visiting someone. He returned to his Facebook page and noticed that he had a new message in his inbox. Stewart opened it, and as he expected, it was from his dad. It read:

Hey son, did you forget about us or something? Maybe we can hook up soon.

“Fuck this shit!” he yelled, slamming his hand down on his leg.

He pulled up his Facebook account and he deleted everything.

“What’s his problem?” the new prison guard asked the warden, who had been showing him around the facility.

The two men were standing outside of Stewart’s cell, staring in at the old man. Eighty two year old Stewart Finkle was sitting on the edge of his cot, focused on the blank wall in front of him.

“Stewart murdered his mother and father over forty years ago,” the warden replied. “They were chopped up and buried in their back yard. His sister was the only one who survived. He’s doing life without parole. About five years ago he started to lose his mind. He imagines that there’s a computer in his cell, and that he communicates with his family through Facebook and Gmail. Every day, just about this time, he gets frustrated and pretends to delete his account. Tomorrow morning it’ll start all over again.”

“I know he’s a murderer, but you have to feel for the guy,” the guard said, shaking his head in pity.

“You need to toughen up if you’re gonna make it around here,” the warden replied.

The two men moved on and left Stewart alone. A few minutes later the old man pretended to send another Email to his sister.

In Tacoma Washington, seventy nine year old, Marie Finkle Stein stared through her thick glasses at the computer screen. As expected, an email popped into her in box. It read:

Thanks for your help Marie. I’m sure that we’ll see each other someday soon,

Love Stewie.

Analyzing a few sayings

2011-10-23T09:44:00.002-04:00

Let's analyze some stupid statements:

Money can't buy you happiness -

No, it can just buy you everything you need to make you happy.

You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar-

Does anyone actively hunt for flies? I mean I kill them if they show up, but I don't make a sport of it.

His bark is worse than his bite -

If something actually bit me, I'm pretty sure it would be the worse of the two choices.

Beggars can't be choosers-

Tell that to the politicians! They beg for your money and votes and then decide how you can spend the rest.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush-

Unless it's a live vulture

Curiosity killed the cat -

What's the big deal...it's got nine lives anyway.

different strokes for different folks -

sounds like a bad day at the nursing home.

Do unto others as you would have others do unto you -

This gives me license to rude, obnoxious and ignorant.

Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy. wealthy, and wise-

it makes me tired, sore, and grumpy!

Every cloud has a silver lining-

it's called lightning.

Your eyes are bigger than your stomach-

I'm an Italian guy from Jersey, who are you kidding?

Okay, I know you're getting tired of this, so two more..............

The pen is mightier than the sword -

I've never seen two Ninjas go at it with a bic before.

There's more than one way to skin a cat-

I saw this on a menu right before I ordered my General Tso's Chicken.

The Life I Chose

2011-10-18T20:42:00.002-04:00

Aching muscles and frozen toes,
I can't complain, it's the life I chose.

Sometimes witty, often a fool,
I picked hard knocks to be my school.

To old to change, that's probably true,
bills to pay, some over due.

If I could, I would post-haste,
A mind's a terrible thing to waste.

A man can dream, what's the harm,
at least until the clock's alarm.

Get up early, work in the mud,
Come home at night full of crud.

Eyes are heavy, no time to write,
Why must life be such a fight?

I shouldn't complain, that is true,
I have a job that gets me through.

But it's still tough, as everyone knows.
To have regrets of the lives we chose.

Getting Old is For The Birds (a bit gory! :) )

2011-09-11T15:58:00.000-04:00

Selma Kent was a crotchety old woman who lived alone in a large Victorian farmhouse, far from the hustle and bustle of the big city. Once a sweet and caring soul, Selma had become nasty and reclusive in her advanced age. With the death of her beloved husband some twenty years earlier, all that she now had to look forward to was a weekly visit from her only son, Thomas. Although Thomas spent most of his time in the city operating a shelter for runaway children, he still managed to make sure that his mother was well cared for, supplying her with food and other necessities.

Selma, now seventy six, spent most of her daytime hours sitting at her kitchen table, sipping a hot cup of tea and watching the birds feed near the big oak tree in the back yard. Thomas, knowing of his mother’s love for nature, had constructed two large feeders for her viewing pleasure. At first she was unimpressed, not wanting to deal with the hassle of replenishing the feed, but she soon had a change of heart. Every day, as the number of birds around the tree increased, so did the old woman’s interest. She was becoming a regular ornithologist.

One Thursday afternoon Selma noticed that both feeders were empty. She called Thomas to complain.

“Son, you have to bring me more bird food,” she demanded.

“Good God, Mom, I brought you two thirty pound bags last week. How many birds are you feeding? Maybe you should just let the feeders stay empty for a few days, thin out the numbers a little.”

“You made me the damned feeders, now you won’t bring me anything to put in them? You’re a disgrace as a son. You treat me like shit.”

“Okay Mom,” Thomas said, feeling the same guilt that he had experienced his entire life, ‘I’ll bring more feed tomorrow.”

Selma was satisfied and they said their goodbyes. The next morning Thomas arrived at the country home with two large burlap bags. He made his way into the kitchen and sat them down on the floor.

“Hi Mom,” he said, giving Selma a kiss on the forehead, “I got you larger size ones this time.”

“Well, are you gonna fill the feeders?” she asked, without even saying hello.

“You’re getting to be a real piece of work, Mom; there’s no talking to you anymore without dealing with a nasty attitude.”

“How should I act, Thomas? You let my feeders run out and then you set two heavy bags on the floor like you expect me to lug them out there.”

Thomas picked up the two bags of feed and he headed out back, kicking the door open in frustration. He stomped out to the oak tree and opened the first bag. He turned it over and the blue-green body of a dead boy spilled out onto the ground. He grabbed the youngster’s lifeless feet and he fastened them both to shackles, locking the restraints with a skeleton key. Selma just smiled as she watched from the kitchen. Her son’s homemade bird feeders were simple, but effective.

Thomas proceeded to empty the other sack, laughing as the body of a young girl dumped out at his feet. This time the child’s skin wasn’t blue or green; it was in fact pink and warm. There was a look of horror in the little girl’s eyes, but a long piece of duct tape over her mouth kept prevented her from screaming. Thomas grabbed her feet, shackling them to the remaining restraints, which were on the opposite side of the tree. He left her hands taped together, grabbed the empty bags, and then he headed back inside.

“There, you happy now?” he asked his mother.

“Not really. Why did you bring me a live one? It is kinda creepy to see a live kid chained to my tree.”

“You’re insane, Mom,” Thomas laughed. “I figured that the birds can feed on the dead one for a couple of days, giving the other one time to die. It’ll make the food last longer.”

“I guess,” Selma still seemed annoyed.

“I gotta run, Mom, lots of lost kids depending on me.”

“Bye Thomas,” Selma warmed up to him for a minute. “No matter what I say, you’re still a good boy, son.”

Thomas was happy to have his mother’s approval. He gave her a hug and then he departed. Selma went back into the kitchen and refreshed her tea cup, settling in for an extended round of bird watching. It didn’t take long for the giant buzzards to recognize the odor of dead flesh. They flocked to the boy’s body and began pecking at it, tearing off little pieces with each jab of their sharp beaks. Selma was thrilled to see her winged friends once again.

Little Tiffany could only gasp as she watched a bird snatch the eyeball out of the dead boy’s head. She wanted to vomit, but she knew that she had to fight the urge because of the tape over her mouth. Choking to death would only mean that she would become bird food that much sooner. She began to fumble with the tape around her wrists, trying to break her hands free, but it was too thick. She then proceeded to feel around behind her back, hoping to locate something sharp. After a few minutes Tiffany found what she had been looking for. It was a rough object that she could use to wear through the tape. Realizing that Selma was observing her actions through the window, she tried to keep her movements minimal. She rubbed her wrists back and forth over the rough object, eventually cutting through the layers of sticky tape.

Selma’s focus had mostly been on the boy. When she saw two large buzzards playing tug of war with a long piece of bowel, she became so excited that she almost wet her pants. It was at that moment that she had to run off to the bathroom.

Tiffany saw the old woman get up and disappear from the window. She spun around to see what the rough object that freed her was and then she immediately became sick again. It was the bottom jaw of a young child’s skull. The area behind her was littered with skeletal remains. Obviously the bird feeders had been operational for quite some time. Using her free hands, she ripped the tape off of her mouth and puked all over herself. Selma returned to her chair just in time to see it happen. Tiffany then began to scream, scaring the feeding birds off. The screaming didn’t bother Selma because there was no one around for miles, but the fact that her birds had been frightened away infuriated the old woman. She grabbed a large butcher knife from the kitchen counter and then she headed for the back yard.

Tiffany saw the old woman burst out of the back door and she also saw the stainless steel blade gleaming in the sunlight. The sudden rush of terror made it impossible for her to scream anymore.

“No one scares my birds away little girl!” Selma growled as she walked straight for Tiffany. “I’m gonna cut your little head off for that.”

Tiffany didn’t know what to do. Selma reached the child and then she drew the knife blade back like she was a Samurai warrior. Without thinking, the doomed girl reached around and grabbed the first hard object that she could find, throwing it at Selma’s face. There was a loud thud as a child’s skull slammed into the woman’s forehead, knocking her out cold and sending her brittle old body to the turf. Tiffany then stretched forward, grabbing Selma by the foot and pulling her closer. Praying that the old woman had a key to the shackles, she rummaged through the unconscious woman’s garments, finding nothing. It was at that moment that she spotted a key on the ground. Selma had probably been carrying it in her hand just in case she had to unchain the girl for some reason. Tiffany stretched out and tried to reach the key with her fingers, but she was about a half an inch short. Suddenly Selma groaned and the desperate girl lunged forward once more, stretching her back until it caused her pain. This time she found the key and immediately unlocked the restraints, setting her free.

When Selma woke up the buzzards were back and they were once again devouring the remains of the boy. The little girl was gone, but to where? She looked at the house and saw Tiffany’s face in the window. The little bitch had a smile on her face. Selma grabbed her knife and sprung to her feet. She took one step toward the house and the shackles stopped her forward progress, sending her face first to the ground. In doing so, the knife lodged itself in the old woman’s gut.

Watching from the comfort of the elderly woman’ kitchen, Tiffany couldn’t help but to smile at her handiwork. As the blood oozed from Selma’s body the little girl knew that it would only be a matter of time before the birds would have a magnificent feast. She would sit right there, have a cold drink, and wait for it to happen.

Nancy Grace would you please shut up!

2011-09-10T23:28:00.003-04:00

The case is over.

Casey is free.

She can't be retried.

There's not always justice in this world.

Please just move on.

You're beating a dead horse.

Are you an avenger or an ambulance chaser?

Maybe we should forget...just a little.

2011-09-10T16:33:00.005-04:00

So tomorrow is 9/11.

I know what happened. I remember what happened. It was in my lifetime.

In 1963, John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I wasn't alive. No matter how many times I see Jackie Kennedy flop around that car trying to collect her husband's skull fragments, there will always be a disconnect between me and that event.

I wasn't alive. It wasn't in my lifetime.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that while we should always watch our backs and we should always memorialize those who perished on 9/11, I really don't need to see footage of people swan diving to the pavement below every year. I'm sure that the families of the victims don't really want to see that. If I had a family member who was shot in the head, I wouldn't want to watch gunshot videos over and over again.

I'm sure that every news agency will show the towers fall a thousand times tomorrow, and yet, I still remember it like it was yesterday without the visual reminder.

If the argument for showing it is to teach the young people what happened, then it all goes back to the Kennedy thing. People who were not born or who were too young to remember the tragic events of 9/11/2001, will never be affected by it the way we are. It's only natural. Time will always erase history to a point. I guess that's why we celebrate our nation's bloody battle for independence by eating hamburgers and hot dogs and running off to the beach.

Answer honestly: When was the last time that you cried your eyes out while watching Pearl Harbor footage? Probably never if you're under 60 or if you didn't have a family member who was involved in WWII

I"m all for remembering and honoring, but I just don't need to see the "towers fall" marathon over and over again.

Maybe just once, okay guys.

Lost In Suburbia Redux

2011-08-06T20:41:00.000-04:00

Tommy stood on the traffic island and he watched as a line of cars drove by. Even though he was getting up there in years, at most times his memory had remained sharp and clear. Unfortunately for him this wasn't one of those occasions. On this day Tommy seemed to be a bit confused. He had taken a walk, made a few unfamiliar turns , and he now found himself completely lost.

Trying desperately to get his bearings, he crossed the street and headed down Maplewood drive. Tommy knew that he had been on Maplewood before, but he couldn't recall when or with whom. It seemed that the curse of old age had finally caught up with him. As he walked down Maplewood Drive he began to observe the world around him in a way that he had never seen it before.

He first noticed a mother screaming at her child.

“Get your ass in this fucking house!” she yelled.

He felt such pity for the young boy, having to grow up like that. Under normal circumstances, Tommy might not have even noticed the verbal abuse, but today it struck him like a swift kick in the ribs.

He then saw a police car parked in the driveway of a nice home. The vehicles lights were flashing and a normal looking couple were being escorted from the house. The woman had bruises on her face and the man's shirt was covered in blood. Tommy could only wonder what had happened. Surely people who lived in such a nice place couldn't have resorted to acts of violence. Maybe the woman had just bumped her head and the man had tried to help her, getting his shirt bloody in the process. It was the only explanation that made sense to him at that moment.

Tommy watched for a few more minutes and then he proceeded down Maplewood, turning right onto Simmons street. As he strolled down Simmons street he noticed that the houses began to change in appearance. The homes had become much smaller and most of them seemed to be in desperate need of maintenance. The people who lived there weren't the same either. Their skin was much darker than that of their Maplewood neighbors. It was the first time in his life that he had ever noticed a physical difference in people. He was sure that the observation probably had something to do with the recent narrowing of his mental capabilities. Whatever the reason, it seemed silly to him that one group of people was living so much nicer than the other. He wondered how different the situation might be if they all lived and worked together as one.

As Tommy continued to amble aimlessly along Simmons Street, he received some strange looks. He even had a police car slow down as it passed by, but the officers gave him nothing more than a curious glance. No one really seemed to care that he was lost and wandering.

After the patrol car drove off without assisting him, Tommy made a turn onto Park Lane and walked for about 15 minutes, bringing him back into a more affluent neighborhood. He then passed by a school. It must have been lunch time because there were tons of children milling about. He noticed two kids in particular, dressed in black. The one boy lifted up his shirt to show the other one a pistol that was hidden in his belt. Tommy didn't know what to make of this because his mind was fuzzy. Perhaps the gun was just part of a science project. After all, what young kid would do anything violent on school grounds? Convincing himself that there was no danger, he continued with the quest to find his way home.

The next area that he arrived at was the city park. He saw some mothers gathered around a picnic table while their little children played on the swings and see-saws. There was also a middle aged man hiding in the bushes, intently watching the youngsters from afar. Even though his mind was still in a fog, Tommy wondered why a grown man was showing so much interest in the children. Equally perplexing was the fact that the stranger was nearly naked and he was taking pictures. Tommy assumed that the man was probably harmless and then he resumed his trek.

He ended up in the downtown area where he saw a well-dressed young man in a suit conversing with someone who looked like he hadn't seen a shower in a month. The man in the suit handed the dirty man some money, in exchange for a baggie with a tiny bit of white powder inside. It seemed like a lot of money to pay for a measly amount of sugar, especially when they were standing in the alley adjacent to a grocery store.

Next he passed the Veterans hospital, where a one legged gentleman smiled at him and asked him if he was lost. Of all the people whom he had passed, the one guy who was willing to help him was the one who had given so much already. It was really uplifting. Tommy declined the generous offer and he kept walking. He would never admit to being lost.

After trudging on a bit farther, he spotted Trotters Drive. He suddenly remembered where he was. Trotters Drive was his street. He walked until he found the yellow Victorian house where he had lived his entire life.

Sandy and David ran out of the door screaming with joy, “Tommy, where have you been?”

He was home, he was happy, and he never wanted to be lost again. He began to wag his tail and ran up to Sandy and began to lick her face.

“Down, boy!”, David commanded in a joyful voice. He clicked a leash on the dog's collar collar and led him into the back yard.

Tommy was glad to be back in the confines of his little back yard, far away from the strange world that surrounded him.

SMART KIDS (a new story)

2011-07-25T06:34:00.000-04:00

“You’re such a little slut!” Bruce Clark screamed at his terrified fifteen year old daughter, Linda.

As he approached the trembling girl with his clenched fists, Linda’s Mother, Joannie, threw herself into his path.

“Bruce, you lay a hand on her and I’ll call the cops so fast you won’t have time to run,” she warned.

“The little slut needs an ass whipping. Fifteen and fucking pregnant? I can’t believe that you’re defending her.”

“I’m not a slut!” Linda cried out, “I’ve never even had sex before.”

“What kind of fool do you take me for, Linda? Your belly looks like a basketball and your mother says that you haven’t had your period in five months.”

“I should have never told you,” Joannie butted in, “I should have just taken Linda and moved away. I knew that you wouldn’t be able to support her.”

“Go ahead, take her and go live with her baby daddy. Maybe he can support you with a pizza delivery job.”

“I don’t have a baby daddy,” Linda screamed hysterically, “I swear that I’ve never been with a man before!”

“It’s true,” Joannie backed up her daughter’s claim. “The doctor said that her hymen is still intact.”

Bruce’s look of anger faded a little and it was replaced momentarily by a confused expression.

“What? How is that even possible?” he asked.

“The doctors don’t know. They want Linda to get some tests run. She swears she’s a virgin and I for one believe in her.”

Bruce was still angry and not a hundred percent ready to buy his wife’s explanation.

“So our daughter is the Virgin Mary, huh? This is such bullshit. How could she possibly be pregnant? Next thing you’re gonna tell me is that aliens knocked her up.”

“I don’t have any answers Bruce. There’s a round scar beneath Linda’s belly button that she noticed about six months ago. The doctors seem to be curious about it. Other than that we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Dr. Steinman, nice to see you again,” the young technician said as he welcomed the distinguished scientist back from his journey.

“How long was I gone?” Dr. Steinman asked.

“Two years, seventeen days, ten hours and thirty seven seconds. It’s amazing; you look exactly the same as the day you left.”

“That’s because although it was over two years to you, it was merely a few hours for me. Damn, I’ve got to iron out the glitches in this time traveling. I can’t lose two years every time I use it.”

“Glitches or no glitches, your machine is brilliant.” The young man was in awe of the aging scientist.

At that moment two armed men entered the room, effectively ending the conversation.

“Dr. Steinman, the board needs a debriefing, now. Please don’t say another word, sir,” the one guard ordered.

Steinman knew the drill. He smiled at the technician and then he followed the guards out of the room.

“Dr. Steinman, sir, I’m sorry that we had to treat you that way. You’re a great man and humanity owes you for its very existence. You should control the board, not answer to it,” the other guard stated, much to the disapproval of his gruff partner.

“We each have our purpose in life,” answered Steinman.

The two guards escorted the doctor into a room where he had previously been on numerous occasions. As usual, he sat alone at a large table. The armed men then departed, locking the door on their way out.

“Ah, Dr. Steinman,” a woman’s voice filled the empty room. “We were starting to worry that you might not return. We’ve always known that your mission would be successful, but we were unaware of what was to become of you.”

“You seem to have little faith in my abilities, even though I’m responsible for saving this planet. I’ve lived my entire life within the walls of this compound and I’ve worked my fingers to the bone for you. I’ve cured cancer, wiped out aids, developed weapons to deal with the global aggression, solved the energy crisis, perfected cloning, and I even developed a way to travel through time. I did all of this on the hopes that you would one day fulfill your promise to tell me about where I came from and who my family was.”

“And with the completion of your mission to the past, your time has come my good Doctor. It is time for you to know the truth.”

Dr. Steinman sat with a smile on his face. He had waited forty six years to find out about his lineage.

The woman began her story:

“In the late 1990’s, a scientific team led by the now defunct United States Government, made some astonishing advances in the field of cloning. They found that by using long dead skeletal remains they could in fact create an embryo of an individual.

The team went crazy trying to produce embryos of everyone from John Lennon to Abe Lincoln.”

“How did they get permission to do that?” Steinman asked, wondering who the two men were.

“They didn’t need permission. The United States government did whatever they wanted to.

Somewhere along the way, a young scientist came up with an ingenious idea. He wondered what the unlimited brain power of Albert Einstein would be able to accomplish with the technology of the modern world at his disposal. All they would have to do would be to find his remains, create an embryo, and plant it into a willing subject. This was eventually made a reality, and in 2005 a healthy baby boy was brought into this world. Unfortunately, it would take sixteen years before the boy was old enough to begin utilizing his potential. He grew up in the care of the U.S. government and he was never told about his upbringing.”

“So I’m this guy??” Dr. Steinman’s face turned white. Although he wasn’t familiar with the other two names, he had been taught everything about famous scientists.

“Oh, no, that was way before your time. I forgot that you aren’t aware of the current date. Anyway, the young boy was brilliant. He brought about advances in society and he proved that it was possible to recreate a genius.”

“What happened to the other ones like that Lincoln fellow?”

“Once the Einstein clone proved to be an asset, the others were exterminated.”

“So cruel,” Steinman shook his head.

The woman continued:

“At the age of thirty, the Einstein clone began to lose his memory. The other scientists wondered if it was a problem with the cloning process itself. They worked together as a team until Einstein could no longer function. Using the new updates, the government once again cloned the genius and implanted his embryo into another woman. The elder Einstein was then euthanized.”

“Oh my God! That is beyond unacceptable!”

“Calm down, Dr., there’s a lot more. In 2036, Einstein clone number two was born. At the same time the United States crumbled and what was once a proud empire became a land of turmoil and upheaval. Scientific and government agencies like ours went underground and sold their technology to the highest bidders. Nations like China and Brazil offered protection and statehood to some of the agencies. We are technically owned by China, although we are based in what was once Michigan.”

Steinman was lost when it came to history. He was never taught anything about it.

“You, Dr. Steinman, are Einstein clone number two,” the woman’s voice echoed throughout the room.

The Doctor couldn’t even respond. His mind had been blown.

“Your predecessor and his colleague ironed out some of the problems with the cloning process, allowing you to make it to your current age without slipping. Unfortunately your own research has taught us that you won’t make it too much longer before your mental condition deteriorates. We couldn’t afford to make the mistake that we made between version one and two, leaving such a giant gap in the years of productivity between the two Einstein incarnations, so we decided to use your time travel device to our advantage. When you impregnated the young girl with what was up until this very minute an unknown embryo, you created a situation where we would have access to a fully grown version of the scientist when the first one began to lose his mind, effectively wiping out that sixteen years of lost production. Also, unbeknownst to you, we have been cloning you in five year intervals for the past twenty years.”

“You’re insane! What happened to the girl? You told me that the future of the world depended upon me injecting her with the embryo and that she wouldn’t be in any danger. Did you take care of her? What about her family?”

“She was directed to a government medical clinic and she became a ward of the state. Her family mysteriously disappeared.”

“How did the scientists in that time know whose child she was carrying?”

“Don’t be naïve, Doctor. Just because you invented the time machine; don’t think that it hasn’t been used before. We just needed you to do the cloning process because you were the most qualified.”

“You’re all a bunch of sick bastards!”

Your oldest offspring is now educated and ready to take your place. Doctor, you have been a great asset to our society and this version of you will surely be missed.”

“You can’t be serious! This must be a joke?”

A light green gas began to flood the room as the scientist begged for a better explanation. In the matter of a few minutes his body was still and his heart was no longer beating. It was now time for young Dr. Steinberg to take the helm of the Ting Wa science department in what was once Detroit Michigan. Just another smart kid in a long list of Einsteins.

Another Otin Interview

2011-07-18T18:20:00.002-04:00

A couple of years ago we at ARMCHAIR MAGAZINE sat down with the addicted blogger who calls himself Otin. We decided to once again check in on the now seemingly semi-retired story teller.

Our reporter, John Bunion, met with the reclusive wizard at his home on the east coast.

John: It's been a while since we last spoke with you, Otin. It is still Otin, right?

Otin: Why would I change it?

John: Well, I guess you probably know that in one culture otin is a term for a man's private parts?

Otin: So you're already calling me a dick? You wouldn't be the first one. (Both laugh)

John: So what have you been up to? I see that the blog is nearly dormant.

Otin: I've been writing books. I wrote two in the last year.

John: Are you trying to get them published?

Otin: No, I'm gonna throw them away! Where is Bill Engval when you need him.

John: Yeah, I guess that was a here's your sign type of question. Okay, I will rephrase that....any luck getting them published?

Otin: Lots of rejection, but they say that's to be expected. All I can do is try my best.

John: Are you going to write another novel or maybe a short story in the near future?

Otin: I'm sure I will but I have to paint the kitchen first.

John: You have to paint it? You sound like you have no choice.

Otin: I can't get into that, but I really don't! (Grins)

John: Do you miss blogging?

Otin: To be honest, most times no. Unless blogging can be used as a springboard to other things then it is really just a time drain. I don't want to look back in ten years and regret all the time I spent on line. I like the people I correspond with and even though I'm not around much I still catch their posts in the reader.

John: How is the personal life?

Otin gets up and walks away. He originally agreed to do the interview with the stipulation that he would not be asked about anything involving his personal relationships. After a brief discussion with a magazine official, he rejoins John.

John: Sorry, I forgot about the restrictions. There's just some things that people are dying to know and I guess I got caught up in trying to get the information.

Otin: Mystery is the key to every good story. Keep 'em guessing.

John: Okay then, let's just throw some things out there. Who is the most overrated musical act of all time?

Otin: Easy one....Bob Dylan. He can't sing, can barely play an instrument, and his poems are simple and stupid. If it hadn't been for the fact that he came along when he did, he would have never been noticed.

John: Most Underrated?

Otin: The original Black Sabbath Lineup with Ozzy. Great sound.

John: Anything that really bugs you lately?

Otin: Security!

John: Being secure bugs you?

Otin: (Laughs) No....like at events. I can understand being cautious about what bags go into the belly of a plane, but when you're out in the middle of some hick town and you can't even bring a tiny cooler into a minor league baseball game, that's what annoys me. They're just using it to jack up the concession stand prices under the guise of protection! Do you know that you can carry a suitcase onto an Amtrak train in North Carolina and go straight into the nation's capital without any security check? How strange is that? It seems that security is only tight when someone has something to gain financially by restricting you. Do you think that a little old lady at an amusement park really needs to have a wand waved between her legs? Just idiotic!

John: Wow, I touched a nerve. Any other complaints?

Otin: Of course. How about cops on interstates. It seems that every time one pulls out of the median to go after a speeder, the entire roadway, which had been flowing smoothly minutes before, becomes a hazardous nightmare. When the pursuing cops become more dangerous than the guy who is driving fast then we need to examine how things are done. I'm not bashing law enforcement, I just think that there has to be a better way on the interstates.

John: What's your favorite TV show?

OTIN: Either The Deadliest Catch or The Amazing Race.

John: Were you surprised by the Casey Anthony verdict?

Otin: No way. I could have raised enough doubt with the jury myself to get her off and I'm not even a lawyer!

John: One last question...Will you ever come back to being a full time blogger?

Otin: No way!

John: Thank you for your time.

Otin: You're welcome (shake hands)

The Tiny Cross

2011-07-07T19:33:00.003-04:00

I see that tiny cross
every day as I drive by
a little wooden monument
of a lonely place to die

The tire marks still remain
etched upon the street
children are now motherless
as she lies beneath their feet

A husband who had it all
just spends his time alone
explaining to his children
that their mommy can't come home

She lived just up the road
and although we never spoke
sadness filled the neighborhood
when the tragic story broke

Her family placed a marker
at that fateful site
And it catches my attention
each and every night

Its a tribute to a her memory
and a symbol of great loss
a reminder of our mortality
sometimes I hate that cross.

A memorial day story of sorts (From the Otie archives)

2011-05-29T20:23:00.008-04:00

Barbara Stanley’s house was the perfect venue for a Halloween party. It was an old, three story Victorian home, located along a vast tract of farm land in the beautiful hilly countryside of eastern Pennsylvania. There were no neighbors within five miles in either direction of the main road and the house sat back about a quarter of a mile from the street. On the opposite side of the road sat an old cemetery. It was very creepy looking and not well maintained. Most of the grave markers were broken, or they were covered with thick moss, making it difficult to read the names that were inscribed upon them.

Barbara gazed out of the window toward the road. It was 6 pm and the skies were darkening fast. This annual get together was an occasion that she really looked forward to. It was the one time of the year that people could visit without her being embarrassed by the general lack of up keep to her property. To most of Barbara's guests the house really didn't appear to be in bad shape, but she was always overly sensitive about it.

Her parties were never really extravagant. Six or eight guests, at the most, would show up. She had been hosting it every year since 1976, and this would mark her eighth one.

Shortly before seven, the party goers started to arrive. There was her sister, Tracy, along with her husband, Beau. They had been the first to show up, dressed as Marc Antony and Cleopatra.

There was also Bob Baino, who worked with Barbara at the bank. He was a very attractive man in her eyes, and she had a huge crush on him. His tight fitting Zorro costume made her want him even more.

Megan, the girl who styled Barbara’s hair and probably knew more about her personal life than anyone else, came dressed as Lucille Ball. Barbara hoped that none of the guests would mention that Megan looked nothing like Lucy.

Russ and Connie, friends of hers for years, showed up as Laurel and Hardy. It was hysterical because Connie was a big woman and Russ was a bean pole. Connie played the fat man role so well.

There was also Alice and Sam. Alice was a housekeeper by trade, and she came dressed as a French maid. Sam, who was a locksmith, didn't know what costume to wear, so he arrived wearing a chef’s outfit. Barbara thought that he looked more like a butcher.

Her old neighbors who used to live down the road, George and Louise, did not attend. They had moved out of the country, and had relocated in Manhattan’s upper west side. They had really moved on up and away from country life. She hadn't seen them in ages.

The party was festive event. There was punch, and food, and the usual catching up that people do in social situations. The jovial mood was interrupted by a knock at the door. Barbara opened it, and in front of her stood a man dressed up as a soldier. He looked like he had just crawled out of the trenches.

“Can I help you?” she asked him.

“I heard that there was a party here,” he said with a grin.

Barbara felt that one of the other guests had probably invited him, so she let the man in.

“I’m Barbara,” she said, extending her hand. She had dressed herself up to be a witch. “Come on in and grab some punch.”

The soldier shook her hand but he did not offer his name. “Thank you,” was all that he said.

She began to ask her other guests about the man in the military costume. None of the other attendees had ever seen him before. Barbara decided to confront him.

“Excuse me,” she said, gently tapping the man on the shoulder. “I don’t mind that you're here. You seem like a really nice fellow, but no one here recognizes you.”

“That's always the case," he replied. He was going to continue, but then there was a loud shriek!

Megan, who was looking out of the front window, had let out the chilling yell.

“My God! Come look at what's happening in the graveyard!” she wailed.

Everyone went and looked out of the front windows. A light fog had developed, but they could still see across to the old cemetery. There was something moving among the tombstones.

“I count five,” Russ said.

“They don’t look right,” added the man in the soldier outfit.

The shadowy figures no longer drifted around the tombstones. They were now on Barbara’s land and advancing slowly toward the house. The fog was ever thickening, and soon their outlines had become nothing but images in the night mist.

Bob Baino said, "Who or whatever they are, they're not coming here for the party.”

They were all scared now. Maybe it was the tales that they had just been telling, or just the fact that it was Halloween. Alice began to cry and Sam tried to comfort her the best that he could. Everyone was getting nervous.

Beau looked out of the window and saw nothing. “I think that they're gone.” he said.

Suddenly there was a loud crash from above. The sound of breaking glass echoed throughout the house. Everyone jumped at the exploding windows.

“The Phone! Where’s the phone?” Russ asked in a panic.

There was now movement outside of the lower windows , on the front side of the house.

“In the kitchen!” Barbara yelled back at Russ.

Beau ran in and picked up the phone. It was dead. There was another loud thump and the sound of more breaking glass.

“They're coming in”, the soldier said, “We have to make a stand somewhere. We're sitting ducks here.”

“There's a cellar door that is pretty well hidden. You have to go through the kitchen pantry to get to it. We could lock ourselves in there,” Barbara informed the others.

“Yea, that worked well in “Night of the Living Dead”, Sam added. “Remember, everyone died?!”

The front door began to rattle. They all headed for the basement. There were no more discussions; fear dictated their actions. The cellar was dark and the light bulb was burnt out. Barbara didn't go down there very often, so she had no idea that there was no source of illumination. The group crowded on the stairs and locked the door behind them. No one made a sound as they listened to the world above. There was more breaking glass and a few large crashing sounds, and then there were heavy footsteps. The beings had entered the house. The party goer's only hope was that the creatures wouldn't find the cellar door.

Just then there was a noise from below. It was coming from the darkness at the bottom of the cellar steps. Something furry ran across Tracy’s leg. Beau cupped his hand over her mouth before she could scream.

“ It’s just rats, don’t yell,” Bob said softly.

“I think I would rather take my chances with the zombies. I hate rats”, Russ whispered.

The noise above them continued. The house was being ransacked. The intruders were either searching for something of value, or maybe just looking for them. It went on for at least an hour. With crashes from upstairs and rats in the darkness below, it turned into one hell of a scary Halloween party. Then the racket from above stopped. After that, they sat on the stairs in the darkness for what seemed like an eternity. It was Russ who finally decided that they needed to go up and take a look. They all reluctantly agreed.

The party guests came out the darkness to find that the morning sun was just starting to emerge over the horizon and that they were alone in the house. The intruders had vanished. There was broken glass everywhere, doors were left open, and the furniture was overturned. Barbara was in a state of shock. After a few minutes of silence, something suddenly occurred to her.

“Has anyone seen the soldier guy?” she asked.

Everyone looked around. The soldier was gone. They knew that he couldn't have gotten past them. How did he disappear? Too many weird things had happened that night. Barbara just wanted to put it behind her and pick up the pieces.

The morning sun began to peek over the mausoleum where the boys had decided to spend the night. It was a rite of passage to say that you spent the night in a graveyard, but these boys had taken it one step further and had actually spent Halloween in the cemetery. Tommy Slater was the first one to open his eyes. It hadn't been much of a sound sleep that he had gotten. It seemed like every little noise had caused his heart to jump, disturbing his light slumber. By daybreak he was awake and examining his surroundings. It was the first time that he had seen the cemetery up close, in the daylight. He suddenly felt sad, like he shouldn't be there. He looked at the little headstone directly in front of where he had slept. There was a tiny American flag, the kind that you would wave at a parade, stuck in the ground. It looked like it had been there for ages. The tombstone read:

Unknown soldier WWI Go with God

Tommy was ashamed of himself. He woke Dave Hanson, who had fallen asleep next to him.

“Let’s get out of here Dave, this ain’t right. My Dad would kill me for being here, especially with the soldier’s grave. My Uncle died in Vietnam. My Dad cries when anyone brings it up.”

" Yea, I want to go home and sleep some more in my bed, anyway. This sleeping bag wasn't very comfortable,” Dave replied.

They woke the other three boys and began to make their way out to the road. Tommy looked across the street at Barbara Stanley’s house and then he turned to David.

“Do you think that we'll get in trouble for what we did last night?” he asked.

“Hell no,” David said, “Old lady Stanley died in 75’. That house needs to be torn down anyway. They say that if you look in the house at a certain time on Halloween, you can see her and her friends having a party. Did you see anything last night?”

“No”, Tommy replied.

“Then stop worrying about some old abandoned house!”

“You pussy”, one of the other boys added as they all walked away.

A few days later, a car stopped on the side of the road. Tommy got out of the passenger side and his dad emerged from the drivers seat. Tommy led him to the grave of the unknown soldier. His dad removed the worn out flag and replaced it with a new one. Tommy placed a bouquet of flowers in front of the grave marker.

“Don’t ever come here unless you show respect, son. These people had lives and families and they deserve that much from you.”

Tommy looked over and saw a Moss covered tombstone which read:

Barbara Stanley Beloved to all

He felt compelled to tell his Dad about the vandalism. Tommy Slater grew up quite a bit that Halloween.

The man in the soldier suit smiled. It was nice to finally be recognized.

Answer me this

2011-05-13T22:31:00.001-04:00

What color is this??

Round Chair

2011-01-22T20:27:00.005-05:00

Derrick Schaefer stared at his caller I.D., recognizing the number immediately. It was his estranged father. Even though they hadn’t spoken in over ten years, he still remembered their last conversation like it was yesterday.

Derrick, who was only eighteen at the time, had been summoned by his father, Carl Schaefer, to come have a man-to-man chat in the family room. He immediately dropped what he was doing and made his way there. Carl, who had been lounging like a sloth in his chair, sat up straight as his son entered the room.

“So what are your plans?” he asked Derrick, while popping the top off of a fresh beer.

“Plans?” the confused boy responded.

“Yea, you know what I’m talkin’ about. You gotta find a job, get your own place.”

“But Mom said that I could stay here as long as I was going to college. I’ll get a place when school’s finished.”

“Your mom’s been dead for a month, son. This is my house, my rules. Time for you to be a man. You’ve always been a momma’s boy.”

Derrick watched his father light a cigarette and then guzzle half of the beer that he’d just opened. Hatred filled the boy’s heart as the man, whom he had once called daddy, spoke so nonchalantly about his wonderful mother.

“You’re the reason that she’s dead!” exclaimed Derrick. “You put her through hell.”

Carl sprung from his seat, slapping his son across the face. The stunned boy was knocked to the floor by the vicious hit.

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, you little bastard?” Carl growled. “I’ll give you a week to get out of here. You’re not gonna say that shit in my house!”

Derrick grabbed his jaw and ran to his bedroom, as tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

“Don’t be such a pussy, boy. You gotta stand up for yourself sometimes,” Carl yelled out, once again proving to Derrick that he was a mean drunk.

Derrick couldn’t take it any more. He was tired of his Father’s alcohol induced tirades. He crammed as many items as possible into his two suitcases and left the house that night for good. His final words to his father were, “ Fuck you, I hope you rot in that chair!”

It was a tough couple of years for him after that. He moved in with a college friend and continued his education, working two jobs in order to support himself. He graduated, started down a successful career path, and later got married. After buying a nice house in the suburbs, he and his wife had two amazing children. In all of that time, Derrick never once returned to his rural childhood home, or even corresponded with his father in any way. Ten years without contact was about to come to an end.

Derrick picked up the phone on the sixth ring. Curiosity had gotten the best of him.

“Derrick?” a faint voice asked.

“Yea, Carl, what do you want?” he asked in reply, not giving his father enough respect to address him as dad.

“I wanna see you before I die,” Carl Schaefer wheezed.

“We’ve been dead to each other for years, Carl. Why are you interested in seeing me all of a sudden?”

“Cause I really am dying, boy,” he said, followed by a hacking cough. “ I ain’t got much time and I want to share a few things with you.”

“I’m sorry about any health issues that you may have, but I don’t think that there’s anything of yours that I want,” Derrick responded, showing little sympathy.

“I was talkin’ about your mom’s stuff.”

Derrick became emotional at the thought of his mother. He was intrigued by the thought of obtaining her possessions. It was an opportunity that he never expected.

“I’ll come by tomorrow night around sixish. Don’t expect any apologies from me.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. No apologies expected,” Carl said, trying to catch his breath.

The next twenty four hours were pure hell for Derrick. The thought of being face to face with his old man sickened him. If it hadn’t been for the possibility of acquiring some of his mother’s treasures, he was certain that the meeting would have never happened.

It was ten minutes past six when he stepped up to the front door of his childhood home. It felt strange to once again be at the secluded little farmhouse. After knocking and receiving no reply, he opened the door and stepped inside. A rush of emotion overwhelmed him as he stepped into the living room. Very little had changed in ten years.

He looked across the room and spotted his father. Carl was sitting in the same chair that he sat in the night that Derrick walked out. It was no longer a presentable piece of furniture. There was more duct tape holding it together than upholstery. Carl sat in his usual position, but was frail and much thinner than he’d been ten years earlier. The big round chair almost seemed to swallow him up. An oxygen tank sat on the floor beside him, providing fresh air through the tubes that were clipped to his nose.

“You’ve turned into quite a man,” Carl wheezed at his son.

“No thanks to you,” Derrick responded

“I don’t want to drag up old times, Derrick. I just want you to have a few things when I’m gone.”

“What’s wrong with you, anyway?” Derrick asked.

“Liver’s gone, for one,” Carl answered, picking up a beer can.

Derrick stared at the beer, remembering how his father would often come home drunk and take his frustration out on him and his mother. It wasn’t unusual for one of them to take a beating from the nasty bastard. He thought about how many nights that his poor mother had to cover up her bruised face with makeup and hide her tears with fake smiles. He was just a kid and didn’t know any better. He assumed that it was normal behavior and that all families acted that way.

“Are you surprised, Carl? You probably kept a few beer companies in business all by yourself.”

“I don’t need no I told you so’s. I also have the cancer in my lungs. That’s gonna get me before the liver.”

Derrick noticed the pack of Marlboros on the table, alongside a full ashtray. He looked down at his own forearm, rubbing his hand over the faded scars of the cigarette burns that had been inflicted upon him as a child.

“I guess quitting now would be kind of pointless, huh?” he asked.

“Yea, it would,” Carl gasped.

“Look, Carl, let’s get this over with. Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

“All I want from you is for you to have my things, son. I want you to have all that’s in this house. I want you to pass them down to your children and for them to pass them on also. I don’t want the world to forget me.”

Derrick didn’t know how to respond. He had hated the man in front of him for so many years, but still felt some emotion within his heart.

“I can’t make any promises, Carl. I’m not sure what I should do.”

“Sunday they are moving me to a nursing home at my request. I have it set up with the lawyers to turn this house and everything in it over to you. When I die, you don’t need to do anything. All of the arrangements have been made. As of Monday, this is your house. Do whatever you want with it. I guess this is the best I'm sorry that you’re gonna get, son.”

“I will take the house for sentimental reasons, but I can’t find it in my heart to accept any apology. Maybe someday I can. That’s the best that I can give you, Dad.”

Carl looked away, trying to hide his watery eyes. He coughed violently, and then handed Derrick a house key.

“Welcome home, Derrick,” he whispered, trying not to cough again.

Derrick took the key and walked away, never saying goodbye. He remembered the comment to his father about hoping that he rotted in that chair and suddenly felt a bit of guilt arise within himself. He went back into the room to express a final thought.

“Be at peace, Dad. Pray to God to forgive your sins. If he’ll forgive you, then one day I can, too.”

“I already have, son. I pray every day.”

They said their goodbyes and Derrick went home. There was still resentment within him, but also an ounce of forgiveness. They had broken through a wall that he never had imagined could be penetrated.

Carl Schaefer died two days after his son left him that night. He never made it to the nursing home. Derrick attended the funeral alone, standing in the back row of a small turnout of people. There was no family present, just a few of his father’s drinking buddies from years gone by. No one even recognized that Derrick was Carl’s son. The lack of friends and family was more depressing to him than the fact that his father was dead.

One week later, Derrick took his wife and two children out to the house where he grew up. He told the kids stories about the good times that he had as a child, and he revealed some dark secrets to his wife. She cried as he enlightened her on the abusive nature of his upbringing. He had never opened up that much to her before about his past. Getting that burden off of his chest felt good to him.

As the kids played in the yard, he and his wife went through the entire house, deciding what to keep and what to dispose of. When all was said and done, they ended up with three piles. One pile contained items that they wanted to keep, which consisted mostly of Derrick’s mother’s belongings and his childhood memorabilia. Another pile consisted of items that could be donated to charity. The last group was the largest of the three. It was everything that involved Carl Schaefer. Derrick even picked his dad’s images out of the family photo albums. He decided that he wanted to dispose of the items by starting a fire in the back yard and burning them. His wife tried to talk him out of it, but the memories of the abuse suffered by Derrick and his mother had once again brought out the bitterness in him.

He spent hours moving the items into the back yard and then lit a large fire, making use of Carl’s remaining firewood. Once the flames were burning hot, he began to throw his father’s personal effects in one at a time, having horrible flashbacks with almost every toss. His goal was to erase all memories of the abusive man. One of the last items to go into the fire was Carl’s chair. Derrick cried as the site of so many drunken rants went up in flames. The only thing that remained to burn was a box of photographs. As he got ready to make the final toss, his young daughter, Sara, appeared from behind him.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” she asked.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he replied, setting the box on the ground and picking her up.

“Daddy, who are those pictures of?” she asked him, pointing down to the box. “That man looks like you.”

It was at that moment that Derrick realized that wiping out the memory of Carl Schaefer was unfair and selfish. His family had a right to know about their past, no matter how painful the truth might be. Maybe they could learn life lessons from the evil doings of an abusive man.

“That was Grandpa Carl. He was my daddy,” he answered, setting her back down.

“Was he nice like you?” she asked, grabbing one of the pictures.

Derrick took the picture from her and put it back with the others. He put the box under his arm and grabbed Sara’s hand, walking away from the fire and toward the house.

“He was different, Sara. One day when you are a little older maybe we can talk about him some more. Right now all that I can tell you is that he was your grandfather.”

Derrick had almost wiped the slate clean of Carl Schaefer, but in the end, he granted his father his dying wish. He gave him a legacy, not that it was something to be proud of.

The Christmas Doll

2010-12-10T20:23:00.007-05:00

Tom Billings wrapped the porcelain doll with tissue paper and put it into his leather briefcase . He then gathered up the rest of his belongings and proceeded to check out of the hotel.

He had been away on business quite often the past year, missing most of the major holidays with his wife Liz, and their six year old daughter, Violet. At least he knew that he would be home in plenty of time to spend Christmas with his family.

In a phone conversation, Violet had told her father that she wanted a pretty doll for Christmas. Tom felt so guilty for being away that he spent an entire night scouring Washington DC for just the right one. What he found wasn’t something that she could play with like one of those plastic toys, but instead it was a work of art that could be cherished forever. It was very expensive also, but money was no object when it came to Violet.

Tom hailed a cab and then made his way to Union Station. He was not a big fan of flying and took the train whenever the opportunity arose. It was a long ride to Chicago, but the seating was spacious and he usually found the trip quite therapeutic.

He made it to the station just in time to catch his train, dragging one large piece of luggage and his briefcase. As he was about to board, Tom was detained by security.

“We need to check your luggage , sir,” a stern looking official stated.

“The guy in front of me had two briefcases and no luggage, and I’m the suspicious one?” Tom asked, sarcastically. “You guys check so few people that it’s really just grasping at straws. If someone wanted to bring a bomb into DC, the train would be the way to do it. I went from Rocky Mount to here a few weeks back and not one bag was inspected.”

“Please open your bags, sir, or you’ll be detained.”

Tom gave in. It wasn’t that he minded security checks, but he hated the idea of strangers handling the special gift that he had bought for Violet. He was weird in that respect.

He opened his bag, showing the security team that there was no reason for concern. He then popped open the briefcase. The tissue paper immediately caught the officer’s attention.

“What’s that in the paper, sir?” the officer asked.

“It’s a doll for my daughter, please be careful with it. It means everything to her.”

The man pulled the tissue back, exposing the doll’s rosy cheeks and blue eyes. He stopped right there, sensing that he had intruded between a father and his child, and let Tom pass.

“Have a Merry Christmas, sir,” he said, as Tom climbed into the passenger car.

“Thank you. You do the same,” Tom replied.

He found his assigned seat and ended up sitting next to the man who had been right in front of him boarding the train, the one with two briefcases.

“Tough luck, huh?” he asked Tom.

“Yea, like a middle aged business man is gonna be an international terrorist or something. The whole thing is ridiculous if you ask me.”

“Well, at least the trains are looser than the planes. You can hardly bring toothpaste on those things.”

“Yea, I guess you’re right,” Tom said, trying to end the conversation with the stranger.

After a few minutes the train started to move. He propped a pillow up against the window and nestled his head into it, hoping to sleep. The man next to him put a briefcase on his lap. Tom assumed that he was going to have to deal with a computer geek for fifteen hours, so he just closed his eyes and tried to nap.

As he began to fall into a light sleep, he heard the man say something out loud about praising someone and then there was a click.

That was the last thing that Tom Billings heard before the passenger train bound for Chicago exploded into a fireball of twisted metal and burnt bodies. With the exception of 9/11, it was one of the worst terrorist acts ever on American soil. Tom and everything that he possessed was instantly incinerated. He never made it home for Christmas.

Liz Billings was watching TV when the news report of a terrorist attack broke. She always worried about her husband because of how much he traveled, but also knew that security provisions were more stringent than ever before. Viewing the fireball on the screen in front of her, she felt a sudden chill creep down her back. Liz immediately dialed Tom’s cell phone number and it went straight to voicemail. His phone rarely did that, and it caused her to panic, prompting her to dial repeatedly, getting the same result.

She then made her way into the kitchen to look for the slip of paper that had Tom’s traveling information on it. She recalled his arrival time but couldn't remember the train’s number. It only took her a minute to locate it, and that’s when her world came crashing down. The number on the paper was 705, the same number that was on the TV screen.

Liz fell to her knees in the kitchen, screaming hysterically. Violet rushed in from her playroom.

“Mommy, what’s the matter?!” she cried, panicking at the sight of her bawling mother.

At first Liz couldn’t get a single word out. She grabbed Violet and drew her close, almost crushing her with the embrace.

“O…oh…V..iol..et, Daddy’s d…d…..” she started to say, but then restrained her urge to share the dismal news with her young and innocent child.

“Daddy’s coming home tomorrow with a doll for me, Mommy,” Violet said, wiping her own tears away.

Liz just continued to hug and cry, confusing the little girl even further. After an hour of sorrowful tears, the anguished mother released her daughter and began making phone calls. She wanted confirmation of what she already knew in her heart.

In the remaining fourteen days leading up to Christmas, Liz Billings had to bury her husband (or at least the tiny bit that remained of him), and tell Violet that her daddy was never coming home again. It was a terrible memory for a young child to have of such a wonderful holiday.

On December twenty-fourth, Liz was sitting in the quiet of her den, just trying to come to grips with her new life. Violet had been playing in her room, but decided that she wanted to talk to her mother. She climbed up on the couch and put her head on Liz’s shoulder.

“Mommy, is Santa still coming this year?” she asked.

“Oh Violet baby, of course Santa’s coming. He wouldn’t miss your house,” Liz responded, hugging the fragile child.

“If I ask Santa to bring Daddy home, can he do it?”

“Honey, Santa brings gifts and toys. He can’t bring a person home.”

Violet looked dejected, but not overwhelmed with grief. It was obvious that she didn’t yet grasp the concept of death.

“Will he bring me a doll, then?”

Liz had not done any Christmas shopping in the wake of the tragedy, but had bought quite a few items right after Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, there were no dolls that she could wrap and it was way too late to find a sitter so that she could make a last minute purchase.

“I don’t think that Santa can bring a doll tomorrow, but I’m pretty sure that he’ll give me the power to get you one the day after. Is that okay, sweetie?”

“Okay, I guess,” Violet answered with a child’s pout.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Liz said, starting to whimper once more.

“Mommy, you cry too much. I hate it when you’re sad.”

“I know, honey. I’ll try not to do it so much. I just miss your Daddy.”

“Me too, Mommy.”

They both stayed on the couch for a little while and eventually Violet went to sleep. Liz put her in bed and then pulled her daughter’s gifts out of the locked storage closet, arranging them under the tree. It was so painful to see the presents she had purchased for Tom. She almost couldn’t bear the pain of sorting through them, but did it for her little girl. In the end, Liz took a sedative and dozed off.

Morning came and Violet woke up first, as all children seem to do on Christmas morning. She ran into her sleeping mother’s room.

“Santa came, Mommy, Santa came!” she shrieked.

Liz rolled out of bed and Violet grabbed her hand, guiding her into the living room. Upon first glance, something seemed different than it had the night before. The gifts were not set up the same as she had arranged them.

“Did you move any presents, Violet?” she asked her daughter.

“No Mommy, honest.”

Liz stared at the gifts and noticed something else unusual. There was something behind the decorative packages that was not wrapped. She moved the multi-colored boxes out of the way and almost fainted. Tom’s briefcase, the one that he always carried with him on trips, was there in the midst of everything. There was a shiny gold bow stuck to the brown leather.

“Can I open it, Mommy, please?”

Liz had no idea what to say. The whole thing seemed impossible. She decided to let Violet see what was inside. They both sat on the floor as the little girl popped the latches and the top flipped open. Liz’s jaw was agape as her daughter reached into the case and removed something wrapped in tissue paper. It was a beautiful porcelain doll, just like the one that Tom had told her about.

Tears flowed once again, this time for different reasons. They were tears of hope.

“Santa did bring my doll,” Violet said, “I just wish that he could’ve brought Daddy home.”

Liz smiled for the first time in weeks as she grabbed her child and held her tight.

“I was wrong, Violet. Santa did bring Daddy home last night, but not to this house. He stopped by here on his way home to God. It was Daddy’s way of letting us know that everything’s okay with him and for us not to worry. We’ll all go to God’s house someday and we’ll see Daddy then, I promise.”

That made the little girl smile.

“Merry Christmas, Mommy,” Violet said as she stared at her pretty porcelain doll.

“Merry Christmas, Baby, I love you……and Merry Christmas to you, Tom. You'll always be my gift.”

A Thanksgiving Thought

2010-11-25T10:20:00.000-05:00

As we eat our turkey
And savor pumpkin pie
Let us all remember
Those who passed on by

Revolutionary patriots
With the heart to take a stand
To break away from tyranny
And forge a better land

Brothers fighting brothers
Many to their graves
That we would stay united
and liberate the slaves

They fought the evil empires
In two epic global wars
Some mens hopeful futures
Died on distant shores

So many did their duty
In Asia some did fall
Now they are but a memory
A name upon a wall

So this year I ask you
As we enjoy our feast
Give thanks to our troops
Who patrol the middle east

The ones who are still fighting
And others who have died
Their mothers and fathers
And all the tears they've cried.

Be thankful for what you have
Even if it's not a lot
Many people perished
To give you what you've got!

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Rooms and worlds apart

2010-11-06T16:48:00.000-04:00

I know, I know! I said that I was leaving and would only post when I had an idea. As is my policy of complete honesty, I combined an idea that I had with an offer that I received. In a sense, I am getting paid for this story. Judge me not, peeps! LOL!!!

Jennifer faced the window as her husband, Vincent, continued to snore. The window was being pummeled with raindrops and the morning sun seemed late to appear due to the dark storm clouds. She proceeded to roll out of bed and stretch her tired body. She looked over at Vincent.

He was looking so old these days. His once full head of dark hair had been replaced by a thin layer of gray, and his athletic body was now hidden by a layer of flab. She wondered when they had both gotten so old.

Jennifer made her way to the bathroom. She looked around the large room and for the first time took notice of how long they had lived in their home. The bathroom furniture seemed to be almost antique looking, even though she had bought it when it was new. She looked back at Vincent one more time and then shut the door. She wanted change in her life but had no idea where to start. She was just not happy anymore. Jennifer ran the bath water and took a long, hot shower.

After she finished drying off, she opened the bathroom door and stepped back into the bedroom. Her jaw dropped and she grabbed the door frame to stabilize herself. The room was not the same room that she had slept in the night before. All of the furniture was brand new and the home itself had that new house smell. She glanced at the bed and looked at Vincent. It was her husband, but not the one that she had left a few minutes earlier. It was the young and fit version of him. Then she realized that while the furniture was new, it was the same furniture that she had purchased over twenty years ago. She looked back into the bathroom and gazed at herself in the mirror. She was still old. The gray hair and wrinkles were as prominent as they had been earlier that morning. She felt like she must be in a dream. She heard a groan and then Vincent spoke.

"Honey, why are you up already?" he asked.

She turned on the light, revealing her sixty year old face to her twenty something looking husband, expecting that he would recoil in horror.

"Baby, you're so beautiful!" he exclaimed. "I want to make love to you right now."

"Vincent, is this a dream? Don't you see that I'm an old woman?"

"Jenny, honey, what's wrong with you? Why are you acting all crazy? I'm older than you are."

Jennifer was confused. It had to be a dream. There was no way that he could look at her and not see that she was an old woman. She climbed back under the covers and began to mutter.

"Wake up, wake up, please wake up," she said over and over.

Vincent got up, shifting his underwear to adjust for his erection. He figured that her bizarre behavior meant that there would be no love making that morning. He shuffled into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He was young and fit, rippling with defined muscles and a six pack abdomen. He wondered if he would ever be out of shape. He peed, washed his hands and headed back into the bedroom.

When he opened the door, something seemed different. The house smelled musty and the furniture in the room appeared to be old and worn out. He looked over at Jennifer and his heart almost stopped. Why was there an old woman in his bed?

She rolled over, exposing her full face, the deep crows feet etched in the corner of her eyes.

"Honey, come back to bed and make love to me," she said.

It was Jennifer's voice, but it was not the woman who he had left a few minutes earlier.

He hoped that it was all a dream.

See you later, friends.........

2010-10-26T19:47:00.003-04:00

As bloggers, we all share similar habits and trends. We go through phases where our blogs are really important to us and then we tend to burn out after a while.

I was actually going to delete my site this evening because I have totally lost interest.

I love to write, but face it, the blogosphere will never take a writer anywhere outside of a few hundred people.

This started as a hobby, then became an obsession. Great things came from my blog (I think you know that by now), but it is time for me to put things in perspective.

I am going to leave my blog up and still may post from time to time. I will be around here and there, but basically I am taking a step away from this world.

I have met great people here, and that is why I did not delete. I still want to be able to keep in touch.

I will see you around.

Attention Blueviolet.......

2010-10-25T19:45:00.003-04:00

Our show is on in 15 minutes.
I still have to read all of the directions to the game.
I have yet to put away the clean dishes.
At least I fixed your ceiling fan! LOL!
Did I mention that you are cute?
Where should we go eat on Friday night?
I love you!

The History of Halloween ( a reworking of last years story)

2010-10-18T18:51:00.006-04:00

sorry folks, I had to remove this one! :)

The missing son.

2010-10-12T20:45:00.002-04:00

Detective Wally Sharp sat at his desk catching up on his afternoon paperwork. It had been a slow week. Crime was at an all time low and there had not been a homicide in over a year. He did not wish for bad events, but the fact was that he was getting bored. Sitting behind a desk was not his cup of tea, but it was what he usually ended up doing.

Wally looked up from his typing, sipped his coffee, and glanced at the desk that faced his. A middle aged woman looked back at him and smiled. He immediately put his head down and resumed what he had been doing.

That desk had been occupied by his long time partner, Fred Willis, up until a few weeks ago. Fred had retired and handed over the reigns of lead detective to Wally. He enjoyed the promotion but still missed his old buddy. Fred was nearly fifteen years older than Wally, but they really had a good chemistry.

Fred Willis had been replaced by Sonya Boyle. She was a few years younger than Wally, and not very sociable. He did not like the idea of a female partner. No more dick jokes and commenting on girls tits as they rode around town. It was going to be an adjustment, one that he was not looking forward to.

Sonya had been his partner for two weeks and they had barely spoken. They had not even been out of the office together. Being a two detective team in a medium sized town was quite a mundane job most of the time.

After about half an hour of uncomfortable silence, the police captain emerged from his office.

“Hey Wally, it’s Mrs. Smith on line two. She wants to know when you are going to check on her missing son,” the captain said.

“Thanks Chief. I’ll take it,” Wally responded, picking up the phone and pressing the button for line two.

“This is detective Sharp,” he answered, looking into the eyes of his curious new partner.

“Ma’am, we have gone over this before. Your son is safe and is not missing. Everything is fine,” Wally said.

“No, we are not going to send someone out there. You need to trust me.”

“Goodbye, Ma’am. Everything is fine.”

Wally hung up the phone and faced the stare of his partner.

“What was that all about?” Sonya asked.

“It’s nothing,” Wally answered her.

“If I’m your new partner you need to share cases with me. If a lady is calling about a missing child, then I think that I should at least know the basics of the case.”

Wally was getting annoyed. This particular case had haunted him for almost eight years. He did not want to share it with this strange woman with whom he now worked.

“It’s a solved case. We found the woman’s son and he’s fine. She is loony. That’s all there is to know.”

“Do you have her address,” Sonya asked. “I would like to go talk to her.”

“Look, lady, I told you to not worry about it! You’re here for two weeks and are going to start second guessing me? You just need to let it be.”

Sonya got up from her desk and marched into the captain’s office.

“Captain, I need the address of the woman who just called. I want to stop by and make sure that everything’s okay,” she demanded.

“Don’t need to do that, Sonya. Mrs. Smith is crazy. Her son is just fine. Let it go and don’t worry about it anymore. The lady calls at least once a month. Detective Sharp has investigated the case and has been by there numerous times. Trust me.”

“All that I keep hearing is that detective Sharp says that everything is fine. Has anyone else talked with the woman?”

The captain thought long and hard about it. It seemed that Wally had always done the reports on the case. As a matter of fact, no one else had ever interviewed Mrs. Smith. The captain had never thought anything strange about it until Sonya had brought it up. How come Fred Willis never filed a report on the old lady? She had piqued his curiosity.
He called Wally into his office.

“Wally, I want you to give Sonya Mrs. Smith’s address so that she can interview her.”

“Damn it, Chief! This is nuts! I will not do it!”

“Then you will be suspended and we will get the address through the old records.”

Wally left the room for a minute and returned with a piece of paper. There was an address scribbled on it.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Sonya. “Go waste your time.”

Wally stormed from the room.

“He’s hiding something, Captain. I have a nose for this kind of thing. I know that you guys go way back, but something’s fishy.”

The captain did not say anything. In his heart, he knew that she was on to something. He hoped that Wally was not guilty of something unspeakable. He turned away and waved her out the door.

Sonya grabbed her coat and looked at Wally who was sitting at his desk.

“You coming with me?” she asked him.

“Drop dead,” he growled.

“Okay, then,” she said as she walked out of the police station and hopped into a car.

Wally watched as she drove off. A few minutes later he headed for his own car and sped toward the address. It was an address that he was very familiar with. It was the house where the boy had gone missing.

Wally pulled his car up as far as he could without being seen. Staring through the bushes, he watched as his new partner spoke with two women on the porch. One was about forty and the other was an elderly woman. After about thirty minutes, Sonya Boyle returned to her car and drove off. Wally wondered what she may have learned.

He drove his car up to the house and walked up to the front door. He was angry that his secret was in danger of being found out. He had kept it all of those years.

He knocked on the door and an old lady appeared. She opened the door.

“Detective Sparks,” she said with a smile. “Did you find my son?”

Wally looked at her with pity in his eyes. He knew that she missed her child. He embraced the old lady.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “Momma, I wish that you could remember me. I am your son. It’s me, Wally.”

“Have you found my son?” she asked again.

The younger woman came to the door.

“I’m sorry, Detective Sparks. Your mother slips by me every once in a while and calls the station. I can’t keep tabs on her 24/7. It should be comforting to you that she remembers that number and always asks for you, though. Even if she does not have any real memories at least she still has some sort of connection there.”

“You are the best caregiver that my mother has ever had. No apologies. What did you tell that other detective?”

“I told her that Mrs. Smith was senile, and that her son was fine.”

“Thank you!” Wally said.

He hugged his mother again and walked back to his car. The entire time that he was walking his mother’s voice kept pleading, “Please find my son.”

Wally sat in his car and tears began to well up in his eyes. He looked at the house and thought back to a time many years earlier, when he was just a boy. He had decided that he was going to run away from home and never come back. He didn’t get very far, as a matter of fact he never left the area. Young Wally spent a week in his friends tree house, eating candy and drinking soda. He remembered how he sneaked a peak through the fence as the police came to his house. His mother stood on the same front porch and begged them to bring her son home. Only, at that time, she was not senile. She was just a mother who was worried about her only child.

Wally felt so guilty that he went home that night and confessed to his mother about running away. Her words to him would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Wally, one day you are going to drive me insane.”

Years later, when her memory had started to fade, he always would remember those words. In his heart he felt that perhaps her undoing was his fault and that her calls to the station were his divine punishment for all that he had put her through.

He never wanted any co-workers or friends to know about his mother. It was private and he wanted to keep it that way.

There was indeed a crime at Mrs. Smith’s house.

Wally and his mother were both doing time.

Happy Birthday, Otin, My Sweetheart!

2010-10-07T00:00:00.002-04:00

Happy Birthday
to the most wonderful man in the world!

Honey, wouldn't it be great if I had baked you a cake and it looked like this?

or perhaps like this?

Image courtesy of Family Fun

But seeing as how we tend to avoid things like cake, I didn't bake a darn thing.

However....after your special steak dinner tonight....

Perhaps we can make an exception and you can have a birthday treat of the ice cream kind?

And then after dessert....we can have more dessert... *wink, wink*

Happy Birthday to the man of my dreams! You make me happier than I have ever been.

I love you with all of my heart, now and forever.

BV

Moving Violet

2010-10-01T19:36:00.000-04:00

I began talking to her almost a year ago. The conversations were fresh and exciting, something that had been lacking in my life. I knew from the beginning that this woman was special to me. I had to explore the possibility that some day we might be together.

Her name was Violet and she was the most interesting person whom I had ever encountered. She was witty and creative as well as charming and captivating. The only problem was that she was over a thousand miles away. It is tough enough to start a relationship in the same city, but a four state separation makes it extremely difficult.

I talked to Violet every day for almost a year. I even went to see her a few times, exhausting my financial resources along the way. It was all worth it, though. Sitting and talking to her made my heart soar. It makes me smile just to think back to the beginning of our wonderful relationship.

As time went by, we started to formulate a plan for her to come and be with me. We worked out all of the details except for one thing. The money. It was so expensive to rent a truck to move her with. We didn’t need a huge truck, but still, those things were not cheap.

It was mid September by the time that I had saved up enough to go and get my lovely woman. I packed a few items into my car and I drove the sixteen hours that it took to get me there. I was so excited at the prospect of us being together. I drove straight through.

When I arrived at Violet’s home, we sat and talked for a while before we proceeded with our moving plan. Do to certain situations, Violet and I decided that we needed to keep a low profile. She thought that there may be a few people who would want an explanation of where and why she was going and did not want me to get caught up in a firestorm. I was appreciative of her concern.

I loaded the truck that night. I knew that we would be less visible to nosey strangers and family members that way. It was an exhausting task. I really could have used some help, but I sucked it up and completed the rigorous loading myself. I hooked up my car to the truck, and with Violet behind me we headed back to my house.

The moving truck was tough to drive. It lacked power and was unstable with the car hooked to the back. At least Violet did not have any stress during her part of the trip. I was envious of that.

When we arrived at the house, I was exhausted. Violet wanted me to just leave everything for the morning, but I could not. I wanted to keep working. I unhooked the car and then backed the moving van up to the garage. I opened the garage door and then opened the back of the truck. It started raining as I did that. Just my luck.

I slid a wooden box from the back of the truck. It was heavy and I could have used some help, but Violet was pretty useless in that regard. The box crashed down on the wet ground, rain pelting on it. I couldn’t help it. The casket was heavy, and after all, I had to dig it up and load it all by myself. I was out of energy.

I dragged the casket into my garage. The dirt that was on the wood turning to mud as the rain continued to fall. Once inside the garage I closed the door and flicked on the light. I opened the coffin, exposing the mummified remains of a woman who had died forty years earlier. A beautiful woman named Violet. I grabbed my Ouija board from the front seat of the moving van and set down next to her decayed corpse. We had a great conversation, as usual. It was nice to finally be able to talk to Violet face to face.

We were destined to be together.

RUN!

2010-09-27T13:33:00.002-04:00

Story has been removed

Trains, Pains, and Automobiles

2010-09-23T16:31:00.006-04:00

Twenty eight hours worth of train riding.......... Exhausting!

One thousand miles driving an overloaded moving truck...... Excruciating!

Trying to fit two houses worth of stuff into one small house.......Exasperating!

Finding the perfect person to spend your life with....... PRICELESS!!!

Ghosts of 9/11

2010-09-08T21:13:00.003-04:00

Jenna Lester knew that the subway was no place for a nice girl on a Friday at two in the morning, but it was the cheapest and easiest way for her to get uptown. She had just spent the evening with some friends at a wild party and had decided to bail out on the festivities. It was getting a little too crazy for her tastes. She liked letting her hair down every once in awhile, but she had good core values which had been instilled in her by her mother and father. She did not smoke or do drugs, and she drank only in moderation. She was only interested in a monogamous relationship, and didn’t do one night stands or engage in casual sex. Jenna credited her good moral compass to her father. He was a good man who had died way too young.

Jenna’s father, Edward, worked on the sixty fifth floor of the world trade center on that fateful day in 2001. Jenna was in school the morning that the planes hit the towers and remembered the panic that she had felt when the news first broke. She knew that her father was there. She could only pray that he was alright.

When Jenna finally got home on that September morning and was reunited with her mother, Erin, she learned that her father had called. Her mother told her that he had been helping people get out of the burning building. That was the final contact that anyone had with Edward Lester. The family had seen the buildings collapse and hoped for a miracle, but it seemed that in the modern world, miracles were few and far between.

Jenna now stood on the platform waiting for the train. It was an eerie feeling being down there in the wee hours. It was no place for an attractive single woman. She suddenly realized that she was not too far from ground zero and immediately her thoughts raced back to that horrible time. She thought about the days that she spent with her mother handing out her father’s picture and asking passers by if they had seen him. They kept up a constant vigil of hope, even though they knew in their hearts that he was more than likely entombed in the mass of steel and concrete. Eventually the search had ended and Ed Lester was no more. Tears welled up in Jenna’s eyes as she thought about going through her late teens without her father. She decided to get out of the subway and just spend the extra money on a cab. She turned and walked away from the tracks.

As Jenna began to walk she was approached by a homeless man. The man had appeared out of nowhere and closed in on her rapidly. Fear rose in her heart. She didn’t know if he wanted a handout or if he was moving in for some sort of attack. The man caught up with her.

“Miss, could you spare a quarter?”, the man asked, looking into her frightened eyes.

Jenna’s heart almost stopped. She was frozen and almost in a state of shock.

“DADDY!!???” Jenna shouted!

The man looked confused. Jenna fell to her knees and began bawling and repeating the word Daddy over and over again. The commotion caught the attention of a transit cop and the homeless man quickly scampered away. The policeman approached Jenna who was down on her knees crying hysterically.

“Are you okay, lady? Did the bum hurt you?”

“That was not a bum! That was my father!”, Jenna cried.

The cop helped her to her feet.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but I’m a little confused. I thought that he was attacking you?”

Jenna regained her composure and told the officer the whole story about 9/11 and her father. The police man was sympathetic as he listened to her recount the nightmarish tale.

“I lost some buddies on 9/11,” the cop said. “Sometimes I still think that I see them here and there. It never goes away. You probably just saw something in that man that reminded you of your dad and then your mind took off. You said that you had been thinking about him prior to that moment when the bum approached.”

“I know that it seems crazy, but I swear that it was my father,” said Jenna. “He’s alive and I’m going to find him.”

The police officer escorted her to the street and waited until she was safely in a cab. The cop wondered how much that she had to drink or what kind of drugs that she had done earlier that evening. He always saw such crazy shit on the overnight shift.

The next day Jenna went to her mother’s apartment and told her about the subway incident. She expected that her mother would believe her and be excited about the revelation, but such was not the case. Erin Lester could not believe that her daughter had created such a morbid fantasy as to suggest that her father was a beggar who lived in the subway.

“Jenna, you need help. I am going to see if Dr. Andrews will take you on as a patient. She did wonders for me. I thought that you had put this behind you. You have seen your father fifty times over the past nine years. Remember the ice cream man, the park ranger, the cab driver? Your father is dead, Jenna. You have to deal with that or you will never move on with your life!”

Jenna could not fathom that her own mother would not believe her. True she had gone through this before, but this time she felt for sure that she had seen her daddy.

“Take Dr. Andrews and tell her to go scratch! I know what I saw and I don’t care if you don’t believe me. I will prove it to you.”

“Jenna, you are scaring me. I love you. Please stay away from the subway. Please see Dr. Andrews.”

“Fuck Dr. Andrews!” Jenna exclaimed, slamming the door as she exited her mother’s apartment.

Jenna spent the next few weekends hanging around on the subway platform in the early morning hours. She saw drug deals, homeless people, and a variety of bizarre events. She was even approached by someone who thought that she might be a hooker. She saw many things, but she did not see her father. There was no sign of that particular beggar.

She decided that she would give it one more try. She was coming to the realization that her mother was probably right about her. She had spent a good part of the previous nine years seeing her father here and there. Maybe she really was crazy.

Jenna took her usual spot in the subway and waited like she had been doing for weeks. There were no homeless men. There were a few people waiting for the train and two other young men sitting on a bench. They looked like the kind of people who could be trouble. They were covered with tattoos and both men had shaved heads. They were wearing some sort of gang related jackets.

Jenna began to worry about her safety and realized how crazy that her quest was. She headed for the ladies room and practically ran in. She was feeling sick to her stomach and was trying to make it to a stall before she vomited on the floor. She made it just in time. Her nerves had caused her to become sick. Jenna got down on her knees and threw up into the filthy toilet. She spit a few times and then went to stand up. That is when she felt two hands on her shoulders.

“Whoa bitch! Where you goin?” the bald headed gang banger asked her. “You are in a perfect position right where you are, baby.”

The man cupped his hand over her mouth and dragged her out of the stall. Jenna was kicking wildly as the other gang member grabbed her legs, securing her to the floor. She struggled and then the first man pulled out a switchblade and held it to her neck.

“Stop the fucking crying and kicking, or I will gut you right here!” he told her.

Jenna started sobbing as the man with the knife began to cut at her clothing, exposing her bra. He then cut through the bra and her bare breasts were now out in the open. The man with the knife began to unbuckle his pants.

“You are like a Christmas gift,” the other man said. “A pretty girl like you down here all alone.”

Both men were concentrating on their prey. It was like two lions salivating over a wounded wildebeest. The man with the knife hit her hard on the head one time and then started to strip off her pants. Jenna began to lose consciousness. The last thing that she saw was a homeless man with a baseball bat walking up behind the unsuspecting thugs.

“Daddy”, she said faintly as she passed out to the sound of wood meeting flesh and bone.

Jenna awoke in a hospital bed. She didn’t appear to have any injuries. Almost immediately, two detectives were at her bedside asking her questions.

“Miss, did you know the two men who attacked you?”, a burly detective asked.

“No”, was the only answer that she could muster. She was still groggy.

“Do you know who came to your assistance?” the younger detective further questioned.

“Was I raped?” Jenna asked the two men without responding to the latter inquiry.

“No, Ma’am, the assault was apparently broken up by someone. We need to find your rescuer,” the young detective answered.

“Why?”

“Because the two men who attacked you are in critical condition and probably won’t live to see the morning. Now do you have any idea who helped you out tonight?”

“Not a clue!” Jenna said with authority. There was no way that they were going to arrest her father.

*********

The homeless man had left the bloodied bat in the ladies room and scurried down the subway tracks. He had to get home. No one would ever know who hurt those two men. Hell, he didn’t even know who he was, himself. He wondered why he even bothered to help that girl. He had seen rapes and murders and muggings countless times before and had never intervened. The beggar had spent many years on the streets and had seen his share of atrocities. All of these thoughts kept circulating through his mind as he entered the abandoned rail yard. It was the place that he had called home for quite a few years.

He sat against a wall and tried to hide his face in the darkness. Some of the other homeless people around him had lit tiny fires and were going through the trash that they had collected on their daily scavenger hunts, but he was not in the mood to work. His mind was not functioning like it normally did. Usually his thoughts were all about survival and making it through to the next night, but this evening was different. Something about the girl had him in a strange place. Why did he care about her?

He picked up a little sack that he had next to him and walked over to one of the other homeless men who had built a small fire.

“Leroy, I need to use your fire so that I can look at something.”

“You go right ahead. I got a half a can of spaghetti if you want some supper?”

“Not tonight, Leroy. I got something on my mind.”

Leroy scooped the spaghetti out of the can with his bare hand, watching closely as his friend dumped the contents of the sack onto the ground and began fumbling through the items. The beggar knew what he was looking for. He found a razor, a pocket knife, some gum, a few baseball cards, and then eventually he hit pay dirt. It was an old brown wallet. It was the same wallet that he pulled from his pocket years ago when he had walked out of the toxic dust cloud and into this life which he now led.

He opened the wallet and saw a NY drivers license with the name Edward Lester. The picture looked like him, but the man was young and clean shaven. It had been years since he had looked at the photo and told himself that he could not possibly be Edward Lester. Edward Lester was a well kept young man and he was just an old bum. He flipped the license over and that is when he saw the picture of a beautiful young teenage girl. All of the years that the beggar had carried the wallet, he had never explored any further than the license picture. The young girl looked just like the woman whom he had saved in the bathroom earlier that evening. He looked at the license picture once again and it suddenly started to come back to him. The memories were overwhelming.

“Jenna?” Edward Lester muttered, sitting next to a tiny fire in an abandoned rail yard.

He got up and started walking into the dark night.

“Where you goin?” Leroy asked him.

“Home,” was all that Ed Lester could say.

The science project

2010-09-04T20:22:00.007-04:00

this story has been removed

New Otin interview.

2010-08-26T19:10:00.005-04:00

Last year ARMCHAIR Magazine interviewed the mysterious blogger Otin for their special one named superstars issue. Although Otin has lost his A list status and followed in the footsteps of other one named has beens such as Cher, Prince, and Madonna, we at ACM still find him an interesting subject.

We sent our reporter, Lou Zerr, to Otin's home for an update on his life. They sat in Otin's living room sipping diet soda and eating chips and salsa.

LOU: Otin, may I call you Otin?

OTIN: Sure, and you are Lou Zerr?

LOU: Yes, nice to meet you. now lets get down to the interview. You seemed to have fallen off of the face of the blog world lately. You were a once a day poster and a sun up to sun down commenter at one time. What happened?

OTIN: I was, but then I realized that life was more important than blogging. Not only that, but my blog has become a story blog and not much more. If I don't have any current story ideas then I don't have any posts.

LOU: What about the commenting?

OTIN: Trying to keep up with everyone's blog would be like going to high school and writing every one in the entire school a personalized note once a day. I know people are there, I don't forget about them, but house work, yard work, and a full time job take up most of my time.

LOU: Last time we interviewed you, you did not say much about your personal life. Are things still the same? If I recall, we agreed not to talk about it during the last session.

OTIN: My personal life is totally different. Sometimes in life we end up with the wrong people around us and just settle into a routine and convince ourselves that everything is okay. In the mean time, we do things like overeat and become blog addicts in order to try to put a bandage on our unhappiness. To answer your question, my personal life is wonderful. I am very much in love with a wonderful, beautiful, and intelligent woman.

LOU: Care to name her?

OTIN: I think that everyone knows her by now (chuckles)

LOU: Do you ever edit yourself for content when you write something? It seems like there are people who you slightly offend on occasion.

OTIN: I pull my punches a bit. When writing, I don't really have a limit as to where I will go, but sometimes I will hold back because something is just way over the top and I know that it will really bother some people.

LOU: Your commenting style has drastically changed from last year. You used to dwell in the gutter a lot more. People seemed to like it. Why did you change?

OTIN: A few reasons. Number one is that things run their course and get a little old after a while. I did it for attention and to try to attract a following to my blog. I don't care about that any more. Number two is that it would be disrespectful to the woman who I love.

LOU: In our last interview you also stated that you were an atheist. Will that ever change?

OTIN: It already has. They say that it takes a miracle to make some people see life differently. I think that a lot of things lined up in my life that were so unbelievable that the odds of them occurring one after another were a million to one. I am not saying that I am suddenly religious, I am just saying that I am open to possibilities and welcome change.

LOU: What are your views on the Gulf Oil Spill?

OTIN: One of my first thoughts is that what ever happened to our oil shortage? Two years ago we were paying $4.00 dollars a gallon because oil was scarce and now we have enough to fill up the gulf of Mexico. (Laughs). I also think that demonizing BP is kind of silly. It could have been any company, and some day probably will. They all take shortcuts and BP was just the one that it backfired on.

LOU: How about politics? You still independent?

OTIN: Yea, I think that extremes either way are not good. Take for example "The right to bear arms". Go too far to the left and they don't want you to be able to own a sling shot, and then go too far to the right and they want howitzers in everyone's yard. Balance is best.

LOU: One last question for now..... What is the future for you as a blogger?

OTIN: I think that it is winding down. I like to write and may just throw a story up every now and then, but I think that my days of spending hours in front of the computer are coming to an end. It is a natural progression.

LOU: Thank you OTIN, we wish you the best in the future.

Kim Kardashian.... hot ass...sex...... Paris Hilton

2010-08-17T19:45:00.002-04:00

I'm just doing an experiment to see if using those keywords in my blog increases my google search numbers! LOL!!!

The addict

2010-08-15T18:44:00.004-04:00

Most people never fully recover from drug addiction, but that had not been the case for Jeff Harding. He had spent a good part of his late teens and early twenties wandering along 42nd street, frequenting the pushers and the sex clubs which dominated the landscape in the early 1980’s. It was a dirty and decadent place before Rudolf Giuliani came along and swept out all of the filth. It was a drug addicts Disneyland.

It was easy for a Jersey boy to get into the city. Buses and trains ran constantly and Jeff took full advantage of the public transportation. He spent every penny that he made or was given on whatever drug was available, but mostly he looked for the cocaine. It was his drug of choice.

Jeff’s family knew that he had a problem and tried repeatedly to get him into a treatment facility. He would never go, stating that he wasn’t an addict. The family knew better, but they could not force him into treatment. They also had a tough time admitting that their son was a druggie.

In the late 80’s, Jeff got arrested with a fairly large amount of cocaine in his possession. He went to court and was given a sentence of thirty days in rehab and two years probation. That was the day that changed his life forever.

While in rehab, Jeff met a worker at the facility named Lana. Lana was not supposed to get personally involved with the patients, but there was something about Jeff that just made her heart soar. He was full of ideas and his creativity was refreshing to her. She grew close to him and dreaded the idea of him leaving and going back out onto the streets. Lana decided that she would visit Jeff outside of the clinic. No one would have to know.

Jeff also had an attraction to Lana. They began talking on the phone constantly and spending most of their free time together. He rarely thought about getting high anymore. The euphoric feeling that he felt when he was with her was all the drug that he needed.

Jeff found a job at a shipping and receiving company and Lana was able to continue on at the rehab center. They soon moved in together and began a happy new life. By the time 1990 rolled around, Jeff’s drug days were a thing of the past.

The couple later married and brought a beautiful little baby girl into the world. They relocated to an area that was a little less citified. Jeff had gone from the American nightmare to the American dream in a period of only five years. Life was good.

Five more years passed and life had just gotten better over time. He and Lana were more in love than ever, and their daughter, Shauna, had grown into a sweet little girl. Jeff knew that love had saved his life.

One Saturday morning, Jeff awoke to the sound of raindrops on the bedroom window. He reached over to hug Lana and realized that she was not there. He looked at the clock and saw that it was 10:30 in the morning. Lana was an early riser and she frequently got up hours before he did.

Jeff put on his robe and slippers and walked down stairs. The house was empty and dark, due to the cloud cover outside. He saw a note on the kitchen table. Lana had written that she and Shauna had gone to the store. At the bottom of the note there were three Hershey’s kisses, and a few words written in crayon, which read: Kisses for my Daddy.

Jeff smiled at the thought of his baby taking the time to write those affectionate words for him.

His smile later turned to a blood curdling scream when he was informed that Lana’s car had hydroplaned into the path of a beer delivery truck and that his family had been pronounced dead on the scene. Everything that he lived for had been wiped away in an instant. Jeff wished that he had been in the car with them so that he would not have to face the future alone.

He barely made it through the funerals. His mother tried to comfort him but to no avail. There were no words that could mend his torn out heart. Gin was his solution. At first it dulled the pain, but then, eventually, his hurt found its way through the alcohol. He needed something stronger. He needed his old friend. It was time to take a trip into the city. He had not been there in years.

Jeff got off the bus at the Port Authority terminal and walked out onto the city streets. Even though things had changed, there was a part of him that felt like he was home again. It was as if his pain and sorrow had driven him back to this place. He began to walk down 42nd street. He had no idea where he could get stuff any more. No pushers came up to him on the street like they had in the old days and all of the strip clubs had been shut down. He wandered until dark trying to figure out where to score some coke, but nothing was the same as he remembered. It was a clean new world.

After hours of walking, Jeff ducked into an alley to pee. He stepped behind a dumpster and urinated against the wall. An old black man with dreadlocks and one eye that was clouded over appeared from the darkness.

“I don’t piss on your house!” He said to Jeff, almost yelling.

“Sorry, Dude. I had to go real bad.”

“There is a McDonalds across the street. They have a toilet. Now I gotta smell your piss till it rains again.”

“I’m sorry, but if that’s your biggest problem, then you have life by the balls. My life is piss.”

“Tell me why,” The old man said.

Jeff had no idea why, but he told the stranger his whole life’s story, even up to the part where he currently was in search for a coke dealer. He cried as he talked. When he finished, the old man told Jeff to wait there and then disappeared into the darkness. He came back a few minutes later with a small bag of white powder.

“This one is free today,” said the elderly stranger. “This is not like the stuff that you used to snort. Mix a spoon full of this with water and drink it. You will get the best high that way. Don’t do it here. Take it home with you.”

Jeff didn’t care if it was rat poison. He would take it and try it no matter what. Death would be better than the hurt that he felt. He thanked the stranger, promised not to piss in alleys anymore, and headed home.

When he arrived at the house, the first thing that Jeff did was to get a glass of water and a spoon and mix his drug. He drank it down and sat in his chair. At first there was no effect, but then the room began spinning. He made his way to his bed and laid down on his back. The high that he experienced was like no other that he had ever had. He imagined that Shauna was running around the room laughing and playing and that Lana was sitting on the edge of the bed. Lana later put the little girl to bed and then came back in and she and Jeff proceeded to make love off and on for the rest of the night. It was surely the best drug that he had ever taken. It was a very powerful hallucinogen.

When Jeff woke up the next morning, there were no adverse side effects. He felt fine. He went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of juice. He looked over at the kitchen table and immediately dropped his glass onto the floor, shattering it. On the table was a new note. It read:

Had a wonderful night last night, Honey. Hope to see you again tonight!

Under that, written in a different color crayon than he last saw, it read:

More kisses for Daddy.

Under that there were three fresh Hershey’s Kisses. An item which Jeff knew that he did not have in the house. He had gotten rid of them after the funerals because they reminded him too much of his precious daughter.

He was in shock. Reality and fantasy seemed to have crossed realms. Jeff needed to try to make contact again. He immediately poured a glass of water and mixed another spoonful of the drug the same way that he had done the night before. This time there was no effect. Absolutely nothing happened. Jeff had to have answers. He called in sick to work and drove his car into the city, not wanting to deal with the bus. He was in a hurry to find the old man.

Jeff parked his car on the street and found his way back to the same alley where he had pissed the night before. He feared that the old man might not be around, but it was all that he had to go on. Luckily, the man appeared right away.

“I tried that stuff and it was wonderful!” Jeff exclaimed. “Then I tried it again this morning and it didn’t work.”

“This drug is one of a kind. Every time you use it, you have to up the dose or it won’t work. If you start doing it more than once a day then you won’t get a good high. Just do it at night and you’ll be okay.”

He asked the old man for some more powder, and once again he gave it to Jeff for free.

Jeff went home and that night tried the wonder drug again. This time he upped the dosage a little and once again spent the night with his wife and daughter. He was in heaven.

Jeff began to make regular trips to see the old man in the city. He always drove in and always seemed to find the old guy in the same exact spot, almost as if he was waiting for Jeff to show up. He drove in at least once a week for the next few months. The stranger was still giving him the drug for free. It was kind of odd, but he did not want to question anything about his good fortune. Imagine a drug that had no ill effects, brought his family back, and was free! It was too good to be true.

The only drawback to the situation was the amount that he had to take to continue to get high. He was up to about a cup and a half every night. He had to drink three glasses of water in order to mix it all. On top of that, he was starting to feel weird during his work days. He got weak and shaky a lot, and became very thirsty all of the time. People had also been commenting on how pale that he appeared to be. He really didn’t care, though, as long as he could be with Lana and Shauna.

One night, after picking up his delivery in the city, Jeff spotted flashing lights in his rearview mirror. It looked like at least three police cars were coming his way at a great rate of speed. He began to get sweaty and nervous, knowing that he had a drug arrest in his past. He hoped that the cops were not after him. His hopes were dashed when they all dropped in behind him. He pulled over on the New Jersey interstate and cringed thinking about the sentence that five pounds of white powder was going to get him. He might never see his family again.

Jeff was ordered to stand against the police car while his car was searched. An officer held up a bag of the powder and walked toward him.

“What do we have here?” The officer asked him.

“I really have no idea what it is,” Jeff answered. He was not lying. He never did find out what he had been taking.

The officer took out a pocket knife and put a small slice in the bag. He touched his finger to the powder and then put it to his tongue.

“What is this, a joke? You think this is a funny prank, sir?” The annoyed policeman confronted Jeff.

Jeff was confused.

“What’s up, Tony?” the cop who had been watching Jeff asked the officer who had just tasted the substance.

“It’s just a bag of powdered sugar. We stopped this guy for a freakin’ bag of powdered sugar!”

The policemen searched the entire car and came up empty. They found a tail light out and gave Jeff a ticket out of frustration. The cop with the bag of sugar handed it back to Jeff.

“You know, if you want powdered sugar, A&P sells it. You don’t need to go to the city for it. Either you are really dumb and just got hosed by a dealer, or you are very lucky. Either way, we’ll be watching you,” The officer said, sternly.

They all drove off. Jeff knew that he had dodged a bullet, but also wondered how he was getting high off of powdered sugar. He decided not to question anything and to keep doing what he had been doing. And that is what he did, for the next year. He asked the old man what was in the powder one time, but the man just smiled and never answered, so Jeff never asked again.

By the time the year was up, he was ingesting huge amounts of the drug, and although he was happy to see his wife and child, he was getting sicker and sicker. One day at work, Jeff collapsed and fell unconscious. He was taken to the hospital and his mother and father were notified. They immediately rushed to his side.

The doctors determined that Jeff had fallen into a diabetic coma and were not sure that he would ever come out of it. Apparently his body could not take the huge amounts of sugar which he was feeding himself. His parents were grief stricken. They moved him to a nursing facility hoping that one day their tormented son would come back to them. They often stared at Jeff’s blank face and wondered if he had any thoughts left.

They would be happy to know that their son did have thoughts. Wonderful thoughts! Jeff’s days were now filled with Hershey’s Kisses and laughter from there on out. He made love to Lana every night and held Shauna in his arms all during the day. The drug had done it’s job. It had put him in a place where he could be with his family constantly. He hoped that he would never wake up again. This was all the reality that he would ever want. His wife and daughter were the high that he had always searched for.

American Mess(iah) a Brotin Tale

2010-08-13T18:45:00.002-04:00

For those of you who don't know the drill..... this is the first part to a two part story. Brian Miller will have a conclusion. I have no idea what he wrote, but it should be interesting! LOL

I have always been a church going man. I don’t go every weekend, but I would say that I average about twenty five times per year. I have prayed to God on many occasions and some of my prayers have been answered while others seem to have gone unheard. I am a strong believer in God, but I never thought in a million years that he would actually talk to me. I was mistaken.

It started a few weeks ago. I had just crawled into bed one evening, looking forward to a good nights sleep. That is when I heard a voice. It was the most pleasant and soothing voice that ever graced my ears. I really cannot describe it. It was neither masculine nor feminine, it was just very soothing.

“Brian”, the voice said.

“Huh? Yes.” I replied, not even thinking about what was happening.

“I need you to do something important for me.”

By this point, I was thinking that someone was playing a joke on me so I just played along.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“It is the Lord, Brian.”

I laughed. It had to be my buddy Tim perpetrating some elaborate prank. I just continued playing along with it.

“Okay, Lord. What the hell do you want?” I said with a sarcastic chuckle.

“Brian, Do you know who Michael Parker is?”

“Of course, everyone knows who Michael Parker is!”

“Brian, I want you to rid the world of Michael Parker. It is my will that this be done.”

At this point, the joke was getting old and I just wanted to get some sleep. I decided to call Tim out.

“Tim, you’re such an ass! Stop the shit and tomorrow get your audio crap out of my house.”

“Brian, Tim is home sleeping. You are the only one who can hear me. I will let you sleep and we will talk more tomorrow.”

“Night Tim, you dumb ass!” I exclaimed and then buried my head in my pillow.

The next morning I searched the room for hidden cameras or speakers but found nothing. Whoever was playing around with me had really done a great job. I began to doubt that it was Tim. His pranks were always easy to detect. He was not very meticulous.

My suspicions about this not being Tim’s work were proven to be true when
I began to hear the voice everywhere. It was in my car, at my work place, and even in a public restroom at Wal Mart. The voice always had the same message for me. It said that it was God and I was to rid the world of Michael Parker. I know that it sounds like I am losing my mind, but I actually began to consider that it might be God.

Last night I decided that I would talk to the voice as if it were the Almighty. I wanted to see what I was supposed to carry out this task for. Shortly after I went to bed, it appeared.

“I see that you are starting to believe now, Brian.”

“I have always believed in you. I just never thought that you would speak to me.”

“I have chosen people throughout history to help me, my son.”

“But this is murder, God. You are asking me to kill another human being.”

“Moses and Noah were both surrounded by death, Brian. Death is a part of life and is sometimes necessary to balance out things.”

“But why Michael Parker? What has he done?”

“That is not for you to know or understand. You must have faith that I am guiding you in the right direction.”

“This state has the death penalty! I will be ruining my own life.”

“Your life here is but a stepping stone to a greater existence. Do not value your material being too much.”

“What if I turn you down, God?”

“Then the world as you know it will forever change.”

“Can’t you call upon another person to help?”

“It does not work that way, Brian. It is your time to decide where your faith lies. It is your choice to make. I will not come to you again. You alone must decide. Goodbye, my son.”

“God?”

There was silence after that. It has been twenty four hours and I have not heard the voice again. I am not sure what to do.

Why Michael Parker?

Click HERE to go to Brian's and read the conclusion!

Rollercoaster

2010-08-11T21:28:00.003-04:00

Can you believe that this cute little guy...........
Actually got me on THIS thing! LOL

Figured that I had better post something so that you people knew that I was still here! I was at my Brother's house in Jersey and had a great time!

The Crystal Sea

2010-08-05T13:19:00.000-04:00

How could a family be so close in proximity, and yet be so far apart? It was a question that Karen Willard often asked herself. She knew what the answer was. It was those damned computers!

Richard Willard had bought enough computer equipment to run a small company. He purchased an expensive desktop unit for the house and three laptops, one for him and the other two for the couple’s teenage children. He had tried to convince Karen that it was for improving their education. She could not imagine how video games and music downloads were going to improve her kid’s grades, but she bit her lip and let Richard have his way.

Over the next year, the Willards became a family divided. Richard would park himself in his recliner and play on the computer every moment that he had available, while the kids would retreat to the solitude of their bedrooms and do the same. Karen felt like she was a woman living alone. She began to spend time on the computer in the den. She was not very knowledgeable when it came to technology but was a fairly intelligent woman. She would ask her husband for pointers here and there, but for the most part, if she could not figure something out then she would just forget about it.

Richard had gotten lost in the world of blogging. He thought that his stories and poetry were so good that people were flocking to his site to read his masterful works. He did not realize that it was more of a social network than an artistic medium, or maybe he did.

Richard seemed to get off on the attention that he was getting from these virtual strangers. The comments were like a drug to him. He had to have them. The higher the numbers, the happier that he was. Soon he was blogging ten hours a day and working forty hours a week. It was his family who had become virtual strangers to him.

One day, Richard was reading through his comments and found a new follower to his site. Her name was Crystal C. He clicked onto her profile and then over to her blog which was entitled : Sailing the Crystal Sea. It was a wonderful collection of poetry and stories, but what caught Richard’s attention was the profile photo on the blog. The woman, who’s name was listed as Crystal, was gorgeous. She was the type of woman that he was naturally attracted to. He began to visit her blog every day and leave upbeat comments. She became a regular on his site, also.

Months went by and Richard’s crush on Crystal grew. She was also giving indications that she was interested in him. He decided to make a bold move.

Richard sat down one night and wrote out a very emotionally charged email in which he expressed his feelings for Crystal. He searched for a good picture of himself to send in the message. He had never posted his photo on his blog, so she had no idea what he looked like. While he was writing the message, Karen came into the living room to ask her husband a question.

“Honey, how do I put something on Ebay?”

“Can’t you see that I’m busy!” Richard snapped.

Karen was blown away. Her husband had never been that short with her before.

“Never mind!” She yelled back and stormed out of the room.

Richard didn’t care at that moment. His mind was obsessed with Crystal. He uploaded his photo and sent his email.

He was not expecting what happened next. Crystal Emailed back saying that Richard was a striking man and that she wished that they could meet. Richard was blown away. The two bloggers only lived about five hours apart. A meeting would not be that difficult.

They exchanged more emails:

Richard to crystalc34@tmail.com:

We could meet, let’s say in Worthington?

Crystal to RichardWWII@tmail.com:

That would work. I have to do it during the week. Hubby is home on weekends.

Richard to crystalc34@tmail.com:

Good for me too. I can call out of work. Wife won’t know that I’m gone.

Crystal to RichardWWII@tmail.com:

How about the rest area on 17? We could picnic in the field there.

Richard to crystalc34@tmail.com:

Next Tuesday okay?

Crystal to RichardWWII@tmail.com:

Good for me. Lets say about 10.

Richard to crystalc34@tmail.com:

See you there!

Crystal toRichardWWII@tmail.com:

Bring wine and condoms!

The last email gave Richard an erection, something that Karen did not seem to do for him anymore. He could not wait to meet his new found girl.

Tuesday morning arrived and Richard was giddy with anticipation. Karen seemed very suspicious of the way that he was acting.

“Why are you in such a good mood, Hon? I have never seen you so happy to go to work on a Tuesday morning.”

“Big meeting today at ten, Babe. Could mean a promotion.”

“I hope that they don’t fuck you around this time. You always get your hopes up and then you are so depressed when it falls through.”

“Well, if I get fucked at this meeting, it will be pretty much what I expect,” Richard said with a smile. “I won’t let it bother me, I promise. At least I get out of doing the same old same old, today.”

He gave Karen a kiss and headed out. He felt extremely guilty, but also excited. Crystal was really on his mind. The two had emailed back and forth all weekend and had set up a game plan.

Crystal would bring the picnic supplies and Richard would bring the wine and condoms. They were supposed to meet at ten, but he was so excited and filled with anticipation that he arrived almost an hour early. The rest area was deserted, as it usually was. Not many vehicles used route 17 since the interstate had been built. Richard reclined his driver’s seat, put on the radio, and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. The last thing that he expected was to fall asleep.

He awoke to a woman’s voice.

“Wake up sleepy head,”

He opened his eyes and saw the time on the radio. It was only 9:30. He was still half an hour early. He hated that his first introduction to Crystal was going to be like this.

Before Richard’s eyes could fully adjust, he felt a sharp pain in his chest area. He looked down only to see the handle of a kitchen knife protruding from his chest and blood gushing down his belly, soaking into his expensive shirt. He looked up and saw Karen with a second knife. She plunged that one into his neck. He began to fade from life as he listened to Karen’s rant.

“You bastard! You cheating Bastard! I read your emails to that bitch! You thought that I was a dummy and that I could never catch you, but I taught myself.”

She pulled the knife out of his neck and stuck it in again.

“I’d say you got fucked on this meeting, Sweetheart, and I am going to kill that Crystal bitch too!!”

“Karen….I….am…..sorry,” were Richards last words as he drifted from the world of the living.

Later that night, after throwing the knives into a river and cleaning herself up, Karen walked through the quiet house. The kid’s doors were closed and the rooms were quiet. They were obviously online and had no time for her. She felt like they would probably never even miss their father. She knew that she would probably get caught for killing Richard. Evidence would eventually lead back to her.

She really had flip flopped on what to do with Crystal. Part of her hated the bitch and wanted to kill her, but then another part of her felt that it was not Crystal’s fault that Richard was such a weakling. Crystal had brought about the truth and strangely enough, Karen actually felt a little indebted to her.

Karen sat down at the computer and put in her ID and password and pulled up her own blog. She went into her settings and found the delete blog button. Her finger hovered over the button for a minute but then she had a change of heart. She decided to keep her site. She would not hit delete. Sailing The Crystal Sea was Karen’s creative outlet. It was a place where her stories and poems would exist long after she would be convicted and sentenced for killing her husband.

Crystal would live to see another day.

Giveaway winner and a commentary on blogging.

2010-08-01T11:58:00.004-04:00

I had to laugh the other day when I got a few comments that were basically insinuating that I had sold out or compromised my artistic integrity. The fact is that this is just blogging, people. Don't take this stuff too seriously. We are not changing the world or leaving a huge mark on society!

Would I do another giveaway? Sure! I love stuff! Unfortunately, I did not get anything out of this one, I wanted to give someone else a chance.

I guess what it all boils down to is that blogging is not a stepping stone to fame and fortune and is just a hobby. A hobby that can consume people and make Joe schmo feel like William Shakespeare!

Lighten up! LOL

With that being said, my giveaway winner is:

Bee and Rose

Congratulations!!!!!

The Cahill Mining Disaster

2010-07-29T18:56:00.003-04:00

Mallory Daniels had died with a broken heart. She had never reclaimed the joy which she had experienced in her twenties. Forty years earlier she had been a happily married young woman who relished her role as a wife and also had aspirations of one day becoming a mother.

Mallory’s husband, Scott, was a coal miner. It was a dirty, dangerous job that did not pay all that well. She had urged her husband to do something else for a living, but he was a proud and stubborn man who wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father. There was no way that she could sway him so she just decided that she would deal with it.

Scott and Mallory were very much in love. They were high school sweethearts and had never dated anyone else. There was a special spark when their eyes met or when they touched each other. People could not help but notice how in love that they were.

One day while Mallory was busy hanging laundry on the clothesline in back of the couple’s trailer home, the phone rang. Normally she would have just let it ring and finished with her chore, but on that afternoon she had a feeling that she needed to answer the call. She left her basket of wet laundry and headed in.

“Hello?” she said into the old rotary dial phone.

“Hello, Mrs. Daniels. This is Tom Fordiss, down at the mine. There’s been an accident and five miners are trapped. Scott is one of them…..you might want to get down here.”

Mallory dropped the phone, grabbed her keys off of the table, and sped off to the Cahill Mine. She left in such a hurry that she never locked the house or even shut the front door for that matter. All that she cared about was Scott.

The mine was a madhouse. There were news crews and family members milling about, along with tons of volunteer and rescue workers. She was told that there had been an explosion and that five miners were not accounted for. They had been at the deepest part of the excavation and were trapped very far beneath the surface. If they were still alive, rescuers would only have a very small window of opportunity to save them.

As days went by, Mallory watched that window get smaller and smaller and then finally saw it slam shut. It was determined that the mine shaft was too unstable to attempt a rescue and that the men could have not survived such a lengthy interment in the bowels of the coal laden earth. The five workers were declared dead.

Mallory went into a severe state of depression. The love of her life was gone. She was all alone.

The Cahill Mining company continued to operate, but that section was closed down. A memorial marker was put up and the area was considered to be a grave site, as well as a tribute to all of the other workers who had perished in the coal mines. Mallory spent many days at the memorial, showering it with her lonely tears. It would be years before she would move on with her life.

The years did pass, and so did her twenties. As Mallory headed toward middle age, she began to feel the need to raise a child. She did not want a husband. She could never find anyone to take the place of Scott. She just wanted to be a mother.

Mallory began a pattern where she would go on a couple of dates with a man, have sex and then not call him again. Her reasoning was that if she dated enough men and then got pregnant, then no one would know who the father was and be able to lay claim to the child. It gave her a reputation as the area slut, but it also gave her exactly what she had yearned for. A perfect little child. A beautiful daughter.

Mallory raised her daughter as a single mother. She worked two jobs to make ends meet and relied heavily on babysitters to watch little Emily. It was a tough life, but she was proud of herself and knew that Scott would have approved of her ability as a mother.

As Emily grew up, Mallory filled her head with stories about how she had lost her one true love, and eventually took her daughter to the miner’s memorial. Emily hated to hear her mother tell her these stories because of the sorrow with which they were told. Mallory was a good provider, but never had a positive outlook on life. Everything to her was either not good or a waste of time, and boys were just guys who died on you and ruined your life. Emily never developed any close relationships or really even dated much as she grew up. It was tough on her to go her entire life without seeing her mother smile or laugh. She always pitied Mallory.

In early 2009, Mallory passed away form heart failure. She was 66. Friends and family knew that her death was really just the end result of a broken heart. Everyone who knew the situation of the Cahill Mine disaster understood her lifetime of sorrow.

Emily Buried her mother at the Shady Elm Cemetery on a cloudy, misty day. Only a few people had come to the actual burial. One of them being her husband.

She had overcome her mother’s years of negativity and had finally broken out of her cold shell. She had gotten married and was expecting a child. Emily was heartbroken that her mother would never get to see her grandchild. She thought that maybe it would have brought her a few years of happiness, but it was never meant to be.

In April 2010, the Cahill Mining company contacted the relatives of the five miners and asked permission to exhume the remains and return them to the families. It was not out of the goodness of their hearts that they did this, but instead it was because of greed. The closed down section was rich in coal deposits and the company needed to access it. Greedy or not, four of the five families wanted the remains of their relatives.

Emily had been contacted by the mining company for her permission to exhume Scott Daniels. She was not his blood relative, but her mother was Scott’s wife and he had no other living relatives. Emily knew what she had to do.

In June of 2010, Emily, her husband, and her one month old son looked on as a casket was lowered into the ground right next to Mallory’s resting place. The headstone had been changed and now bore both of the names of Scott and Mallory Daniels, with the inscription: Two souls bound together forever .

The sky was blue and the weather was perfect as the birds sang melodic songs in the nearby tree. Emily looked up at a billowing cloud and swore that it was smiling back at her. She knew that her mother was now happy and it warmed her heart. She smiled at her own husband and gazed down upon her son who she cradled in her arms. She gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“You ready to go take a nap, Scotty?” she asked the baby with a smile on her face.

All was right in her world, now.

CSN Stores $80.00 Dollar giveaway! (Seriously Folks!)

2010-07-27T16:17:00.011-04:00

So the other day I went in the kitchen to cook a little dinner and came across a cabinet full of ants.Now any rational guy would have just cleaned everything out, sprayed bug killer, and then put everything back. Not me! I began throwing pots and pans out because they were old and scratched up and I never used them. I figured that I would just get some new ones. Then I remembered an email from CSN Stores with a link to

The Le Creuset line of cookware had everything that I could have wanted! It was very nice merchandise! I was ready to order.............But then I thought about you good people. People who have been with me for a long time and have read all of my crazy stories for the last year and a half.

I decided that I would not get anything for myself. I decided that I would give away an $80.00 dollar credit to CSN Stores instead!

All that you have to do is leave one comment telling what you would buy with your eighty dollars! Just one comment.

I will be jealous because I don't get a thing for doing this! I look out for my people!

(And no, I am not joking! LOL)

This giveaway will end on Sunday, August 1st at 8 pm.

I Hate Meme Week Day two (TWO WORD TUESDAY)

2010-07-26T17:39:00.005-04:00

(Click pic)
WHAT TWO WORDS ARE IMPORTANT TO YOU TODAY?

I Hate Meme week Day One (MONO WORD MONDAY)

2010-07-25T21:07:00.004-04:00

Just find a word that describes how you feel and link on up!!!

4/20 The attack

2010-07-23T19:06:00.001-04:00

It was a dark day. There were ominous clouds which blocked the sun’s illuminating rays and cast dismal shadows over our once peaceful country. It was a dreary time to be alive, especially when most of my family lay dying.

My relatives had lived in the same area their entire lives. They taught their children good values and raised them in a manner which was consistent with how they were brought up. Why anyone would attack our peaceful community was beyond our wildest dreams. But sometimes bad dreams become a reality and this reality was devastating.

We wondered if it was terrorism, or if someone really had declared war upon us. Bombs had been dropped and explosions changed the landscape. We were all very frightened.

My mother told us to run away and not to look back until we had cleared the war zone. The other parents had instructed their children to do the same, but some of us did not want to leave our homes without any guidance. We decided to stay and see if we could help.

Most of the adults tried to save those who were injured or lost. The only problem was that in doing so, they were becoming sick. There was some sort of toxin in the bombs which was killing them.

I watched as my father dragged his friend out of the darkness and tried to help him breathe again, but it was too late. I watched as my mother began to gasp for air and my father again failed in his efforts to save someone. I saw my mother suffocate. It was the worst time of my life.

The worst moment of my life was soon followed by an equally disturbing moment. My father had breathed in the toxin and was having convulsions. I knew that he did not stand a chance. None of the adults were fairing any better. It was basically just a matter of time before us children would be all who remained.

I decided that I had to step up and be a decision maker. I organized the remaining group and told them that we needed to stick together and flee as our parents had told us to do. I told them that maybe one day we could organize ourselves and come back to fight the people who had taken away our way of life. The group responded and accepted me as their leader. It was time to make some tough decisions.

No matter how bad things had become, there was still an urge to stay. It was our home and a part of me wanted to stay and fight for it. In my heart, though, I knew that it was a mistake to remain. We would end up dead just like our parents.

The final decision had been left up to me and I decided that it was time to leave. I gathered the group and we said a prayer for our fallen relatives. Once that was completed, my friends and I took one last look at our desecrated home and then began upon our journey.

We all surfaced and took a deep breath. I decided that we should swim in the current that would take us up the coast. Maybe those dark pulsating globs would not follow us. Maybe the men who had attacked us with the strange toxin would let us go. Maybe there was somewhere else to live where our community would not be destroyed by a bomb from below. A bomb that shot big blobs of death into our atmosphere twenty four hours a day.

With a sharp thrust of my fin I headed toward the clean water. It was ocean where the sun still shone through and where the crabs and fish were still plentiful. We swam for days and found a perfect spot. It was an area where the people floated along side of us in pleasure crafts and we all shared the same space.

We made a new life for ourselves but always wondered what had become of our old home. We would have to live the rest of our days with the nightmare images of birds and fish and even our own species covered with the deadly toxin. One day us dolphins will return there, but until then the image of my mother and father sinking into the oily darkness will forever haunt me.

What a difference a year makes!

2010-07-20T20:27:00.006-04:00

Never let it be said that I am not moody at times!

LOL! Didn't mean to scare you!!

Shadow of the morning Star ( an oldie from the Otin vault! LMAO!)

2010-07-19T18:40:00.007-04:00

WARNING: NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH

John awoke in a dark room to an odor that smelled like a combination of mold and rotting trash. As his eyes adjusted, the darkness gave way to shadows that danced across his field of vision. He was still dazed and could not get his bearings, but ever so slowly, he began to regain the ability to think clearly. He tried to move but soon realized that his arms and legs had been restrained, pulled tight in four different directions. He was not on a bed. It felt more like a table or even a work bench of some sort. John finally regained all of his faculties and began to think clearly about the earlier part of the day.

He had left town in the mid morning hours to meet a blogging friend who called herself “Morning star”. Morning Star was John’s first real blog friend. They had been corresponding for over a year, and both seemed to have a lot in common. The two had become very close and often commiserated about each others domestic problems. John lived about four hours from interstate 95, in a little rural southern town, and Morning Star was from New Hampshire.

When Morning Star announced that she was taking a road trip to Florida, the two friends set up a meeting. John would just have to drive about 4 hours on some back roads to get to the truck stop at exit 118.

When the day of the meeting arrived, John enthusiastically set out to meet his friend. The drive started out uneventful. He took his time because he did not have to meet Morning Star until six that evening. John stopped at some country stores and later at a little mall located in one of the only towns that he had passed through on the entire journey.

It was about 4:30 and the sun was starting to lean toward the west, causing the tall pines that lined the road to cast dark shadows over the pavement. It was in these shadows that John spotted a pick up truck off to the side of the road. The driver's door was open and a man was sprawled out face first on the grassy shoulder. He was obviously in need of medical attention. John tried dialing 911, but found that he was out of range of any cell phone service area. He also had not passed another vehicle since the last little town which he had gone through and that was more than 20 miles behind him.

Having no other options, he pulled over and approached the man. John deduced that the man had obviously been struck on the head with something. There was a large bloodied area on the back of his scalp. He bent over to check for a pulse and that is when John felt someone grab him and put a cloth over his mouth and nose. That was all he could remember about the early part of his day. Now he had to concentrate on his current and frightening reality.

He looked around and saw a door. John could tell that it led to another room because there was a light on behind it. The dancing shadows that he had seen when he first came out of his induced slumber originated from two small windows near the ceiling. Bushes rustling in the wind had been caught by the moonlight, creating a demonic looking puppet show on the walls. John now knew that he was in a basement. It was some sort of modern dungeon.

A door opened and light flooded the room. John got his first real glimpse of his surroundings. The place looked like a butcher shop, one that had never been cleaned. There were saws, knives, cleavers, and two large axes, along with various other clipping and snipping tools.

A man now entered the room, he was very tall and was wearing what appeared to be a Shrek Halloween mask. It almost looked laughable, but the blood stains on his white tee shirt told a different story, one that John was not ready to listen to. He had been gagged so tight that after a few attempts at screaming, he just gave up. He knew that there was no way for him to change the outcome of whatever was going to happen.

The man in the mask opened a case and produced numerous syringes. He gave John a multitude of shots. The first one caused pain like he had never felt before, while the others that followed hurt less and less. He was trying not to cry, but began blinding himself with tears. He could not scream no matter how hard he tried.

Strange sensations began to take place. His extremities at first tingled, but were now immobile and numb. He could not even pull at his restraints. John was completely paralyzed. It was at this moment that the Shrek man untied him. He had been stripped naked but had not even realized it until the moment that his shackles had been removed. John could not move a muscle but never gave up trying to lift his arms and legs.

The big man reached under John and flipped him onto his stomach. He then pushed him forward on the table until his eyes overhung the edge, allowing John to see the floor below. Rats ran across his field of vision as if they were domesticated house pets. There was dried blood, hair, and small bones scattered about on the floor. He was on the verge of passing out when the Shrek man spoke.

“I am going to remove the gag. If you scream, I will kill you”!

John had no choice but to comply. The ogre removed the gag.

John had no idea what was happening. All that he could do was listen to sounds that were being made and try to guess. He heard the sound of knives being sharpened. It was after that, that John felt pressure on his right hand but could not feel any pain. Then he heard what sounded like a torch being lit, followed by an odor that smelled similar to liver frying. He did feel something. Maybe it was pain? He cringed.

Looking down at the floor, a bowl was pushed in front of his field of vision. It was a bowl containing five human fingers. The school ring on one of the fingers told him that the severed digits were his own. The fingers of his right hand had been removed and placed in front of him so that she could watch the rats dine on his own flesh. The rodents invaded the bowl and John vomited heavily. He coated the rats with the remains of his lunch, as they continued to fight over the fresh morsels.

The rats picked the bowl clean and it was now empty . John was hysterical and blubbering. He could not have screamed if he wanted to. He felt something slide under him, and then he was once again facing the ceiling. John tried to get a glimpse at his hand, but could not lift his head or arms. Obviously the monster had cut off his fingers and used a torch to cauterize his wounds.

John tried to spit at him, but he could not muster the strength to get the saliva away from his own mouth. He knew that he was not going to make it. The Shrek man gagged him once again, gave him more injections, and left the room. John just whimpered.

About an hour later, the door opened once again and the man in the shrek mask returned. This time he led a woman into the room. She had a sack over her head and her dress was bloodstained. He guided the woman to the table, and pulled off her mask. Oh My God! It was Morning Star! He had gotten her also.

Morning Star looked shocked.

"John!!!!" she screamed.

Morning Star turned quickly, ripping the Shrek mask off of the big man and hit him with a hard blow.

“You Mother Fucker”! She screamed, “This one was mine! I told you not to touch him. It was my fucking turn to operate! This is my big surprise”?

John now recognized the Shrek man. It was Morning Star’s husband, Dogstar, who according to her posts, was a surgeon.

Morning Star turned to John and smiled.

“John, Sweetie. It's hard to imagine that this whole year we only lived 100 miles apart. You are far to trusting.”

John could do nothing but sob in disbelief. Morning Star picked up a large cleaver and kept talking.

“I have been working on my next post about how you stood me up at the truck stop. I think that you are going to lose some followers over this!”

The Cleaver came sweeping down, and John’s future disappeared into the shadows of the rat infested basement.

Can you ever really trust just anyone?

Sunday 160 (LAME)

2010-07-18T07:54:00.003-04:00

These word limiting memes are totally dumb and have not one ounce of creativity.
They are just a vehicle to get a quick comment total.
Blogging can be so lame!!

Brotin Tales ( Loose Ends; All tied up)

2010-07-17T20:20:00.000-04:00

This is part 2 to a 2 part story. Just so you don't get lost, jump on over to Brian Miller's and read Part 1 first! Don't cheat! LOL!

It was never supposed to be this way…… Rob thought, as he put his cigar to his mouth and sucked in a mouthful of smoke. He had made plans before that had gone awry, but nothing like this. This was not the same woman whom he had met a few weeks earlier. He had no idea who she was.

Rob Caprisi was a two bit hood who hung out with mob types in the bars of New York City. He was not well connected but had a reputation for being good muscle. When the mafia needed an extra man for a heist or burglary, they sometimes would throw Rob a bone. He had always wanted to be known as one of the crew, but never quite made it to that level He never made any big scores, but did well enough to wear Armani suits and wine and dine at fine restaurants. He was a considered to be a trusted man. He had to be, otherwise he would have been a dead man.

A few weeks earlier, Rob had been sitting at the bar in Sully’s Tavern when a striking blonde sat down next to him.

“Can I buy you a drink?” She asked him just seconds after sitting.

Rob smiled. It seemed that he was not going to have to work too hard to get himself a piece of ass on this day.

“How about I buy you one, Baby?” He responded.

“Mr. Caprisi, I need your help, and could make you a very rich man. I have a proposition for you.”

Rob was all ears. The only thing that excited him more than looking at this woman’s fine body was the thought of being a rich man.

“Whoa, Lady! First of all, how do you know me?”

“I checked around and everyone says that you would be the guy to help me.”

“Who did you see?”

“Well lets just say that I know how Jimmy Hot Rod got his knick name.”

Rob pulled out his cell phone and after searching through his speed dials, he found Jimmy’s number. He dialed and Jimmy answered.

“Jimmy, This is Rob. I got some blonde chick here who says you sent her to me. You know about her?”

“Yea, I fucked her! She’s damn good, Rob, you ought to tap that yourself!”

“ I don’t have time to think about that at this second. She said that she needs my help. What with?”

“Oh, that kidnapping shit. You need to ask her. It was way more than I could handle. You can trust her, though. I know she ain’t no FBI. I don’t think that blow jobs are in their job description and besides, I went through her purse. It could make you rich if you could pull it off.”

Rob trusted Jimmy’s opinion and now was interested in what the woman had to say. They decided to go sit at a booth and then she told him her situation.

“My father is a very wealthy man. He is worth nearly a billion dollars. Have you heard of Frank Boyer?”

“Nope, can’t say I have,” Rob answered.

“Well, most people haven’t. He is not a Trump type who likes the spotlight and wants to be a celebrity. He is very low key. I am his daughter, Tricia. My dad has put money aside for me when he dies, but he is only sixty six and is healthy as a horse. I really have very little money. He actually thinks that I should work. Do you believe that?! I love my Dad and wouldn’t want anything to happen to him, but I also don’t want to work when he’s sitting out in the Hamptons with a billion dollars.”

“Okay”, Rob nodded. “I got you so far. You don’t want your Dad bumped off, so you want to try some kinda kidnap thing?”

“Exactly! I want to create a situation where I am supposed to go on a vacation to somewhere like Mexico. That is where you come in. I need you to set something up where you could take me from there and hold me prisoner. You could tie me up and video tape me and then send a ransom to my father. He would pay anything to keep me safe. I would leave all the details up to you as far as the money went. Like if we should get US currency or foreign currency. I would split the ransom with you. I think Dad would go 50 million in a heartbeat!”

Rob’s jaw about hit the floor. Fifty million meant 25 million each. It was an astronomical sum by his standards. The best part of the deal was that there would be no killing. His greed answered for him.

“I’ll do it!” He almost shouted, but caught himself.

That is basically how it all came about. They planned the whole thing carefully. Tricia had flown to Mexico and met Rob at Cancun, where they then flew to Costa Rica. Rob had hired a few local bandits to help with the process.

Tricia acted normal right up until the time that they had tied her down in preparation of making a video tape to send to her father. Now she had come unglued. Rob had left the room for a few minutes to retrieve his camera and had returned to find Tricia struggling to get free and calling him her husband. He saw the blood on her wrists and the confused look in her eyes.

“You want me cut rope?” One of the helpers asked in broken English.

“No,” Rob responded. “Let’s leave her until she starts talking normal again.”

Rob could not take the video until she came to her senses. He wondered if she had taken some sort of pill or something. He would just let her come down off of whatever she was on. He did not yet have the video, but he could at least still make the first ransom call. He got into an old jeep and drove into town. He wanted to make the call from a pay phone.

After figuring out all of the international dialing hassles, He dialed the number that Tricia had given to him. The phone rang and a man answered.

“Frank Boyer?” Rob asked, trying to disguise his voice.

“Yes,” the man responded, wondering who was calling his private line.

“Frank, we have your daughter, and if you do not do exactly what I say, you will never see her again.”

“But I don’t have a daughter! Who the fuck is this?!!!”

Rob hung up the phone, immediately. No daughter? He was now totally confused. Who was the woman tied up on the bed? The woman who a few hours prior was his sneaky partner in crime and who was now a delusional wreck. He headed back to the hideout. He needed answers.

He pulled up to the house. The two Spanish thugs were gone. They were supposed to be guarding the outside.

Rob walked up to the door and entered the house, only to find that Tricia was gone from the bed.

Sitting in a chair, with a pistol in his hand was Jimmy Hot Rod.

“Jimmy, What the fuck? Where’s Tricia? What are you doing here?”

“Robby, Robby, Robby….You are such a fool. If you want to play with the big boys, you gotta involve them in everything that you do. The Boss was afraid that you were gonna squeal about the Wells Fargo thing so he wanted to test you out. He sent Valeri to you with a dumb ass story, hoping that you would ask his permission to proceed. You see, if this whole thing had been legit, then technically, you would owe him a share, but you never considered that.”

“Whoa, now wait a minute, Jimmy…….”

“Shut up and listen, Rob! The boss thought that you would come to him and tell him what you had goin’ down and then he would tell you that it was a test and then maybe make you part of a crew, but you really fucked up. Not only did you take this thing all the way, but you didn’t even do any research. You should have known that Frank Boyer didn’t have any kids. Now you will never be part of a crew!”

“But the girl? Who? Why?”

“My girl Valeri. That was one truthful thing. I did fuck her. As a matter of fact, I am going to marry her. She popped a few pills this morning before you guys tied her up. The whole thing scared her a little. The pills made her wig out and think you were her husband and that she had really been abducted. She will be okay after she sleeps it off.”

Without any warning, Jimmy aimed the gun at Rob’s head and pulled the trigger. Rob’s body dropped to the floor.

“To bad about the wedding, Robbo, you were gonna be my best man.”

Can't escape the dog days (THEME THURSDAY....HELP)

2010-07-15T21:08:00.000-04:00

Tony sat up in bed, his heart racing so fast that he could feel the pounding in his ears. He wondered if he had actually screamed out cries for HELP or if it had all been part of his dream.

At that moment he began to hear pounding on his front door. Tony grabbed his robe and headed down the hall.

“Mr. Anderson, is everything okay?” He heard a man’s voice asking in between knocks.

Tony realized that it was just old man Saunders, the nosey widower from across the street. He also realized that his cries for HELP were obviously real and must have also been very loud in order for his neighbor to have heard them.

“Everything is fine Mr. Saunders, I just had a bad dream is all,” Tony answered.

“Well you were yellin’ pretty loud, I had to make sure.”

Tony thanked him for the show of concern and then watched through the window as the old man hobbled back across the street. Once Mr. Saunders was gone, He knew what had to be done. He had to check the graves. It was crazy, but he knew that he would not get back to sleep without the reassurance of knowing that the bodies were still there.

Tony slipped on his shoes and grabbed a coat and flashlight and then made his way into the back yard. It was misty and cool. The visibility was limited as the light beam reflected off of the mist.

He walked about two hundred feet, passing the quiet dog pen. It was unusual not to hear the dogs barking. Unusual, but a relief to him, in a way.

Something suddenly flashed in front of him. Tony gasped as a large owl swooped in on some tiny rodent, all within sight of his flashlight. He was already jumpy to begin with, but looking to see if bodies were still buried because of a strange dream was making this walk almost unbearable.

Tony arrived at the grave site and saw that both mounds of dirt were still intact and that the markers which he had made had not moved. He was satisfied as he headed back to the house.

Once he stepped back inside, Tony locked the doors and sat down at the kitchen table. He did not know if he wanted to try to sleep again or not. It was a big house, and living alone sometimes could get a little creepy. He had not always lived alone. This was new for him.

Tony decided to just stay awake. The dream had shook him up. He went to work the next morning and fumbled through the day. By the time that he arrived home that afternoon, he was in desperate need of a nap. Sleep came upon him quickly. So did a dream.

In the dream, He was at the grave site, but this time the dirt had been disturbed. The markers were laying on their sides and it appeared that the bodies had crawled up out of the soil. Tony heard growling and turned to see his two German shepherds bearing their teeth at him. They were not in the pen and they looked like they had been possessed by some demonic force. He turned and ran toward the house with the vicious canines pursuing him every step of the way. By the time that Tony reached the back door, the hell hounds were snapping at his heels. He threw the door open and dove inside, kicking it shut with his feet. The one dog had managed to get his head in the door and the only thing that kept him from attacking was the pressure that Tony was applying to the bottom of the door with his feet. The dog’s neck was caught and he had to back off. When the dog retreated, the door slammed shut.

There were loud growls and scratching noises as the dogs tried to dig their way through the wood. Tony began to scream for help. Once again he woke up wondering if the screams were real. The knock on the door again answered that question.

Another morning came and Tony sat, nearly comatose, at his kitchen table. He knew where his dreams were stemming from. He had recently told his long time girlfriend and her daughter to remove themselves from his life. It was a liberating feeling. He was so miserable for so long that he would pay any price to see them go. He even agreed to take care of the dogs, something that Tony was not really known for. He was not an animal person by any means, unless, of course, you included steaks and pork chops.

The dogs were actually a financial burden on him. It cost nearly fifty dollars a month to feed them, and that did not include the time it took to clean the pen and everything else. The dogs were old, and Tony really hoped that they would not last all that long. It was kind of a cruel thought, but it was how he felt.

The months had gone by and the dog care became a hassle. Tony remembered reading an article about anti freeze and how you were supposed to keep it away from dogs because they loved the taste of it, even though it was lethal to them. One day, while filling their water bucket, Tony decided to do the unspeakable. He emptied out a gallon of antifreeze into the dog’s drinking water. It was quick and it was effective. The costly dogs were dead! Now all that he had to do was to dig two graves and bury them, showing a little compassion for the sake of his neighbors. He buried the dogs, made two markers, and thought that was the end of it.

He was wrong.

Tony opened the back door and looked out into the yard. He could clearly see the graves. The morning was clear and the visibility was perfect. The burial spots were seemingly undisturbed. As he was about to shut the door, he noticed something on the back steps. It looked like bloody paw prints. He looked at the bottom of the door and saw deep gouges in the wood. The crevices were stained with crimson streaks. Tony gasped and slammed the door shut.

This became a nightly occurrence. The dreams became more and more realistic. Each morning, Tony found growing evidence of actual attacks. There were ripped screens and broken windows. There was a door knob that had bite marks on it, and even a hole dug near the foundation of the house.

Then one morning, almost so tired that he had trouble focusing, Tony opened the back door and looked out at the graves. The markers were gone! He slipped on his shoes and walked across the back yard. There were just two open pits where the dogs had been buried. The bodies had disappeared. He knew where they were. They had taken up residence in his dreams. It was at this point where Tony began to wonder what was real and what was his imagination. He knew that he had to get some good sleep in order to be able to think clearly again.

He called in sick to work, and booked a room at a local hotel, making sure that it was not on the ground floor. On the way there, Tony stopped by the drug store and bought some sleeping pills. He figured that if he induced a deep sleep that maybe he might bypass the dreams.

He was wrong.

After Tony checked in, he took two pills and went right to bed. He went down hard, snoring loudly. That is when the dream began.

The dogs were in his hotel room. They were standing on each side of his bed, growling ferociously. Tony was at their mercy. He grabbed his bottle of pills and took another. The growling subsided a little, so he took another. In the dream, with each pill that he took, the more docile the dogs became. Finally, after a few more pills, the dogs actually became friendly. They licked his face and wagged their tails. He finished off the pills and the dogs jumped up on his bed and curled up at his feet and fell asleep. Maybe the bad dreams were finally over. Tony could not wait for morning.

But morning never came…

*****
Dispatcher: 911...what is your emergency?

Hotel Manager: We have a man in room 202 who looks like he is dead. He is all blue and there is an empty bottle of sleeping pills next to him………………

******
Tony could now rest, the dogs had put him to sleep!

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