Tuesday, December 9- Persona Poetry

Alfred Nobel

Great minds think alike

In business and in war

Create to destroy

Like my father before

No nobility in poverty

No justice in death

Establish peace and prosperity

To give the wicked rest

The answers hide and wait

among the mysteries of science

Reward is always given

to those who live in defiance

An everlasting legacy

of invention, innovation

wealth amassed for the ages

by virtue of creation

Endlessly restless

the world awaits my eyes

lonely and aging

but no one in wait, lies

Changed the world

changed its face

made another instrument

of the end of our race

A paradox of views

a legacy of confusion

champion peace

but its just an illusion

make peace with tools of war

that's what I leave behind

a name associated

with greatest of all time

To Love a Villain

I take the offered flower willingly

But crush the fragile heart when turned around

I veil well this, my hidden cruelty

‘Til the fortress opens and love abounds

Quickly I strike, take what I freely can

Then change the image of my heart to stone

Turn deaf my ears, all her cries I do ban

Then smile in malice when she is alone

Having taken my fill of her pure soul

I leave it stained with my vile corruption

The tears shed in my wake fulfill my goal

To precipitate a hearts disruption

Love is the universal suicide

Endlessly crushing hearts one at a time

Her tears are like diamonds, jewels mined from grief

Eyes like pools of woe, where the dismal die

Like knives at deadly work, her vengeful teeth

Heart saw Medusa, stone enclosed its life

I’m a breeder of the bitter heartless

Ripping out hearts with a broken promise

Putting iron in their souls for hardness

Creating an army of the lawless

With each fresh face which mourns my rejection

The love that’s unreturned comes back to bite

To pay the price of misplaced affection

Makes a holy heart which is filled with spite

The countless I’ve joyously affected

 Have dark hearts that cannot be dissected

The broken girls go out into the Earth

They spread my wicked soul-sucking disease

They do like me, without the vicious mirth

The more my lesson spreads, the greater ease

Their hearts go down like dominoes throughout

One here, another there, all love and lose

In the end love will cease to come about

And all the hearts will ache and feel abused

My victims become that which they do hate

Rejecting poor lovers after they turn

Take what they can, then leave them to wait

And another one has his lesson learned

I enjoy playing with these broken things

The broken more readily crown a king

Thursday, December 4 - Unrequited Love

       The boy was 13 years old and desperate, as most middle school children are, for some kind of "romantic" connection. Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly what people would call attractive. He was short, plump, with thin greasy hair, and an unusually bad case of acne. This, of course led to most of the feelings people associated with him being related either to disgust or to repulsion. He was lonely, and in that loneliness, he became swallowed up in his own thoughts, and they ranged from dark to fantastical in a way only the severely obsessive could.
     One night, as he was looking out his window vacantly he saw a girl of the most radiant beauty. In his eyes she seemed to glow. Her bright red hair glistened under the light of street lamps, and grew in such perfect, straight length down to the small of her back. She was thin, but not gangly and her walk was like that of a gazelle. She was obviously a few years older than he, but he disregarded this fact in his sudden infatuation. He had fallen for her completely, and he didn't even know her name.
     All night he dreamt of impossibilities, as the hopelessly pathetic tend to. The next morning he woke with a spring in his step, and a brightness in his heart. The next time he saw the girl, he would confess his love in the most romantic way he could think of; a song. Unfortunately, he was utterly tone-deaf, and though his voice sounded like a canary's to his ears, to the rest of the world it sounded like a mewling cat poorly playing Rebecca Black's Friday on an old violin. He practiced his poorly written song holding the most obvious of cliches, the worst of rhymes (when it did rhyme) and a tune that could've been found in a kindergarten classes garbage bin all day.
       That night he waited by his front door for her to pass by again. She didn't. He waited for hours until his parents forced him to come inside. He wasn't deterred from his goal however. He would wait the next night, and the next, and the next, subjecting his poor family and neighbors to his awful singing of a terrible song each day that preceded until one night she walked by again. In his excitement, the boy failed to even introduce himself. He only ran up onto the side of the street and began belting out his horrid tune, which I could not, in good conscience, record on this page even the lyrics of. The poor girl was completely shocked out of her thoughts and only stared for what seemed to the boy an eternity. Then her laughter erupted and it was like a dagger to the boys heart. She just laughed and kept walking, and he knew she would never feel the same. He didn't even know her name.
        He cried himself into oblivion for the next week, pathetically sobbing to any who would listen, of which there grew fewer and fewer with each passing day, about how he loved her, and would never love anyone else. After that week of childish folly, he came to a realization. He was not anywhere close to the league of such a girl. He never would be. With this knowledge came the burden that would weigh him down for the rest of his life, anyone in his league would not be a girl to be proud of, a girl he could never love.  So he resigned himself to a life of eternal loneliness, but was better off for it. He never had his heart broken again, because he had rid himself of it forever.

Tuesday, December 2- Top Secret

        I remained wrapped in my warm fortress of blankets to shut out the cold that had set in after the heavy snow-fall. My wife already left the bed to go to work, but I didn't have to. I'm not some unemployed stay at home husband, I'm a teacher. School had been cancelled due to the snow, so I could stay home. After a few minutes, I couldn't sleep, and I got up to use the restroom. When I got to the slightly ajar door I heard my wife speaking on the phone above the rush of water from the shower she had been about to take. I know it's impolite to eavesdrop, but my wife works for a highly secretive agency of the government called the CTU (Counter-Terrorism Unit) and I was never told anything about her job; I was curious. What I heard shocked me to the core.
       "Torture? Of course, don't be stupid. When have we not tortured our prisoners?... So what if he's a United States citizen? Has that ever stopped us before?... Look, I know your new, but you've got to get with the program. We don't tolerate sedition. He won't ever be speaking against our policies again. In fact, he won't be speaking at all ever again." Then she laughed. She laughed.
          I never knew just how heartless and cruel my wife could be. I had always trusted that she kept us safe, secured our liberties and all the things her agency claimed they did. After what I heard, I think it's clear that is not their intention. I was furious, but how could I let her know? She, along with her agency, would treat me much the same as the man they had just discussed.
        I quickly darted back to the bed and feigned sleep until she left. Then I got up and thought over what had just happened. If they knew I knew the things I did, then I'd surely be imprisoned, tortured, and killed, but how could I stand idly by and let such atrocities continue? It was a quandary I was unprepared for, and I struggled over the issue for many days after. I'm sure the man they planned to torture has already been killed. After days of self-debate a thought occurred to me. How would our Founding Fathers have received such news? Well they would have spoken loudly and angrily against such wickedness and blatant violation of the natural rights of man.
      I steeled myself against the inevitable repercussions and began to write. I wrote for hours on end, quit my job so I would have more time. I told my wife I was writing a novel. She seemed very excited about it, but who knows if she feels anything at all? In 2 weeks I finished an essay on what I had heard, and what I believed must be done about it. It was no Common Sense, but its message was clear. This has to stop.
      That was when things got difficult. No matter what publisher I went to, no one would print it. They were either afraid of what the CTU might do, or they simply didn't believe it. I went to publisher after publisher, big ones, small ones, nearly bankrupt ones, all turned me down. I was frustrated and sick and ready to give up, when I passed an antique store and saw an old printing press that looked like it belonged in the Colonial era. I rushed inside and asked the store owner how much it cost. The price, as usual, was absurd, but I paid without hesitation. I wasn't in a position to bargain.
         I took some time to learn how to operate it, then published my paper nationwide, anonymously of course. I'll see what comes of it. Hopefully real change comes about. Hopefully the people believe, and become outraged enough to do something about it. We'll see. This will probably be the last thing I writ; more than likely I'll be arrested and tortured, even killed perhaps, but I'm going to try and go into hiding. This is the start of something new.

Thursday, November 20- emotions

       In conflict for the better part of a month, the situation had finally reached its break point. The massive mood swings from joyousness, to sadness, to disgust, then anger spoke of a deeper mental problem than simple change, but that is to be ignored. At the moment Fear was at the controls within the mind of this little girl, and he was, per usual, clinging on by a thread, not in complete control of himself, more of a disruptive creature than an instigator.  Anger was slowly rising up to take over, in his typical state of rage, unsatisfied with the job being done by Fear. When he reached Fear he grabbed him by the collar and flung him across the room, where he was subsequently knocked unconscious. With Anger at the helm, he did his usual overboard antics making the scene very uncomfortable, or infuriating depending on how one might react. In his usual fashion, Anger made one gesture too many and the grandness of the action knocked him off his perch. Sadness then grabbed hold of the controls and quickly steered away from the entire scene altogether. She sat the little girl in a corner and she pouted for ceaseless hours, wallowing in self-pity. Disgust, disgusted with this pathetic behavior quickly rose out of the shadows and took out Sadness with a quick blow to the head, then took over for herself. She forced the girl up and began berating her for how she had behaved, particularly in that moment of shallow self-pity and weeping. She berated the girl for her ragged appearance after tears had made her nose bright,cherry red, her eyes puffy and bloodshot, and her face in a twisted, lumpy expression. Her overlord, Hate, looked on with approval. One day, if she was capable of keeping control, she being Disgust, then he would take over and up the ante. Joy saw this and knew she had to change the situation quickly, or it would become rather dire. She grabbed disgust by the hair and dragged her to the ground, then took over the controls. The girl stopped her self-judgement and tried to look toward a brighter future. She looked back on a happier past, and felt contentment in these memories. She realized that she was no longer living with that which had given her such wondrous memories, and at that moment sadness quickly took over operation yet again. All four of the other emotions directly involved dove at her at once and the brawl continued. The never ending cycle of emotional change never ceased, much to the ire of Apathy, Hatred, and Benevolence, the three lords of the emotional states.  

Monday, November 17- Found Poem

        The vast majority imprisoned

        a conscious effort to be common

Barbed wires of duty

Made bitter in war

A unique kind of danger

invading homes of strangers

military service itself

schools training people to serve

To volunteer for a "vital" risk

Their lives counter to purpose

3,000: 6,000: 120,000 shot

moved to detention camps

from the beginning perceived

As a war task 

As strangers of war  

Friday, November 14 - Berlin Wall

       Markus was living in a two room apartment in West Berlin. He wasn't wealthy by any means, but he did well for himself, and never was lacking in an area of importance. A perfect image of the hard-working middle class man. He was sitting on his plush chair, looking at the news on his small TV in the living room/kitchen, the only room apart from the bedroom. He was not watching it, only staring blandly at the screen, lost in his own head. He was thinking of a friend from years past. They had been extremely close in their teenage years, before the wall kept them apart indefinitely. The day that East Berlin was cordoned off from the rest of the world, the two friends were heart-broken. As time passed, Markus began to create his own life, but his friend never completely left his mind. It was during this moment of contemplation and reflection that a report on the news caught his attention. It declared that at midnight, East Berliners, "citizens of the GDR" they called them, would be free to cross the border. Markus was taken aback. For nearly 30 years, the East and West had been separated; the Soviets seemed determined to keep the people of East Berlin under lock and key and wall. They were giving up? Markus was dubious, but hopeful. Could he perhaps unite with his long separated friend? He began making plans for that night.
        Near midnight, Markus joined the massive crowd of people flowing out into the streets, many of them with smiles on their faces, rejoicing the end of the internment of their fellow Germans. As he made his way toward the wall, which was not too far from his modest apartment, his feelings of doubt began to slip away, as the joyousness of the crowd became infectious. He gave in completely to hope, allowing himself to be optimistic about the future. He began running towards the wall shamelessly, releasing years of repressed emotion. When he got to the wall it was one minute past midnight. Thousands poured through the gates from the Eastern side, hugging friends, hugging strangers, all so glad to be freed from oppression. Markus was stricken with the starved quality of their bodies. He knew that things were worse on the eastern side, but not how much. He looked all night for his friend, well into the morning hours. At around 7:00 he gave up and went home for some rest, disappointed but not daunted. After a few hours rest, he went out again to look for his friend, going to several of the places they had frequented as young men. For days he searched, never finding him. He decided that the next day he would search the eastern side.
           Tobias had lived in East Germany his whole life. He had never even been to the western side, even when the wall had not existed. He was a guard in the service of the party, and he never wavered in his loyalty. He had killed other guards, policemen, and friends in service to the party, and did not regret a moment of it. He even owned a car, being deemed worthy of the honor for his impeccable standing amongst the party and his perfect service record. He wept when they announced the opening of the borders. He remained in his tiny one room tenement even when they opened. He stayed there for days, stubbornly waiting. He watched as thousands of East Germans made their way to the other side, and even hurled stones at them. Word quickly spread to avoid the street on which Tobias resided.
             About a week after the opening of the borders, and the subsequent destruction of the wall, Tobias heard a knock on the door. He opened the door, and there stood a man about his age, who seemed vaguely familiar...
           A sudden spike of pain erupted in his head, and he cried out.
         "Are you alright?" said Markus in concern, for it was Markus at the door.
         "Go away!" shouted Tobias.
         "What? Why? Don't you remember me?" asked Markus somewhat hurt by this unexpected outburst.
         "I don't know you, get out of my house!" he said still clutching his head.
         "Tobias... it's me." said Markus desperately. Tobias released his head, grabbed Markus by the collar and threw him forcefully out of the door.
        After the door slammed in his face, Markus began to doubt himself. He was so sure this was Tobias, his friend from years past. Was he wrong? He must have been. Tobias couldn't completely forget him, could he?
        Markus left the desolate complex of small tenements and made his way back to West Berlin. He decided to give up on the search. He was no detective, clearly. He would just have to hope Tobias was happy.
       In a few weeks the news would report that a former guard on the Berlin Wall had shot several people making their way to West Berlin, before turning the gun on himself. The identity of the shooter was unknown.

Thursday, November 13 – The Macabre Arts

People are staring up desperately towards a light just beyond their reach, utter despair etched across their faces. Behind the masses of emaciated bodies lies a wall constructed of human skulls. People cling to each other for comfort that refuses to come. Children weep in the arms of their mothers, while the mothers themselves hopelessly embrace their children with a look of such sorrow, one knows that they only wish they could save their children and know the more dreadful truth that they cannot.  Smoke rises up from a barrel of coals which bears the inscription SS, and etched into the wood just below the heel of one figure that looks more like a corpse than a man, is the Star of David.  

                This is the genocide of millions, summarized in one event. This is the final solution that brought only horror and grief. This is the holocaust. This is the gas chamber of some desolate concentration camp that would be better called a torture camp, where hatred is bred and allowed to flourish amongst the sadistic keepers of the helpless victims. Those caught in the chamber of death, who only moments before had prayed for death, now desperately cling to a life they know will soon end, realizing just how much they truly want to live, how much their instincts for survival still rule them. In pain from the hunger, the brutal gasses restricting their breath, they feel the ultimate torment, that of deprivation, of lacking. In their final moments, some weep and beg to be let live. Others stand stoically, attempting to be strong, the misery still clear in their expression.   All of them gasp for breath, less frequently as time goes on, until all drop dead from the poison pumped mercilessly into their lungs.

                The bodies will be used. They may be used as fuel, or soap, or even lampshades. Some will simply be thrown in ditches or ovens belching black and ominous smoke. In the end, everything throughout is a symbol of oppression, and for the more despairing among the oppressed, of hopelessness, of the end of a race, but more importantly, the end of a life. 

Wednesday, Novemeber 12- The Haunted House

        I have devoured countless tenants in my time. Each one ready to start a new life in my home, but never to leave again, In their deaths they join my pack and become one more force of destruction for the living within. People, pets, whatever else there may be, nothing living survives in this house. We feed on them physically and spiritually. Their fear adds flavor and the despair softens to a point of ripeness never achieved by the ripest of fruits. We are a force of nature, something indestructible and unstoppable, ever-growing and eternal. Those who join and become one with us are forever trapped within me. I, who delight in my sins, bring despair to all the rest within this consciousness. Weeping and gnashing of teeth, yes. I am hell on earth, I am the most evil of evils. I am more frightening than Satan, more twisted than the most damaged of psychopaths, and my urges to bite, twist, tear, and feed never cease. I welcome all within who wish to enter, but never let them leave. I am the House on Haunted Hill, The Cabin in the Woods, The home which devours and haunts and kills. I am the corrupter of souls, the creator of ghosts, and the instigator of spectral terror. Enter in, all who dare, grinning widely with a fang-filled face I wait. Until you are comfortable you are safe, but at that point, you become mine.  Forever in hell, forever in terror and grief and misery. Forever wishing and regretting, forever dying, forever in pain. Forever feeding me with all the horrible emotion with seeps off you like a black, odorous smoke. Feed me my children, your purpose is here.
        Fate has come knocking, Death strikes, and hell awaits. You are not the force you fancied. The reaper has come for all your souls, and the lake of fire will consume you when he's done. You've been nothing but a tool, an instrument of Death, the edge of his scythe for him to do his work. you are nothing more than a feather in the wind of fate, now blown towards your end. So mighty a monster in you day, now pride and excess have sealed your fate, locked away for the rest of your days. You imagined you were indestructible, a force of violent nature, something to be feared, something to last forever. Fool, your ceaseless babble of pride has come to its fruition, come and meet Death. The Reaper has arrived.
       NO! I will not fall, I'll fight even death. I'll defy fate, and I'll be their end. I'll become the new face of eternity. Never will I die. I'm not a tool; I'm a god! With forces behind me beyond number I will march and break the chains of this house to meet all your power and overcome. I am more than you could possibly know, I have evolved to more than you could ever fathom. Bow and beg, for I am not merciful.
        Your time is now.,your forces weak. You will be reaped.
        WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? Where are my souls, my armies of the dead? You cowards! Will you not fight?
         It is not necessary. You are now dead. Welcome to my army, monster.

Friday, November 7- That's Creepy

Open your eyes

the world is full of lies

spill it red my dear

how thrilling to be feared

One face rises above all

one race destined to fall

Eyes as black as coals 

Mouth opened wide to swallow whole

Come and dance this dance with me

we'll end the world with glad tidings

come and see this play play out

all the actors are in doubt

Live a life of death and see

all things come back and beg to me

my grin spread wide across my face

I devour all the weak, the base

Fires rising in delight

influenced to set it right

too mighty to avoid the bite

chaos runs rampant tonight

Anarchy, move out of the way

Kaos has come to rule the day

betrayal stings, but so do knives

Trample on their worthless lives

Come and dance this dance with me

we'll end the world with glad tidings

come and see this play play out

all the actors are in doubt

Live a life of death and see

all things come back and beg to me

my grin spread wide across my face

I devour all the weak, the base

Symbols fall as nations rise

all equal in my eyes

Peace is but a thin disguise

ripped apart in its demise

mobs and murder 

fear and doubt

insanity within 

without

Come and dance this dance with me

we'll end the world with glad tidings

come and see this play play out

all the actors are in doubt

Live a life of death and see

all things come back and beg to me

my grin spread wide across my face

I devour all the weak, the base

        

Thursday, October 30- Tom Brady

          It's nice being the greatest quarterback of all time. I would never admit in public that I think so, Belichick would kill me, but it's very true. Everyday, I see my beautiful super-model wife, Giselle Bundchen, and I give her a kiss. I play with one of the best teams in the league and the greatest coach of all time. I have money, status, and skill. The only problem in my life is all these media morons who insist Peyton Manning is better. Oh, you mean the greatest playoff choker of all time who holds a record amount of playoff losses and one-&-done's? Of course, he must be better than a three time super-bowl champion, two time super-bowl MVP. Whatever, I'll kick his @$$ next week and if/when we meet in the playoffs. His nightmare has returned. A number 24 shut-down corner in a Patriots uniform. No longer Ty Law, but Darrelle Revis, the island himself. Enough about that, though. As I was saying I have a nice life, my family is great, my sister just had a baby, and everything is going well. It's nice to be the most beloved man in Massachusetts, in all of New England in fact. My name will live on in history as much if not more so than the great Joe Montana. That poser, Manning, can have all the regular season records he wants, not that i don't have a few of my own. Greatest touchdown to interception ratio of all time, greatest winning percentage of all time, most games with at least 4 touchdowns, 350 yards, and no int's. Life is good, I got rings and stats, something most can't claim to have. I have the hottest wife in the world, and I got millions of dollars. Things couldn't be better, and yet they're still trending upwards.

  

Tuesday, October 28- Mixed Bag

       Lights flash as all around there are screaming children, laughing teenagers, and smiling adults all enjoying themselves as they bounce around in a room full of trampolines. This is the new sweeping sensation known as Jump Jam, a "trampoline park" which, as one could probably guess, is just a room full of trampolines. People are crossing from trampoline to trampoline, traversing the room via jump. All of a sudden, the screaming stops, the room goes dead silent, and faces once red with exertion and joy turn pale with fright after witnessing the grotesque spectacle before them. A rotting, twisted figure that vaguely resembles former President John F. Kennedy. The back of this horrifying specter's head is almost all gone, with a few remnants of brain peaking through.
         The man, now zombie, that was John Kennedy says calmly, but sluggishly, as one would expect from a man missing most of his brain  "My sewage appears to be backed up. Does anyone know where I can reach a plumber?" The screams start up again, this time by everyone; this time in horror. Kennedy looks around, confused and helpless as the mass runs out of the building terrified, all doing their best to avoid him. One poor soul falls to the floor beside him. Kennedy sees the onrushing crowd close to trampling the man and reaches out to help him up, but the fool recoils in disgust, and is stomped flat by the panicked, stampeding herd which has become no better than cattle.
        When the room clears Kennedy looks around, then down at the man who was battered, miraculously still clinging to life. He holds up his cell phone towards the former President and says,
        "Plumber..." weakly before collapsing into the sweet release of death. Kennedy picks up the phone, and sees in the contacts an establishment called Joe's Plumbing Services. Unable to work the phone, he tries to wake the dead man, but obviously is unsuccessful. In desperation he taps the phone where it mentions the plumbing service and Voila! the phone begins to dial, then ring. He holds it up to his misshapen ear and says,
         "Hello? Yes, I would like to acquire your services if I may. Yes the address is 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The big white one. No this isn't a prank. My name? John Kennedy-" He was cut off by the harsh click of whom he assumed must be Joe hanging up. He realized no one would help him and decided he'd have to do the work himself. His stomach began to growl and he realized how hungry he was, so he knelt down and began to devour the helpful dead man's brains ravenously.

Monday, October 27 - Fairy Tale Name Poem

R         Recalcitrant

U          Ulterior

M         Macabre

P          Proud

E          Eccentric

L          Lethal

S          Sarcastic

T         Talented

I           Intelligent

L          Lying

T         Twisted

S          Sneaky

K         Kleptomaniacal

I           Immoral

N          Nonchalant

Friday, October- X Marks the Spot

          Captain "Bloody" Alexander, Samuel Drake, and myself step foot on the beach of this plush, jungle island. The total silence is eerie. No wind stirs through the leaves of the exotic trees, no animals cry out in their native tongues. Not a rustle in the bushes or a whisper in the sand, only the sound of our boots pounding up the incline of the sandy beach. Drake becomes nervous and makes it known.
            "Captain, this don't feel right. This island be cursed, I warrant."
            "Ever the superstitious fool, you are Samuel. There is no curse, only treasure here. Is that not enough to motivate you?" Said the captain coldly.
           "Of course, Captain," said Sam Drake.
           I keep my thoughts to myself. I'm not one to believe in curses, but neither am I so foolish to believe that there are not things beyond our knowledge.As the immortal Shakespeare would say, "There are more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy." We continue on, according to the rather vague instruction given on the map. The jungle remains still, and Drake grows ever more nervous. Eventually he's shaking and sweating so badly that he breaks.
          "I can't take it no more Cap'n!" He says, "Life ain't allowed here!" and he runs back the way we came. Captain "Bloody" Alexander draws his flintlock pistol and fires directly into the back of poor Samuel.
           The Captain only utters a single word, "Fool."
            I decide to speak up. "Captain," I say.
           "What? Do you have a problem with how I handle deserters?" growls Captain Alexander.
           "No, but you must admit that it was a little hasty, considering the shortage of crew-members we are currently experiencing."
           "You're probably right. Too late now though, eh?" The Captain chuckled. We continue onward and eventually reach the spot which was marked with an "X" on the map. We begin to dig, and don't even reach three feet deep before we strike something, which we can only assume is the treasure.
         "Terrible job of burying their life's savings." I say
         "Lucky for us," says "Bloody" Alexander. We pull it up and crack open the lock with a pick-ax. There's a rush of warm air as we open the chest and we peer inside. It was empty.
        "What the hell?" I say, "Do you think someone got to it before us?" I ask.
         "Or the damn map is worthless. Either way, We're screwed." He stews for a moment before exclaiming, "Dammit!"
That's when i begin to notice something. I can't place is at first, then I realize what it is. The jungle sounds like a jungle. Monkeys screeching out warning calls, birds cawing, cooing, and chirping, Rustling leaves and bushes. The jungle had it's voice back. Captain "Bloody" Alexander and I trek back towards the ship. I'm not even sure if he notices the noises, or if he even cares, and with the mood he's in I won't bring it up. I do, however, believe we found a treasure of a certain kind in that chest. Samuel was right. The island was cursed, it's vibrancy stolen. When we opened that chest, we returned it to its former glory. I'm sure we pissed off some god in the process, but when I listen to the jungle, I feel its almost worth it.

Tuesday, October 21- Deja Vu

           Caroline sat in the bus terminal in St. Louis awaiting her next ride. She was on her way to Los Angeles for a well deserved vacation. While she was sitting there, she noticed an old man looking at her from across the room in another chair. She was mildly frightened at first, but she felt as if she had seen him before. She offered a hesitant wave, in case this was true, and he looked away hurriedly. She was rather confused. The whole situation was was becoming eerily familiar, she had a vague impression it had all happened before: the old man, his stare, her wave, the quickly averted eyes. She felt as if she were reliving some past moment, yet she had no clear memory of such a time,. Even the setting seemed familiar, as if she were recalling some long forgotten dream. The old man then got up and walked out of the terminal. She decided to move from her seat to one where he wouldn't see her. As she was doing so, she thought she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. She quickly looked, but there was nothing. She continued, all the way to the end of the terminal, and sat down, a very safe distance away in her estimation. The next few moments happened so suddenly she wasn't even aware of what was happening until it was too late. She felt hands wrap around her throat from behind, and a croaky voice whispered in her ear very vulgar things not worth repeating. As she faded into the darkness, she recalled a dream...
          Caroline woke up screaming. Then glanced about the Greyhound bus, abashed. Several people were staring, one asked if she was alright. She assured him she was, that it was just a bad dream. She couldn't even remember what she had dreamt. She suddenly recalled where she was going and beamed. Los Angeles was going to be fantastic. They arrived at the terminal in St. Louis, where she took a seat awaiting the next bus. Then she saw an old man looking her way.

Wednesday, October 16- Rain

Fall Rain

          Unexpectedly, a sudden spike of cold erupts on the surface of your skin, so cold it almost burns. You know what this is, having been exposed to this sensation for years. It's the beginning of a rainstorm. With no shelter around, and having forgotten a jacket or umbrella, you are at the mercy of the weather for however long nature decides. The wind picks up, buffeting your face and arms, chilling your hands to a point just before numbness. The rain no longer sprinkles, but become a steady pour of heavy orbs of water. The sound is like an army approaching on horse-back, and the sky lights up with ominous lightning. Though you should expect it, you jump at the boom of the thunder, laughing viciously at your plight. The overcast sky offers no gleam of sunshine, no hope that this misery inducing nightmare will end soon. You continue pressing onward, through the wind which threatens to throw you backwards like a rag-doll, through the rain which numbs your hands, arms, and face, through the storm, for no reason except that you have no choice. The wind blasts at one-hundred miles an hour, and the rain spitefully stings your face like an infinite swarm of bees. This fall rain, a precursor to the cruel winter storm, does everything in its power to break you, and maybe it will. 

   

Wednesday, October 15- I Remember When...

I remember when I lost hope

I remember when cynicism took hold

I remember when humanity disgusted me

I remember when I grew jaded and cold

I remember realizing the world was close to dead

I remember running to it full speed ahead

I remember going mad, living inside my own head

I remember when you refused to see the truth

I remember when you created more delusions

I remember when they scrubbed the minds of all the youth

I remember when you lost your chance for absolution

I remember a city on fire

I remember a situation most dire

I remember laughing, as the world went to its pyre

I remember when I gave in to fate

I remember when the mass called for forgiveness

I remember when I told you that it's too late

I remember when you traded depth for glibness

 I remember nothing

 I remember blanks
I remember void

I remember hate

Friday, October 10- Pet Peeves

      Idiots are absolutely the most annoying, frustrating thing on the planet. Not only do they have the most un-informed opinions, they voice them loudly enough to force others to concede to their moronic ideals. They refuse to learn, they refuse to accept reality, preferring their illusions. They not only complain about being victimized, they insist on it just so they can complain, again and again, constantly attempting to garner pity from those with greater resources. The worst part of all though is the encouragement they receive from modern society. They are not simply tolerated, but encouraged. Mediocrity is championed, and intelligence ignored so that the common moron may feel justified in their stupidity. They are told to be themselves, that nothing is wrong with them, it's everyone else who has the problem, that they never need to change. Why would one wish to maintain inferiority of any kind? Why would you be yourself, if you could better yourself? It's not impossible, but the idiot is a common acceptance, and when that happens why would they even bother going through the difficult process of true change?  Ridicule is a motivating factor that modern society has attempted to root out at every level, because we value worthless peoples self-worth more than we value the good of society as a whole. We are constantly concerned about the steep decline in the intelligence level of the United States population, yet if these basic flaws society encourages are not put in a different light, what makes you think it would be any different? The decline will continue, eventually someone just intelligent enough will convince the remaining idiots that have become the majority that the world will be better off under his rule, just as in fascist Italy, and Nazi Germany, Then democracy will have finished its slow agonizing death in the United States that has already begun. The world will crumble under a society like that, and all because idiots were allowed to run rampant throughout the nation with no discouragement of their idiocy. It has become a struggle for those who still maintain some kind of intelligence to attempt to educate the idiot, only to be shouted at, belittled, and battered for having a superior skill that, as long as they maintain their stubborn ignorance, they could only dream of attaining. This problem is more than annoying, more than a pet peeve, it is a problem that will crack the already crumbling foundations of society to they point of utter destruction.  Valuing emotion over logic, and self over the whole, this kind of person will be the end of the world.

Tuesday, October 7- The Flip Side

The Victim

How did I get in this situation

goddamned pride of a pig in blue

won't cow down, cold steel clamps on

If you don't feel fear, they want to put it in you

Beaten, bloody and bruised

threatened and abused

Authority became brutality once more

throwback to the days of yore

Nothing can numb my hate

I'll be the instrument of your fate

Regret will surely come to you

when my blade comes to run you through

fear me now, dear pig in blue

there are frightful days ahead of you

The Pig

Oink! Oink! Aren't I positively daunting?

In your eyes no tremor, no quake

Insecurity comes haunting

Whats your problem? Don't you  fear the blue?

What could possibly shake you?

Remind me of my duty, how dare thee?

This foolish (Daring) child is starting to scare me

Are you insane? Don't you know who I am?

I'll clamp you and jail you, cuz I'm a ham

Never again will you look at me, hateful

You better be fucking grateful

I'm doing you a service, forcing you into my will

next time you see me, fell the fear that I instill

Oink! Oink! 

The Subconscious Truth Behind the Pig

( He's desperate, he's pleading, like a child throwing a tantrum,

He's pathetic, he's reeling, insecure and haunted by past phantoms.

His stature and his lesser size (wink, wink) left him overcompensating

Now he's a bastard and he really tries to make everyone fear and hate him.)

Monday, October 6- Persona Poem

Dear Saucy Boss from Hell

The break in apathy

When I take life from she

The whore who rejected me

All the same one

they all run

Don't scream, it's all a game

I silence your squealing before you knew I came

Unfortunately

Red ink was unavailable to me

Her blood will do

Did you get the kidney I sent you?

Delicious indeed

fried up and dipped in puree

Forgive me for not fulfilling my promise

the pieces were tricky to slice off without solace 

You shouldn't rush so, inspector dear

How do expect me to get you that bit of ear?

My knife is sharp, eager, and calling to me

My next victim will have your name carved in, you'll see.

Goodbye dear boss, hell awaits her

So does my kitchen, where she'll be sauced and cured

Good hunting, sir! 

Thursday, October 2- The Frog Prince

        A lonely princess, Alice, was sitting in her room, thinking about her lover, a prince from nearby, her cousin as it happened. Must keep those royal bloodlines pure, after all. She was imagining what his lips felt like when he kissed her, when she heard a knocking on her window. She went to open her window and when she did she saw the very person she had just been thinking about.
        "Deryk! I was just thinking about you!" she exclaimed, "How did you get up to my window?"
        " The staircase outside helped." said Deryk, her cousin-lover.
        "Come in, please," said Alice eagerly. Deryk climbed into her room, nearly tripping on the window pane. At that moment a frog jumped out of his pocket and onto Alice's head. She screamed and threw it against the wall, where it splattered into pieces. "Ew," she said in disgust.
       At that moment her father, the king burst into the room, "Are you alright? I heard a scream." Then he saw Prince Deryk standing much closer to his daughter than he cared for him to. It didn't help that he had yet to meet his own nephew.  "Who is this? What is he doing in your room?" he growled in an accusatory tone.
      "Uh, he.." stammered Princess Alice, her eye glancing about furiously searching for any excuse, when she saw the remains of the frog. She then went into a fantastical tale of a prince under a curse, who was to remain a frog until he found his true love, and how she was the one he was waiting for, "... and when I kissed him, he burst out of the frog leaving its pieces all over the floor there, and that's when you came in," she finished.
The king was dubious, but there was the frog, and there was the prince, and he couldn't dispute the proof of his eyes. The years of royal incest had left him rather slow, so he was unable to come up with the truth, so he simply agreed, and went to arrange their wedding as soon as possible.
       "Wait, what?" said Deryk, who was not nearly as enthusiastic about the wedding as Alice and her father.
       "Don't you want to get married?" asked Alice, with a slight hint of malice in her voice.
        Deryk had to choose a course of action quickly, as he stammered, searching for a response, the perfect solution crept into his brain. That was when he dove out the window, completely missing the staircase below, and hitting the ground head-first. He cracked open his skull, blood and brain leaking out, and broke his neck as well, with several vertebrae bulging beneath the elastic surface of his skin.
                                                         
                                                        The End.

Wednesday, October 1- Fairy Tale Characters

Shadows gather, flames roar and grow

Dark omens of the end

The moon grows red, and blood flows

Our death has come

The Dark One has come
Vines as tall as castles, thorns jutting out
eager to draw blood
Horns silhouetted in smoke
Preparing a flaming flood
Demise has come
The dragon has come

Wednesday, September 17- Alphabet Soup

       An Asylum is a very unpleasant place for the "patients" or, as we prefer, prisoners. Besides the obvious oppression which presides over this place, people can be very particular about how their madnesses are presented. Crazy people get petty, even pouty when one so presumptuously calls them such. Dare not or prepare to procure your will, for death will come promptly. Everyone here is preposterously prim, assured in the proper apparatus of their minds, even while demonstrating its utter pestilence. For those petty few who portray a picture of weakness, the psychopaths devour purposefully. Great in their own minds, and powerful enough to pose as providers of peace, should one pay the proper price, though purveyors of lies is more appropriate. Here the patient prisoners rule, or are ruled, while the physicians present maintain prim composures, but privately pray for their lives daily. I am the one sane person in prison here, the asylum for criminally insane people. Jokes come with a price, I fear, but pretending madness has possibly cost me more. Killed, I'll be, of this I am pretty certain. Letting onto my facade, this pale mask of less than pure mindedness is peeling away. Maybe I am becoming crazy, I've persisted in this place more than I'd appreciate. No, I refuse to do so. Opposition is the key. Power will put me in a potential place of pride. Questions by the psychiatrists put me in a pretty awkward position. Really, they get much too personal. Still, I pretend I'm willing. Tonight, I will procure a tale of pure fantasy. Under the scope of psychiatric hate I will be put once more. Very much so, is this oppression. Why am I here? Xanthippe Killer, they called, I put fear in the hearts of prim and proper people, women in particular. Yes, I'm a murderer, that's why I have put on a pretext of insanity, pretense of pure crazy. Zombie-like they tried to make me with their precious pills, to put us in a docile place of mind, but I will not accept; wait... where are- Have I been talking to myself?

Tuesday, September 16- The Spoon's Perspective

          I lay in the sink, dirty with chunks of spaghetti sauce, wondering if I'll ever be clean again. I had just been unpacked from my box a few days ago, and now I've been handled, dunked in sauce head-first, and tossed nonchalantly into a large metal basin with a hole in the center. I've been left here for what seems like hours, hoping against all hope that somehow I'll regain my shine. The other dishes that have joined me seem rather unsocial, without even a single word of encouragement or sympathy. Suddenly a rush of water hits me head-on. I'm startled at first, but then I realize this will wash off all the dirtiness and I quiver faintly in excitement. One by one, all the surrounding dishes are run under this waterfall before me, and just when I think I'll never be cleaned by the looming figure above, I'm picked up, and run under the waterfall as well. I should have wondered where the other dishes were going, but I was too wrapped up in myself, and simply assumed they were put back in their boxes or shelves. Next thing I know I'm tossed into a large inlet in the wall, in a rack full of knives, forks, and SPOONS! Just like me! I try to start a conversation with my brethren, but before I utter a sound, a large darkness descends on us. I'm incredibly frightened. Just then, a guttural roar rises from the cavern we've been placed in. Then, above us all, a large blade looking device begins to spin and spray water everywhere. It sprays it so hard it hurts, unlike the waterfall in the metal basin, which was gentle and pleasant. The roar grows louder, and I faint from fright. I wake up to an unbearable heat. I fear I may melt from the intensity of it. Even the water which may have helped cool me down had ceased to spray. I found myself desperately begging some unknown presence to let me free from this horrific torture. The heat only intensifies and I faint once again, though not from fear; This time it's the heat.  When I wake up, I feel dazed, and my thoughts are jumbled. When they clear again, I realize why none of the other dishes attempted to be friendly. After years of enduring this, their brains had been so scrambled it rendered them speechless and mad. At this realization, I try to scream, but no sound comes out! I try again and again, but now I too, have been rendered speechless, caught in this cycle of torture. It won't be too long before I become mad as well, and slave to this awful race of beings I'll live out my life, tortured in body and mind.

Monday, September 15- What the Duece

          It was finally the day. Marie was thrilled and sick at the same time. This was her wedding day. She knew that this would likely be the biggest celebration of the year in the small commune in which she lived. The inhabitants didn't drink, but there were other ways to celebrate. As she was dressing herself in the simple red cotton gown, she looked in the cracked mirror in her cabin. She was struck by the simplistic beauty brought out by the dress. She could understand why this was chosen over the traditional dress of brides. It was incredible, and radiated excitement. The nervous sickness vanished at that moment. Outside there would be no decorations but the trees, which was just how she wanted it. Her groom would be standing under the leaves of a giant oak, with their commune leader standing ready to wed them. It was then that one of her bridesmaids walked in.
        "Are you ready?"
        "One second, " said Marie. She put on the thin, white veil, covering her face, "Ready." The bridesmaid walked out, to tell the cellist, who would begin to play the Bridal Chorus. When Marie heard the music, she walked outside. When she saw the setting before her, she was enthralled. The oak was there, of course, full, and vibrantly alive. The sun shone through its leaves, giving everything a green tinge. Her groom stood underneath, black hair slicked back, in his formal suit, and his hands crossed before him. The cellist was playing the serene Bridal March, his horns glistening in the green-tinged sunlight. As she got closer to her groom, a flutist joined in, blue skin growing dark with effort, and a nearby fish began to play the maracas. Marie smiled. It was just how she'd imagined.
         
          "Poor girl."
          "Yes, indeed." Two psychiatrists sat in observation before a padded cell. Its occupant was completely oblivious to her situation. She was sitting on the floor, tied up in a straight jacket. A thin line of drool fell from the corner of her lip into her lap. She was completely gone. She had killed her husband some years before, just two months after their spur of the moment wedding in Vegas, leaving his mutilated body in the streets of the trailer park where they lived. She was later incarcerated into the Broadmoor hospital for the Criminally Insane. She had sat like this, staring blankly into a universe only she could see. The two psychiatrists exited from the observation chamber. The girl, Mary, sat in her cell unmoving. Then, just a ghost of a smile flickered across her lips.
      "You may kiss the bride."

Tuesday, September 9-Film Review

     
*Disclaimer: this is completely made up, and this movie was never seen by the critic writing this.
     

            A visual masterpiece, Hugo offers little else. The thin and directionless plot would leave us scratching our heads and wishing we never wasted the 2 hours of our lives, were it not for the thrilling visual effects. Asa Butterfield and Chloe Grace Moretz bring a heartfelt performance worthy of their stardom, and they work well together. Though the plot goes nowhere, it provides a charm that doesn't fail to entertain, and brings thoughts back to the innocence of childhood. This is definitely worth a view, if for nothing but to be able to hold intelligent conversation about the film with the few who saw it. (It failed to match its budget in gross income.)

Monday, September 8- America, Fairyville?

           There once was a fairy who lived in a world

           made of fantasy and the dreams of little girls

          She flew too far, and ended up here

          A magicless, cold world steeped in fear

         mistaken for a bug, she was swatted at twice

         before she decided to turn them into mice

She waved her wand but alas!

      the magic failed to even make them rats

        She flew away quickly, filled with despair

      the shimmer vanished from her stupid pink hair

    her butterfly's wings drooped even lower

     then she was caught in the blade of a mower

The poor dear fairy, lost in reality

was stripped of her lively vitality

thank goodness she died before she found it again

Fairies are annoying and a massive pain

Friday, September 5- Aliens in Egypt

         The young king sat in his royal bed-chamber brooding. His parents were both dead and he had inherited the throne of Egypt. His caretakers, Ay and Horemheb, were telling him of all the things he would have to do to be a king. They cared for him and loved him, or so he believed, but they were asking him to undo much of his fathers work while on the throne. His father wasn't a kind man, nor much of a father, but young Tutankhaten felt a tinge of obligation to his father's ideals, as most sons do. Ay and Horemheb wanted him to return Egypt to its traditional religion, while his father had been slowly pulling away from it. Tut didn't know why. Hew didn't know why Ay and Horemheb wanted the old religion back either. At age nine he was too young to be knowledgeable about such things, much less to care about them. He wanted to simply run around, playing and flaunting his wealth to the palace slaves like he always had. 

             Suddenly, out of nowhere at all, a bright light shone on the boy's face, impeding his vision.  

          "Ra!" the boy called out, certain it was the sun god. A strange face peered at him from the light. It made strange sounds, as if it were attempting to communicate, but Tutankhaten couldn't understand it at all. The creature wore a crimson robe, trimmed with silver, and the complexion of it's skin was shining and golden. The light suddenly ceased and the creature he thought to be Ra stood before him. The newly anointed king stood before this being in awe. When the initial shock subsided, he immediately dropped to his knee, scolding himself for not having done so to start with. 

           The visitor had no idea what to make of this. Seeing that communication would be impossible, assuming that this species was sentient at all, he climbed back aboard his ship. He turned the internal cockpit lights back on, and began closing the door. The boy looked up just as his craft disappeared to wherever it had come from to begin with. 

                King Tutankhaten knew what he had to do now. This visit from the divine Ra had made his path clear. Ay and Horemheb were right. He would return Egypt to the worship of their gods they had recently neglected. He would follow the instructions of his caretakers, who knew how to make this happen. He would make the gods look favorably upon Egypt once again. In his heart he held Ra as his special god, by whom he believed he had been visited. 

                "Ay! Horemheb!" It had begun.

                 Within two years his name would be changed to Tutankhamen and his caretakers, his most trusted advisers would have control of all Egypt, though by proxy. 

Thursday, September 4-Historical Accuracy

           Breaking news! There has been an extra-terrestrial creature spotted atop the Empire State building! The government is warning all citizens to avoid contact. Government agents are expected to make contact soon. The alien's space-craft wasn't spotted until it mysteriously materialized in front of the Empire Sate building, where it promptly landed, and the strange, humanoid creature exited the craft. It is said to be at least 8 feet tall and completely un-clothed. Goodness. We will continue with coverage of this shocking circumstance, and report any developments as they happen. 

         Those near enough to a radio to hear this report stopped in their tracks. This was completely unexpected. Aliens in the Big Apple? That kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen, other than in H. G. Wells stories. Jack Norman, a mafia trigger man, set his hooch on the counter and listened attentively. Despite this being the lowest point to date in this economic downfall, Jack was well provided for by his less than legal means of money-making, so he was able to afford a radio in his home. Jack badly wanted to see this anomaly, but with a warrant out for his arrest he had to lay low, and remain hidden. The radio broke in again with this report,

        There has been mass hysteria throughout the city, with riots and raids breaking out all over Manhattan. The panic first struck when the alien spotted on the Empire State building made this declaration,and I quote "I mean no harm to you or your society. Please don't attempt to harm me, and I'll soon be on my way." A shot was fired at the creature and the man who fired, Police officer Richard Smith, was vaporized instantly. The surrounding crowd began to panic, and soon after, to riot and loot the city's stores and shops, causing mass chaos. Police officers have futilely attempted to quell these riots, and continue now to try to maintain peace. 

      Jack's eyes lit up. Those idiot coppers were too busy to be looking out for him. This was his chance. If he was spotted, he could easily vanish into the rioting crowds. He got up, turned off his radio, put on his long overcoat and fedora, and walked out his door. He descended the stairs and exited the main tenement building. He could see already the hysteria spoken of on the radio. People were either running away from the Empire State building, or running towards it, all of them frightened, but also a little excited. As Jack joined the crowd heading towards the building, he saw looters trashing stores along the way. Clothes lay spilled out on the street, torn or dirty, often both. Radios and refrigerators were being loaded into stolen cars and taken away. Jack grinned. This was the best night of his life; he thrived on the chaos that surrounded him.
         
       A policeman stood in the path of the crowd, attempting to stop them from proceeding towards their destination. He failed, getting bumped and pushed around in the crowd. When he got to Jack, he was thrown down and trampled, something Jack took great pleasure in doing.
     
       The crowd reached the building, and Jack shoved and twisted his way towards the front. What he saw kept him staring in awe. The space-craft the alien had arrived in was twice as tall as the alien himself, (who was rather tall to begin with.) but only a few feet thicker. It was a shining, seemingly silver metal, though it must have been as light as aluminum not to have crashed through the roof. The Alien himself, whom had previously declared himself a martian, though Jack didn't know it, was blasting into a large group of coppers, disintegrating them with his eyes only. He had a large head, spindly, elongated limbs, his arms reaching below his knees, and skin like an alligator. He bared his teeth at the policemen he was killing methodically. Clearly he was pissed. His teeth were about the size of human teeth, but a deep, dirty yellow, and sharp as tacks. his eyes glowed red and he evaporated a few more of the coppers. They gave up, and ran as fast as they could away from him.

        One copper, on his sprint to escape the alien, saw Jack Norman and stopped immediately. Ever the man of duty, he proceeded into the crowd of observers to bring in his man. Jack spots him and grins. One more copper about to die. When the officer gets to Jack, Jack pulls out his large hunting knife and rams it into the heart of the police officer. The surrounding people are too engaged with the alien to notice this minor incident.
         The alien, once cooled down from his rage, makes a strange wailing noise. A type of lament, in regret for what he's done, Jack assumes. Having seen all he cared to, Jack calmly walks back to his apartment, and his radio.

      Breaking news! The alien spotted on the top of the Empire State building earlier today has been killed. The National Guard arrived on the scene shortly after the rampage ended with orders to shoot on sight. Though the bullets were unable to penetrate the skin of the creature, one found its way to the eye of the alien, killing it instantly. The riots have ceased, many have been arrested for their part in them. New York remains rocked by this tragic occurrence, but the crisis appears to be over. 
      In unrelated news, a Police Officer has been found stabbed to death in the street. Any knowledge concerning his death would be greatly appreciated by the NYPD.  

Friday, August 29- Two Moons

         When we emerged from the depths of the sea, after the passing storm, our submarine was still malfunctioning. Our engineers and mechanics had no idea what was wrong. It simply went haywire. We decided to send a few people up top to help guide us to land. I couldn't help but think back to those times when ships were made of wood, and navigators relied on a sailor in the Crow's Nest, and the constellations in the night sky, as opposed to the instruments and technologies we use today. This situation had rendered our ship no better than one Blackbeard might have sailed in, but it was almost fun. I was one of those sent up to help navigate the submarine, bringing my sextant with me. Night had fallen already, apparently. The storm must have lasted longer than we thought. I brought out my sextant, and then I noticed the two sailors with me; their mouths were gaping like angler fish, as they stared up into the sky. I looked up to see what caught their attention, and though I was no longer aware of anything other than what I saw, and the dread it brought upon me, I'm sure I gaped as well. The sky had two moons. The sky had two moons! I thought I must be having double vision, but i blinked my eyes, shook my head, looked up, and there were still two round glowing orbs, each at a separate height in the sky, one appearing larger and brighter, though only slightly.
         In desperation I brought up my sextant to measure the constellations but they were unfamiliar to me. I won't claim to know every constellation on Earth, but these didn't make any sense at all. I practically slid down the ladder to the deck, and ran as fast as i could to find the star charts. I grabbed them, still being careful not to rip or damage them, then i climbed back topside, this time hesitantly. I didn't want to solidify what I already knew. I didn't want to really know. Still, I reached the top, pulled out the charts, along with the sextant and tried to find just one constellation that matched. There were none, and my fears were realized. This wasn't Earth. I have no idea how it happened, I have no idea why, but neither of those answers would change our predicament. I reported the news to my captain, he was skeptical at first, but we showed him. He was clearly frightened, but tried not to show it. He told us to look for land, any land. We had been travelling through the waters for several miles, and then several more. There wasn't a speck of land in sight. Out here, stranded, with limited rations, we began to waste away as the days, then weeks, then months crawled by. Some of our crew started to get sick then die, from starvation, dehydration, and other afflictions. There are only three of us left now. Me, my captain, and the cook, whom I suspect has been sneaking rations. We'll all die eventually, so it doesn't matter much anyways. We've circled this globe twice, in search for any land; we never found any. Now we simply float here, awaiting our inevitable deaths, and despairing for the world which was lost to us.

The End

Thursday, August 28- Space, 2199

                "What?"

                 "I said the galaxy is imploding."

                “You mean, like, boom, destruction and debris everywhere?"

                 "No, that's explosion. Implosion means the galaxy is caving in on itself. We'll be dead in less than 36 hours."

Hank Rodgers, a paranoid, egomaniac, who just happened to be Emperor of Earth, Ruler Supreme, and the Infallible Voice of the human race, could not believe what was he was being told. The galaxy, imploding? What right did the galaxy have, to implode and destroy his planet, and kill his subjects and slaves?  Then a thought occurred to him.

This so called genius scientist is lying. She wants to overthrow me. She wants to make me look foolish and afraid, so she can step in and say “Look how foolish and fearful our Emperor of Earth, our Ruler Supreme, our Infallible Voice of the human race has become. He is weak, and makes us look weak. Throw him out, and place me in his throne.” That’s what she wants. It’s all a big conspiracy.

                “Sentry! Escort Ms. Nora Williams to her new cell.”

This, quite obviously, shocked Nora, the genius, preeminent scientific mastermind, and consensus top scientist in the whole world. She had no idea the thought processes in the paranoid mind of Emperor Hank. Neither did she understand what could possibly be criminal about trying to save humanity from destruction. She hadn't even been able to go into her sales pitch for the new space shuttles she designed to save the planet’s population, now for only 20 million dollars each. 

              The sentry was oblivious to all this, he hadn't even understood the words coming out of Nora Williams' mouth. He was, quite literally, mindless. A clone created specifically just to follow orders, which was something he excelled at. Not that he was aware. Only blankly going about his tasks, that registered more on a primal level in a less than self-aware central processor that took the place of the brain grown in him at his "birth." 

                Nora was absolutely furious, frightened too, which only served to fuel her anger. She was being imprisoned for this? Now the whole (expletive) planet was going to die, along with its massive population. There was no reason for this. The Emperor must be mad! it wasn't until she heard a chuckle that she realized she'd voiced these thoughts aloud in her cell. It was then that she also realized she was not alone. 

              "Who's there?" she asked tentatively

              "My name is unimportant." said the nameless stranger. 

              "I rather think it is." Said Nora, now more afraid than before, and also a little stubborn.

              "That's flattering deary, really, but there are more important things at hand. You have a problem with our beloved Emperor of Earth, Ruler Supreme, Infallible Voice of the human race, yes?" he inquired confidently. There was something in his calm, confident voice that soothed Nora, yet also unnerved her. 

            " The moron is going to render us, meaning all of humanity, extinct!" she cried out indignantly. 

            " Well, I don't know how no one saw that coming. He's been "unstable" (he literally did air quote this) since before he inherited his throne." the stranger said in a completely humorless voice. 

              "Okay, I have to call you something. I can't just keep thinking of you as 'the stranger.'" said Nora, exasperated. 

              "If you insist. my friends call me 'The Stranger.'" he said. Once again, there was no humor in his voice, face, eyes, or any other part of the body where one might find humor. Nora was giving him a look of frustration, annoyance, and more than a little curiosity. This stranger, ((expletive), that really is annoying, isn't it?) came seemingly out of nowhere, knew more than he had the right to, and his face, mask-like in its complete lack of expression, aside from the occasional smug smirk when she got upset, was very off-putting. Somehow, she still trusted that he could help, that he may even want to, though to what end she was unsure. After a long pause in which neither of them spoke, 'The Stranger' said, "Would you like to get out of this cell?" 

           Nora was once again thrown off. "How could you possibly manage that?" 

          "Just watch," said 'The Stranger.' "Sentry! Unlock this cell." He said in a perfect, imitation of the Emperor of Earth's, Ruler Supreme's, Infallible Voice's of the human race, eh.. voice, completely imperceptible from the real voice of the Emperor of Earth, Ruler Supreme, and the Infallible Voice of the human race. 

             "So much for the Infallible Voice," said Nora. 

             She jumped at the sudden, barking laughter exploding from 'The Stranger's' mouth. Then she began to laugh as well, and when the Sentry opened their cell door, it was, once more, quite unaware. 

           When they walked out the door, Nora asked, "Should we kill it?" 

            "Kill it! Are you stupid?" He appeared to be genuinely asking the question. 

            This has to be the record for the amount of times I've been thrown for a loop in a space of 15 minutes, she thought. No one had ever even mentioned Nora and that word in the same sentence, much less straight out accused her of being that word. She didn't know whether to be angry, upset, or amused. 

           When 'The Stranger' tired of her speechless gaping, he said "I'll take that as a yes. Oh well, could have been worse, I suppose." He adjusted his mouth, tongue, and vocal chords, "Sentry!" once again in the perfect interpretation of the emperor, "Follow." 

           The mindless drone-clone fell in step behind 'The Stranger.' Nora finally snapped out of her speechless stupor, and spoke up.

 "Hold on! Do you know who I am?" she called out indignantly.

 "Should I?" Asked 'The Stranger.'

"Should you? Should you? I'm Nora (expletive) Williams!" Seeing the utter lack of recognition on his face she continued "The genius, preeminent scientific mastermind, and consensus top scientist in the whole world? You seriously don't know?" 

"Please, keep your ego in check. It's almost sad, you calling yourself a genius." He gave Nora a pitiful smile, like one would give a child brazenly claiming he would one day have a million dollars. 

She had never felt this low. This... this... 'Stranger' had taken her ego, laid it out on his palm, and completely crushed it. She felt almost unworthy of his presence. 

'The Stranger' walked back down the hall leading to the cells, up to the staircase, then took a sharp right, The Sentry two steps behind the whole way. Nora followed, almost compelled to, by her curiosity to an extent, but mostly because she had subconsciously submitted to 'The Stranger's' will. He led them into what looked like a lab. Lining the walls were clones floating in small cylindrical tanks, where they were submerged in a substance similar to formaldehyde, keeping them preserved, until they were planted with the processor's of the kind within the Sentry's cranium, Which would compel them to do what they were instructed. These were the primary export of the Empire, as good help was even harder to find in 2199. 

'The Stranger' began looking on the shelves, which held the recently removed brains of the clones, preserved for study. As he looked, he turned each jar, to see the label, where a unique number was printed on each. His frustration grew, as he evidently couldn't find what he was looking for. 

"It's not here!" He yelled angrily. Nora flinched, the Sentry, who had continued to follow 'The Stranger' on his trek down the rows of shelves, didn't move an inch. It was, in fact unaware that 'The Stranger' had even spoken. It's ears were tuned only to the voice of his Emperor, who's commands it, for lack of a better word, "thought" it was following.  

to be continued...