Tanzol's Tales

#065 ~ The Boy on the Porch

2009-11-06T23:28:00.000-05:00

The Boy on the Porch

Rod Tanzol

One chilly evening, a boy of five sat there on the bench on the porch outside his house. He unseasonably wore shorts and a t-shirt when jeans, a sweater, and a scarf were more appropriate. His feet hung, barely grazing the ground; they dangled above the ground in rhythm opposite the wind. The clenching lumps that the boy knew as his hands lay folded on his lap as he twiddled his thumbs nervously. Anxiety consumed the small boy.

He shivered in the wind and shuddered at his thoughts. In the noisy solitude of his mind, he reviewed that day a thousand times:

His already irked mother yelled, "Wear something warmer; you'll freeze to death!"

The boy cried, "NO!"

"I can't deal with you!" she yelled as she walked out of the boy's bedroom. "When I return you'd better be dressed!"

The boy waited until his mother left his room before he screamed once more and slammed his door shut! His mother let out a frustrated roar! His father yelled, "That does it! How dare you slam your door, boy! Honey, get my toolbox!"

The boy panicked behind his closed door to recount every detail of his parents’ actions, but he pleaded with a red face, wet eyes, and a salty face, "I'm sorry!” His parents yelled at him to shut up and that it was too late; the boy had already screwed up. A few whacks of a hammer later, the pegs popped out, and the door was off its hinges.

The boy threw a tantrum, feeling violated. Although fully dressed, the boy crossed his arms and hid exposed body. The boy was hysterical. His mother resolved, "Go outside, you spoiled brat!” He wouldn't budge; his father dragged him out of the house.

The boy waited outside a little longer. He couldn't rationalize what happened; he was just too young. He concluded to simply avoid his parents and remain quiet. His mother let him in after everyone's nerves calmed. The boy didn't feel welcomed or forgiven. The house fell hostile; he felt incomplete; he did not know when he'd have a door again.

#064 ~ Sarah’s Chronicles: The End

2009-09-01T20:18:00.001-04:00

I’m finally ending this series. It was fun to work on, but I’m happy the first draft of the Saga is complete. In a few months, I’ll compile all the parts, rewrite it, and format it into a short e-book. It’ll be different: new characters and plotlines will be added. It’s just great to end something the first time around. I’m just upset with myself that I haven’t written more in the last year. Without further rambling, here it is: (be aware; it’s short, and it will definitely be better next time around.)

The End

Rod Tanzol

After a lonesome few hours on a train and a few minutes in a taxi, Sarah was there. Greeting her was the seemingly imaginary boyfriend that she so desperately missed. However, her meeting did not induce the joyous and romantic flood of emotions of which she dreamed. Instead, she was left empty and regretful.

Both parties went through the pleasantries required of old friends. However, she noted that he never made a significant effort to be with her or please her. Looking from afar sufficed for him, but not for her. She needed something more, and knew that he could ever provide that.

She had convinced herself and her friends that she needed to see him, but she was wrong. Disappointed with the lackluster reunion, Sarah wasn’t heartbroken, but she was certain that he was no longer right for her. Despite anything that could be said, Sarah knew what had happened. The distance between the two lovers created an unrealistic and idealized fantasy that engorged her expectations to a size that was greater than the distance between them and larger than reality itself.

With the new light and insight that come venturing hundreds of miles from home, Sarah made the first real decision of her life: she’d give up on him for good. More decisively, she gave up on him right then and there.

She returned home soon after with fewer burdens and one less person in her life. She was ready to start the final year of her childhood free from the false expectations and exaggerated longings and desperate attachments of a long-distance relationship.

#063 ~ The Unfortunate Event…

2009-07-29T23:19:00.001-04:00

This is the first thing that I've published in a while. I’ve been working on my novel when the mood suits me… I hope to finish it by Thanksgiving of 2009 and self-publish by twenty-ten. In the mean time, the following story is a tale mixing my love of the rain with my hatred of Yuppies and the Garden State.

The Unfortunate Event at Exit Fourteen

Rod Tanzol

Part One

Trim—in a half vacant bed inside a Hoboken apartment—awoke one dreary day to the musical ringing of his cellphone. He answered it dully and groggily, “Hello?”

Through some static, he could hear his caller’s voice. Angrily, it said, “God damn it! Are you still asleep? You were supposed to have driven me to LaGuardia today!”

Wincing in pain, Trim replied, “Don’t be so loud, Snapple. I had a rough night last night.”

“A rough night?” she furiously questioned. “I had a rough night! I was packing while you sat on your ass and drank until you passed out.”

“You let me,” Trim defended himself.

“I let you? No! I told you to get out my way, not to be useless!”

“Hey, I was out of your way at least,” he commiserated in defense of his passive behavior.

“Jesus fuck, you cunt bagger! You’re useless! I couldn’t get you up in the damn morning. I almost called a taxi, but I didn’t feel like spending a fortune. Luckily, Stacy could take me.”

“So where are you now?”

“I’m outside the Holland Tunnel, but this traffic is fucking ridiculous.”

“Have a safe trip. I love you,” Trim pleaded.

“I’ll have a fun time in Vegas without you, shit face. God, I wish I could divorce you before I go! I need to find a better husband.”

“Like I said; I love you too.” The call ended.

Trim finally got out of bed, and the usual sunny atmosphere of his existence was replaced with a blanket of grey. The sky was brooding, and the air was uncomfortably balmy. It was going to rain. Trim, feeling awfully hung-over from a night of inaction, called in to work sick, but offered to work from home for the day.

He went to his desk in the corner of his tiny apartment, and booted his work machine. In a matter of minutes, Trim logged onto his Manhattan office, and began managing files from across the Hudson River. Bored with himself after a matter of five minutes, he turned on the television and let the morning news fill the background with white noise.

Trim trudged through his workload and edited the appropriate spreadsheets until an urgent news brief disrupted the soothing monotony of the regular programming. “It is a tragic day for New York City area motorists. Countless are presumed dead in this eight-car pile-up outside Newark Liberty International Airport. Emergency vehicles are arriving at the scene as we speak.”

Trim ignored the news and attributed it to the mistakes of some lousy New York drivers. He changed the channel hoping to watch some raunchy show on paternity tests. He laughed as the show’s guests publically admitted their innate infidelity and their ignorant disregard for inexpensive sheathes of latex.

Trim’s guilty indulgence was interrupted with yet another news brief. He didn’t pay much attention to it but heard a bunch of familiar phrases: New Jersey Turnpike, exit 14, and Newark Liberty International Airport. He also heard a great share of frightening attention-grabbers: dead, victims, and terror. The last keyword cued him to reconsider his viewing habits. He looked at the corner of the TV screen and saw the name of the only major network to share its name with an animal. The bottom of the screen read, “Airport Terror Attack?” He laughed at the misleading statement disguised with a question mark.

Trim changed the channel. This one offered footage of bodies being removed from the mangled mess of metal. “Thank god little kids watch cable,” he thought to himself. He laid himself across the length of the couch, never noticing his transition from workstation to living room. He laughed aloud at the unfortunate events before him. A moment passed before he realized that something was amiss.

“Why hasn’t Snapple called me to complain about the traffic or her inevitably delayed flight?” he asked himself. To quell his qualms, Trim called the ever polite and beloved woman in his life. It went straight to voicemail. Trim panicked.

“FUCK, fuck, FUCK!” he screamed, “Fuckety, fuck, fuck, FUCK!!! Jesus Fucking Christ!”

After several moments of hysteria, Trim composed himself long enough to call the airline. What did he learn? He learned that Snapple had not yet checked in for her flight. His suspicions were single-mindedly confirmed.

He did not call Snapple again.

He did not hope for the best.

He did not take any time to consider other possibilities.

He did not think about the roads.

He did jump to conclusions.

He did eight shots to calm his nerves.

He did forget every detail of his wife’s trip.

He did act brashly and irrationally.

Trim rushed to his yuppie standard Mini Cooper that awaited him in the parking lot across the street from his apartment. He went through the traffic of Hoboken and then Jersey City. He got onto the Turnpike and drove to exit 14. The traffic moved impossibly slowly past the horrible accident. Trim pulled into the shoulder of the road half a mile back and walked—mostly stumbling—to the scene, crying out his lover’s name.

He was stopped by a cop. “Halt, you fuckin’ psycho! I ain’t seen any Snapple here! Go to the Seven Eleven, y’ prick.”

Barely understandable, Trim cried, “No, Snapple is my wife, not a delicious drink. She was in the car accident!”

“Well, you ain’t getting past here. All the victims were sent to the hospital.”

“Which hospital?” Trim demanded to know.

“All of them,” the police officer answered. “Now, git!

Trim ran back to his car, and waited through traffic. It began to pour. The rain was then followed by a blasting bombardment of lightning strikes. He yelled while hitting his head against his steering wheel, “Oh fuck! How the hell am I supposed to drive in this‽”

He crawled through until he could start speeding up, and speed up he did. Speeding at eighty miles per hour in the pouring rain, Trim lost control.

Conclusion

“Yes, that’s him. That’s Trim,” Snapple cried in the morgue. The scene was too gruesome to describe.

Back at the appointment, she sat on the couch with Stacy. “God fucking damn it! He didn’t even let me get as far as LaGuardia Airport. I really wanted to go to Vegas! That selfish, paranoid, and drunken bastard,” Snapple cried. “Why the fuck was he even on the road?”

“Don’t fret,” Stacy consoled. “Be happy he died your husband; you get all of his crap and his money!”

Snapple smiled. “You’re right. Besides, he never cared much for me.”

#062 ~ Sarah’s Chronicles: Birthday Wishes

2009-06-19T22:14:00.001-04:00

I’m going to close down this blog in a few months and replace with a website over which I have more formatting control. In that process, I will edit and regroup everything I have written. The new sight will be easier to read, and much more enticing to new visitors. I give thanks to the twenty or so returning readers I’ve had over the last fifteen months. It’ll be easier for me to publish the plays and short novels I’m writing. I’m finally starting to get serious about this little hobby of mine. Sarah’s Chronicles are almost over, but don’t fret, I have greater projects planned for the future. However, I will not close this blog until I reach my original goal of 100 posts. Here’s too my future and your entertainment: Woot!

Birthday Wishes

Rod Tanzol

“Happy birthday, Sarah” our heroine heard countless times throughout the day. She received that message through every form: through voices, text messages, emails, birthday cards, voice mail, and even skywriting—although she may have simply imagined that one.

She was seventeen on this day. Her junior year was over, she had finished her summer homework, and she had nothing to do but relax. She had taken her SAT in March, score over 9000—2020 actually—on that demonic test, and she had forgotten about it completely. She asked some teachers for letters of recommendation, written her college admission essays, and filled out some applications for colleges. Sarah Cruz was ready for her future. Now only if she need not suffer through her senior year…

At breakfast, her parents gave her gifts. They were as good as any other year. The severe recession has caused her mother to involuntarily take furload days at the department store at which she work, but her father, the mechanic, had seen an increase in business selling parts from used cars. Her parents’ gifts did not interest her though.

That afternoon, a package arrived in the mail. Both her parents were out. Her boyfriend had stupidly put his mailing information as the return address. Sarah wondered, “Why did he send it himself? He normally orders my gifts online and sends them directly to me. Maybe he spent the time and bought it in a store himself, or maybe it’s something cheap he got for free!” She opened the brown UPS package slowly. She used a scoring knife to cut the tape; she undid the box’s flaps slowly. She removed the plastic airbags and bubble rap excitedly. She was about to be extraordinarily pleased of upset beyond all means. Beneath lay an almost magical gift. She removed her gift from the brown box and smiled. She held an amazing pair of BOSE headphones. Taped to them was a plainly and sloppily written note that read, “You’ll get good use of these on your trip!”

The gift pleased Sarah many times over; her musical and audible problems were solved forever! Well, at least that’s how one should feel with a BOSE product. She dashed to her computer, and she skyped him. He answered the video call, “Happy Birthday!”

Gift-in-hand, Sarah responded ecstatically, “Thank you so much; I love you! I was expecting shoes, but this is amazing!”

He blushed. She gleamed. The rest of the call was silent, and Sarah forgot to question the hand-written note that accompanied her gift. It didn’t matter though. It was only ten in the morning, and she had an amazing day!

That evening, Nikki called her over for a late lunch. Sarah dressed well, as usual. Nikki wore a more casual attire. They went to a small restaurant in town. The name didn’t matter as long as Sarah enjoyed the food there. When they got there, however, it was seemingly quiet. The hostess led the two into the back room. Sarah was excited, and she knew what this meant: SURPRISE PARTY!

About thirty friends greeted the birthday girl. This was the best birthday she had ever had. The group ate, chatted, and danced more appropriately than one might assume that teenagers would. Most of them were nerdier than the average teen. The day excited her. She received a few small gifts after the cake. The most important gift, however, came in a small envelope.

Joe and Nikki took turns explaining. Nikki began, “We know how much you miss him…”

Joe continued where Nikki slowed down, “So, we all chipped in and got you train tickets to Canada so you can see him.”

Nikki added, “We know how much you wanted to do this, but we also know how indecisive you are.”

Joe commented, “Yeah, Sarah, we were afraid you back down and never try!”

Nikki finished, “Because of that, we made the decision for you! You’re going to Canada, and you’ll love it! Cisco already knows that you’re coming. He’ll pick you up at the station and then bring you to his home in Ontario. The train leaves at noon in exactly one week. We’ll bring you to Penn Station in the city, and that’ll be it.”

Sarah started crying tears of joy. She thanked everyone, and the guests started congratulating her. Sarah made her rounds, and the party dwindled down after this. Everyone said his or her appropriate farewell. The party eventually cleared, and everything was cleaned. Sarah went home with Nikki, and she went to bed content beyond her wildest dreams.

#061 ~ Flop

2009-06-12T21:36:00.001-04:00

I wrote this for a school assignment. I had to try imitating JD Salinger’s style in The Catcher in the Rye. I wonder how I did.

Flop

Rod Tanzol

I had a job interview last week. I’ve always hated interviews. I much rather learn about another person by having deep meaningful conversations. It kills me when people, especially big companies, think that they can learn everything about a person by reading a piece of paper and asking a guy a few stupid questions. I’m much better than anyone who works for a stinking company because I talk with people. I don’t talk to them and demand answers. I let the truth reveal itself. I’m a much better person because I don’t pry. However, people who work for big companies have paychecks and money. I needed money. That’s why I want to talk about my interview.

The day before the interview, I had a deep conversation with my best friend Julie. We were drinking on her aunt’s porch. We had both just turned twenty-one, but we had been doing this for a few years now. It was always irksome when someone would chastise us for drinking illegally before that. Everyone who yelled at us was a hypocrite. When Julie and I were twenty, what right did people have to shit us with the law when they themselves were legal at eighteen? It killed me. That day we were talking about tattoos.

Julie said, “I wish I had the cash to get another tattoo, Zach. I want one so badly!”

I agreed, “I wish I could get another one right now, too. I have the money, but I need it to buy a suit for my interview tomorrow.” I forgot to mention that I got a tattoo the week before. I got a tribal band around my left arm. I hated people who judge you poorly because you made a long-term commitment to a piece of art. It killed me. They’re just jealous. I need to conform to this world though if I want to go anywhere in it, so I got something that wasn’t ostentatious.

We sighed in disappointment. She shrugged her shoulders and bid me farewell, “Good luck with that tomorrow, Terrison.” Our words were so heavy that little need to be said. I finished my beer and went to my dad’s house to see if I could sleep there that night.

My dad lived with my two younger brothers. He was just a few blocks away from where I was. I didn’t want to feel committed to my family or anything for that matter. I simply stayed away. I wasn’t really sure if they wanted me there anyway. In the few moments that it took me to get there, I thought about how much I resented my dad. He would always go out with some floozy in his Beamer, zipping around at high speeds trying to impress her. He was immature and irresponsible. He’d always leave me to take care of my little brothers. We were all older now, but I still had to keep tabs on my brothers when I was around. My dad would leave, and say it’s what mom would want. Just because he wooed my mother by doing that shit didn’t meant that he could find her replacement by repeating that shit. She hated herself, hence her permanent departure. She always resented her life. It hurt when she jumped off that bridge, but I learned to deal with it. I’d always occupy myself with new hobbies and jobs. Since she died, I‘ve tried everything. I hated those types who mourned indefinitely. I had no reason to waste time mourning like them. It killed me. I don’t think she’d want her kids to have a step-mom as or more naïve than herself. I’m certain of it. My dad didn’t care about her wishes or my brothers. He just cared about himself. I resented my father because he wouldn’t grow up.

I arrived at his door. I rang the doorbell. No one answered. I didn’t have a key. The most irresponsible man in the world, my dad, thought he would teach me responsibility by kicking me out of the house. I’d go inside if I had one. I had to wait for someone to answer the door. I hoped it wasn’t my father. I waited until my patience could no longer stand it. I knocked on the door to get my brothers’ attention. I knew they were home because I could hear the television. I’d have called them on my cellphone if I'd paid my bill. The bills were outrageous, and I couldn’t pay them. Pre-pay phones were too costly the way I used them, but I was afraid to commit to a two-year contract. Now I have a phone, but no service. Phone companies were all thieves. It killed me. I banged on the front door. Footsteps were the house’s response to my action.

The older of my two brothers answered the door. I said, “Hey Tyler, is dad home?”

H answered, “No, he ain’t. Waddaya want?” I stared him down. He rescinded his rough attitude. He motioned for me to come inside. I went into the living room. My other brother was playing videogames. I went to my old bedroom and looked for a shirt and tie. I had those shitty items at least, but I needed a jacket and pants. I laid them on my bed. There weren’t any wrinkles, so I hung them up so I could get them easily tomorrow. I didn’t really miss this place at all. I’d be a sap if I did. I’m much better than some sappy flit. I returned to the living room. Tyler and Cody treated me as if I had never left. There was no reason for them to feel any shame or longing. I was their brother, and that was all.

My dad came home. He didn’t know that I was home. I should have called him and warned him, but I didn’t. He was upset to see me. I could tell it in the phoniness of his voice. He lied, “Zach, it’s great to see you.” I returned the same lie to him. I hated liars. They killed me.

I worked up the courage to swallow my pride and murder my dignity. I tried to ask him a favor, but he interrupted me. I missed my chance to ask. I murdered my soul for nothing. It was torture. He stated insinuatingly, “I seen yous guys down the shore.” I had no idea what he was talking about. Maybe I was too drunk to remember. He saw the clueless look on my face. He detailed, “I saw you, Julie, her brother, and your other friend.”

I remembered. I asked him, “Bruce, why didn’t you approach us?” I never called him dad to his face. I used it in conversation with others for convenience’s sake. I used his real name when I talked to him. I didn’t respect him enough to give him a title of power and authority over me.

He didn’t answer me. Instead, he picked up where he cut me off. “Waddaya need, Zach?”

I died on the inside again. I told him bluntly, “I have a job interview tomorrow. Can sleep here tonight so I can wash-up in the morning?”

He nodded his head yes, but he wanted more information from me. He asked, “What type of job is it? I’m surprised you could get anything without a degree.” I ignored his ignorance of my abilities. I didn’t want to speak to him, but I guessed that I owed him answers since he was letting me sleep home for once.

“It’s a public relations job, Bruce. If I get the job, I’ll basically be put to work bullshitting bios for the higher-ups and maintaining Facebook pages for them.”

“What’s it pay, Zach?”

“Twice minimum wage.”

He seemed to approve, but then he tried to make himself feel bigger. He had no right to comment. He was living off my mother’s money, social security, disability, and his railroad pension. He didn’t work anymore. He barked at me, “You should join the air force, like I did in the seventies. ‘Nam built me some character. I got a job with Port Authority after that. Besides, the government takes good care of its soldiers now. Go make Iraqistan into a friggen parking lot. Make me proud.” Little did he know that I had already talked to an air force recruiter a few weeks ago. Although, I was rejected because they found out that I used to be on Xanex. It was after my mother died, for fuck’s sake. Who needs them? I’m better off here. I don’t need to be blown to pieces by some angry extremist.

I humored him, “Maybe I will.” He resumed with his normal life. He said that he’d leave the door unlocked for me, and I went on my merry way. I had to go to my ex-girlfriend’s house to get my good dress shoes. Her name was Fae. I lived with her and her family after my dad kicked me out. They were some of the most stressful people in the world. They were always busting my chops about the money I owed them, or my degree I never finished, or my countless hobbies. I left most of my belongings there. I’m surprised that she kept my stuff for me. It was probably just a ploy so she’d have a way to lure me back and yell at me some more. I broke up with her because she was always aggressive and demanding. She expected me to have a plan for my entire life and to be trying to do something meaningful with my life by now. She wanted me to be something. If it weren’t for her, I would have never finished high school. She pushed me a lot, but I think she pushed me too much. I didn’t want to see her, but I had to.

I rang her doorbell. Her brother let me inside. He wanted to say something to me, but if his sister heard him talking to me, all hell would break loose. Fae greeted me with her usual kindness, “What do you want, shit-face?”

“I need my shoes. May I get them, please?”

Her brother retrieved the shoes. She bitched, “Are they for your interview tomorrow?”

“Yes,” I answered and nodded. Julie probably told her. I was afraid to pry. Worse, I was afraid of her. She was about to explode. Her brother gave her my shoes. He ran away, seemingly apologetically. Fae threw the left shoe at me. It hit me. It hurt like hell, but I took it without reaction. I let her have her way.

She screamed, “Mr. Ambitious wants to start something new. Mr. Ambitious is finally going to become Mr. Successful and pay back the tens of thousands of dollars in student loans my family cosigned for him. Mr. Ambitious is going to make up for being such a quitter and fucking loser. Mr. Ambitious is going to become Mr. Something. Oh, wait! I’m fooling myself. Mr. Ambitious is going nowhere. Take your shoes, and don’t come back until you’re worthy of my respect!” She threw the other shoe at me. She hit my friggen chest. I was winded.

I had no idea what she was talking about. I was ambitious. I started my fine arts degree, but then I had a change of heart and started a degree in computer engineering. Although, I couldn’t take the stress. So, I stopped going to school. Back in high school, I started jujitsu classes, but I gave up on it before I got my next belt. It was such a useless hobby. I joined the electricians union, but I quit because I spent all my money doing stupid shit. I had to sell my tools to get out of trouble. That was stupid of me. I couldn’t afford my union dues or even work anymore. I didn’t like the work even, but I knew it was a necessary evil. I really just wanted to find a quick fix for everything. I got a job freelancing for a magazine, but I stopped because I didn’t care for the deadlines. The pay wasn’t enough either. I need to have a larger portfolio to earn a decent living. I didn’t want to wait forever to see the benefits. I had ambition, but life was just stressful. I’m more ambitious than most people are. I’m the most ambitious guy I know! I’ve always tried new things. Others just settled into comfortable lives with no ambition to do anything else. They became prostitutes and sellout their ambition for stability and comfort. It killed me.

I gathered my shoes. I said flatly, “I love you too.” Then, I went on my way. I heard a loud screech once I was on the street. I’d show her. I’d stick with this job and finally pay off my debts.

I remember dropping my shoes off at home and then bumming off a ride from Julie’s brother. He was going to the mall. I thought that I’d get a decent suit there. I first tried my luck at Penny’s. I hadn’t planned it, but there was a sale on men’s suits at the department store. Maybe this was a sign. I always followed signs. Whom was I kidding? If I headed any signs or warnings, I would have realized that my mother was going to kill herself or maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation. I found a black suit on sale. It fit me perfectly. I returned home. I had everything I needed.

I slept well that night. I showered in the morning, I shave, and I got dressed. I left the tags on my new suit, but tucked them into the sleeve. I wasn’t certain if I’d be keeping it forever. I hated being committed to one thing. Bruce commented that I looked as sharp as sniper. My brothers didn’t say anything. Bruce offered to take me. I declined. It was quicker for me to take the Path trains into the city. Besides, I didn’t want to become further indebted to that man.

I left home and got to my destination just in time. I had high hopes for my interview. I was in the lobby when reality sank in. I saw countless employees enter the lobby and I realized that they were what I hated. They were deceitful liars, hypocrites, and prostitutes. None of them looked truly happy. They just forced smiles onto their faces so they could earn their paychecks with no questions asked. I knew that this was not going to be the job for me. I didn’t care that I need the job and the money. I reasoned that I’d find another job eventually. I ran out of that office building quickly. I didn’t want to go home just yet, and I wanted to do something meaningful and productive with my day. I remembered seeing a tattoo parlor on my way to the office building from the Path station. I went there.

Inside, the tattoo artist greeted me. I recognized him. I had a studio art class with him when I was in college. He remembered me as well and asked how life was. I told him that I had nothing going for me. He said that his gig in the tattoo parlor was the only thing he had going for him. I really didn’t care though. I was just trying to be polite. After the small talk, we shifted to business. He asked, “What can I do for ya?”

I responded, “I’m not sure. I want a tattoo, but I don’t have enough cash.”

“Well, Terrison, I’m willing to trade,” he said. I contemplated offering my new suit, but then he stated, “I like your watch.” I looked at my wrist. I didn’t even realize that I was wearing one. I had no attachment to it. Now that I knew I had it, I didn’t want to be committed to it either. I gave it to him. He really liked it. We bullshitted about what type of tattoo I should get. I settled for something classic that I could hide. An hour later, I had a heart tattoo with a banner across it that read mom. It was on the left side of my ribcage. I said goodbye, and he gave me his business card. He said to check in once in a while.

I had enough money to get home. When I got home, I got a bag and a change of clothes. I left my suit in my old closet for safekeeping. I didn’t want to be in Bruce’s house much longer. Before I left, I used the house phone and I called Julie’s cell phone. Her brother picked up. I asked if he wanted to hang with me at his apartment. He knew I was looking for a couch to call a bed. He agreed though. Julie was there too. We all drank some beers. They asked me how the interview went. I was ashamed. I lied and said that I wasn’t qualified. I went to sleep that night not caring about what would do the next day. It didn’t really matter anyway.

#060 ~ Sarah’s Chronicles: Plotting

2009-06-10T21:37:00.001-04:00

“Sarah’s Chronicles” is coming to an end. It’s been about a year since I started this series. I always intended for it to be a big joke, but it’s been fun experimenting with different elements of drama. I’ve grown as a writer since then. I hope I’ve grown for the better. I’m not sure whether or not I should end it on a happy or said note. I have the ending planned, but I don’t know if I should be cruel to my characters. Well, here’s another piece of the story:

Plotting

Rod Tanzol

Nikki, worried for Sarah’s sanity, asked her a question, “Do you need any help plotting your course to Canada?”

Sarah looked at her. Nikki’s concern touched her, but she did not smile. Almost robotically, Sarah asked, “I like your sandals. Where did you get them?”

Nikki was frustrated with this response. “Sarah,” she explained, “you know where I got these. You were with me when I bought them.” She shook her head in disbelief.

Sarah wasn’t in reality. She apologized, “I don’t remember. I’ve seen so many wonderful shoes in the last few months that I must be overwhelmed.”

Nikki understood the root of the problem and consoled Sarah, “Don’t fret, school’s almost over, and you can go visit him.”

“We don’t get out until the end of June. I don’t know if I can wait three more weeks!” she cried.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nikki urged Sarah. “You have three weeks left of nothing to do in school. It’s just a relaxing waiting game. You can handle this!”

Flatly, Sarah said, “No, I can’t.”

Irked, Nikki yelled, “Don’t be like that! You’re just being difficult. You talk to him every day. You know every detail of each other’s lives. You spend all your free time talking to him. What’s going to happen when you see him? Are you waiting for his warm embrace? Seriously, think about what you’re doing. What’ll happen when you leave him again? How quickly will you become depressed again?”

Those words brought Sarah to tears. She cried, “Are you just saying that I’m wasting my time with him. You’ve always resented him. Do you just want me to break up with him?”

Anger and irrationality were abound. Nikki fought the temptation to answer affirmatively to that question. She gave a more comforting answer than she originally intended, “I just want you to be happy, and I don’t think your happiness includes a guy who’s lazy and won’t make an effort to come visit you or his friends.”

Sarah screamed, “Shut up! I need to go change my shoes!” She fumingly stormed away from Nikki.

-|-|-

The next day, Sarah went to school. She dredged through her day like a snake through sewage. It was disgusting work, but she did anyway, and with great efficiency too. Sarah showed some slight joy with the completion of her school day, but she held remorse for returning home.

Joe texted her. She hadn’t talked to him in a while. It was refreshing to hear from someone different. The message read, “How many riddles does it take to confuse you?” Sarah didn’t feel like interpreting his clearly idiotic message.

She responded, “-_- grow up.”

Joe called her. She answered. “So, what’s up?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“That’s a shame,” Joe said. “Let’s go to the mall.”

“Why?” Sarah asked.

“You can help me find some new summer clothes!”

Sarah sighed, “You’re such a typical guy. It’s the middle of June! The fall collections are already out.”

Joe answered, “That’s ridiculous. I just want to find some bright colored shirts and some new shorts.”

“We’ll look, but guy clothes are so boring. Besides, the fall stuff is already out. Haven’t you noticed that the back-to-school commercials started airing?”

Joe didn’t care, “Oh well!” We’ll look anyway. We’ll go to GameStop afterwards and see if anything is on sale.”

Sarah answered only mildly reluctantly, “Sure. I’ll meet you at the train station. It’s only 20 minutes to the mall that way.”

“I’m not really sure if I want to go, but I have nothing better to do,” Sarah thought to herself. Was she finally trying to make a decision?

Who knew? Sarah met Joe at the station, and off to the mall they went. Joe dragged Sarah through the men’s departments of various stores. Sarah laughed at him. She was right. There were no summer clothes available. Joe managed to find one pair of shorts on clearance. They went to GameStop, found nothing interesting, and they went to the food court. They bought no food and just laughed at the idiots around them. An awkward silence grew between them. Joe broke it with a stupid question. He asked, “Does it itch?”

Sarah was confused and disturbed. “Does what itch?” she asked.

Joe spread his arms over his wide knees and stared at her austerely into her eyes. He asked, “Does it hurt when he calls? Does your body ache? Do you burn for his warm embrace? Do you have an itch that only he can scratch?”

Sarah turned flushed. She asked, “Excuse me?”

Joe restated, “Does it itch?”

“Does what itch?”

“Christ!” Joe exclaimed, “Do I have to explain it again? Does your knee itch? You keep scratching it, and it looks like it’ll bleed if you keep at it!”

“Oh,” Sarah remarked, “I thought you said something completely different.”

“What might that be?” Joe asked. Sarah was hesitant to answer. Joe’s cell phone chimed. He received a test message. He told Sarah to hold on for a moment. He typed a long response.

Sarah asked, “Who are you texting?”

Joe finished his message and answered her question, “Nikki was just asking to borrow my tripod; she has a photography project to do.”

“Why would she know that you have a tripod?” Sarah asked.

Joe answered the question inquisitively, “Nikki and I talk to each other; we’re friends now.”

Sarah was in disbelief. She asked, “I thought she hated you! Since when do the two of you talk?”

“I don’t know,” Joe said. He spitefully joked, “Since when does your dad allow you to have friends with penises?”

Sarah laughed, “I convinced him that you were gay and gave me good advice when we went shoe shopping together.”

Joe’s face went flat. He answered more flatly than he looked, “Thanks. I didn’t know I liked boys or shoes.”

Sarah joked, “Knowledge is power. You learn something new every day.”

Joe texted Nikki again. Sarah urged him to hurry up. It was getting late. The two took the train back home. Each went a separate way once they arrived in their town. They bid each other farewell, and night fell.

#059 ~ Sarah’s Chronicles: Connections

2009-05-19T21:17:00.001-04:00

I’ve been working on 11 larger projects, and I’ve been neglecting the smaller pieces. Hmm… Oh, well?

Connections

Rod Tanzol

“Are you feeling better, Sarah?” asked a distant voice through her headset.

“Yes, I am, Cisco,” she sighed staring into her webcam. She continued, “I only have a few more weeks until I kill my dad with a heart attack!”

“What the hell are you talking about? Should I be concerned for you or your father?” Cisco asked timidly. Sarah could see beads of sweat form on his forehead.

“Didn’t I tell you?” she asked looking for a specific answer.

The sweat on Cisco’s forehead dripped onto his keyboard. He gave the wrong answer, “No, Sarah, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Pray tell!”

Sarah looked away in embarrassment. She smiled and then returned her attention. She rationalized aloud, “I just assumed that you knew, or I must have imagined telling you. Who knows?”

Cisco smiled wryly and murmured, “You should know.” Sarah didn’t catch this; she was too busy adding a few recent Korean singles to her music library. She selected “603” by Again. It played softly as Cisco continued to speak, “How can you stand listening to all that Korean stuff?”

Sarah snared at him, “Hey, I don’t complain about the…”

Cisco interrupted her, “Boom, Headshot!” His hands were honed for playing a game.

Frustrated, Sarah continued speaking, “sounds you make while you play video games.”

Cisco denied her grievance, “I’m quiet when I play games.”

Sarah sneered, “Of course you don’t make sounds.”

“Just be happy that I stopped complaining about that singer you have as your desktop wallpaper! I’m a changed man.” Sarah quickly sent a screen shot to Cisco. He shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes. “Oh,” he conferred.

“Yeah,” Sarah said victoriously, “Rain hasn’t been my wallpaper since he released ‘Rainism’ for your information. If anyone should be complaining it’s me; I put up with the half naked posters of models and actresses that you have plastered over ever inch of available wall space in your room!” Her face was flushed and her heart was racing.

Cisco gave Sarah a moment to calm down before apologizing. “Fire” by 2NE1 began playing. Sarah skipped it quickly; she wasn’t very fond of it. An older song began to play in its place: “Tell Me” by the Wonder Girls. Her favorite group calmed her.

“I’m sorry,” Cisco said. Sarah wasn’t paying much attention to him. “Hey,” he called out, “You never explained why or how you’ll be giving your father a heart attack.”

Sarah laughed, “I’m running away to Canada when school ends next month. I miss you so much.”

Cisco was dumbfounded. “Eh?” he grunted.

“Don’t act so surprised, Cisco. Nikki and Joe asked why I didn’t decide to do that sooner.”

Cisco was still confused. His mind was too busy to close his mouth.

Sarah barked, “You don’t know me at all! I need to go change my shoes!” Sarah terminated the connection before Cisco could see her tears.

#058 ~ Sarah’s Chronicles: Endangered

2009-04-30T16:18:00.003-04:00

Endangered

Rod Tanzol

“I just love shoes!” Sarah cheered gleamingly into her microphone. The camera captured the twinkling of her eyes. Cisco could not resist her every heed. Sarah proceeded to send to Cisco links of her favorite shoes.

There was no testosterone left in his system; he gladly looked at the various shoes and commented appropriately. “I like these,” he said as he sent the link back to Sarah.

“Aren’t they cute?” Sarah giggled.

Cisco agreed, “Yes! Should I order this pair for you?”

“Thank you! I love you! You’re the best!” she averred. Cisco placed the order. Sarah would receive them in about five business days. Sarah quickly disconnected all communications with Cisco. She was content. She was getting new shoes, and she had the rest of the day to do what she had to do. However, her joy quickly subsided to grief. She went to sleep early that night.

-|—|-

A week had passed, and Sarah had felt various ups and downs. One afternoon, the deliveryman rang the doorbell. Mrs. Cruz answered the door. She signed for the package. She put it on Sarah’s bed. She texted her daughter, “You have a delivery.”

Sarah was at Nikki’s. The pair went through their backyards and the fence to get to Sarah’s house. They went through the kitchen, then upstairs, and then to Sarah’s room. Sarah ripped open the package to find a shoebox. She unveiled a pair of faux crocodile pumps.

“They’re so beautiful!” Nikki cried out! “They’re so adorable! It almost makes me not hate your boyfriend,” she yelled aloud.

Sarah put her hand to Nikki’s mouth and whispered angrily, “Be quiet! My parents don’t know about him!” Sarah removed her hand.

Nikki laughed in a quiet manner, “How do they not know about him? He sends stuff to you all the time!”

“They think that I spend all day in my room on my computer entering sweepstakes,” Sarah explained.

“Are they that gullible?” Nikki asked.

“Sadly, my parents are, but Casey knows.”

“Won’t she use it against you?”

“I don’t have to worry. I’ll just lie to my dad and say that she’s pregnant. My boyfriend is hundreds of miles away in another country for Christ’s sake. My dad’ll worship me like I’m the Virgin Mary. ”

“What’s with Dominicans worshipping Mary?” Nikki asked jokingly.

Sarah’s face turned an ugly shade of red. She barked, “I’m Puerto Rican! Don’t you ever get that wrong!”

Nikki laughed hysterically. She asked, “Since when do you care?”

Sarah’s face went flat: -_-

She explained, “Since my dad painted the Puerto Rican flag on my ceiling. Look up!” Sarah pointed. She explained, “He thinks that I’ve been depressed because I’m not ‘in touch with my native culture.’”

Nikki looked at the red white and blue of the territory's commonwealth flag. Sarah continued, “For the love of Christ, I was born in America and raised by a Scottish woman. My father’s logic is impeccable. I’ve given up on trying to be more Puerto Rican.” The two girls laughed at the situation.

Sarah left her shoes on her bed, and the girls went back to Nikki’s. However, Sarah did not want to be at Nikki’s any longer. It was 7:00PM, and Sarah made up the excuse that she wanted to go to sleep early. Nikki understood that something was wrong, and that Sarah’s recent good mood was only a façade. She let Sarah go, but bid her, “I’m here if you need to talk.”

Sarah went home, curled up with her new shoes, cried a little, and went to sleep.

#056 ~ Sarah’s Chronicles: Issues

2009-04-29T21:53:00.002-04:00

Sarah’s Chronicles is finally following the course I planned. It took a while, But I finally figured out how to incorporate the original ending I wrote last January. The original piece I wrote will see many changes, but this entire work will become more fluid and engrossing, and it’ll feel like a real story. When I’m done with all of it, I’ll edit it into a cohesive novelette of sorts. Good luck to me. Enjoy!

Issues

Rod Tanzol

It was a humdrum school day like any other. Students underappreciated their free and mandatory educations. The day was little warm but breezy. Some students were breaking sweats, while others complained of the breezes that came through open windows. The day was a long one. It was noon when Sarah left reality.

She stared at her shoes and admired their color and texture. She took special note of the various straps and stitching. They were wonderful shoes. However, she looked at them with a loyalty to her recent despair and hopelessness.

The bell rang. She left her class. She was all too observant of the student body’s footwear. In the hall, she interrupted a kissing couple to ask the lady, “Where did you get your shoes? I love them!”

“Oh,” the girl responded, “I got them at DSW!” Her boyfriend seemed upset as his lips rested.

Sarah did not know the girl well, but she had seen her in the halls before. She resolved, “I must go there!” The bell rang, and all the students ran off to their appropriate destinations. Sarah, however, took her time. She went to her locker, and changed her shoes. In the process, Casey managed to sneak up behind her.

“What’s up?” the younger Cruz sister enthusiastically inquired. The shock of the moment caused Sarah to fall forward into her locker. He shoulders were caught at its frame. Three pairs of shoes tumbled out of her locker. “What are those?” Casey asked.

Sarah rushed to hide them back in her locker. “Oh, It was just a spare pair of shoes incase these ones,” she pointed down at her precious shoes, “hurt or something.”

“Are you sure?” Casey asked although she new Sarah was lying. “You have a problem.”

Sarah laughed. “Everybody has been saying that lately. I don’t know why everyone thinks that,” she explained nervously.

“Stop trying to hide it. You’re obsessed with shoes!” Casey divulged.

Sarah’s nostrils flared and her eyebrows slanted fiercely. “Go to class before you get detention!” she roared with a tone of anger and caring. Casey ran off so that she would not face the wrath of Sarah. Once she calmed, Sarah affirmatively lied to herself, “I don’t have a problem at all!”

Sarah went to lunch, but she did not eat. Her soul found satisfaction in disparity. She sulked. No one could lift her spirits. Joe spoke to her regardless of any confirmation that she could hear him or that she was listening, “Sembri disperata come una puttana senza scarpe o di un cliente.”

She looked at Joe flatly and said sans zeal, “I don’t know Italian, Joe. Stop acting crazy.”

With eyes that looked sincere and a pout to mach, Joe asked, “Stai triste?”

With her limited knowledge of Spanish, the inflection of Joe’s voice, and the clues from his face, she inferred his words’ meaning and constructed her response. “No, I’m not,” she lied blindly. Both parties knew the truth.

“Is something wrong?” he asked seriously.

“No,” she responded, “I’d just rather be buying shoes than be in school.”

“I presume that’s what you did yesterday. Was it not successful?” Joe asked interrogatively.

“Yes, I cut school to buy shoes. Yes, I bought some wonderful shoes. However, I want more. I no matter how much I like a shoe, I just can’t find the right pair.”

“Don’t despair, you’ll find it,” Joe declared. However, “it” was not a thing he hinted.

The period passed, but Sarah remained to herself only commenting occasionally to the table about their conversation. Before the end of the period, she hit Joe for his attention and asked, “What did you say to me in Italian before?”

“Oh,” Joe sighed than laughed. He smirked and continued, “I said, ‘You desperate like a whore without shoes or a client.’”

“I am not a shoe-whore,” Sarah laughed.

“I know,” Joe said. He paused and chuckled, “You’re more like a scarpemanic… or at least you could be if the term were real.” Sarah glared at him with austere bemusement. Joe knew to elaborate, “I think that you are a shoe-aholic!”

Sarah wanted to tell him off, but the bell rang, and Joe ran to his next class. She resorted to texting to defend her habits. She typed, “I don’t have a problem!” (Alas, she typed that meaning, albeit with fewer characters.) Sarah was content for the moment. The truth of the matter was that neither one of the two had truly won the argument. Joe was spouting nonsense based in truth while Sarah was in denial. The world seemed in balance.

That night, she IM’d Cisco. She forwent the usual conversations via Skype and returned to her past methods of international communication. Her beloved maple-sucker was perplexed, not buy the alcohol content of his syrup but by her actions. She claimed that her throat was sore, but she really did not want him to hear the inherent dolefulness of her voice.

Cisco: r u sure ur alrite?

Sarah: why wouldnt I be alright?

Cisco: Well… I jst thnk that u hvn’t bn urself lately…

Sarah: don’t be so concerned. it isnt so bad

Cisco: I MISS YOU!

Sarah’s heart imploded, her eyes swelled, and her soul bled tears. She ended the conversation and went to her closet. She dumped countless pairs of shoes before her and tried them on. She laughed and felt a warm tingle inside. Albeit ephemeral, the feeling sufficed until morning.

-|-|-

In the morning, Sarah found that something in her room was amiss. The objects on her desk stood askew. Even stranger, there was a webcam clipped to the top of her monitor, and taped to her monitor was a hand written note from Casey. It read, “I know you hate webcams, but you need this. I found Cisco’s address, and I ordered one for him. I hope you use it well and often!”

Sarah smiled. Had her sister done something beneficent for her? Sarah thought it over and concluded, “No, video chats just use more bandwidth. Our connection is already slow enough. That evil wrench only knows how to use up bandwidth!” She then felt violated. She asked herself, “Am I that deep of a sleeper that I didn’t hear my sister come into my room and fuck with my computer.

Sarah tried blocking out any negative feelings. However, she had few positive ones, and she, therefore, went to school with a cold, unfeeling demeanor. The day was a blur, and Sarah couldn’t give a damn about anything.

-|-|-

A few days later, she had her first video chat with Cisco who received his camera. She dolled up and straightened her hair for the occasion. She cleaned her room behind her, and adjusted all of her writing. Their conversation was nothing spectacular, but it made her smile. It was her first genuine smile in months. It was nice to see him. Sure, she had looked at photos of him, but it was first time in years that she could see the expressions on his face and the love he held in his eyes. The only question of substance was this, “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

#055 ~ Sarah’s Chronicles: Shoes

2009-04-28T23:15:00.002-04:00

Please ignore my recent lack of publishing. I’m busy preparing for the SAT and multiple AP exams. Oh JOY! I completely less than three standardized testing. Now if only I had the will to go down the river with a knife…*

*This is a facetious introduction for those of you concerned.

Shoes

Rod Tanzol

Sarah Cruz awoke one morning with an insatiable lust for shoes. Her mouth was dry. The only thing that could quench her thirst was shopping spree. “I need shoes!” she screamed in her mind. She was determined. She showered, did her hair, and got dressed.

She left in a hurry skipping breakfast and “borrowing” her father’s wallet. “He’s so oblivious that he’d probably think that he lost it,” she rationalized. She ran out the door and jumped onto the nearest commuter train. She got off in downtown Jersey and went to the mall.

She entered the mall through its grand doors and roared her battle cry, “You’re mine, shoes!” With a fierce determination and a thousand dollar limit, Sarah marched through every store.

Thirteen pairs later, she returned home. It was 3:00 PM. She got in before her parents and sister. No one should have noticed that she cut school or spent almost $315 on assorted footwear. She quickly hid her new things in her closet, lay in her bed, and cried.

“What’s wrong?” Casey asked from the doorway. She could tell that something was affecting her older sister on a deep, disorderly level.

Sobbing, Sarah barked, “Go away!”

Other loved ones and friends tried ousting a proper response: Nikki, Mr. Cruz, Mrs. Cruz, and even Cisco via three different means. However, Sarah remained reclusive that evening.

Her stomach growled. “Oh crap,” she though, “Now I have to face everyone.” She went downstairs, and got a glass of water. She wasn’t going to eat, and she just ignored everything her family said.

It wasn’t until 5:00 AM that she spoke to anyone. Well, she didn’t talk to anyone, per se…

She knelt in a glass pew before a silicone altar. She was in an open place. Beneath her flew a river that she could not touch. She looked up. She began to speak to an un-groomed man that stood between her and the altar. She spoke to the Lord—someone much more powerful than Rod. Before her stood a short man. He only stood five feet tall. His skin was one shade pinker than the paper in Sarah’s printer, and his platinum-blond hair twinkled in the sunlight. His suit was white as snow with only subtle accents of mint and violet. Yes, ‘twas to Lord Zanto she spoke. “Zē,” she addressed him, “Why am I so sad? I feel as if my heart is a black hole.”

“Isn’t it obvious, dear?” the short man jested.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Well, I suggest you do some sole searching…”

#054 ~ Sarah’s Chronicles: Easter

2009-04-12T21:21:00.000-04:00

Easter

Rod Tanzol

Sarah awoke abruptly to Casey’s ceremonial monologue, “Give me Jesus, or give me death! I worship thee who died on the cross so that rabbits named Pisces and Peter Cottontail may lay eggs, murder lambs, and give us jellybeans. May the god of Sun make this day bright so I can gorge on his son’s chocolaty ears!” Her prayer then ended with spastic chanting and what sounded like tongues. Sarah wondered if her sister’s head were spinning at that moment.

Sarah showered, got dressed, spent an hour on her hair, and went to church with her family. She was Catholic. Therefore, she listened to some old croak complain about the parish’s money problems and how people only go to Church twice a year. Hey, that’s twice as often as once! The pastor should have been grateful for that little tidbit!

After mass, the Cruzes went home, and they ate breakfast. Friends came over for lunch. All of Mr. and Mrs. Cruz’s families came over for dinner. Sarah hated large family gatherings; her young cousins would congregate in her room and sabotage her computer. Casey’s possessions always remained unscathed somehow. The holiday eventually ended.

In a sugary slumber, Sarah dreamed once more of a fantastic land of maple leaves:

-|-|-

“Oh crap!” Sarah thought to herself. She looked around. She didn’t know where she was, and no one was around to help her. Suddenly, a writer’s convenience jumped out of nowhere. It told Sarah what to do and how to do it. The story then ended because Rod thinks the world is over…

#053 ~ Sarah’s Chronicles: Good Friday

2009-04-10T21:19:00.000-04:00

Good Friday

Rod Tanzol

Sarah sat in a broken desk in her math class. She ignored the teacher and looked out the window. It was a glum day, nevertheless. Why would anything be cheery? Sarah didn’t notice it at first, but she was chewing on the end of her pencil. Lighting struck, and she began to cry. She thought to herself, “It’s spring, for fuck’s sake! I want some sunshine!” She resolved that she’d look for good news. Out came her phone, and she texted away.

To Cisco, she typed, “The sky broods over the wasteland that is my home. The wind blows bitterly. I shiver and freeze. I can’t move. The violent storm rapes my soul.” She hit send. The screen flashed. She ignored it and just waited for a vibration.

Her phone shook a moment later. Cisco responded, “The weather sucks here too. I’m considering reaching ‘an hero’ status this afternoon.”

Sarah’s face went flat, and she typed it, “-_- Don’t kill yourself, even if every one around you says ‘eh’ and is high on maple…“

Cisco responded, “LOL!”

The conversation ended. The bell rang. Sarah and her sister walked home in the rain. They were drenched when they got home. Sarah ran to her bedroom, changed her clothes, dried her hair. The evening passed, she had dinner with her family, and had an interesting conversation with her sister.

“Are you going to school tomorrow?” Casey asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sarah retorted.

“It’s Holy Thursday tomorrow. Didn’t you file the paperwork for a religious excuse?” Casey explained.

“Oh,” Sarah replied, “I did that last month because Nikki is going bathing suit shopping tomorrow. I almost forgot about that.”

The conversation ended with insults, and the two girls went their separate ways. In her room, Sarah killed a accidentally let Nikki die as they discussed their attack plan for the mall tomorrow. They both quit the MMO they were playing to further their conversation in person. Sarah changed into her pajamas, told her parent’s where she was going, and went to Nikki’s via the backyard.

-|-|-

“We’ll start in Sears, go to Macy’s, then Kohl’s, then Penny’s, and then we can hit Victoria’s Secret, Express, and Forever 21 to see what bathing suits we like best. We’ll stop at GameStop for a while, get lunch at Panda Express, and though buy the bathing suits we like best. Sound like a plan?” Nikki detailed.

Wide-eyed and surprised, Sarah added, “You forgot to about the Fall and Winter Clearance sales. My mom got a ninety-eight dollar dress for five! And the shoe deals are orgasmic!”

Nikki pointed and laughed at her, “Close your mouth! You’re drooling!”

Sarah felt her mouth and laughed, “Whoops!”

They slept well that night, for tomorrow they would fight valiantly and gain mall glory. With that last narration, Sarah awoke to yell at Rod, “Stop sounding like a fucking retard and start writing sensible stories with definitive beginning, middles, and ends!”

Nikki awoke and yelled at Sarah, “Go back to bed; you sound crazy!”

#052 ~ This Little Ditty: Five

2009-02-25T20:06:00.001-05:00

I just realized that I’m effed up in the head. Oh my! LoL. I think that my shorter posts qualify as a sort of flash-fiction. Hmm, whatever… It’s all good as long as you, the reader, read and enjoy my work.

This Little Ditty: Five

Rod Tanzol

“I love Jesus. Yes I do! I love Jesus! How ‘bout you? Go Fish!” the cheerleaders cheered.

Angela was shocked and confused. She addressed Frank, “What’s with the sudden influx of Christian zeal?”

Frank looked at her as if she should know what he was going to say, “Well, when they magically obtained marijuana not too long ago, they got caught.”

“Is that so?” Angela questioned.

“Yeah, it is. Most of them have been attending church services lately as part of a plea deal,” Frank divulged.

“Pray tell?” Angela asked.

He revealed, “The police chief was sympathetic with them.” With a tone that shared hidden knowledge and a sense of sarcasm, he proposed, “It’s strange; isn’t it?”

Angela was disappointed and expressed it unclearly, “I wish my father wouldn’t interfere in our affairs.”

Frank’s heart skipped a beat. His lonely heart and his adolescent hormones misinterpreted Angela’s last word. He wished his relationship weren’t platonic. He longed for her. He, however, abandoned his hopes and returned to reality.

“Well, you are the one who involved him, Angela.”

“Yeah, but he normally doesn’t intervene. He mustn’t have understood my desires,” she said to Frank although she was really talking to herself.

“What are we going to do next time?” Frank asked.

“I’m just the idea girl. It’s up to you to take action.”

Frank’s desperation for her compelled him to say, “I’ll see what I can do.”

#051 ~ Star Struck

2009-02-24T19:04:00.000-05:00

This is a follow up to “Paraskavedekatriaphobia”. I guess now it’s a series about superstition affecting people’s lives. Hurray?

Star Struck

Rod Tanzol

“Jessie,” Vera called. Vera repeated herself until her older sister paid attention.

Jessie turned to her sister, “What is it?”

“I was looking at my star charts. Jackson and I aren’t compatible,” she revealed.

“How is that so? The two of you make a wonderful couple,” Jessie contested.

“Well, I’m a Pisces, and he’s a cancer. It’s upsetting news. I should probably break up with him before I break his heart.”

Confusedly, Jessie answered, “That’s thoughtful of you. However, you should probably give him a chance. Why are you so superstitious with these things?”

“Well, I don’t feel like wasting my efforts if it won’t work out in the long run,” she rationalized.

Jessie was angry. She exploded, “John, the others, and I didn’t go through all of that on the thirteenth for you to dump him. You know you like him. Give Jackson a chance.”

“Do I have to? What if my soul mate comes along?”

“Vera, use your brain. Jackson is the best thing that’s going to happen to you. You love him, and you wear his ring so proudly.”

“I know,” Vera sighed, “but my astrological charts say it’s a bad idea.”

“Fine, whatever,” Jessie said picking up Vera’s star charts, “I’ll just tell him that you’re breaking up with him. I’ll let him down easy. How does ‘my sister refuses to date you because she can’t read her voodoo charts’ sound?

“What are you talking about, Jessie? I’m not going to waste my time if the stars say I’m not compatible. I don’t care if I am falling for him,” Vera explained senselessly.

“You’re an idiot, Vera. You’re about to throw away the best thing that’s happened to you because you can’t read a chart. Just look again,” Jessie argued.

Vera looked at her charts again, and Jessie guided Vera as she re-read her charts. Vera’s face turned red. Jessie was disappointed with her sister. Jessie uttered, “Don’t be so stupid next time.”

Vera laughed wryly in her shame. She, in fact, incorrectly read the chart.

#050 ~ Mud and Shamrocks

2009-02-23T17:39:00.001-05:00

The following story was a dialogue between a leprechaun and an ogre. Now, I think it’s a children’s story… ^_^

Mud and Shamrocks

Rod Tanzol

The leprechaun pranced through the swampy home of an ogre. Along with him, he carried a black, cast-iron pot filled with gold. Behind him trailed a rainbow. He swung his pot wildly as he walked. The shaking rainbow gave the swamp the appearance of a disco. However, this active motion came to a halt when he tripped over a stick sunken in the mud. The leprechaun stood up, regained his composure, and continued on his way.

The ogre heard the commotion on his swamp, and he went to investigate it. The ogre found tiny foot prints in the mud, and—where the leprechaun had fallen—a depression the size of a soccer ball. Something bright and glistening caught the Ogre’s eyes. He bent over to look at it. It was a mound of gold coins. What luck the Ogre had! However, he realized that it wasn’t his, so he would return it to its rightful owner. He didn’t know whose gold it was, but he used logic to deduce the owner. He knew that Leprechauns had vast amounts of gold, and he knew that leprechauns often passed his swamp. He then wondered how he would find the right leprechaun. He looked for the nearest rainbow to find the nearest pot of gold. He assumed that the leprechaun couldn’t be too far away.

So, the Ogre went searching. His goal was the end of the nearest rainbow he could see. He only saw one today, so his Job was fairly easy. He ran through the woods that surrounded his swamp. After seven minutes, he came to a clearing. He saw the end of the rainbow and the pot of gold. He noticed a brightly colored creature.

The leprechaun stood thirty centimeters high. The ogre towered at two meters tall. If it weren’t for the leprechaun’s bright green jacket and fiery hair, the ogre would have never noticed his shorter comrade. The ogre approached the leprechaun. The ogre held down the gold and presented himself, “Hello, sir. I’m an ogre, and I believe you dropped this in my swamp.”

The leprechaun’s face grew red with anger. He roared, “It was ye who tried stealing me gold. Ye se’ ye’r traps in yer swamp t’ get me. Ye’r an evil monster. I ought to kill ye for yer crime. Ye’r a thief!”

“It’s not like that,” pled the ogre. He explained, “I’m only returning the gold you dropped. I have no interests in stealing.”

“If ye didn’t steal me gold, how did ye get it?”

“I just told you. You dropped it, and I found it. I’m bringing it back to you.”

“Aye! ‘Ow did ye know it’ were me gold if ye di’n’t steal it.

“I used my brain. When I found it, I assumed it was leprechaun gold. So, I set out to find you. Now, here I am returning it to you.”

“Ye’r a bloody thief, an’ I know ye’r here to steal the rest. I’ll kill ye for this.”

“Please be reasonable. I’m honest. I did not steal your gold. I found it after you accidentally dropped it. I’m only trying to return it to you.”

“Oh. Do’t think I’m tha’ stupid. I see the lustfully-greedy look in ye’r eyes. Ye’r goin’ t’ kill me, an’ then take me gold. I wo’t let ye do that!”

“Please listen to me. I only wanted to return the gold that I found in the mud. I never stole anything, I don’t intend to steal anything, and I would never harm you.”

“Oh ho! Ye’r lyin’ t’ me. Ye’r goin’ t’ kill me, and I wo’t let ye.” The leprechaun attacked the ogre. Within seconds, twenty other leprechauns joined the battle. They pounded the ogre with their pots, burned him with their smoking pipes, mutilated him with their lucky charms, and regurgitated upon him thousands of shamrocks—the roots of which ripped through the ogre’s skin. The ogre died within a minute of this mythical donnybrook. For the next decade, the ogre, from thereon, provided nutrients for thousands of more shamrocks.

#049 ~ Demon

2009-02-22T22:10:00.003-05:00

'You might need language support for several languages to get the full effect of the story below. Don’t kill me; I’m just the messenger. Oh wait! I’m the author. Whoops… Enjoy!

Demon

Rod Tanzol

The gray sky grew grayer, and the colorful world lost its saturation. Johnny sat inside and wasted his day. He dawdled and idled. He napped and he lounged. He relaxed on this dismal day. His laziness was completely justified. Long ago, a man with two tablets even stood atop a mountain to declare this right. Time passed, and Johnny accomplished nothing. His wristwatch eventually read 23:00. Upon internalizing this information, anger and regret dominated Johnny. “Where did my day go?” he asked himself. He waited for a response. A moment of awkward silence passed. He did not answer.

He tried making the most of the time he had before he would crash. Since he had school the next day, he knew staying up late would be irresponsible. In 30 minutes, he miraculously did his laundry, read a week’s worth of news, cleaned the living room, and fed his cat. He thought about what else required his attention. Nothing did! He was surprised. No pressing matters were in his life. He spent his last free thirty minutes reading a book.

He dreamt that night. It was a splendid little dream. Bright colors, loud sounds, flora, and foliage filled the scene. He assumed he was in a tropical rainforest, but he could not actually see any trees. He knew that the leaves grew atop trunks; he saw leaves but no trunks. Another anomaly irked him. He saw feathered wings flying about and pelts preying about, but he saw no animals. Despite feeling is if he were abusing substances, nothing was amiss. He enjoyed his trip-like bliss.

In the morning, Johnny woke up rather late. He only had fifteen minutes to get to school. Racing time, Johnny drove to school, where his friends greeted him, “¿dn s,ʇɐɥʍ ˙ʎuuɥoɾ 'ƃuıuɹoɯ pooƂ”

Johnny felt as if a monkey slapped the underside of his brain. Not were the words he heard upside, but so were his ears. “Could you please repeat yourselves, guys?”

They chanted, “Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua.”

“Excuse me?” Johnny requested. He was not sure whether if he were still asleep or if he were losing his mind.

His friends cryptically spoke again, “Mῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος οὐλομένην, ἣ μυρί' Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε' ἔθηκεν…”

“Shut up!” he interrupted. He paused for a moment. He calmed down, shook his head, and rubbed his eyes. He kindly asked them to speak again, “ いづれの御時にか、女御、更衣あまたさぶらひたまひけるなかに、いとやむごとなき際にはあらぬが、すぐれて時めきたまふありけり。”

“Stop doing that!” Johnny roared! “Now speak normally!”

They continued in a fifth language, “話說故宋，哲宗皇帝在時，其時去仁宗天子已遠，東京，開封府，汴梁，宣武軍便有一個浮浪破落戶子弟，姓高，排行第二，自小不成家業，只好刺鎗使棒，最踼得好腳氣毬。”

Rage filled Johnny. With the fury equaling in magnitude of a woman’s scorn, Johnny exploded, “Shut up before I kill you all!”

“We were just messing with you,” the group resolved in unison.

Johnny continued threatening them despite their repeal, “If you ever do that again, I will slit each of your throats and rip out your vocal chords.”

“Va bene,” they said. Johnny flung himself at them. His nails were sharp, and so were his teeth. He was ready to take action. They dodged him, destroying their unity, but they quickly regrouped. “Wake up before you kill us, Johnny!” they begged. Johnny threw himself into a wall.

He awoke again. He went through his morning routine again. He arrived at school, and his friends greeted him, “Good morning, Johnny.”

“I had the weirdest dream last night. In it, I tried killing all of you,” he confessed.

In their irritating harmony, they asked, “Well, what did we do to you?”

“Well,” Johnny tried explaining with the most appropriate spin, “You all first spoke upside down. I don’t know how that happened, and then you started reciting famous texts in foreign languages.”

“Why did you want to kill us?” they asked.

“To be honest,” he spoke in a defeated, doubtful voice, “I thought you were all possessed by the devil. I mean, I thought you were all speaking in tongues.”

“Don’t be silly,” they affirmed. “We’re not possessed by the devil,” they laughed. Their voices then dropped and seriousness and fear arose, “You are! Please don’t kill us! We just want to help. We’ve scheduled a priest to do an exorcism later today.”

Johnny fit of excited incredulity mixed with senseless violence consumed him. With bat-like wings flapping, a horny head, claws, and scaly skin, Johnny attacked his friends. Blood spewed everywhere. He killed everyone who hadn’t fled. He feasted on his friends' corpses until he flew away.

#048 ~ Wap

2009-02-21T19:53:00.002-05:00

The following is a joke. It has a clear beginning, middle, and end. However, it lacks dram or purpose. Enjoy?

Wap

Rod Tanzol

“Watashi washi washi wa!” screamed the excited wapanese girl.

“Desu, Desu, Kawaii!” chanted another.

Together they cheered, “Anata wa kawaii desu!” Their audience, a seventeen-year-old Japanese guy, was not so thrilled.

“That’s not even grammatically correct,” he irritably explained.

The two Japanese-wannabes sighed and pouted. They flashed peace signs at him, and then they left.

-|—|-

The next day, the two disappointed girls discussed their recent failure. The first one cried, “How will we ever get Japanese boyfriends?”

“I’m not sure,” replied the second girl, “but I think we insulted that guy last night.”

“Do you think so?” asked the first girl.

“I’m almost definite,” confirmed the second.

“What should we do then?”

“We should probable slut it up a bit. All straight guys like sex.”

“How could you say that?” the first girl asked astonishedly.

“Just trust me.

-|—|-

They put their new plan into action. Nine months later, they each had half-Japanese children. The moral of the story: always use a condom.

#047 ~ Sarah's Chronicles: Proverbs 23

2009-02-20T20:03:00.001-05:00

The following is comical re-wording of some Bible passages. If you are unfamiliar with the Bible, it’s a book inspired by the Holy Spirit; it justifies corporal punishment and the occasional case of intolerance. For those who may be offended by biblical parodies, understand that it’s all in good fun.

Proverbs 23

Rod Tanzol

Joe and Sarah sat among friends in the cafeteria. Joe was debating with their friend Maria. Maria was a rather conservative Christian, but she was from the Coptic school of thought and not any American church. Joe, however, felt God was irrelevant to our current society. Maria discussed how the Bible was a relevant guide to life. Joe explained that Bible did not pertain to the needs of their current society. However, he said that there was one relevant piece of advice in the old book, “Rear the child with the rod. Corporal punishment works. People respond well to pain.”

Maria, slightly aggravated with Joe’s barbaric view, responded, “The Bible does not condone beating children.”

Joe justified himself, “I don’t condone abuse, but I do believe in strong discipline. Besides, the Bible does suggest hitting kids when it’s necessary.”

The people at the table were paying some attention to the conversation. One Muslim friend Named Ahmed—who often unsavorily joked about being an extremist—interrupted with an ignorant passion, “Your religion is flawed! You have three gods! Joe, you should never have kids! You’ll make a horrible parent!”

Sarah, Joe, Maria, and a few others laughed at Ahmed. Everyone spoke against him, “Shut up, Ahmed!”

“No! I’ll blow you all up!” he joked although it sounded like a convincing threat. Maria shook her head with disapproval.

“Joe, the Bible is not a proponent for corporal punishment. I have read it! Prove to me that your message is in there,” Maria proposed.

“Gladly,” Joe agreed. He motioned to Maria for her copy of the Bible; he instinctively knew that she carried at least one.

“Which version of the Bible do you want?” she asked.

Ahmed asked, “Why do you have so many Bibles, Maria?”

“They are for my Friday night Bible study class,” she explained.

“Do you have the New American Bible, Maria? I’m more familiar with that Catholic one,” Joe requested.

She rolled her eyes and gave it to him. “I’ll read along from my copy of the Bohairic Bible to see if it corresponds,” she affirmed. He thanked her, and then he opened to the Old Testament—the one based on the Torah. Joe opened up to the book of Proverbs. He spent a moment skimming through it. He came across what he needed. He read the evidence aloud, “Proverbs 23:13, ‘Withhold not chastisement from a boy; if you beat him with the rod, he will not die.’”

Maria looked at it in hers. She generally agreed. Ahmed was confused, “What on earth does that mean‽”

Sarah shared her knowledge, “Hit a kid; it won’t kill him!”

Maria frowned upon the blunt and violent message. “Continue, Joe,” she demanded.

Joe read aloud again, “Proverbs 23:14, ‘Beat him with the rod, and you will save him from the nether world.’”

Sarah spoke jokingly, “Beat your kids to save their souls.”

Joe wrapped it up with the classic adage, “Spare the rod; spoil the child.”

“Those don’t mean anything. Those just tell people to keep their kids in line,” Maria claimed.

“It clearly says to use a blunt instrument in the process. You cannot deny it. What does your Bible say?” Joe asked in a scholarly manner.

Maria seemed mildly-frustrated. She asserted, “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t hit children. Besides, that’s from the Old Testament. Jesus promotes love and compassion in the New Testament.”

“Jesus loves you, and you are entitled to your opinions,” Joe stated.

“Any more erroneous quotes from the Bible?” Ahmed asked Joe.

“Yes, I have one more,” he said. He read the Bible aloud once more, “Proverbs 23:27, ‘For the harlot is a deep ditch, and the adulteress a narrow pit.’”

Sarah gave her take, “Whores are loose; cheaters are tighter.”

Maria commented, “It has nothing to do with that! You are all going to hell.”

Joe responded with a final quote, “Mathew 7:1-2, ‘Stop judging, that you may not be judged. For as you judge, so will you be judged, and the measure with which you measure will be measured out to you.’”

Sarah and Joe laughed. Maria glared at Joe. Ahmed and the others at the table were confused. Maria resorted to g-rated insults, “Be quiet, you dummy!”

#046 ~ Racism

2009-02-19T20:26:00.002-05:00

This message pertains to those if you who know me personally. I write fiction. The stories I write may or may not be based on real life events. (A certain MonkeyHam555 confused reality with fiction.) It's up to the reader to assume everything I write is fiction until proven otherwise. To everyone else: enjoy!

Racism

Rod Tanzol

“Mommy, can I have a pet chimp? They look so cool in the news!” the little boy, whose eyes were wide and lips were pouty, asked. He anxiously awaited his mother’s response.

“No. Are you crazy‽ They are violent and filthy creatures. You may not have one!” she exclaimed!

The boy began to cry himself into a senseless fit. “But,” he screamed, “I want one! I want one! I want one!”

She threateningly raised her hand to him and scolded him, “I am not getting you chimpanzee!” The boy still cried. She raised her voice, “That’s the end of it! Shut up before I beat you!”

The boy’s mood subsided. His eyes were puffy and his nose was runny. The mother had to take a deep breath; their argument had just raised her blood pressure to dangerous levels. The boy returned to his nonsensical business, and the mother returned to her duties.

-|—|-

The next morning, the boy went to school. There his history teacher appeared distraught. The teacher spoke to the class, “Today, students, I must talk to you about political commentary and racism.”

A student interrupted the teacher with an innocent inquiry, “What is racism?”

The teacher addressed the class, “That’s a good question.” The students seemed mildly interested. “Racism,” he explained, “is when people express hatred towards each other because of skin color or race.”

The class was confused. One girl shared her qualms, “Why is skin color important?” The class looked at one another. They saw every skin color possible, but they thought it was irrelevant to life.

The teacher tried further explaining racism to the naïve class, “Some people feel that people of a skin color are better than people of another skin color. For example, one group might feel that they are more intelligent than another group because of their skin color. People will even express hatred and violence because of this.”

Another student expressed befuddlement, “What does skin color have to do with intelligence. We hate the kid in the back corner because he can’t add two and two, not because of his skin color.” The class conferred. Luckily, the mention student was absent and unable to hear the rude remarks. The teacher seemed incapable of understanding their youthful obliviousness to reality.

A third student added to the conversation, “What does racism have to do with today’s lesson?”

The teacher tried understanding the students’ mindsets. The teacher explained the circumstances of the lesson, “I’ll get to that in a little bit. First, however, all of you may have seen in the news lately that Reverend Al Sharpton is protesting a comic published in the New York Post. It features two white police officers shooting a chimpanzee. One officer then says, ‘Now they’ll have to find someone else to write the stimulus bill.’ Many protesters feel that this is a racist statement against President Obama. Sharpton is quoted as saying that the cartoon is ‘troubling at best given the historic racist attacks of African-Americans as being synonymous with monkeys.’ Class, what are your opinions on the matter?”

“I’m not sure,” said the boy from last night, “but my mom said that chimps were dirty and violent. Was she saying that the president is dirty and violent?”

The teacher swiftly terminated the boy’s misconceptions, “No, your mother was only stating her feelings about chimpanzees. Earlier this week, a woman was violently attacked by an unprovoked chimp. It’s still all over the news.”

One student raised her hand and asked, “Does the comic have anything to do with recent headlines such as that attack or the passing and signing of the economic stimulus bill?”

“Very good,” the teacher confirmed the student’s thoughts. He continued, “This comic, most likely, is a commentary or parody of those recent headlines. Now, who wants to dissect Reverend Sharpton’s theory that the cartoon is racist?”

One student explained, “It’s unimportant that the police officers are white. In a black and white newspaper, it’s cheaper to print white people than black people because it uses less ink. On an artistic level, the composition would have been too dark if the officers weren’t white because the uniforms are dark, and everything else is shaded gray.”

“It’s also accurate that the police in the comic are white because the police who shot the chimp were white,” another student added.

“Very good, class, let’s explore the use of the chimp in conjunction with Sharpton’s statement.”

“Well, Reverend Sharpton said that monkeys were a racist reference to African-Americans. However, we all know that chimps are not monkeys. They are primates like all of us in this room. We can’t be certain that it’s an allusion to past racist sentiments and propaganda.”

“That is correct. Does anyone else have anything to say about the cartoon?”

Yet another student added his two-bits, “It makes no sense that the cartoon references Obama. Anyone who understands how our nation’s legislative system works will know that Obama did not write the version of the stimulus bill that was signed into law the other day. Congress transformed the original one into their own version. It’s also not uncommon for people to compare our lawmakers to a bunch of senseless apes. The cartoonist was probably making a statement about how asinine and ineffective the stimulus bill might be or how unrelated headlines can be.”

“You make a very good point,” the teacher reinforced.

A student added her thoughts to the conversation, “I think that Reverend Al Sharpton is a sensationalist and a publicity opportunist!”

The teacher ended the conversation, “Stop right there. That’s a conversation for another day. Let’s get onto our lesson. Today we are learning about Reconstruction.”

#045 ~ This Little Ditty: Four

2009-02-18T20:15:00.001-05:00

This Little Ditty: Four

Rod Tanzol

The teacher was out of the room. Angela had nothing to do. She planted her expensive iPhone in some random guy’s backpack because she didn’t like the way he looked at her; she reported her phone stolen, and the principle expelled the boy within an hour of the incident. Angela, however, did not get her phone back yet; she would have to wait until after class to get it. It was worth it, in her opinion.

“Like so totally as if!” Angela giggled as she feigned interest in her fellow classmates’ conversation. She sat between two incessantly-loquacious girls. Angela hated ignorant Valley Girl speak. She found it migraine-inducing and demeaning to human intelligence. The girls understood Angela’s message and silenced themselves.

Angela enjoyed the peace as she waited for the period to end. She met with Frank throughout the day. She got her phone back, and she went home. Angela hatched a new plan. She called Frank, and gave her orders, “Frank, solve a problem for me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he answered. “What is it?” he asked.

Angela detailed her woes, “I want you to eliminate the ignorant sluts form our school. I hate all the girls who speak as if they only know ten words. Remove them please.”

“I’m not sure if I can do that. That’s about one fourth of the student population,” Frank explained.

“Oh, I see,” Angela sighed, “you don’t care enough about what I want. I could always find someone else to help me.”

Frank’s heart stopped beating. It was clear that he obsessed over Angela, and he was desperate to please her. How pitiful he was! “Wait!” he pleaded, “Let me see what I can do. It’s going to take longer than a day though. Is that okay with you?”

Angela grunted, “I guess I can wait.” Almost threateningly, she continued speaking, “If it does not work, I don’t know what I’ll do.

Frank agreed to the terms of his service. Angela would get what she wanted. Morals and ethics were gone. Frank only wanted to love, but he much rather have enslaved himself than have been honest with his feelings.

#044 ~ Sarah's Chronicles: Whoops...

2009-02-17T19:01:00.001-05:00

School is a weird place...

Whoops...

Rod Tanzol

Sarah was walking in a dark and poorly-lit hallway beneath the school. It was a shortcut between her third period Honors Pre-Calculus class and her fourth period AP Chemistry classes. Sometimes, she would see other students go in and out of the weight room that was down there. However, no one was using it this marking period. Today, Sarah only saw darkness and the occasional flickering of the dim lights. It was surprisingly safe down there; all the violence was in the bridge that connected the two main buildings of the school. On this peculiar day, she heard a strange sound. It was set of tenor grunts and soprano moans.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” a voice cried, “It hurts so good!” Sarah paused. She wasn’t sure about what she had just heard. She moved closer to the sound.

A deeper voice cheered, “Yes! Yes! Oh god!”

The higher voice continued repeating itself but added, “Harder!”

Sarah was in a fit of hysterics. She skipped away to her next class. She txt’d Joe and a few other of her friends about what she heard. By the end of the day, students gossiped about an orgy in the basement.

At the end of the day, Casey met up with her older sister Sarah and asked, ”Did you hear about the orgy in the basement that started third period?”

Sarah laughed. As the sisters walked home, Sarah explained the situation to Casey, “There was no orgy. However, there were two people having sex in the school’s basement somewhere. I think it was just a guy and a girl. I thought it was funny but a little gross. Actually, it was very gross.”

“Wow, is that all? I thought there was bash of like twenty grinding bodies,” Casey shared.

Sarah sighed and shook her head no. “Teenagers are so gross sometimes,” she insisted.

The two made it home. Sarah went to her room. Casey dropped off her books, and then went to her boyfriend’s house. Sarah put on her headset. She hadn’t ended her Skype conversation from the morning. Cisco wasn’t available at the moment. Sarah took off the headset, and started her homework. It was quick and meaningless. She did her English and history homework thoughtlessly. (Last year, she was in honors classes only. This year, she elected to drop AP English and AP history.) Her math and chemistry homework took her about an hour, but they were nothing strenuous. Since she dropped half of her exhausting and time-consuming honors classes, her homework was no longer thought-provoking. Despite her newfound boredom, Sarah maintained excellent grades—and her sanity! She had lots of time on her hands.

No computer games interested her for currently, so she occupied herself with papercraft courtesy of 4chan. She was making a mudkip. She had Steam running, and noticed that Cisco was playing Portal. She IM’d him, then started talking to him via Skype.

They didn’t say much of anything. Sarah mentioned what she overheard today. Cisco laughed, and then he reprimanded Sarah, “You put yourself in danger of rape! I couldn’t let that happen to you!”

“Shut up,” Sara suggested, “because you sound like my father. Why do the men in my life think I’m going to be raped and impregnated if I step outside?”

“Well,” Cisco explained, “didn’t some jack-off try asking you on a date by showing up to your front door? You obviously don’t even need to leave your house for your father’s fears to be realized.”

“Did you know,” she revealed, “that my father doesn’t know about you?”

Cisco wasn’t surprised at all. “I take it that he doesn’t check your chatlogs or anything.”

“That’s funny. I wish that he’d even come in my room. He’s been promising to re-arrange my furniture for months!” Sarah laughed.

“Have some of your guy friends to do it for you,” Cisco suggested.

“You’re joking, right? My dad would kill them if they came in the house! They have penises!” she laughed.

Cisco tried ending the conversation with a few wise words, “The moral of the story is this: Jesus loves you hard!”

Sarah laughed, “My dad would make me give up Christianity if he heard that! Bye, Cisco! I love you!”

“I love you, too!” Cisco declared!

Sarah took off her headset and went to dinner.

#043 ~ Sarah's Chronicles: Presidents' Day

2009-02-16T20:46:00.002-05:00

I'm just trying to pump something out daily. Enjoy!

Presidents' Day

Rod Tanzol

“What happened? Where is she?” he thought while he lay unconscious in a ditch. I’m just kidding. He was sick in bed. His mind was elsewhere.

-|-|-

Cisco was dressed in a red coat and a Mountie's hat. He was a Filipino Dudley Doright in all respects. The telegraph was beeping. Cisco interpreted the tonal message, “A hoard of white rabbits are surfacing ten miles from the Montana boarder. All special-op agents report!”

He hopped onto his horse and galloped away. He arrived almost instantly. Thousands of white rabbits were popping out of several holes. Cisco, on his horse, chased all of them away. They hopped back into America. He waited for a few moments. Nothing happened until a strangely dressed rabbit popped out of a hole repetitively screaming, “I’m late!”

It disappeared into a different hole very quickly. He watched the hole it came from though. A pale girl in a nightgown with dark hair emerged. It was Sarah.

-|-|-

Cisco awoke to a loud television. His older brother had stopped home from college to check on him. Really, his brother just stopped by to raid the fridge and make sure his brother had not croaked over. It was the greatest amount of sincerity that fraternal love provided. Cisco got up when his brother left. He went to his computer and sent a message to Sarah’s phone. She would not be home from shopping for some time.

When Sarah got home, she skyped Cisco and laughed at him. “That’s how my dream on Halloween ended,” she explained.

“Let me check the chat logs. We still typed everything to each other in October, yes?” he asked, and then awaited her response.

“I typed to you in the afternoon while you played Counter-Strike. We skyped in the mornings before school though,” she explained. “Actually, we didn’t really start skyping each other that much until Rod got lazy trying to simulate instant messages and found written dialogue much easier to write…” she coughed. She corrected herself before Cisco could process what she said, “I mean you kicked your CS habit because you love me so much.”

Cisco acted as if he understood every word she said. He professed, “Yes, Sarah, I love you! Can you tell me anything else about our dream? I’m too lazy to check the logs.”

She detailed everything she could remember, “Well, it was 1995; Nikki turned into the rabbit, and I was freaking out more because I hate the past rather than because I travelled through time and Nikki became an animal.”

“Is 1995 significant?” he inquired.

“I don’t think so… God is just cracked out,” she said.

“That explains it all!” he exclaimed. He then asked, “Which of us is going to have the dream next? It feels like one of those strange subplot things in a zany mellow-drama.”

“I thought it meant that I should meet you in Canada before we go insane from loneliness,” she asserted.

“That’s funny,” Cisco laughed.

“I think it’s funny that we’re talking about getting me to Canada when it’s Presidents' Day here in the US!” she laughed fearing that the government was watching her.

“Goodnight! I love you! I feel sick. Bye!” he exclaimed almost passed out.

“I love you. G’night, even though it’s only 9:00 PM,” Sarah giggled.

#042 ~ The Glass Agenda: Three

2009-02-15T21:11:00.001-05:00

Below is nothing much, but it sets up for future stories. I do serialized works that have to be viewed piece by piece and collectively. In other words, I'm a lazy and horrible writer who needed an excuse to slow down his pace. I mean... WHAT‽ I mean enjoy.

The Glass Agenda: Three

Rod Tanzol

Bronco escaped detainment at GITMO thanks to one Hawaiian-born man in the White House. To escape his ruined past, however, he fled to Canada. Bronco moved to the city of Halifax in the province of Nova Scotia. Actually, he didn’t live in Halifax, per se, but in a small boat at a marina. He freelanced as a writer for several local publications and sold his body when necessary.

Even though he had a new life, Bronco couldn’t let go of his past. The injustices his brother endured haunted him. From his nautical home, he plotted his vengeance:

1. Discredit the American Justice System post-Clinton and pre-Obama.

2. Exterminate at least one hundred racists

3. Eliminate the species Branta Canadensi

The first step was easy. Half the world already began this. The second and third steps would take some time and violate many laws. He would start on Monday.

#041 ~ Sarah’s Chronicles: Valentine’s

2009-02-14T23:55:00.001-05:00

Valentine’s

Rod Tanzol

It was a Saturday for lovers. The doorbell rang and Sarah awoke. It was a day for lovers, so she frowned. Her mother answered the door. The deliveryman presented Mrs. Cruz with a dozen red roses. She tipped the man five dollars, closed the door, and she carried the flowers into the kitchen. She prepared a vase, and she put the flowers in it. Even though she assumed they were hers, she read the card out of curiosity, “To my dearest Sarah. Signed, me!” Mrs. Cruz was a little stunned. “Sarah has a secret admirer,” she thought. “This can’t be good,” she worried.

She went to her daughter’s room and said, “There’s a surprise for you on the kitchen table. Hurry up before your father finds out.” The words went through her like commonsense went through Bush. Sarah was clueless. She twisted her lower lip and her jaw went slack. “Just go look,” commanded her mother.

Sarah went to investigate. She saw twelve red roses in a vase. She could smell them from about a meter away. How fragrant they were! How pretty they were! How thoughtful they were! Sarah read the attached card. “I love Cisco,” she thought to herself.

Sarah’s mother followed her into the kitchen. “Who are they from?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” Sarah giggled. “Let me go tell my friends,” she said trying to avoid her mother’s questions.

Sarah heard her mother say, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” as she dashed up the stairs. She sat down at her computer and skyped her Filipino maple-leafer.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Cisco!” she enthusiastically greeted him.

Mildly bewildered, he responded, “Same to you. Since when do you care about today?”

She answered his foolish question, “I normally don’t, but I’m just thrilled that you sent me those roses!”

“Sure I did,” he said as sarcastically was humanly possible.

Sarah froze. “What do you mean? Are you telling me that you didn’t send them to me?” she asked.

“Obviously. We don’t celebrate this holiday anyway. Everything is so overpriced this time of year. Are roses really worth five dollars each?” he proposed. He answered his rhetoric question, “No, they aren’t. We do enough for each other all year long. We don’t need today. Besides, the roman equivalent to today sounds more fun. Dressing up like a wolf in a goatskin and running around a city on Lupercalia sounds so much better in my opinion.”

“I agree with you,” she laughed, “but who sent me the flowers if you didn’t. I know it’s not my father because he doesn’t even get them for my mother.” She paused for a moment; she realized something disturbing.

Cisco spoke her mind, “You have some creep that adores you and has your address. In other words, you have a…”

Sarah interrupted him, “Don’t say it. I don’t want to believe that I have a stalker.”

“I’m angry,” Cisco shared.

“It’s okay. Don’t feel bad that you can’t protect me,” she digressed.

Cisco’s pride died. “I wasn’t thinking that,” he said.

“What were you thinking then?” Sarah asked.

“I’m jealous. He lives so close to you, and I’m hundreds of kilometers away!” he sobbed.

Irritated by his selfishness, Sarah yelled, “How dare you not care for my safety!”

“You’re probably not in any real danger. It’s probably some guy from school who thinks that you’re single,” Cisco explained.

“That’s even worse. I rather have some forty-year old CEO woo me than one of my schoolmates,” she revealed.

“Did you just tell me one of your fantasies, Sarah? I am overcome with emo-like urges to cross the street or even go down the river,” he said trying not to cry again.

“Don’t do that; you’ll never make any money if you’re dead. Just forget that I said anything,” she pled.

“That means so much to me,” he dryly assured Sarah.

“I have to figure out who sent me flowers. Bye! I love you!” Sarah chirped quickly as she tried to end the awkward conversation.

She txt’d Joe and Nikki, “Do you know who would send me flowers?”

Nikki replied first, “I don’t know. Ask someone who goes to your school.”

Joe replied after a few moments, “Yeah.”

“Who? O.o”” she asked.

Joe answered her, “That narcissistic bastard on the hockey team who volunteers in the guidance department. I think his name is Bosco. He was asking me for your name last week.”

“That explains how he got my address. Why’d you tell him my name? >:|” Sarah asked furiously.

“I thought that it’d be harmless fun,” Joe replied.

“Ugh, now I have to worry about him calling me or even showing up. Frak you, snarfhole!” she typed angrily. If she were speaking, she would scream.

“:P” Joe ended the conversation.

Sarah explained everything to Cisco. He laughed. Then he cried, however, because he couldn’t rough up the guy for her.

It was five in the evening. Sarah had thrown out the flowers, Casey had disappeared to Vinnie’s house, Mrs. Cruz had gone shopping, and Mr. Cruz had come home from his garage. The doorbell rang, and Mr. Cruz answered it. He scowled at the person on the other side. Bosco was at the door; he had a box of chocolates tucked under his arm. “Can I help you?” he barked at the kid.

“Is Sarah there?” Bosco asked cockishly, “We have a date.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Cruz asked. He closed the door and retrieved a baseball bat from the coat closet. He opened the door, and he torqued himself into position. “Go away before I get my gun!”

The bluff worked, and Bosco ran away screaming like banshee fornicating with a cactus. (Disturbing? Yes!) Sarah heard the commotion and went downstairs where she saw her father. “I just chased away some horny punk named Bosco, Sarah. You know you’re not allowed to date.”

She hugged her father. “Thanks, dad,” she said, “there was something wrong with him. I never did anything to lead him on. I swear.”

“I believe you, honey. Boys that age are sick and horny bastards. The world is infested with them. That’s why I never let you out,” he smiled proudly feeling as if he had fulfilled his paternal duties.

With a mix of sincerity and sarcasm, Sarah thanked him once more, “Thanks, dad. I love you.” She tightened the hug for a second, and then she ended it.

#040 ~ Paraskavedekatriaphobia

2009-02-13T19:24:00.002-05:00

Happy Friday the 13th! My friend read the following story, and he thinks I'm mentally disturbed for writing this and incorporating past events from our lives. I honestly wish it all turned out like this though.

Paraskavedekatriaphobia

Rod Tanzol

The winds blew wildly. The bare winter trees would not start budding for five more weeks. It was 7:15 in the morning. The winter sun hung low in the sky. The air was humid and mild, but the breeze made it feel cool. The evil ex-Canadians filled the sky. I did not believe that they would ever return to the land of maple. I have always hated those giant geese; they have always littered the parks with feces, and now they destroyed airplane engines. Next, they’ll start destroying cities. A strong gust of wind caught my attention. I inserted my earbuds and hit play on my iPod, and I walked am mile north to my academic dungeon. The music put me in a trance-like state, and I arrived at school in what felt like seconds.

Horrifying gargoyles and terrified masks greeted me. I removed my headphones, wound the wire around my iPod, and put the bundle into my left cargo pocket. Holding my breath, I entered the gothic edifice. I removed my ID from my back right pocket, and I presented it. The security guards scanned me with their wands. They beeped over my wristwatch and my glasses. They beeped over my right pocket, which contained my cell phone. The guards however neglected these small beeps. They wanded my backpack. They remained unalarmed. They let me through the large metal detector. I was free to go. I went up a flight of stairs, through a door, and turned left, and walked about fifty meters down a large, empty hallway. I went up another staircase, and turned right once I reached the top. Lockers lined the walls. I walked another fifty meters, turned right down a perpendicular hallway, kept my right hand along the wall of lockers. I moved forward as I felt for my locker. Its door was especially rough. I turned to face the locker, and I unlocked it with a few turns of the combination lock. I sorted out my books, and grabbed what I needed for the morning. It bothered me that no one else, besides a few teachers and students, arrived at school as early as I did.

Something else bothered me, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Pink and red hearts lined the halls! Valentine’s Day was tomorrow. I was sick to my stomach! I took a Sharpie out of my bag and drew a large “X” on a pink heart that hung above my locker. I went to my locker of my friend Vera’s locker. It took a good ten minutes to get there. I checked my cell phone for a message from my friend Jessie, her older sister. I received it, and it contained Vera’s locker combination. I was laughing to myself. I opened up her locker, and I opened up my backpack. I had a Jason mask and a black paper rose. I stuck the stem through the eyeholes. I mounted the mask to a coat hook. I removed a bloodstained envelope from another pocket in my backpack. I wedged it in a mouth slit of the mask. The day went on, and Jessie and I laughed at Vera’s paranoia.

As the day continued, my lust for detail died. Towards the end of the day, Vera was pale and hyperventilating. I had racked up about a month’s worth of detention for destroying people’s roses and balloons. These love-struck girls were desperate for attention. The Casanovas frantically tried wooing women so that they may bed them. The gay guys were practically eating each other. Only the lesbians showed any modesty. People made-out everywhere though. A few teachers yelled at kids for their inconceivable sinful habits. I was mildly surprised that no one did it in the hallway. It bothered me that these people were celebrating the wrong holiday on the best holiday ever—Friday the Thirteenth!

Afterschool, a few friends, and I gathered at my house. They piled in the back of my van, and we headed to the woods for a terror-laden night. Jessie and Vera hitched along for the ride. We drove for about an hour as we sang to radio. We arrived at our destination an hour and a half later. “Guess where we are, guys!” I cheered.

No one had a clue. Vera read a sign aloud, “Camp NoBeBoSco.”

I said, “Close but no cigar!”

Everyone was confused. Jessie yelled out, “Are you high, Johnny?” The rest of the group was too whacked out to pay attention. I always wondered what these people would be like if they actually used drugs instead of Pop Rocks and energy drinks.

“Oh, no! It is Camp NoBeBoSco, but you all know it as—dun dun dun, insert dramatic sound effects here—Camp Crystal Lake! Hurray!”

Jessie understood what was happening. “I forgot that Friday the 13^th was filmed in New Jersey,” she laughed. She grew serious, “The remake sucked. I saw it at midnight!”

“What the hell?” Vera screamed, “Did the two of you do this to me? You had me panicking all day! That hockey mask freaked me out!”

“You’re slow, Vera. Did you actually think someone was going to kill you?” Jessie laughed.

“Well, it’s starting to get dark,” I explained, “and we’re going to play manhunt!”

“That sound’s safe,” Jessie joked. “Who are the groups?”

I catalogued the teams, “Piggy, Jessie, Vera, Max, Emma, Flora, Jackson, and I will hide from Jorm and Justin.”

“Why do I have to go and find everyone?” Jorm complained. He pouted like a child. Jessie shook her head in aggravation.

“Do it because I say so, now!” Jessie affirmed. Jorm stopped complaining, and Justin had accepted his fate all along.

“Wait here ten minutes as we hide. None of us will be more than 50 feet from the main path or the lake,” I declared. This was a blatant lie however. We all ran off. Max and Emma ran off together—probably to do the hanky-panky. Jackson, Flora, and Piggy tried hiding by climbing up into trees. Jessie, Vera, and I hid together. We didn’t stay put, but we did explore the area. The sun was setting quickly. I noticed some Boy Scouts around the place. It was probably a small troop. I could hear and smell them setting each other on fire. What nonsense they enjoyed! Then again, our escapade wasn’t much better. Jessie and I sat on a pier over the lake. Vera was petrified. She thought that the dummy from the movie might pop out of the lake. Maybe she even thought a person would come out of the lake. I was having fun. The weather was great considering it was the dead of winter. Jessie and I were enjoying ourselves until some geese arrived. One of the reasons why I love Canada so much is because I believe they got rid of all their geese! We ran ashore. Vera started talking to one of the scouts. Apparently, their scoutmaster left them alone in the woods to get some beer. Viva la responsabilità! She got some phone numbers; the troop was our local troop.

Jorm and Justin found all of us within an hour. Sigh. I drove everyone back home, and we hung at my place. My parents were celebrating Valentine’s a night early. We had the house to ourselves. We cranked up the music, and I whipped out the soda and junk food. Everything was in place. I sent Max and Emma away so they could do their business in the basement. Jorm and Justin occupied the guest room. Piggy, Flora, and Justin chatted it up in the kitchen. Jessie and I coupled up to mess with Vera’s head. Yes, I was being cruel to Vera, but Jessie had asked me to be. I don’t know how our groups of friends ever merged. It was nearing midnight. Piggy and Jackson announced they were going to the basement to get something. Twenty minutes or so passed. Jorm and Justin went to the basement to get more soda. Twenty minutes passed. No one returned. Flora and Jessie claimed they had to go to the freezer in the basement to get more ice cream. That left me alone with Vera.

“Why the hell is everyone taking so long?” Vera asked sacredly.

“I don’t know, but,” I said sarcastically, “maybe they’re all having an orgy and we weren’t invited.”

Vera’s eyes widened, but her lips stiffened, and her nostrils flared. She was at a loss for words. “Don’t be so naïve!” I snapped at her, “We should go investigate.”

She hesitated and then spoke, “I guess we should. They’re not all going to jump out at me, are they?”

“No,” I honestly assured her.

“Okay. I still trust you for some reason,” she revealed. How foolish could she be?

We walked downstairs together. I looked into the basement. The lights were on, but dim. Everything I needed was in place for what was about to happen. Everyone hid behind the something: shelves, the boiler, or a workbench. Jessie and I are d*****bags for orchestrating all of this.

I fell down the stairs and landed my head on the hard ground. My head and body both landed in pools of fake blood. Vera came running after me. She was crying hysterically. She started calling for help. Nothing happened. Vera turned the lights on, and saw that blood drenched the entire basement floor. She looked around and saw other bodies on the ground. To her, it looked as if everybody had been stabbed. She freaked and ran out of the house. She slipped in the blood as she ran. She fell to the ground, but she quickly got back up. She ran to the street screaming. The eight of us got up and started laughing. We followed her, walking as zombie-like as we could. The others moved, keeping the fake knives and stab wounds in place. Vera was paralyzed with fear. Slowly, we all encircled her. She went into a fetal position and started crying.

Justin and I picked her up off the street. We were laughing. She was crying. We all sat on my porch. It took about an hour for her to calm down. It was almost dawn. I could see Mars low in the sky, but my vision was obstructed by another stupid goose! Vera started laughing, “Thanks guys! I needed a good scare!”

“You’re welcome,” Jessie said smiling.

Jackson put his arm around her, and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day!” He kissed her. He pulled small box out of his pocket and gave it to her. “Open it!” he cheered. Vera was speechless. She did! She smiled at it. “I’ve wanted to give this to you for a while. It’s a ring I made for you in welding.”

She took it and put it on. “I love it!” They kissed again.

“Isn’t that sweet!” Jessie said to me.

“Yes it is,” I replied.

“I want you to say something to me,” she conspicuously hinted.

“I know what that is!” I said. I whispered inter her ear, “I love you!”

We embraced and kissed. As we separated our bodies and mouths, she said, “Isn’t fear a wonderful aphrodisiac‽”

We all departed as the sun rose. Vera went with her new boyfriend. Jessie stayed with me. My parents came home, and my mother freaked. My parents grounded me for three weeks. Why? I stained the basement floor red and made a mess of the kitchen. It’s the price we all pay for love, albeit a little sick and twisted.