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...

           

     

     

Wednesday, August 27- Animal Invention

     Perhaps the most fascinating reptile, and certainly the most feared, is the snake. This predatory creature has several interesting characteristics which may be adapted into some form of technological improvement. The way some snake's jaws unhinge to fit in larger prey could be adapted on construction equipment, so it can carry or lift things of all sizes. The ribs and skin of snakes have the capability to expand to allow large prey entrance into the snake's gullet. This kind of massive expansion capability could be used in developing a material that could be stretched to ridiculous lengths for any purpose. It may also be adapted into a type of purse or bag, that could hold a virtually infinite amount of necessary items. This purse could, and perhaps should, have the technology developed and inspired by the unhinge-able jaw of the snake. this would further improve the holding capabilities of such a bag.

Tuesday, August 26-Concert

      The familiar words ring out, " You wanted the best, You got the best! The hottest band in the world, KISS!" The lights flash, and the opening chords ring out, while the cymbals crash. This is The Gexa Energy Pavilion in Dallas. The opening song, the title track from their 1996 Album Psycho Circus, Brings screams from a crowd of rabid fans. After sitting towards the back, on the grassy hill behind the pavilion for the co-headliner, Def Leppard, I walk towards the front, getting as close as I possibly can. Everyone sings along with those words that perfectly depict the feel of a KISS concert, " You're in the Psyyyy, You're in the Psycho Circus!"
       The set continues on, before God of Thunder, Gene Simmons spews blood everywhere and blows fire out from his gaping maw. Paul Stanley rides a zip-line to a platform in the middle of the crowd, begins to sing Love Gun, and struts like he has for 40 years. Each song gets louder and more energized as the night continues. The crowd becomes like a hive-mind. Our throats are soar from singing and screaming. Our heads and shoulders ache from thrashing them around in time with the music. Our faces shine with spittle and reflected stage lights.
      The final song, Black Diamond, brings the whole night to a perfect close with its intense, fast-paced instrumental ending, and everyone goes insane. The night as a whole was satisfactory, and as the crowd disperses, individuality returns. However, this will be a night and a sensation never forgotten by the legions of fans, and I'd like to think, the band itself.

Monday, August 25-Literary Character

       In this world, in New York City, it would be incredibly boring to a creature like the Joker. First off, in this post 9/11 era, with a camera on every street corner, and someone always watching, it would be very difficult to get away with even the smallest of murders, or thefts. The hated Patriot Act would also inhibit his rights as a citizen, since he would be considered a terrorist, and wouldn't even get his phone call. Yet, despite all these horrific things inhibiting his fun, there is one factor to bore him most of all. There is no Batman, not even a vague facsimile of him. No vigilantes soaring across the skies to occupy his time and efforts. No private citizen taking on the burden of New York City crime. No one to challenge and to be challenged by. The most boring, most meaningless, most common of existences awaits a man like that in a world like this, where the closest thing to adventure is stubbing your toe on the curb, or cursing out the wild taxi driver who was (not really) close to running you down. The horrid timeless marching on of the mass rat pack that is humanity, driving a madman deeper into the arms of insanity, and pushing him to pure desperate acts of meaningless violence in an effort merely to alleviate the massive weight of boredom. Unable now to bomb hospitals, he has to settle for firing a few rounds from a shotgun into a crowd exiting a theater, after just watching The Dark Knight Rises, or entering an elementary school and gunning down children and teachers, watching the frightened looks on their faces and thinking, This isn't enough. This would be what the Joker is reduced to in our miserable, boring world without a hero to challenge the villains.

Friday, August 22-Words
   

                                                                     

                                                              White as snow

Not your conscience

Not your soul

Intolerant of those

Who's views oppose

Green and Gold

Your obsession

Your color code

Stingy, merciless, and old

Ambitions never change

The height of power

an obsession of the deranged

Staple of your stingy stock exchange

Condemn the weak

Different, odd, or rebel

Have no right to speak

at your intolerant council of antiques

In this stingy, golden utopia

No room for dissension

It feeds your worst phobias

Intolerance an addictive opium

Hollow as a log

Empty, soulless, hard

Self image of a stingy god

 intolerant and flawed

Unmovable as stone
Stubborn and stingy
Sitting on a Golden throne
Intolerance ensures you are alone

Your definition revolves around the two
Intolerant and stingy
This is you
Intolerant, stingy fool

Intolerant
Stingy
Hateful conglomerate
Nothing for you is moderate

Stingy
Intolerant
More than simply thrifty
Your intolerant foundation borders on flimsy

  

     

Thursday, August 21- Mystery Lady
     
       Months of preparation led to this moment. The book, his inheritance, lay out in front, splayed open like an eager whore. The ritual would have to be done perfectly. After years of building up his strength, it would be ridiculous to botch the spell with one distracted moment.
     The full moon glowed ominously above, behind the cover of a solitary cloud. It was prepared to do its part in the ritual, where it provided the opportunity. The sorcerer drew a circle enclosing not only the grave stone in front of which he was sitting, but all around, to include the corpse buried below as well. He sat cross-legged in the center, with his leather bound book, seductively enticing him to begin. He focused his eyes on the book before him, as his hands skillfully lit the black candles, and then he took his knife. He began chanting the words, which will not be written here. His voice rose in a crescendo towards the end, and the knife which dwelled in his hand slashed across his wrist, the blood dripping down into the dirt.
         Everything took on as red tinge around him, and as the newly made Necromancer looked up he saw the moon turn blood red, contributing to the morbid scene. The earth below him shifted, and he irrationally thought earthquake!, before recognizing what was happening. He heard the sound of splintering wood, and a pale, mold encrusted hand shot up out of the ground. The hand was joined by another, and together they began pressing, or rather pulling the rest of the re-animated corpse out of its grave.
       What the necromancer saw, just an hour before would have frightened him, but the ritual he had just performed had worked its magic on him as well. Fear was no longer in his capability to feel. Neither was joy, sadness, or love. The only emotions he held the capacity for were anger, and hatred. This is what the necromancer saw. A immensely deformed, pale, twisted figure. One could barely tell it had once been a woman. It had clearly been the victim of some sort of torture, with its crooked fingers, and disfigured face. It walked forward with a shuffling gait, and in barely a whisper, spoke
       "Master?" it inquired.
        The necromancer grinned, and beckoned to the thing to follow him. This was going to be the most fun he'd ever had in his life.

Wednesday, August 20- Alter Ego
        A gigantic red grin. Grotesquely pale, in fact pure white, skin. Brightly colored clothes, and hair. Red and yellow, red and yellow, red and yellow. The endless repetition of the same color scheme distracts, and drives one stark, raving mad. Ronald McDonald has come. There is no escape, his countless victims can attest to that. The one thin man in an industry of fat is here to take lives.
        A man of rather large proportions sits in his car, stuffing his jowls with golden, gleaming fries. He sits in the parking lot, oblivious to the world around him. Unaware he is not alone. Also unaware that he is the only customer still here. There is a knock on the back windshield. He looks around, startled. There is no one there. He licks the salt off his fat sausage-fingers nervously. He was sure he had heard something. He finally realizes that the parking lot is empty. Real fear takes hold now. He turns to look out his window, the driver's side window. KNOCK, KNOCK! Again a knock, this time on the passenger side window, he whirls around, fearfully and just catches a glimpse of color, then a shadow and it's gone. He begins to sweat, not that this was unusual for a man of his size, but this was the sweat of pure fright. A maniacal laugh splits the air
      "HAHAHAHA!"
       Then utter silence again.
      SMASH! the drivers window explodes, shards of glass flying, cutting into the man's face. He is crying and sniveling pathetically, frozen by terror. He sees those colors again, the ones to which he has dedicated his life, red and yellow.  The large red grin, the pure white skin. Then he is grabbed by the psychopathic, murderous Ronald McDonald his head pulled through the window, the rest getting stuck. He feels the cold, sharp edge of a knife on his throat and the last thing he hears before he dies is
   "I'm lovin' it."
   Ronald laughs again, thinking joyously of the total panic captured on that fat freaks face. He would enjoy this memory for the few days until he took his next victim. Then he would enjoy those memories, and the next, and etc...
    The wicked clown walks of into the night, leaving his victim to be discovered by his own employees the next morning. They will dispose of the body in undisclosed ways. Though the customers the next day would remark how much better the chicken nuggets tasted that day.
  

Tuesday, August 19 - Scariest Place

       

       It is completely still. Neither wind nor gentle breeze. No sound of birds chirping, or a small animal scurrying by. Dead silence, and absolute calm. Long yellow stalks of wheat jut out of the ground. Not growing, simply there, as they always have been, waist high and the color of uncleansed teeth. Time does not pass. The sun sits at the point right before sunset, just above the horizon, the sky a rusty orange, mixed with white. It does not move. It does not sink into the purple hues of sunset. A massive leafless forest imposingly surrounds the field, full of jagged, lifeless tress. They too, seem to be eternal. There is no change, nor motion. All is still. All is calm. Beyond and within the forest lies absolute dark, the promise of evil things and certain doom to those who enter. Even that is preferable to the utter lack contained within this field. This Elysium, a completely neutral, apathetic place, that holds neither promise of judgement nor reward. Eternal stillness. Eternal timeless wandering in a field of wheat and sorrow. 

Friday, August 15-Kindergarten

            My name is Jack White. I am about to go on my first day in kindergarten, the beginning of my education. I wait with my siblings at the bus-stop. Ready, and impatient to get there. I've been told kindergarten is fun. That it's a worthwhile experience. I'm ready to find out. The bus pulls into the stop and we board. Already, the bus is packed full of strangers, and I'm not quite sure how to react. I go to the closest empty seat, remembering the words of my mother, "Don't sit in the back, Jack.", she told me. On the bus ride there, I pull out a book and begin to read. I had been taught by my mother almost 2 years before how to read. Apparently, there are those who still cannot at my age. I'm told I'm very smart, and i don't mind the praise in the slightest. 
     When the bus pulls in my brother brings me to my class, as I am unsure of where to go. I sit in a chair, and continue to read, as other children run about or continue piling in through the door. The bell rings, and the teacher asks who is here and who is not, going down her list one by one. She calls it "taking roll." There is no one missing and she asks us all to sit on the floor in the middle of the room. 
              We all take a seat on the rug where she indicated we sit. The teacher begins to explain a game, in which we introduce ourselves, but must say a word describing us which begins with the same letter as our first name. Annoying form of introduction, but the other children around me appear to enjoy the exercise, so I imitate their enthusiasm. I introduce myself as "jolly Jack." It sounds like some sort of pirate name, and certainly doesn't describe me, but adjectives that start with J are in limited supply. Perhaps after my education is complete I will find a better word. 
          Later on in class, the teacher has us draw pictures of a certain word she states, then asks us to spell the word. They were pretty common, and considering I had already been taught reading and writing, I was well ahead of the curve, though I didn't discover this fact until after she asked us to spell "chimney." She went around the room checking the children's work. When she got to me, I was putting some finishing touches on my drawing to accompany the word I had already spelled. Her entire demeanor shifted, and she seemed unusually excited. She congratulated me for using "CH" in the word chimney. She was so proud that I was capable of this simple act of spelling that she showed me off around the room, then began to tour me around the school. I was very proud of myself, and much enjoyed the massive amounts of attention. One of the classrooms even gave me some trail-mix they had just made for a project. 
     When I got home I bragged about the whole experience to my parents. They were very proud as well, and i was always seen as the smartest in the class from then on, which delightfully made all the other children hate me, due to jealousy. This was certainly a worthwhile experience. 

       

Wednesday, August 13- Animal

                   Tall grass brushes by. Wind stirs leaves overhead. Bird chirps. (prey, prey, prey!) Smell the air on tongue. Prey is on the ground. (Stalk, stalk stalk...) Slithering onward, towards the prey. Silently, slowly approaching it. Pause. Lying, chirping, on its side. Broken wings hinder its flight. Blood on the dirt beneath. (Eat, KILL KILL!) Striking suddenly, swiftly. Venom stills the desperate, now dead prey. Deadly swallow, all one bite. The prey is no more.

        Loud, ground-shaking, plodding steps. Human creatures, ready to kill. (hide...) Hated beasts wander, searching for prey. Clumsy footsteps, and dull, dumb senses. Predators, not.(PAIN! STRIKE!)  Sinking fangs and spewing venom into the hurtful, stupid, giant, clumsy flesh. Loud, piercing shrieks, like prey. these giant creatures; predators, not. inferior, weak, prey.   (Eat, KILL KILL!)  Strike again, and again, and again. Venom mixing into blood. Others run towards shrieks of straggler. Others run away. (hide...) Wait, to strike again. Prey laying still, ceases pathetic shrieking. Others of its herd bellow. Angry, but not frightening. laying in wait, for another to stray. Then to strike again. Prey grasping objects, killing tools. Looking clumsily, loudly, stupidly once more. (Stalk, stalk stalk...) Stench of fear, overwhelming. (Eat, KILL KILL!) Strike-