tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38883999343834787712024-02-08T04:37:36.475-08:00The WormholeAll of my short fiction, one week at a time.
Enjoy.Justin Marklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17820659934328070738noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3888399934383478771.post-83826287471638261962012-05-12T18:26:00.000-07:002012-05-12T18:26:36.565-07:00A tentative returnFour years since my last post. What can I say, except that life happened. Still, I guess this blog has been in the back of my mind the whole time, or I wouldn't be writing right now. I remember when the words just poured out of my brain and splashed onto the page. Now, maybe more like pushing that old door back and forth, hoping that the squeaky hinges will shed their rust and operate in silence once more.<br />
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I don't have any more time than I did before. In fact, probably less, which has led me to the realization that I will never have "time" to write. So I'm going to squeeze it in here, in whatever way I can. At the very least, this blog can be a chronicle of a creative writing student turned Marine turned public accountant turned father of two turned creative writer.<br />
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I guess it turns out that if you can't push something into your schedule, you just have to push harder.<br />
<br />Justin Marklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17820659934328070738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3888399934383478771.post-26064281148282076952008-01-05T14:43:00.000-08:002008-01-05T14:53:19.939-08:00Habby Birfday(This was a writing exercise I did for a short story class. I still like it.)<br /><br />First, tell your father to stop barking. You don’t have to explain why because he won’t remember. When he starts to mumble, you should start laughing, because he will laugh too.<br /> Your father will go outside for a cigarette. That’s when you get out the ingredients for the cake. When your little sister wanders in to ask what you are making, tell her that it’s definitely not for her birthday tomorrow. She will clap her hands and run away. You mix the batter and boil some water. The water is for dinner: macaroni and cheese.<br /> The heart-stopping reek of cigarettes tells you that your father is back. Ask if he would like to lick the whisks. He will mumble, laugh, and lick the metal. He says something about cheese. You realize that you poured cheese mix into the batter while you were thinking about your mom. You remember how embarrassed you were the time your friends walked you home to find your father digging through the neighbor’s trash. You wonder if it was embarrassment that caused your mom to leave.<br /> Start on a new, cheese-free batter. He will lick the whisks after another cigarette. It is a good time to give him his meds because he is happy, and they irritate his stomach if he has not eaten something. The new formula is working well. Your father hasn’t been found in the crawl space under anyone’s house in quite some time. Hope it works during the birthday party tomorrow, and pour the batter into a cake pan. Let it bake.<br /> Your father will get on his knees and give your little sister a full-armed, rocking hug. Habby Birfday, he will say. Your little sister will giggle and pull away at the feel of his five ‘o’ clock shadow. Your father will hug you next. Habby Birfday, he will say. You hug him back until he peels away for another cigarette.<br /> The cake comes out lopsided, and you stare at it as it cools on the counter. At this point, you can cover it with thick icing until it looks normal on the outside. Or, you can stick the candles in at funny angles, and make it look like you meant to do it.Justin Marklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17820659934328070738noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3888399934383478771.post-46396148008752847182007-12-02T19:00:00.000-08:002007-12-02T19:08:01.526-08:00LRRPS(Sorry for the delay, folks, it's been an interesting few weeks. Here's an old story of mine included in that bizarre genre I like to call military horror. It's not the next great American short story, but still fun.)<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""></span></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Six men moved through the jungle steam without a word as it lubricated every crevice and dripped from every protrusion.<span style=""> </span>Fat sweat beads clung to their faces and oozed through camouflage paint.<span style=""> </span>The men no longer noticed their rotting feet or wrinkled hands or their own wet stench. They had been out here too long, and those were the least of their worries.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The jungle had eventually contracted about them, working them through like intestines, slowly drawing out their humanity in languid peristalses.<span style=""> </span>All the orders they received before the patrol slowly expired in the depths of their quicksand minds.<span style=""> </span>The only mission now was survival, except for the one man who held on to his focus like a wet bar of soap.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Staff Sergeant Rommel raised a flattened hand and the team stopped.<span style=""> </span>The stooped, pack-laden figures looked to their leader.<span style=""> </span>Rommel circled his hand in the air and the men came together.<span style=""> </span>Only when all six of them were in a tight cluster did he dare to whisper, and his voice came like a breeze through leaves.<span style=""> </span>“Stodghill, any contact?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“When was the last time we heard from the rear?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Three weeks ago.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Try again next comm window.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Stodghill grunted in acknowledgement and squeezed the handset.<span style=""> </span>No shit.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Hey, Map Bitch,” said Rommel, “where are we right now?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The hollow cheeks and bony forehead gathered together in response to the nickname.<span style=""> </span>Nevertheless, the man pulled out a worn map and a compass.<span style=""> </span>“Well,” he said, gesturing to the map, “we’re just this side of shit creek and headed straight up your ass.”<span style=""> </span>His eyes blazed with challenge.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Rommel knew the man’s volatility, and expertly doused it with a splash of nonchalance.<span style=""> </span>“Does that mean we’ve crossed into </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Cambodia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Sure, why not.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Rommel nodded.<span style=""> </span>“I’ll take that as a yes.<span style=""> </span>Gents, as you know, command won’t even acknowledge our presence from here on out.<span style=""> </span>Let’s keep it cool and we’ll be at our objective in no time.<span style=""> </span>Good to go?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>X-ray stares were the only response.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Great,” agreed Rommel with himself.<span style=""> </span>“Let’s move.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The men moved on their earthen treadmill, haunted by the ghosts that flitted in the shade.<span style=""> </span>But even the specters of their deepest fear couldn’t stop them.<span style=""> </span>Nothing could anymore because all they knew was to keep moving.<span style=""> </span>All they knew was to walk, and with each footstep their brains pulsed with decaying thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Garza was tired of being tail end Charlie.<span style=""> </span>He didn’t like turning around and walking backwards.<span style=""> </span>He didn’t like that he always had to flip-flop between Ellis’ ass and the voracious, everlasting jungle.<span style=""> </span>The turning spun his mind, and his mind spun his thoughts.<span style=""> </span>“I don’t mind the hiking so much,” he thought, “it’s just all this walking around.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Ellis’ thoughts could not be heard.<span style=""> </span>He kept them tuned to a whisper, even in his own head.<span style=""> </span>He was second to last in their patrol.<span style=""> </span>He was second to last, and that was all he did besides watch Rommel who was in front of him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“The mission,” thought Rommel.<span style=""> </span>“What was it again? Observation? Raid?<span style=""> </span>Doesn’t matter.<span style=""> </span>Have to stick to it.”<span style=""> </span>Then, Rommel thought about the mission some more. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Rommel’s constant reminders annoyed Stodghill.<span style=""> </span>It was not difficult:<span style=""> </span>radio checks went in one-hour windows twice a day.<span style=""> </span>He would glance back at Rommel with irritation now and then, but really, deep down inside, he didn’t care.<span style=""> </span>He much preferred to reminisce about the old days on the farm.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Mom used to make some good fried chicken,” he thought.<span style=""> </span>“Crispy skin, with some collard greens, mashed potatoes.<span style=""> </span>Yams.<span style=""> </span>Boy, I can almost smell it.”<span style=""> </span>Then he’d look up and imagine that the Map Bitch was a giant fried chicken, walking on severed legs and steaming.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Meanwhile the Map Bitch steamed. “My name is fucking Roberts.<span style=""> </span>Roberto.<span style=""> </span>Big fucking Bob.<span style=""> </span>And you’re all <u>my</u> bitches.<span style=""> </span>That’s right because I have the map.<span style=""> </span>Gee, I hope I’m going the right way.<span style=""> </span>Hope I don’t get lost.<span style=""> </span>Whoops! Too late!”<span style=""> </span>He grinded his teeth and leered at Zeppo who was on point.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Zeppo was a hawk.<span style=""> </span>He walked lighter than everyone else, eyes wide and darting from crevice to crevice.<span style=""> </span>His walk was fueled by fear, and the fear made him strong.<span style=""> </span>He didn’t care about anything but his own ass, and this gave him a superhuman boost to his perception.<span style=""> </span>“Don’t get shot, don’t set off a trap.<span style=""> </span>I am a ninja.<span style=""> </span>I am one with my kung fu.”<span style=""> </span>He led the team on through the bush.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The sun streaked across the sky many times leaving daylong trails in the men’s eyes.<span style=""> </span>The leaves flew by, the plants ran, and the bugs darted faster than the blink of an eye.<span style=""> </span>They should have found their objective long ago.<span style=""> </span>They should have found anything long ago.<span style=""> </span>Instead, the sky grew light and dark in a wicked strobe.<span style=""> </span>Then one day Rommel’s fist shot into the air and the sun stopped overhead.<span style=""> </span>The team took cover, sneaking curious glances towards their patrol leader. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Stodghill crouched low with a finger in one ear and the handset to the other.<span style=""> </span>He was grimacing with the effort to hear.<span style=""> </span>He motioned to Rommel who approached eagerly.<span style=""> </span>Stodghill whispered when they were side by side.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“I think I’m getting someone but I can’t quite make it out.<span style=""> </span>It’s too faint.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Lemme hear it,” said Rommel.<span style=""> </span>He snatched the handset and pressed it close.<span style=""> </span>It sounded like a mixture of white noise and a record playing backwards.<span style=""> </span>He keyed the handset.<span style=""> </span>“Any station, any station, this is Hawkeye One, over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The eerie molasses voice was the only reply.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Any station, any station, this is Hawkeye One, over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The radio squelched and went completely silent.<span style=""> </span>Rommel tried to start up the noise again by glaring at the handset.<span style=""> </span>When that didn’t work, he smacked it against his palm.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Fuckin’…” He smacked it some more and put it to his ear.<span style=""> </span>“Piece of sh-“<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Rommel was cut off by the voice from the handset.<span style=""> </span>It was loud enough for the both of them to hear.<span style=""> </span>It was cool, clean, and confident like a car salesman.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Hello?<span style=""> </span>Hello?<span style=""> </span>Can you guys hear me?” asked the Handset.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Please use proper radio etiquette,” demanded Rommel.<span style=""> </span>“What is your call sign, over?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Call sign?<span style=""> </span>Are you losing it Ray?<span style=""> </span>This is Satan, of course.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Satan?”<span style=""> </span>Rommel looked up at Stodghill who shrugged.<span style=""> </span>“We are not familiar with that call sign, over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Sharp, deep laughter came from the handset.<span style=""> </span>“No, no, no.<span style=""> </span>This is the Devil.<span style=""> </span>The Prince of Darkness.<span style=""> </span>You know, the big red guy with horns and a pitchfork?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“You mean to tell me that you are the Devil.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Who lives in hell?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Most of the time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“I don’t know how you know my name, but you need to quit polluting our fuckin’ airwaves, bozo.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The handset sighed.<span style=""> </span>“Ok, look, I’ll prove it.<span style=""> </span>There’s a large detachment of baddies moving your way right now.<span style=""> </span>I’m just not very good with secrets, you understand, and I sort of gave them your coordinates.<span style=""> </span>But anyhow, they’re pissed off and plan to kill you all.<span style=""> </span>Go ahead.<span style=""> </span>Look West.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Rommel looked west, and in the distance, through the trees, he could see a large flock of birds bursting from beneath the canopy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Oh yes,” said the handset, “they don’t just fly like that for their health, do they?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“No.<span style=""> </span>They don’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“So, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?<span style=""> </span>Gather up your men, and we’ll see if we can’t get you out of here alive.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Rommel circled his finger in the air, and moments later the remainder of his squad was circled tightly about him.<span style=""> </span>“Listen up men.<span style=""> </span>A shitload of Charlies are headed this way.<span style=""> </span>Also, Satan is on the radio and he wants to talk to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Someone snickered.<span style=""> </span>Someone cussed.<span style=""> </span>The others just stared.<span style=""> </span>The Handset spoke once more.<span style=""> </span>“Gentlemen, so good to meet you in person.<span style=""> </span>I’ve been watching you for some time.<span style=""> </span>Anyhow, your buddy Ray here is right.<span style=""> </span>Most of you will die before nightfall.<span style=""> </span>The rest of you will be horribly tortured.<span style=""> </span>As you can see this is a truly crappy situation.<span style=""> </span>Now, I feel that you are finally in a position where you can fully appreciate the generosity behind my offer, so I’m willing to work with you today.<span style=""> </span>If you act now, you can have your lives back.<span style=""> </span>In fact, if you act within the next hour, I’ll throw in free passage back to base, transportation back to the states, and a lifetime of fame and fortune.<span style=""> </span>And all of this after you’ve completely decimated the approaching enemy force.<span style=""> </span>Now you’re probably thinking, ‘sounds good, but what will it cost me?’<span style=""> </span>My friends, it will cost you nary a dime.<span style=""> </span>In fact, all I ask for is a tiny and seldom used thing you like to refer to as your soul.<span style=""> </span>Now hold on a second, these are friend prices here because I like you guys so much.<span style=""> </span>Don’t let this offer pass you by.<span style=""> </span>I’ll give you some time to think it over.”<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Silence. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“This can’t be serious.<span style=""> </span>Good fucking joke Rommel, but nobody’s laughing,” said Roberts with a sneer.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“It’s not a joke,” replied Rommel.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Bullshit. Stodghill, I know you don’t believe this crap.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Stodghill shrugged and looked into the trees.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Roberts glared at the remaining members in hope of some support.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Zeppo was still on the alert and had heard hardly a word. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Garza piped up. “I don’t know, Roberts.<span style=""> </span>I think he’s full of shit but he might be telling the truth.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Ellis coughed into his fist and was otherwise silent. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The handset came to life again.<span style=""> </span>“So!<span style=""> </span>Gentlemen, have we decided yet?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Hey, uh, Satan?” asked Rommel.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Yes?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“I hate to burst your bubble, but we really have to get ready, so we’re gonna have to go ahead and cut you off.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“But I already told you, I’ll make it so you don’t have to worry about anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“We really appreciate the offer and all, but that’s a big negative.<span style=""> </span>Take ‘er easy Satan.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“But-”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Very well.<span style=""> </span>I know your hearts.<span style=""> </span>Just think it and it shall be done.<span style=""> </span>But for those of you who refuse I shall reserve the greatest torments of Hell, daily flaying the flesh from your screaming, writhing bodies until-”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Ok thanks, bye.”<span style=""> </span>Rommel yanked the cord from the radio and it fell silent.<span style=""> </span>“Well gents, we’re fucked.<span style=""> </span>We’ve been compromised and those bastards are tracking us.<span style=""> </span>This is probably going to be our last stand, so make it a good one.<span style=""> </span>Let’s fortify the area.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>And that’s what they did.<span style=""> </span>In two hours they had dug a series of skirmish holes and laid out a matrix of claymores.<span style=""> </span>They hid their packs and lay in the long shallow holes.<span style=""> </span>The sun glued itself to the blue poster board behind it.<span style=""> </span>The sweat on their faces discontinued to drip, and the flies hung stationary in the air.<span style=""> </span>They waited.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Time passed, and finally, Zeppo saw the barrel of an AK-47 slide through the leaves.<span style=""> </span>It was connected to a pair of hands, then arms, then a black pajama clad body.<span style=""> </span>Soon they could all see the enemy soldier creeping directly towards them.<span style=""> </span>He was alone.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Rommel took aim.<span style=""> </span>The front sight post settled into a locked<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">position and aligned perfectly with the man’s chest.<span style=""> </span>Rommel’s<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">finger slid over the trigger and curled backwards almost of its own</span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"> volition.<span style=""> </span>He exhaled slowly, allowing his breath to rush forever<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">in his ears.<span style=""> </span>The breath stopped, coating him and his rifle in a<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">blanket of silence.<span style=""> </span>The jungle froze.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>BANG!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The enemy soldier crumpled like a soda can.<span style=""> </span>Zeppo whispered over to Rommel, “Nice.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Rommel smirked and nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The shouting and gunfire started all at once.<span style=""> </span>From somewhere behind the dead man came an engulfing barrage of lead.<span style=""> </span>Everywhere around the team, bushes and trees began to splinter, crack, and explode.<span style=""> </span>Somewhere amidst all the noise a wave of frenzied voices screamed.<span style=""> </span>Garza nearly soiled his pants.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Holy Christ it <u>was</u> Satan!” cried Roberts.<span style=""> </span>“That asshole!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The men gritted their teeth as the enemy finally appeared, trickles of them running through the trees.<span style=""> </span>The squad opened fire.<span style=""> </span>Soon the trickle became a flow, and the flow became a tide, so they hit the claymores.<span style=""> </span>One clack and a string of explosives vaporized the nearest enemy, three-hole punched the near, and wounded the far.<span style=""> </span>Confused and bewildered, the enemy scattered into self-proclaimed seek and destroy teams. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Fall back,” ordered Rommel, “we’ll let them come at us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Fuck that!” challenged Roberts.<span style=""> </span>“Attack them now while they’re confused!<span style=""> </span>Come on you bastards, let’s do it!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>No one moved.<span style=""> </span>Garza thought it might be a good idea, but said nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Fine then pussies!” screamed Roberts.<span style=""> </span>“I’ll do this by myself.<span style=""> </span>All you ever did was drag me down anyways!<span style=""> </span>Now who’s the Map Bitch?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Roberts sprung through the trees and hurtled the bushes before Rommel could say anything.<span style=""> </span>The men watched him run screaming towards the enemy.<span style=""> </span>He killed one.<span style=""> </span>He killed another.<span style=""> </span>He was on top of a group of three when he suddenly jerked backwards and down, leaving the tree behind him coated in glistening red.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Let’s go,” growled Rommel.<span style=""> </span>The men followed this time and fell back to a secondary position, readying their rifles once more.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Staff Sergeant,” said Garza, “maybe we oughtta think about that deal.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“No need, Garza.<span style=""> </span>There’s nothing that a few well trained men can’t accomplish with well coordinated tactics.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“W-what do you think Stodghill?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Huh?<span style=""> </span>Shit, whatever.<span style=""> </span>This is hell.<span style=""> </span>Dyin’ seems like a good way out to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“I think I’m gonna do it,” said Garza, “I’m gonna take the deal.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Ellis looked over at him for a moment then returned his gaze toward the enemy. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Zeppo began to shout, “Well, either way, I have my ass covered.<span style=""> </span>I just prayed to every God in the book.<span style=""> </span>I ain’t goin’ to hell, it’s just a question of which heaven.”<span style=""> </span>He garnished the statement with a grin before ripping off a few shots.<span style=""> </span>Another group of enemy was charging their way, but Ellis showed them how to fly with a well-placed shot from his grenade launcher.<span style=""> </span>Like ants, the enemy came back with replacements, each time a little more coordinated.<span style=""> </span>It wasn’t long before murderous machine gun fire had them pinned.<span style=""> </span>Rommel observed a tertiary position that they could fall back to, and calculated the movement it would require.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Listen up,” said the patrol leader, “we’re going to fall back to those dirt mounds to our left.<span style=""> </span>Garza, Zeppo, and Stodghill, you three will rush to the position while we provide cover.<span style=""> </span>Move on my command.<span style=""> </span>Ready?<span style=""> </span>Fire!”<span style=""> </span>All five of them popped up, firing furiously into the bushes.<span style=""> </span>For a moment, the enemy fire died down, and Rommel gave the command.<span style=""> </span>As Zeppo, Garza, and Stodghill sprinted to the next position, Rommel and Ellis continued to fire.<span style=""> </span>Once set, the first three opened fire, and Rommel made the dash with Ellis. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">They were not fast enough. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">After the first rush, a machine gun position had trained itself on the open ground, and pounded the area just as the two men entered it.<span style=""> </span>Rommel was shredded instantly, and Ellis went down with a cry just as he reached cover. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Ellis!<span style=""> </span>You hit?” shouted Garza.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">After patting himself down, Ellis replied, “No.<span style=""> </span>I’m fine.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The four remaining men held fast.<span style=""> </span>They fired endlessly into that jungle.<span style=""> </span>Stodghill took a round through the shoulder and one through the ear.<span style=""> </span>Garza thought about running away, but didn’t.<span style=""> </span>Zeppo conserved his ammo with well-aimed shots, picking men off with well-honed reflexes. All the while, the enemy closed.<span style=""> </span>They were many and unstoppable.<span style=""> </span>They kept coming with greater desperation.<span style=""> </span>Stodghill unfolded his entrenching tool.<span style=""> </span>The men braced themselves like children at the beach, shivering before a monstrous, foaming wave.<span style=""> </span>When it hit, they fought hand to hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;" align="center"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">#<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Outside the jungle, the battle was like listening to popcorn.<span style=""> </span>The<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">kernels popped slowly at first but grew quickly into a deafening<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">staccato rush.<span style=""> </span>Over time, the noise died down.<span style=""> </span>The last few<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">kernels exploded and gave way to only a murmur of voices sliced by<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">screams.<span style=""> </span>The shooting stopped because the killing was face to<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">face, all cutting edges and blunt objects, smashed skulls and open<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">sternums.<span style=""> </span>It was personal, animalistic, and merciless.<span style=""> </span>But even<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">this slowed and the screams became fewer.<span style=""> </span>At last there was<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">nothing, and the jungle swallowed the noise whole.<span style=""> </span>The birds came,<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">attracted by a new source of nutrition.<span style=""> </span>They squawked and circled<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">and dove.<span style=""> </span>The wind blew and the leaves rustled.<span style=""> </span>But not all in<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">the jungle was still.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Somewhere, a ghostly noise pierced the sounds of nature’s digestion.<span style=""> </span>It rose and echoed until one could recognize it as whistling.<span style=""> </span>The happy, cheerful noise grew, and the birds cocked their heads to listen.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Through the bushes a figure pushed by, leisurely and unafraid.<span style=""> </span>A severed head swung with up-rolled eyes, its black hair clenched in a bloody fist.<span style=""> </span>A sleek black rifle was slung comfortably over a shoulder. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Ellis took a moment to laugh before resuming his song, and walked comfortably through the jungle.<span style=""> </span>The leaves swallowed him and he was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Justin Marklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17820659934328070738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3888399934383478771.post-881546972171730172007-11-19T20:27:00.000-08:002007-11-19T20:38:07.164-08:00The Night Ride(I'm posting this one as a request. It's based on an actual event. Might want to keep the tissues nearby, unless you hate your parents...)<br /><br /> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Things are never as they are when you’re a child. The world becomes imagination and symbiotic emotion. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t scared when we were stranded on the side of the road that night. The tire had blown and the old green Ford hobbled to the curb seeking respite from its wound. The dashboard blocked my view. I puzzled over the sudden slowing of the buildings outside which were no longer running by but walking, and then at last pausing for a breath. The great engine quieted and my Father made sounds of dissatisfaction and slid out into the night. Without a word I reached over and pulled the handle, the massive door swinging outward with a groan. I made sure I was positioned just right before making the distant leap onto the pavement. My Father was nearby now, legs like trees, muscular and imposing. His knees were right at eye-level so I reached out and poked one. I giggled. My Father made the journey down to the ground and surveyed the damage done to the tire. He shook his head. That was not good so I started to frown. He looked at me and ruffled my hair. I smiled again. I looked at him as he rose again to his full height. I thought he might bump his head into the moon. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>The area was a kaleidoscope of zooming cars and streetlamps. Headlights came brighter and then flashed by into dull red eyes. It was a long road. I looked both ways and saw it stretch on into secret pirate lairs and other dimensions.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>My Father had his bicycle in the back of the truck. I saw his arms like a forklift as he lifted the shimmering vehicle from the truck bed and set it on the ground. The red Diamondback, I remembered, would eventually be stolen, but tonight it would propel us into dreams.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Within moments he bent to take hold of me and shot me into the sky. I was a rocket man flying on giants’ hands. My trip ended with a soft landing on broad shoulders. My eager paws shot around the wide forehead, clinging like a koala. Before I knew it we were off, sailing on the night wind.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>How alive the night breeze is when you’re a speeding bullet. The wind whipped tears from my eyes, or maybe somehow in my youth I was able to comprehend the beauty of the moment. My father was a machine, cranking and turning, puffing and pushing. He was solid and unwavering. The spokes underneath were a mesh of sparks in the yellow light, set ablaze by a mad welder. Cars came by, much slower now. They were not so fast, not compared us. I cried out in delight. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">We went on forever down that road, Father and son, until at last the bicycle slowed and came to a halt at an auto shop. My heart sank as the journey came to an end. I was lowered to the ground. The bright auto shop was an island in the darkness. My Father stormed the stronghold, slipping into the thick fluorescent light. We had finally reached our goal, but it was the journey that I longed for. It was the journey that whistled through my mind and teased my imagination. He returned, rolling a brand new tire as I stood quietly next to the bicycle. I couldn’t have lifted it if I tried. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">It was then that I found myself atop his shoulders again. My face lit up and my jaw dropped. Tire in one hand and handlebar in the other, my Father steamed down the road into the night once more. Superman didn’t hold a candle to this giant below, all pistons and cranks pushing swiftly forward, unaffected by the staggering load. I sailed on up high where I could see everything. He was invincible, I was sure. We slipped away like ghosts at home in the darkness.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">Now I am much older. I have traveled much and seen many things. I think somewhere inside my father still rides, much like that night. That figure will never die, that invulnerable machine chugging on into forever. He churns in the back of my mind through adversity and struggle and it gives me strength. I hope that one day I can be the same man to my children as he has been to me. I hope to be a steadfast colossus to them, unhindered and ever supportive. I have traveled much and seen many things, but rare is anything as pure as a child’s love for his Dad.</p>Justin Marklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17820659934328070738noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3888399934383478771.post-72311245663674451872007-11-11T21:32:00.000-08:002008-07-12T17:21:15.933-07:00Separation Anxiety<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; line-height: 200%;"><o:p>(I wrote this tale for a short story class. It's based on some ideas thrown about while I was in the Marines and tooling around Japan, though I guarantee that the gentleman in this piece had a much more adventurous time than I. It's also more intense than my previous posts, so if you're easily offended you might want to wait until next week...)<br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Somewhere in <st1:city><st1:place>Tokyo</st1:place></st1:city>, I lost myself. My body throbbed as I sprinted down the sidewalk, drunk but sobering fast. I passed Club 911, Club True, Gaspanic, and The Basement, all ablaze with neon and regurgitating party goers they couldn’t hold. I pushed someone hard and saw them whiplash in the corner of my eye, heard a string of curses fade behind. Maybe if I had gotten to the cab stand, things would have been different. Maybe if I had turned left or right, I could have stuffed the memory away and let it dissolve my insides. Instead, someone’s forearm flew at my throat. I felt a crunch and saw a flash of light, and I floated to the concrete. The sidewalk felt like shag carpeting.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Inside my head, it was like someone was spinning the radio knob. Voices smashed together and ran circles through my brain, and all I could see was the fuzzy outline of my feet bouncing as they dragged me. They took me to a massage parlor and sat me at a table in back.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Half intoxicated and half concussed, I watched as they pinned my hand to the table and shouted in Japanese. A meat cleaver appeared out of nowhere and jerked around in the air like a butterfly. One of the men, the smallest, spoke some English. His voice was gentle, almost timid.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“You see what happen?” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>I watched the hand on the table. It wasn’t mine. “See what?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Ahh.” He cleared his throat. “You tell, or finger, no more.” <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>I wondered if the hand on the table would feel the chop, miss its finger and wonder what it was doing these days. The blade fluttered by. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Yeah. I saw something.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Ahh.” The man nodded, or bowed. “You tell.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“I saw some guy shoot some people.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>The man turned to his colleagues. Their conversation sounded like five men having a seizure. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Which man did you see?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>I looked up at the faces around the table, crammed together and leaning. One of them had blood splattered down his neck. It wasn’t difficult to guess. “I don’t know. It was too dark to tell.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>He nodded. “You tell police?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“No. No way.”<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Another conversation. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“My companions say you lie.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Somehow the blade steadied and rose over the plastic thing on the table. I looked from my fingers to the knife and back again. I felt the grips on my shoulders tighten, felt my wrist squeezed so that my hand turned purple. My first instinct was to blame Miko, and maybe even Seth, but as I stared at the hovering metal I caught a glimpse of my reflection, and I knew that it was all my fault. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Sun sparked off of the windows like a welder’s flame, and the train’s vibrations made me feel fuzzy. But then again, so did the twelve pack of <st1:place>Kirin</st1:place> that Seth brought along. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“To Daddy’s bank account.” Seth raised his can, smirking.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>I scratched my eyebrow with my middle finger and inhaled. “How about to finally being on our own, you turd.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Good enough.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The aluminum clinked together, and Seth sucked on his beer like he wanted it inside out. His face turned up and became all can, Greek nose, and curly hair. He was out of breath when he finished. “Oh yeah, and to the roommate that kept me from friggin failing out of college.” Seth poked at me with an extended finger and punctuated the remark with a belch. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“All I did was let you copy my homework.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Which I never would have done on my own.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Outside, the landscape changed from forest to river to city and then started over. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“So, what’re we doing in <st1:city><st1:place>Tokyo</st1:place></st1:city>?” I asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Seth yanked the glossy map from his jeans. “I don’t know. After we get off at Shinjuku we could take the orange line to see the <st1:city><st1:place>Tokyo</st1:place></st1:city> tower.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Okay. And after those fifteen minutes, then what?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Um, look at <st1:city><st1:place>Tokyo</st1:place></st1:city>?” Seth scratched his chin.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“I mean tonight. What are we doing tonight?” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Oh, dude, Roppongi. You remember Todd, from Renaissance? He says it’s insane. He says they love Americans there, in every sense of the word.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“We’ll have to thank Todd when we get back.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">Seth’s can crunched between his palms, and he picked up another. “Eff yeah. Can’t wait.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“I’ll bet you can’t, you alcoholic.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Beer is good for you, they proved it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Guess I’d better have another then.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">When I first saw Miko at Gaspanic, I was staring through the flames over my drink. As lights flashed and noise drowned out sound, I saw her dancing between the flickering blue wisps, swaying and whipping herself to the music. I swallowed the fiery concoction and traced mental lines over her boots and fishnet stockings, her laced top and slick waterfall hair. When the alcohol finally crushed my inhibition, I made my way to the dance floor.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">Her English was bad, but I couldn’t hear her over the music anyways, so I cut the crap and pulled her in. I think there was something in her skin, maybe a hallucinogenic or military-grade pheromone secreted through her pores, or maybe that last drink just hit me in the face like a flying brick, but when I touched her, our surroundings melted together and I could feel the sound. The beat was pounded out by my heart and sent rushing through arteries as we slid over each other in perfect sync. The crowd was a dark, fleshy bubble around us. We drew close and kissed, all lips and hands, pressed together by writhing bodies and overwhelming impulse. I lost all sense of time, and might have let the sun rise there if it weren’t for Miko. At some point she grabbed my hand and cocked her head towards the door. It was still night when she pulled me outside, and our breath crystallized in the fluorescent air. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">She introduced herself. I told her that she had me at making out, but she didn’t get the joke. I took a moment to feel awkward before she spoke again. It was getting late, she said, and we should go to a better club. The best one around. I just nodded, so she smiled and led me down the street.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">I forked another mouthful of potato salad and leaned back in the lawn chair. Uncle Ray cannonballed into the pool. An enormous banner congratulating me clung to the side of our house, flapping in the wind and loosening its already tenuous grip. It was one of those lazy days, where the breeze was warm and the buzz of insects floated through the sunlight. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“So, what are you planning to do with your Art History degree?” My dad asked this from the lawn chair beside, staring straight forward through dark sunglasses and sipping on fancy imported beer. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">It reminded me of the time I was a freshman in high school and tried out for the football team. When I came home, I told him I’d made third string. “Well, I hope you’re not planning to make a career out of it,” he said. I’d been getting that kind of shit as long as I could remember. I concentrated on my paper plate and shrugged.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Because, you know, we always have a place at the firm. If you ever wanted to get your CPA-”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“I know Dad.” My teeth grit through potato chunks.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">I watched as Uncle Ray pulled himself from the pool, tugging at his vacuumed trunks. He wobbled back to the barbecue to check the meat, flame rising, blades flashing in his hands.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“I’m just saying.” He sipped his beer. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot.” He handed me an envelope. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“What’s this?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">He shrugged. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">Two plane tickets slid into my palm. “<st1:country-region><st1:place>Japan</st1:place></st1:country-region>?” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Might do you some good. See the world.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">In other words, take some time, relax, and when you’ve finally got your head on straight and a real life in mind, come back and we’ll talk.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">I looked across the pool and saw my mother talking to Dan, the bachelor from across the street. She was smiling too much and constantly touching his forearm. I hadn’t seen her like that with Dad in years, but now, I didn’t care. I’d take their money and run like a fucking bank robber. They didn’t own me anymore. I was no longer part of their family.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Seth gaped as the cab pulled to a stop. It was like <st1:place>Times Square</st1:place> with all the letters rendered in splatter paint. I handed the driver some Yen and stepped onto the curb, cranking my neck to soak in the buildings, lights, and monstrous screens displaying Kodak cameras. Welcome to Roppongi, the <st1:place><st1:placename>High</st1:placename> <st1:placename>Touch</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Town</st1:placetype></st1:place>. I was eyeing the exterior of a gentlemen’s club when two soft arms wrapped around one of mine.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“You want massagi?” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>I looked down at the small Japanese woman on my arm. She was young and cute. “Excuse me?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“I say massagi. You want massagi?” She freed a hand and made a yanking motion. It wasn’t hard to guess what she was offering.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Come on, she love you long time!” Seth laughed and clapped his hands.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“No. Thanks. I’m fine,” I said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“No, you like. I like you.” She began to pull me to a dark green doorway. I had to pry her off and reassert myself.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“I appreciate the thought, but no thanks. Okay?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>She stormed off. I looked over and saw another young woman on Seth’s arm. “You want massagi?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>He wasn’t as polite. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>We started off down the sidewalk, overwhelmed by the cultural car wreck. Here, it wasn’t just Japanese, it was Russians and Brazilians, Brits and Americans. It wasn’t just Asian cuisine, it was French pastries, Hard Rock Café and Freshness Burger. And the flow of cars in the street was nearly as dense as the flow of people. I turned to Seth.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“What do we do if we get split up?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>He grinned. “I’ll meet you at the hotel in the morning.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Sounds good. I’ll look for you in the bushes out front.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Shut your trap. Let’s do this.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>We walked the strip, noting the locations of the nicer looking clubs. Only when we passed an alley did I see the flames. I tapped Seth’s shoulder and pointed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>We slipped down the dark walkway and found ourselves staring at Club Quest. The red and yellow marquee was on fire. A series of gas lines had been rigged around the words, and flames spurted out to curl up into the night. The stainless steel doors glowed orange in response, and the combined effect made the club look like a walk-in barbecue. We rushed inside.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>When the doors swung open, Seth just shook his head and pretended to wipe a tear. The club was packed, mostly with women, and apparently they had forgotten much of their clothing. One of them was getting frisky on the bar counter, and I had to tilt my head to follow her motion. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Suddenly, I was staring into a fat palm. The bouncer had oozed from his dark corner to intercept us. “No Americans,” he said. He had metal teeth, and part of his ear was missing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“No Americans?” asked Seth. “Are you serious?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“No Americans!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>We looked at each other for a moment, and decided that this would not be a wise confrontation.<span style=""> </span>There was nothing left to do but nod, and find another club.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>I grew excited when I saw the burning marquee once more. Miko pulled me through the steel doors, and the bouncer stepped aside when she spoke in Japanese. I winked at the big man and strutted by. I couldn’t wait to rub it in Seth’s face in the morning, especially after ditching me for an unattractive American girl. It was like going to a sushi restaurant and ordering a hamburger. Still, I couldn’t blame him. At least he knew what he was getting. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>We waded into the swarm of dancers and emerged at the bar. Miko ordered drinks and excused herself to the bathroom, so I made myself comfortable. The walls were covered in green tapestries, the bar all oak and brass. The VIP area was in back, and men sat at low, circular tables, wearing sunglasses and smoking. A fog machine spat roiling balls that exploded into mist, and turned the dancers into silhouettes against flashing rainbow beams. The drinks came, and I took a sip of mine. I was sure Miko had ordered paint thinner. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>When she didn’t show up again, I searched the crowd for her, holding the small umbrella to the side as I finished off her drink. I thought I saw Miko standing near one of the rear tables, bending down to kiss a man on the cheek. When I stood it felt like the club had been set adrift on the <st1:place>Pacific Ocean</st1:place>, and I had to focus on the horizon to keep from getting sick. The music pushed in on my head with every beat, and as I stepped through the dancers I was nudged and elbowed. I spun about, looking for an adversary, but all I found were more shadows.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Then the strobe started. Intense flashes lit up the partygoers, and I realized that something was wrong. They jerked about me, oblivious, heads lax and rolling on bouncing bodies, their arms raised into the fog. One guy slipped something into his mouth, and a girl ripped open his buttons and licked up his chest before he fed her a pill. I thought I saw another girl bleeding from her nose before she spun out of sight. I tried to keep moving, but was stopped by a firm grip on my genitalia. A young woman slid into view and wedged in close. She had rhinestones glued to her face, heavy eyeliner and pig tails. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Let’s party,” she shouted, demanding more than asking. During the brief flashes, I could see her pin-point pupils and orange contacts. I looked over and could no longer see Miko, so I slipped behind some people, and shrank away from my aggressor. Twenty feet from the tables, I stopped. The scene was clear now and Miko was not there, but the men were and they were not happy. Through the waving arms, between flashes, the men screamed, acting out a silent film accompanied by harsh techno. They stood, pointing, mouths wide. One man swiped the table and it flipped, spraying white dots into the air. The other man reached into his coat.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>I had never seen a real Mac-10 before. I had seen them in movies and toy stores, and knew that the guns were both automatic, and severely inaccurate. At that range, the latter was unimportant.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>The flashing light slowed time, and with every pulse, the image changed. The gun pointed. The man raised his arms. The muzzle flashed, and the expended shells hovered above the weapon hot and waiting. A spray of blood jutted from the man’s chest like a frozen fountain, his face clenched. Then the man was gone, and the gun turned towards the crowd. I remember the grimace on this man’s face, the speckles of blood that stretched across his neck and down his suit, the dark glasses that covered his eyes, and that moment when the weapon was pointed at me. The man had spotted in me in the crowd. I was the only one not dancing, the only gaijin gawking at the spectacle. I wondered if the bullets were real, if this distant show could affect a neutral observer. Still the music pounded on; no one else had missed a beat. My legs carried me backwards. My shoulder smacked into the heavy swinging door and I breathed the chilly night air. My feet hurled me around the corner and down the street, never stopping, never stopping for anything. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>My eyes focused on the cleaver, poised like a guillotine’s blade. I felt like it hung there all night, just looking beautiful in the lamp light, glinting at its corners and almost glowing along the edge. My face reflected back in the polished metal, a dripping hourglass. I watched the men watch me, and wondered if they wondered why I wasn’t scared. Or maybe they thought that I just didn’t get what was about to happen, which was the correct answer. Because they waited for my eyes to go wide. They waited because they knew it was the exact moment when I realized that this wasn’t a movie, wasn’t a TV show or dumb story, and it was that moment that the big, beautiful blade disappeared. I heard the impact of metal on wood, and my head dropped to see what had happened. The man yanked the blade from the table top, and my pinky flopped to the side. There was little blood, and there was no pain. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“You see what happen?” the small man asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>But the truth was, I hadn’t. All I could do was stare at my pinky, and wonder how it had gotten there, alone and dying. And I hated my pinky for betraying me, but hoped more than anything that the doctors would be able to sew it back on if I ever got out of there. I wondered what my mom would think of the scar. I wondered if my dad would be ashamed. For some reason, I remembered the time I tried out for the football team, and realized that it was I who quit. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>The small man said something, but it might as well have been a muted trombone. I felt my face cool and my tongue swell, and I watched as the yellow grins began to sway and stretch, and dissolve into black and white. The table top rushed up to meet my face, and my thoughts spun away. </p>Justin Marklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17820659934328070738noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3888399934383478771.post-85946373651716580542007-11-04T19:23:00.000-08:002007-11-04T19:27:43.491-08:00Casualty Report(This is one of my first attempts at...horror, maybe? I think I was aiming for creepiness rather than horror, but either way, this classic has two elements I love to write about - zombies, and the military. It was only a matter of time before I combined them.)<br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I didn’t know if it was the smell of old rubber and damp earth, but I felt queasy that night. Everyone was swimming in a pool of sickly blue light oozing from the fluorescent bulbs overhead. It seemed surreal to me that in such a haze lay the brain center of our battalion. The men in command buzzed like bees, exchanging ideas, marking their maps, receiving and sending messages. I sat there and watched, and when another message had gone through the machine of officers and radio operators, I took it, logged it, and stored it in my journal. I was glad I was in here. A GP tent beat sleeping on the ground, especially on a soggy night like this. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The rain fluctuated, sometimes a soft tickle on the roof, sometimes a slapping torrent. This was where chaos became order, and order back into chaos. The sounds could tell you that when the squawking radios, murmuring officers, and beating rain experimented with all combinations of each other and sometimes, eerily, slipped into mutual silence. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>I couldn’t tell you how I ended up at this table. It seemed only weeks ago I was in Alpha Company, hiking with the rest of them, sharing the dirt and pain, sharing the everlasting trudges through mountains and valleys, accosted by the elements and my own run-down gear prodding the softer spots of my body. Maybe it was luck or someone senior decided I had what it took, but I found myself here drinking coffee in the <st1:place><st1:placename>Combat</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placename>Operations</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Center</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>. Sometimes I felt bad knowing what my friends were going through out there tonight, but then I realized that it could have been me and I’d reach for a hot cup of Joe instead. The Operations Chief handed me another message.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Position report: Alpha Company moved to Grid 881 763.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">I logged it in and looked up front towards the map boards. Whole companies were closing in on the enemy, and all they were to us were colored pins marking their position. It was easy to detach yourself from the bloodshed when all you did was move pins on a board. From what I could see from my rickety field table, the red pin was now about a half inch nearer to it’s second objective. I took a sip from my Styrofoam cup, feeling the warmth spread through my chest.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>The radio broke the hum with shouting. “Snowstorm, snowstorm, snowstorm! Alpha Company receiving incoming mortar fire, request Artillery on Grid 886 764.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>The hum spiked into excited shouting and movement increased. In the distance I could hear the rumble of thunder; or maybe my old company was closer than I thought.<span style=""> </span>Either way, the commotion eventually died down and another message was passed to me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Situation Report: Alpha Company sustained zero casualties, suppressed enemy fire with artillery. Closing in on Battalion Objective Two.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Instead of sighing with relief I shook my pen for ink when I logged in the message. I crammed it on top of all the other messages. I closed the journal and rubbed my forehead. I rested my face on my palm and allowed my eyelids to press for an eagerly desired moment of unconsciousness. Everything began to melt away and I existed for a moment only in supposition. The radio jolted me back to reality. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Titan One, this is Alpha, we have contact!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>The radio blurted out fire requests, the sounds of combat flickering in the background as it came to life. A few moments later the little yellow messages came, flowing like water through a pipeline of hands. They dropped onto my desk one after the other. I stacked them neatly and began logging them in.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Name: PFC Hodges, L.G. SS#: 543245768. Wound(s): Gunshot right arm, concussion. Status: Standing by for medevac.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Name: LCpl Reynold, H.R. SS#: 443672323. Wound(s): Shrapnel, chest, abdomen, upper thighs. Status: Standing by for medevac.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>And then one that caught my attention.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>“Name: LCpl Steward, J.M. SS# 656448987. Wound(s): Gunshot, head. Status: Deceased.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>I remembered the time when Steward and I fought just for kicks when we were drunk. We sat down icing our wounds with cold beer bottles afterwards, laughing about the pain we had dealt each other. And the time in <st1:place>Okinawa</st1:place> when we stole some hats from a couple of wanna-be cowboys and galloped through the streets to the bewilderment of the locals. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>Now he was just another leaflet in my logbook. I stamped the message, filed it, and started on the next. I took a sip of coffee.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span>My journal began to bulge with the little yellow papers and they were still coming strong, but despite the heavy casualties it still sounded as if we were gaining ground. I never had any doubt that my boys would overcome. They were a tough bunch of bastards. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The situation reports were encouraging: “Enemy suppressed, advancing on their position.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">Or, “Enemy position destroyed, estimated twenty casualties.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">Inside I smiled. Somehow I felt part of this, maybe like a father feels when his son scores the winning goal in a soccer match. I felt sorry for Alpha Company, but even sorrier for the enemy. But then a message left prickles up my neck as the radio spit it out like rancid milk.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Flash, Flash, Flash, unknown gas attack on Alpha’s position! I say again, unknown gas attack on Alpha’s position!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">Everyone in the tent went scrambling, donning and clearing their gas masks in a frightened fumble. Before long those with me gave a muffled shout, “Gas, Gas, Gas!” Everything warped through the lenses of my mask. Their voices became softer and robotic through their voicemitters, and the sound of my own breath rushed loudly with each inhalation. I rubbed at the irritating elastic now pressing into the back of my skull, but finding that it provided no relief, I re-donned my Kevlar helmet. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The officers mumbled phrases of dismay as the radio operator tried to reestablish contact with Alpha Company. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Alpha, Alpha this is Titan 1, how do you copy, over.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">Only the rain could be heard between the radio operator’s repetitions. We could only wait. The moments slithered by like cold spaghetti. Finally we received an enigmatic message from our scout snipers.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Titan One, this is Hawkeye, over.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Hawkeye, this is Titan One.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“We’ve spotted Alpha Company, break. They have received extensive casualties, break. The remnants are heading your direction, over.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Roger that.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Hawkeye out.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The officers shook their heads and swore, looking like deep-sea creatures stuck in an eddy. I tried readjusting my mask without breaking the seal but it provided no relief as the edges dug into my face. The radio operator continued his search for contact with Alpha to no avail. We received another report from the snipers.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Titan One this is Hawkeye, over.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Hawkeye this is Titan One, send it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Alpha company not responding, break. They are scattered and approaching your perimeter, over.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Roger that.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Hawkeye out.” The officers rested their hands on their tables, hunched over and staring. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The rain stopped. The officers became quiet. The radios beeped. My breath was harsh in my ears. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">Somewhere far outside, one of our men shouted a challenge. He repeated himself. He repeated himself again. There was no reply. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The sharp reports of M16’s accentuated by the occasional grenade penetrated the walls of the tent and reverberated in my mask. Everyone scrambled for their weapons. Most of the officers had pistols. I was glad to have my rifle. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“They’re not going down!” Cried someone in the distance.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Holy Christ!” Shouted someone else.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">I knocked over my coffee as I carried my weapon outside. The yellow leaflets eagerly soaked it up.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">I pushed my way through the entry flaps and found myself in a kaleidoscope of </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">darkness. Weak moonlight snuck through the spaces in between the camouflage netting that covered our tent, covering me in ghostly speckles. The rain had turned into an irritating mist, which came from all directions. I wiped my lenses, only helping to distort my vision further. I chambered a round as I cautiously crept through one of the holes in the netting. The sounds of combat were in full throttle now, overpowering my senses. I made my way to one of our secondary positions. Should our attackers make it through our primary defense, we would be the last thing between them and our <st1:place><st1:placename>Combat</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placename>Operations</st1:PlaceName> <st1:placetype>Center</st1:PlaceType></st1:place>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">My cover consisted only of a muddy dirt mound, which I sunk into as I lay just behind it, my rifle pointing into the blackness just over the top. I wiped my lenses again, streaking a tiny bit of sludge across them. I cursed to myself and waited as my uniform began to soak through with icy water. I began to shiver. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">Slowly, the violence began to subside. The shots came fewer and farther between until at last there were no more. The queasiness grew in the pit of my stomach and worked itself up to my throat where it lodged in a hard lump. It was quiet again. On my left and right I could see the silhouettes of one or two of the officers watching intently. They only moved to wipe their masks.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">I thought it was the condensation on my lenses warping the shadows before me, but something told me different. There was movement between the trees. I could hear the footsteps squishing in the mud before I could actually make anything out. The Kevlar helmet was the first thing to emerge from the darkness. A beam of moonlight highlighted the top in a downward silver crescent. It was one of ours. The figured approached awkwardly, dragging itself through the swampy area as it approached. The entrenching tool in its hand rattled metallically as it slapped against its side with each step. Then others like it began to emerge on its flanks. I desperately looked to my sides for some sort of command from the officers, but they were just as dumbfounded as I. I wiped my lenses again. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The figure before me slowly took form as it drew near. It wore our uniform, it had our gear, but it only gurgled and limped forward. Its face was a black hole beneath the helmet. In a fit of frustration and fear I ripped off my mask and squinted at the shadow.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The air was very crisp, and my face chilled quickly after being in the sweaty confines of the rubber mask. The moon caught the nametape of the thing for a brief moment. All remaining warmth left my body as I read it aloud.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Steward.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">No. This was wrong. We were fighting our own. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Steward, that you?” I cried desperately.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">My voice was swallowed whole by the night, suffocated by grotesque silence. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The thing only gurgled.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Reply or I’m going to open fire!” I challenged, anger overcoming the fear.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">It rattled nearer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">I took aim at center mass and squeezed the trigger. The report left my ears fuzzy and squealing. Even my own breath sounded distant. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">The thing lurched backwards but continued on. I scrunched my face and took another shot. It stumbled. I fired again. The officers snapped out of their daze and joined in. I fired rapidly now, finally putting the thing on it’s back. I looked to my sides. The enemy was almost on top of some of the officers’ positions. I turned back to the front. The thing was on its feet again, closer now. I recoiled in horror. Suddenly, I heard a shriek to my left. One of the things stood on one of the mounds and awkwardly hacked at the shadows. There was a faint crunch and a gurgle. I stood, taking a few steps back. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">My mind refused to acknowledge when a sudden strobe of lightening caught their faces, melted and rotten. I dry heaved. I flicked my weapon to burst, spraying into the enemy as I backed away. It was only seconds before my weapon gagged on an empty magazine. The useless rifle hit the mud with a splat and I stumbled back into the tent. It was empty in here now, radios still beeping. The occasional scream or burst of fire rent the silence outside. I moved numbly to the radios, bumping into field tables along the way. I picked up a handset. My voice quivered as I struggled to stand in the liquid blue light.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Longbow, Longbow, this is Titan One, over.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Titan 1 this is Longbow, send it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Fire for effect on my position, over.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Say again your last?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Fire for effect my position!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“By whose authorization?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Mine.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Who’re you?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“The last one.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Roger that.<span style=""> </span>Eight guns firing HE for effect on your position.” The radio went silent for a moment. “Shot, over.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Shot, out.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">I shakily lowered myself and sat cross-legged on the dirty rubber floor. I took off my helmet and laid it beside me. There were no more shots being fired outside. The screams had lost their way into the night. Many dry hands began to rake against the sides of the tent. I could hear their gurgling and rasping. The tent began to warp and sway from the prodding. They were all around. It was then that the flaps of the doorway began to rustle. Again the radio crackled to life. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Splash, over.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Splash, out.” I dropped the handset and stared as the flaps began to part.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">A distant whistle began to manifest itself overhead. It grew to a deafening shriek and then cut into instant silence.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">“Try to get up from this,” I thought. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;">A smile passed over my lips.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style=""> </span></p>Justin Marklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17820659934328070738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3888399934383478771.post-21180569533083629642007-10-28T22:48:00.000-07:002007-10-28T23:06:20.950-07:00The Eight Millimeter Angel(This story is probably the closest I've been to appearing in a paper publication. Of course, in the end, it didn't fit because of the fantastical elements. It involves a young man after his separation from the military, and the revelation of his dead-war-hero-grandfather's secrets...)<br /><br /> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The weather was like flat soda on the day that Robert came home. He hoisted the green bag from the truck bed and wrestled it onto his shoulder, leaning against the massive weight. He waved and the truck growled off. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>San Diego: not quite as he remembered it. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>It wasn't so much that the place had changed, it was that he had, and looking up at his porch he realized for the first time that it wasn't his home any longer. It was the place where his mother and father lived.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>His parents didn't notice he was home until they heard the heavy thud and found him standing in the living room. <span style=""> </span>Robert, they said, Robert, you're home. He acknowledged the statement and hugs followed. We kept your room exactly as you left it, they said, not a single thing has changed. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>His father nudged him and winked, said he was proud and did he kill anyone. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>No. Didn't kill anyone. Probably the only unit in the Marine Corps that didn't kill a single person. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Robert's room was exactly as he remembered it, and his parents gave him some time to settle in. So he stared. Music posters on the wall; honor, courage, commitment stickers on the dresser. The T-shirt on the bed read “Extreme Marines”. It made him sick. He had worked too hard to become who he was to be mocked by his dead youth. He could see the naive high school student, shaved head with “USMC” scribbled into his binder. Embarrassing. The posters came down easy, but the old stickers left clingy goo to accumulate dirt and memories. Soon the trashcan bristled with disillusion. It was time to move on. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The door cracked open and his mother's face peeked in. We're having a party for you at your great grandma's house tonight, she said, if you'd like to go.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>As if he had a choice.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>But it was strange, that night, having the small crowd cheering for him. We're so glad you're home safe, they said, we're proud of you and did you kill anyone.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>It's best that you didn't, they would say.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>At some point, Robert wandered through his relatives, doled out handshakes and hugs. Yes, I liked it, most of it, said Robert, it's good to see you too. He meant it, but now was a time to ask questions, not a time to answer them. Then he caught the old woman in the recliner, her jaw quivering slightly. She caught him back.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Come 'ere, Robert, I ain't gonna bite ya." Her watery eyes boiled in their sockets, and her thin skin merely draped over her bones, but somewhere inside the spark of life pulsed hot. This was great grandma, the woman who blew herself up smoking a cigarette while on oxygen at the hospital. This was the woman who raised five children by herself in the forties and fifties. And this was the only person besides his parents to send him a birthday card when he was on high alert in Okinawa.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Hi Gramma," he said, and leaned in for a peck on the cheek.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"You look skinny," her voice warbled.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"What? I gained fifteen pounds while I was in."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Sure don't look like it." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Robert shook his head and smiled. Eighty-seven, and she could still probably kick his ass. "Why're you sitting in the corner by yourself, Gramma?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Wouldn't be the corner if everyone was over here talkin' to me."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Guess you're right."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Gramma rocked back and forth a few times. "I’m glad you’re back, Robert. Your great grandfather didn't get that chance. I almost thought he’d make it, but those Okinawans were some very stubborn individuals."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Yeah, I always thought about that when we deployed there. I mean, how peaceful it is now compared to then."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Mmhm. Mmhm." She nodded her head, rocking slightly back and forth. "You ever see his old war stuff?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>He shook his head. "No."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"I suppose you've earned it. Don't usually show 'em off but I think he'd want me to. Now anyways."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Okay."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Well, come on then." The old woman levered herself out of the chair, swatted away Robert's helping hand. "Get that away from me, I don’t need no help. Been on my own for fifty nine years."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>She led him through the side door and the noise immediately abated. As they walked down the hall, silence took over, sending out its reverential radar from the door ahead, the odd door that Robert had never walked through in all his years. He remembered why when, upon approaching it, his great grandmother slipped a skeleton key from her pocket and into the lock. When the door swung and banged against the wall, there was nothing extraordinary but a set of stairs descending into the basement. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Go on down and get the light, Robert." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>In the darkness, Robert flinched at the metallic tendril that slid across his face. He felt through the air and pulled on it. The single light bulb illuminated the room and revealed everything coated neatly in dust. The woman jerked a sheet from a chair and eased herself down into the swirling cloud. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"I forget exactly what we got down here. Most of your Grampa's stuff is in that chest there, anyhow."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The chest opened with a creak, throwing free an avalanche of dirt and bug shells, but the objects inside glinted in the orange light, reflecting polished edges in new flame. The shadow box came first, and behind the glass, dual rows of medals clung to dark velvet. His great grandfather's name was engraved at the bottom. Robert named the medals off in his head. He had seen them many times throughout his tour. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Bet you know what that big one in the middle is."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Robert did. "The medal of honor." <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"That's right. Got it posthumously, like most those kids."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>He stared and licked his lips. "What'd he get it for?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Breaking a promise to a young woman."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Robert didn't turn to look at her. It was none of his business, so he just nodded and placed it to the side. The folded American flag came next, but Robert knew better than to ask about that. To the side it went. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>In his fingers, the black and whites took on ghostly shades underneath the failing bulb. Men from another time stared back, muddled by poor image quality and age. Blotchy eyes and half-mouths became representations of souls rather than duplicates of physical features. Robert wondered if that ancient camera had caught something more of these men, something that remained after they passed away, embedded in the flimsy piece of material in his hand. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"This one Grampa?" asked Robert, holding up a photo.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The old woman leaned in and squinted. "Bring that here."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Robert shuffled. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Yeah, that's him. Handsome bastard, wasn't he? Flip it over."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The back read, "To my dearest love, from the heart of Honolulu."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"I thought I recognized the place," said Robert. "He was stationed at K-Bay too?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Sure was. Ain't never been there myself, though."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Robert looked at the picture again. "Why is he in uniform at the beach?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Well, they had to wear that when they were off duty," said Gramma with a nod. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Oh no. That's not good at all." He shook his head. Robert flipped through the rest of the photos, more sand-washed images of uniformed men on the beach. He placed them on the shadow box. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The uniform itself came next. Robert recognized it from the picture, the Khaki short-sleeved number with ribbons. He held it up and flipped it around. "Same as mine. Pants are different, though."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Gramma just nodded. Robert dove back into the trunk. There were letters scattered about, so he grabbed one at random. He held it below the rim so that he could not be observed reading it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Dearest, I am going to Okinawa and I am going to fight. I could think of no other way to put it, and I am sorry for that. Of all things, I want you to know these: I love you, and I promise to return. Do not be saddened, and trust me. I will find a way. I do not know exactly when-"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"What's that you got there, Robert?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>His eyes tore away from the page. "Nothing Gramma, just thinking." He reached back into the chest, felt along the darkest corner and found metal. He pulled out the ancient film reel. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Wow." Robert held a few cells up to the light. "Can we watch this?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"'Fraid not. Don't have that type of movie projector."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">It appeared that each cell had been split in two. On the left side, a beach landscape with a far-off mountain. On the right, a young man. "What is this?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"I don't really know. Came after your Grampa died."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"No, I mean, why are there two sides to the film?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Oh. Well in the old days, eight film started out as sixteen. When you were done recording one side of the sixteen, you take out the reel, flip it around, and record again, see. That way, you get two movies on the two sides. After you were done, you'd cut that film down the middle then tape the two ends together, so it'd be one long movie. But what you got there, I don't know what that is, because when you flip a reel and record, the other image is upside down next to it. But that one ain't."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Robert looked again. She was right. Both images were right side up. But something else caught his eye. "It's backwards."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Backwards?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Yeah. See, look."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Gramma's eyes became slits as they searched a tiny single cell. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"See, that mountain back there is Diamondhead crater. That looks normal. But this guy, he's in uniform and his ribbons are on the wrong side. It's backwards. And..." Robert looked at the cell again. "it doesn't look like he has a background. It's just clear."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Well ain't that a pickle. What kind of fool goes and makes a crazy reel like that?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"I don't know." Robert turned away, lost in thought. Then he folded the film gently down the middle and watched as the young man appeared to stand on that beautiful beach. "Gramma, look at this." He turned around, and the woman clutched at her chest.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Good lord! Quit foldin' my film, Robert!"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"No, look at this."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She did, and sat quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Half of sixteen is eight right?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Do you have an eight projector?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She pointed to a cabinet. “Maybe there, I don’t know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Dust poofed from the doors and the ancient projector was called from the darkness. In moments the contraption sat on a covered table, plugged into a hanging socket. The two of them worked slowly, as Gramma held the large reel, and Robert folded the film in half and wound it onto a thinner one. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"I sure as hell hope you didn't just ruin that movie," said Gramma, placing the completed reel onto the machine.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"<u>We</u> ruined it," said Robert.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Gramma fed the beginning strip into the empty reel on the projector and pointed it towards a clear patch of wall. "Okay. I suppose that does it," she said. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Let 'er rip."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">She flicked the switch, Robert turned off the light, and the room filled with a flickering glow. A young man strolled casually down the beach, a massive volcanic crater in the distance. But the man seemed strangely dislodged from the picture, and he slid subtly up and down as he walked, detached from the landscape behind, floating, almost, towards the camera. As his image grew, Robert could clearly see who it was. The young vibrant man etched in black and white sidled towards them, smiling and watching the waves, in no hurry to reach his destination. But as he grew, Robert's eyes began to hurt. The odd movement was causing him to see colors, strange fits of color feeling down Grampa's arms and legs, and whisping away. When Robert looked up again, he knew it wasn't his eyes. The young man stared straight at them, moving forward, filling with life as he slowly discarded his monochrome shackles. He appeared more and more lifelike with every step, and soon Robert could nearly feel the salty tropical breeze playing through the room, and hear the echoes of crashing waves die about him. When Grampa finally filled the entire projection, he smiled, and paused for a moment. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Then he stepped from the wall.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Robert backed up as far as he could, flattening against concrete. Gramma clutched at the table, jaw quivering, staring like a caught rabbit. But Grampa approached her nevertheless, eased up a hand, and began playing it through her white hair. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Hello, dearest." His voice was warm and deep, like a cozy fire. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Gramma, who cried her last tear over forty years ago, wept as hard as her frame would allow. Her intense sobs broke all hope of composure, and she threatened to disintegrate where she stood. But the young man swept around her, holding her together as her body shook. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Oh I love you. I love you so much. I missed you so much," she said.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He kissed the top of her head, and looked at the figure plastered to the back wall. "Hello, Robert," he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Hi." His voice came out a little less strong than he had hoped.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"I'm sorry we never had a chance to talk. But if it makes any difference, I'm proud of you."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"Proud of me?" Robert started to move away from the wall.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"For your service."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>"For my... I didn't do anything. I didn't even see combat."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Grampa smiled and shook his head. "Your country called and you answered. It's not your fault they decided not to put you in harm's way."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Robbed nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>The young man stroked Gramma's back and kissed her again. She looked up with a wet smile and wiped at her eyes. Through the darkness, Robert wondered if she looked a little younger.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Robert?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Yes Gramma?” He had never heard her voice that smooth, that untouched.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Would you mind giving us a minute to catch up?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Yeah. Sure.” He turned to the steps.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Before you go,” said Grampa. “One more thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Robert turned.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Those people upstairs, your family. They love you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“I know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“Yes, but you have to let them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>“No one can ever know what it was like for you. No one can ever relate or know how you feel. But that’s not their fault. They just love you Robert, and unless you let them, you will have missed out on the greatest part of life.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style=""> </span>Robert crinkled his eyebrows and looked down, nodding. He glanced up at the couple, and saw their eyes alive and happy. Then he walked up the stairs. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">At the top, he paused, unsure what to do. Then he smelled the smoke. Acrid, pungent, it wafted in rolling clouds from below. He was back downstairs in a flash. The projector was engulfed in flame, and he reacted, snuffing the fire with a dusty sheet. When at last he pulled away the singed cloth, there was only more smoke and warped metal, and crispy pieces of acetate slapping against a spinning reel. The bulb in the machine was still on, and punched a bright hole through the swirling darkness. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Gramma? Grampa?” shouted Robert. He squinted, and swathed a path of clean air with a flattened hand. No response. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Robert took a quick look around the room and found no one. As he stood, he wondered what he had missed. His great-grandparents were gone, but it was almost as if he had already known what had happened when his eyes found the clip of film lying next to the projector. He padded over and picked up the five or six cells that had survived the blaze, and held it up to the bright wall. On the left side was the beach landscape, bright and beautiful, with the immense crater punching skyward. And on the right, a couple walking away, hand in hand in empty space. Robert’s cheeks tightened, and his eyes watered. He smiled and slipped the tiny strip into his pocket. There was nothing else to do, so he turned off the machine and went back to the party. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">A warm hand found Robert’s shoulder and he turned, looking straight into his father’s eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Hey buddy.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Hey Dad.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Having fun?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Robert shrugged, allowed a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Come on, even war heroes aren’t too cool for their folks.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">They grinned. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Where’d Gramma disappear to?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I don’t know, probably halfway down the beach by now.” Robert paused and looked at his dad. The mist in his father’s eyes surprised him. “What?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Nothing. You just crack me up. I missed having you around, man.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“I missed you too, dad.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The father patted his son on the back and winked, and moved away to brag about Robert to someone else. Robert took a breath, got his hugging arms ready, and moved into the fray.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Justin Marklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17820659934328070738noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3888399934383478771.post-68254373044017464802007-10-22T19:58:00.000-07:002007-10-23T23:11:18.955-07:00Billy in Time<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>In a saloon in 1884, Rob the bartender found two Power Ranger action figures floating in a whiskey bottle.<span style=""> </span>Similarly, in 1938, Louie Spanzello found a Beanie Baby and a left sock in his gun case as he prepared for a hit.<span style=""> </span>All Billy knew was that he had found the coolest toy ever.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Sounds of destruction poured from the boy’s curled lips as he smashed the two plastic figurines together.<span style=""> </span>“You cannot defeat me, Leonardo, I am invincible!” he said in his most menacing voice.<span style=""> </span>Then he switched to a </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style=";font-family:";" >California</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style=";font-family:";" > accent, “No way, Skeletor, you’re toast!”<span style=""> </span>Again, the two arch nemeses collided in battle, spittle flying as the boy provided sound effects for the carnage. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Billy?” The woman’s call pierced the walls with little effort.<span style=""> </span>Billy ignored it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“I have you now, dude!<span style=""> </span>No, no, Leonardo, what are you going to do with me?<span style=""> </span>Please, I’m sorry I was bad, I’ll never do it again!<span style=""> </span>No, Skeletor, you said you would stop being bad, but you lied and now you must pay!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Billy!”<span style=""> </span>The voice came with more force and higher pitch. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“No, not the hole of darkness!<span style=""> </span>Yes, Skeletor, the hole of darkness.<span style=""> </span>It’s time you were gone for good!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >This time, the woman’s voice came like a snake’s rattle.<span style=""> </span>“Don’t make me come in there, Billy!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“I’m playing!” shouted Billy, glaring at the door. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Well finish up and get your heiny in here!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>The boy carried on with a frown.<span style=""> </span>“Do you have any last words, Skeletor?<span style=""> </span>Yes, Leonardo, just one last thing:<span style=""> </span>you’re a big stupid head and I don’t care what you do to me because I hate you! Ah ha ha!<span style=""> </span>Fine then, Skeletor, have it your way!”<span style=""> </span>Billy crawled into the open closet and scooted into the back corner.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >There was a hole in the floor about the size of the boy’s hand.<span style=""> </span>He looked into the cavity, and it appeared as if a vacuum had actually stretched the wood flooring and sucked it down into an infinitely long tube.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >“This is what you get, Skeletor, now die!<span style=""> </span>No, no, no!”<span style=""> </span>With this last wail, Billy lowered the toy into the hole.<span style=""> </span>Its legs began to stretch, then lengthen and then zip down the hole into a nearly invisible thread of plastic.<span style=""> </span>As the boy lowered it, the rest of the body skewed until he at last let go and the figurine was sucked away for good.<span style=""> </span>He watched wide-eyed and whispered to himself, “Awesome.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy crawled out, opened the bedroom door, and stampeded down the hallway to the kitchen.<span style=""> </span>He pulled open the refrigerator and, standing on his toes, snatched a small juice box from a higher shelf.<span style=""> </span>The woman doing dishes turned at the noise and eyed the boy.<span style=""> </span>She had a frizzy ponytail and a bland face. “Come here, Billy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>He skipped over to his mom, holding the box with two hands and sucking on the straw.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>She shook off the suds from her bright yellow gloves and knelt down.<span style=""> </span>“Look, Mommy has a date coming over tonight, so I want you to clean your room and be on your best behavior when he comes over.<span style=""> </span>Okay, kiddo?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy rolled his eyes and shrugged.<span style=""> </span>“Okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Good boy.”<span style=""> </span>She kissed him on the forehead and stood.<span style=""> </span>“Now go on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy stomped back to his room and slammed the door. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Hey!”<span style=""> </span>Though his mother’s voice was muffled, the message was painfully clear.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy sucked in his cheeks, and the juice box collapsed in his hand.<span style=""> </span>He went into the closet and watched as the hole sucked it into oblivion.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >His room was not very dirty.<span style=""> </span>He had a few toys out, a couple of coloring book pages torn to shreds, a ken doll with no head, some dirty clothes, and an unmade racecar bed.<span style=""> </span>He placed the toys he really liked in the toy chest, or on a shelf overlooking his bed for protection at night.<span style=""> </span>The ones he didn’t, he tossed in the hole, not to mention the stuffy clothes his mother made him wear to school.<span style=""> </span>When he finished cleaning, he grabbed one of the newer coloring books, flopped on the bed, and began to scribble over the face of an Easter bunny.<span style=""> </span>“Die, bunny.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>It was not long before his mother entered.<span style=""> </span>“Billy, I want you to wear that nice shirt I bought you last week.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“I can’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Why not?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>He continued to scribble.<span style=""> </span>“It’s gone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Where did it go?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“In the closet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>His mother blew a whisp of hair from her face and walked to the closet.<span style=""> </span>She ruffled through the collection of hanging clothes before turning around.<span style=""> </span>“I just put it in here this morning. Where is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy shrugged, and began to jam purple Crayola into the rabbit’s face.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>She looked through the clothes one more time.<span style=""> </span>“Billy, where are all your clothes going?<span style=""> </span>Your grandmother just bought you like four outfits for your birthday.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy murmured to his mangled bunny. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Here, you wear this then.”<span style=""> </span>His mother threw a shirt and a pair of pants at him.<span style=""> </span>“And your church shoes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>He sighed, and his mother left the room. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Later, Billy sat in front of the television wearing his Sunday best, absorbed in his cartoon.<span style=""> </span>The doorbell rang.<span style=""> </span>He heard the door open, then his mother’s date laugh.<span style=""> </span>After that came the male voice, deep, cocky, and abrasive.<span style=""> </span>Billy did not turn form the television set, even when his mom addressed him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Billy? Billy, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Skipper, Skipper, this is my son Billy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Well howdy there, slugger!” He reached down and rustled Billy’s hair.<span style=""> </span>The boy shied away.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Billy, don’t be rude, say hello.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Same thing we do every night, Pinky, try to take over the world,” said the TV. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“He’s usually not like this, Skipper, really.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Skipper laughed.<span style=""> </span>“Hey, no big thing.<span style=""> </span>Skipper probably wouldn’t like it if some old guy was trying to slip into the sack with his momma, isn’t that right Billy?”<span style=""> </span>He laughed again.<span style=""> </span>“So what’s for dinner?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>A smile twitched across Sadie’s face.<span style=""> </span>“Um, tuna casserole.<span style=""> </span>It should be almost done, actually.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Hope you used Star-Kist tuna.<span style=""> </span>Skipper loves Star-Kist tuna.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Sadie laughed. “Of course.<span style=""> </span>I love Star-Kist.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Alright. That’s what I’m talking about.”<span style=""> </span>The Skipmeister bobbed his head and ran his fingers through his hair.<span style=""> </span>Sadie went to the kitchen and threw out the empty cans of Chicken of the Sea.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>The two adults were sitting at the dining room table when Billy overheard the man.<span style=""> </span>“So, uh, what happened to the old hubby, if you don’t mind my asking.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy ran back into this room and shut the door.<span style=""> </span>He crawled into the closet and sat against the wall with his feet up against him.<span style=""> </span>He rocked back and forth, and the minutes ticked by.<span style=""> </span>Eventually, his legs began to fall asleep, so he stretched them out.<span style=""> </span>He heard a crinkle in the darkness. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >He felt around with his hand and it closed on a crumpled piece of paper.<span style=""> </span>He crawled out of the closet and stood.<span style=""> </span>The paper was extremely white, and Billy unfolded it and smoothed it out on the bed.<span style=""> </span>He lay down and attempted to sound out the typed message. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>After much stuttering and mispronunciation, Billy ended up with something like, “Hello.<span style=""> </span>My name is Dur Howard Johanson, and I am from the year two, one, five, five.<span style=""> </span>I need your help.<span style=""> </span>Please wurite back if you get this.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy flipped over the paper, and with his tongue pressed between his lips, scrawled out a message in crayon.<span style=""> </span>“Hi.<span style=""> </span>My name is Billy.<span style=""> </span>How are you?<span style=""> </span>I am fine.”<span style=""> </span>Billy skipped back to the funny hole in his closet and tossed in the sheet of paper.<span style=""> </span>He crouched over the anomaly, and awaited a response.<span style=""> </span>Soon, another crumpled piece of paper hit him in the back of the neck.<span style=""> </span>He looked up and saw nothing, but on the floor beside him was a new message.<span style=""> </span>He dove back onto his bed and began deciphering the strange words.<span style=""> </span>His eight-year-old mind came back with the following: “Thank God.<span style=""> </span>We have been trying to stahbelizee this warm hole for twenty years.<span style=""> </span>The warld is going to end in one year.<span style=""> </span>We need you to help avoid this catastrop-hee.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy wrinkled his face.<span style=""> </span>He left the paper where it was and ran back into the dining room. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“So, whaddya say we crack open this bottle of bubbly, huh?” said Skipper, eyebrow raised.<span style=""> </span>His head swayed as he lifted a bottle of champagne and unscrewed the top. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t really like to drink with Billy around…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Mom!”<span style=""> </span>Billy shouted from next to the table.<span style=""> </span>He began to dance on his tippy-toes. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Shush, Billy!” She stared at him for a moment. “What is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“What’s a warm hole?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Skipper snickered.<span style=""> </span>Sadie tossed him a glance.<span style=""> </span>“We’ll talk about this later, Billy, okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Okay.<span style=""> </span>What’s a catastrop-hee?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“You mean catastrophe?<span style=""> </span>That’s when something really bad happens.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Okay.”<span style=""> </span>Billy ran back into his room, and began to reply to the message.<span style=""> </span>“I’m sorry about your catastrafee.”<span style=""> </span>He ran to the closet and delivered the message.<span style=""> </span>This time he looked up and waited.<span style=""> </span>The paper popped out of darkness and he caught it, giggling.<span style=""> </span>He read the message as best he could.<span style=""> </span>“I shall send you the neck-a-saree documents.<span style=""> </span>Can you deliver them to the proper owthorites?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy licked his lips and searched his cranium.<span style=""> </span>Again, he raced into the dining room.<span style=""> </span>“Mom!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Sadie dropped her fork with a clatter.<span style=""> </span>“Damn it, Billy, what?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“What’s owthorites?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Owthorites? Authorities?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy shrugged.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Authorities are the people in charge.<span style=""> </span>Where are you getting these words?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy was already running back to his room.<span style=""> </span>Blue crayon in hand, he replied, “Yes,” and sent the message.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Later, a thick envelope fell out of the air and the child caught it.<span style=""> </span>He sat on the bed and dumped out the contents.<span style=""> </span>His eyes widened.<span style=""> </span>“Cool!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Newspaper clippings of all sorts lay before him.<span style=""> </span>He looked at the pictures.<span style=""> </span>In one, rows and rows of people in a hospital lay rotting and sick.<span style=""> </span>In another, a smiling man in a white suit held up a vial of strange liquid.<span style=""> </span>Yet another held the image of a stern man pointing from behind a lectern with the word “WAR!” printed below. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy swooped up the collection in his hands and ran back to the table with the jumble of clippings.<span style=""> </span>“Mom!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Do you want to go on restriction, young man?<span style=""> </span>Use your manners!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy puffed out his lower lip and held up the wad.<span style=""> </span>“I’m supposed to show you these.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Where did you get that newspaper?<span style=""> </span>Is that where you’ve been getting those words from?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“That’s a smart boy you got there,” said Skipper, picking at his teeth. “Reminds me of me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“I’ll read it later Billy.<span style=""> </span>Now go on and play.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“But--“<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Hey kid, best do what your momma says.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>Billy crinkled his faced and skulked away.<span style=""> </span>Once back in his room he threw the clippings in the corner and lay face-down on the bed.<span style=""> </span>Eventually, he heard a faint whisper in the closet.<span style=""> </span>He walked over and found another note. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Cannot stahbelizee warm hole for much longer.<span style=""> </span>Did you contact the authorities?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><span style=""> </span>“Yes.<span style=""> </span>Want to play?” replied Billy.<span style=""> </span>He dropped the note into the hole.<span style=""> </span>The reply never came. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Later, he dropped in a green action figure, hoping that Dur Howard would like it.<span style=""> </span>Instead, sword in hand, the turtle man landed on the deck of a ship in 1492.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Justin Marklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17820659934328070738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3888399934383478771.post-19096572522723735672007-10-22T19:39:00.000-07:002007-10-22T19:58:17.343-07:00And so it begins....The wormhole: not just a cheesy sci-fi (fine, SF) name. It comes from a story of mine, about a little boy who discovers one in his closet, and amuses himself by stuffing things into it and watching them disappear into oblivion.<br /><br />That's basically what I'm doing here.<br /><br />I don't have time to endure the process of "finding a home" for my short fiction. One, it doesn't fit anywhere. B, as much as I like rejection slips, I'm not going to spend more cash than I have to sending out multiple envelopes of hard-earned paper. Been there, recycled that. Finally, I like to write. I like people to read it. I like people to read it who like off-kilter fiction, and don't mind that I sometimes indulge myself a little too much.<br /><br />So, I'm going to post my fiction here. All of it. Even the stuff that sucks.<br /><br />Please, enjoy it, rip it off, mass email to the office, tape it to your wall, light candles, and make a creepy, life size dummy of me that hangs above it.<br /><br />But seriously, if it floats your boat, just make sure you say so.<br /><br />Now, without further adieu, I present ...Justin Marklandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17820659934328070738noreply@blogger.com0