The Non-Review

Weekend Movie Discussion: Star Trek Into Darkness

2013-05-17T10:27:00.004-05:00

I'd like to think that in an alternate reality J.J. Abrams is a child. One that is in a world where they haven't got a vaccine for polio yet. There he fights day and night, managing to overcome the disease. His struggle is an inspiration to all who witness it. While mostly unscathed, he does spend the rest of his life with one stiff leg that gives him a bit of a limp. But he doesn't let that stand in his way of becoming the world's greatest doctor. The courses are hard, naturally, but that same fighting spirit that licked polio all those years ago drives him to the top of all his classes. Years later, when he's an old man, he'll stand over the body of a sick child, with a vaccine, he himself created, in his hands, ready to cure the child of a disease far worse than polio. Truly an inspired life. Tears all around. Lens flare.

I'm just saying, it'd be cool for that alternative world...

Speaking of alternative worlds and J.J. Abrams: STD is out this week. I know everyone wants to abbreviate Star Trek Into Darkness as STID, but I prefer the connotation of the other one. With the first series of movies way back yonder, it's always been widely held that there was a curse on them. Every odd Start Trek movie was bad, and every even movie, good. When Abrams released his reboot, despite the plot holes and spotty writing, he brought forth a fantastically entertaining film. It seemed the curse of odd numbers had been broken.

Or had it?

In the first film an alternative timeline is created. One that sheers off from the original line. It was a great device which allows for the freedom to take the same characters and create your own canon, free of the bind of previous continuity. However, like the alternate world that develops in the film, could we be looking at an alternate curse? I won't present any spoilers here or ruin anything, but there are a lot of negative opinions on the new film. Don't get me wrong, there's good too, but a lot of bad word of mouth. Could it be that for an alternative timeline of Trek movies, we might be looking at a curse that ruins even number films?

Only time will tell.

And by time I mean there'll pretty much be a general consensus by the weekends end.

What are your plans this weekend? Seeing Star Trek? Already seen it? What's your favorite film in the franchise? (Mine is 4)

Weekend Movie Discussion: The Great Gatsby, Peeples

2013-05-10T11:17:00.005-05:00

How about that Gatsby people? Isn't he great? No? Well, surely he must be good? Yes? Okay, he's the good, but not so great Gatsby.

This joke was brought to you courtesy of every kid who had to read it in school, while thinking they were the original king of comedy. I should know, that kid sat beside me in most of my classes.

So the long anticipated film adaptation of The Great Gatsby is out. Longer anticipated since it got bumped last year till this weekend. If you don't know the plot of the film, I suggest turning of the computer, grabbing your keys, going down to your local bookstore, purchasing a copy of Gatsby; reading said copy, and then coming back here. The rest of us will wait for you to catch up.

...

Back? That took a little longer than expected. Did you-? You did, you stopped for tacos. I see, and did you get the rest of us any? I see. Wait, what's that in another tab? Is that Wikipedia? Darn it, you just wiki'd it and didn't actually read it didn't you? Zelda must be rolling around in F. Scott Fitzgerald's grave. What's she doing in his grave you ask? How would I know, she's crazy.

Anyhoo, Reviews lean towards up but with a few downs. Great performances, beautifully shot, faithful adaptation, but still missing the spirit of the novel. Mind you I don't care about reviews, I'm all about watching the film. Hopefully it will lead to other Fitzy adaptations (yes we're so close I call him Fitzy) like his infinite classic "Sir Archibald Nutmeg and the Dismal Serenity".

You wiki'd it didn't you? Ha, caught you out.

Outside of the popular choice for the weekend we also have the Craig Robinson vehicle Peeples. It's a Tyler Perry joint, that's not written by, nor directed by, Tyler Perry. Frankly, it stands to reason than that it should be the best Tyler Perry film ever. Plus despite his attempts at to hit as many mediocre films as possible, I still enjoy Robinson in the right role. Could be good. Ya' know, not great, but good...

See how I brought that all back around? My 11 year old self would be so proud. Course my 13 year old self would probably kick that crap out him, while my 14 year old self looked on in disgust. I really should stop having these temporal reunions, they only ever get me into trouble.

So what's your plans for the weekend? Gonna Gatsby it up? Going to see that highfalutin Peeples film? Did you realize "highfalutin" was one word? Well, it is.

Weekend Movie Discussion: Iron Man 3, Greetings From Tim Buckley

2013-05-03T11:03:00.001-05:00

I know, I know, it's the personal touch you've missed this past month right? Short stories are all well and good but you've missed my exceptional commentary on new releases. Well, wait no more cause I'm back and fired up. Let's get to it shall we?

So... That Iron Man 3... Looks pretty good, eh?

Nope, that's all I have to say on the subject. I mean seriously, chances are if you're going out to see a movie this weekend, that's the one. But don't think I'm leaving the weekend at that alone.

There is also a plethora of limited releases this weekend, and while most of them are more than a little 'meh', a couple titles stand out. First up is Generation Um, starring Keanu Reeves. Okay, so it actually falls into the meh category and sounds pretty dreadful all around (an aging chauffeur for an escort service) but the title is dynamite. Seriously, it's like every Keanu joke rolled into one glorious title. Alright, that's out of my system.

The one limited release that's actually of interest is Greetings From Tim Buckley, a sort of biographical film focusing on Tim and Jeff Buckley. The true story has interesting notes (music joke) and depending upon how they choose to tell it, it could be good (mind you early word hasn't been favorable). That's coming from someone who's never been a big fan of Jeff Buckley. Expect the film to focus on the two things the Buckleys did best: Music and dying.

Too soon? It was too soon wasn't it? This probably isn't the right time to drag out my Bruce & Brandon Lee joke is it? No? Okay, glad I asked first.

So anyway, I'm back... Not sure if that's a good thing or not. Let the site fly on autopilot for awhile during the A-Z blogging challenge. Haven't quite decided if it'll spur me to post more short stories or less, here on out. Time will tell I guess.

So what are your plans for the weekend? Do they include a flying metal man?

Zebra Zebra

2013-04-30T11:03:00.001-05:00

...Zebra did it.

"Ha ha ha," the club manager spat, "that has to be the most tired joke I've ever-"

His words cut out from beneath him as he stepped away from the stage to where the next performers should have been lining up. One of the members of comedy troupe currently on stage had just missed his cue and punchline. Instead the manager found the troupe member, dressed as the proverbial zebra, standing over the lifeless body of a makeup girl. In his hand/hoof he held a knife covered in blood.

"Holy hell," the manager exclaimed, "it really was the Zebra!"

Yes Yesterday

2013-04-29T11:32:00.000-05:00

"Yes!" she exclaimed.

"But I didn't ask my question yet," he laughed.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "go ahead."

"Mary, will you-"

"Yes!" she interrupted, jumping ahead of him.

It was like that their whole lives, she always one step ahead of him, he doing his best to keep up. He laid the flowers beside her headstone and stood up, his back creaking as he did.

"56 years... Still seems like yesterday."

X Xander

2013-04-27T13:10:00.000-05:00

"X marks the spot!" the father called out to his son.

The journey had ended in the amazon where the two of them stood about to uncover the treasure hidden within the ancient native burial tomb. The tomb which was of course located conveniently beneath the stack of couch cushions in the living room. The little boy squealed with delight when he found the treasure to be a bag of junk food. Contraband his mother was not to know of.

As the two of them sat on the freshly righted couch munching on gummy works and chips, the young boy looked outside. A question formed in his mind which he'd wondered before.

"Hey dad?"

"That is my name."

"How come we never go outside?"

The father was silent for a minute as he thought how to answer.

"Tell you what, I've got a story that might help explain."

"Okay," the boy said, more than happy to hear a story.

"Once there was a great warrior named Xander. All the people loved him and he loved them. Every day he would ride out into the world and fight on their behalf. At night he would bring his trophies back with him. The heads of troll and ogres, the bloody scales from a fierce dragon, became common sights in his village. It seemed that there was nothing the brave man couldn't do.

"Then one day the hero set out on what would be his last adventure. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as he traveled across a rocky land filled with many ruts and ditches. Then quite suddenly he was ambushed. His horse was struck and lay down dead. Xander dove into the nearest ditch. Overhead strange lights burst above his head. The great hero had been attacked by a coven of witches.

"He searched his fallen horse for his bow and found it broken. Left with just a sword and shield, for the first time in his life Xander was afraid. He knew he couldn't just stay in that ditch though. So, with shield raised he drove towards the witches. The first two fell quickly as he deflected shots away. But the third witch would seal his fate."

"Xander didn't die?" the nervous boy asked.

"Not quite," the father smiled solemnly, "As he neared the last witch he felt the hatred in her radiating off her like a hot sun. Without hesitation he thrust his sword through her. Before she died she managed to cast a spell on him. Just a single word and he was caught in her spell. Agoraphobia.

"He returned to the village that night to the usual applauds, but he couldn't stand to hear it this time. he quickly made his way through the crowds, till he reached his home, all the time feeling like he was drowning. Once safely inside, he shut his door against the outside world. From that day on he was afraid to leave his house, even to go to the market. He wouldn't open the door for anything or anyone."

The boy was fidgeting as he looked at his father who had tears rolling down his eyes.

"Didn't he ever leave his home again?" the boy asked.

"Once, " the father replied, and offered his son a bright smile, "when his son was born."

The boy was quite happy with that answer but presently provided a thought.

"Xander, that's mom's nickname for you. Short for Alexander, right?"

The father looked up at a shelf where his purple heart was displayed next to picture of him in full uniform.

"Yes sir. I'm Xander."

We Wedding

2013-04-26T11:21:00.002-05:00

We never seem to realize how precious something is, until it's gone. I looked outside; the world once green, now bore the soft cushion of white that had done its best to cover everything in view. Footsteps made their may around the garden to the back shed where I knew a quiet truth lay stashed away. The thought of it was enough to turn the sunniest of days to black. The way the sky was, hung heavy with the burden of snow, my every hour was positively ashen.

The bathroom mirror. Damn the mirror. Whoever thought the first thing people needed to see when they woke, was a reflection of their last night's misdeeds, was a sadist. I washed quickly and headed downstairs. I hadn't gotten undressed last night and I saw no reason to change yet. Down to the kitchen I traveled.

It bore half the story, strewn about in various states of horror. The other half... The other half would be found outside. I slipped on my shoes, not even bothering to get socks on. Through the back door and towards the shed I headed. The cold air was at once refreshing and murder. Quickly I half walked-jogged till I stood before the door, fingers numbly turning the door nob.

I pushed the door open. With still bleary eyes I looked on numbly. Without a doubt this was the end of everything. The bodies strewn about the floor all oddly contorted, with miscellaneous villainy about them. I grasped my pounding head trying not to think about the previous night. I still had far too much to do before the day was over.

I kicked the nearest leg and the body stirred. "Hey dumb asses, get up, it's two hours till my wedding."

Voila Vanished

2013-04-25T11:05:00.000-05:00

"Voila!" The note read. The legendary magician searched through his bags and props, hoping against hope. A heavy sigh lodged in the back of his throat as he sat down in a chair. The realization that he was the victim of some pretty clever sleight of hand had just hit him. In the middle of a disappearing act on stage, both his assistant and the illusionist's money, had vanished.

Under Ulysses

2013-04-24T11:26:00.000-05:00

Under the shadow of Ulysses S. Grant the children gather. They point and whisper, wondering at the giant statue. He sits atop his horse, a mighty stead, iron legs ready to charge at first light. His gaze is steady as he surveys the land ahead, unaware of of his captive audience. He wears his hat and coat along with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Flanking his sides are his men, bold and of strange courage. Artillery to one end and the cavalry to the other. They're locked forever in battle, awaiting their general's orders. They're joined by the lions that lay anxiously, watching for their opportunity to pounce. Each to his corner, fearless, surrounding their iron god.

Not content to simply stare in wonder, the children climb and clamber up. Standing among the warriors of old they run their hands along the metal, feeling every crease of the artists hands. Bold and fearless youth, ready to stand and charge alongside the cavalry. Play acting wars long since put to rest, the shells of the artillery blast overhead. They children are with them in the mud and dirt; dug in, pushing forward, fighting for every inch of ground. Lost in games they almost don't hear the teacher's call to order.

Quickly they are composed again, gathering as before to hear the stories of presidents past. As the teacher wraps up and prepares to move on, a single pair of eyes remain steadfast on the general. An understanding is dawning on the young boy. The quiet sealed lips of the old president speak volumes to him in few words. As if some magic drawn from ancient times were allowing the statue to speak: Even heroes run out of stories...

Old world wisdom in the fresh, young ears of a child, standing under the shadow of Ulysses.

That's Truth

2013-04-23T10:57:00.000-05:00

"That's the thing about love; it's always complicated," he says through his lying lips.

He hangs up his coat and sits down at the table. Only minutes from me finding out he's had an affair. Cheating on my mother. My mother who lies upstairs in her bed, dying. Now here he sits, opposite me as I change seats, not wanting to be beside him at the moment. He knows I'm tense - can feel it. Giving me one of those understanding looks. But he doesn't have the right to do that. His rights to patronize me are over.

"I know you're upset, but you don't understand," he attempts to pacify me.

"I understand enough. A girl calls here, wanting you, using words like bitter in my ears."

"There was a time, some years back that I almost made the mistake you assume I have," his eyes shift towards the soup I've had boiling on the stove, "do you mind if I..."

I motion like I don't care. I don't care. Why would I? It's not like we were in the middle of something. He sits back down with brimming bowl and spoon.

"Why should I believe you?" I ask.

"When the hell would I have had time to cheat on your mother? I'm too tired for this. Sort things out and decide for yourself."

He gets up soup in hand and carries it up the stairs. He's taking it to my mom. He feeds her every night. Insists I wait for him to do it. Love or guilt? Every day, off to work, 15 hour shifts to pay for her medicines, doctors, and everything else she needs. At night, taking care of her. Could I be wrong? The girl on the phone, calling him lover, talking of their exploits; or my father taking care of mom?

That's the thing about love; it's always complicated. So is faith. So are the choices we make we make each day. Who or what to believe in. Around me covering walls are the pictures of a happy family. Just months ago, those pictures were alive filling the house with laughter. Decide for yourself. Weight of words upon my shoulders, like a cross to bear. With regards to Pilate, what is truth?

Say Silence

2013-04-22T11:09:00.000-05:00

"Say something," the scientist implored the cat.

Mittens was the first cat in the world implanted with a device that would allow him to speak to humans. He looked at the scientist, clearly annoyed, before turning to the dog that sat by panting and watching.

"Dog, please tell the human that since he had me neutered, I'm not speaking to him," Mittens indirectly replied before promptly returning to his silence.

Rats Rat

2013-04-20T11:06:00.000-05:00

"Rats!" Mitchie exclaimed.

Don and he scanned the area ahead but it was no good. They were on an overturned cruise ship, and the various hallways seemed to block them off at every turn. Behind them a small family of three was following them, hoping for the best.

"Are you kidding me," Don called out, "it's blocked that way too?"

"Sort of. We could probably squeeze through and up, but I don't see a way of getting that family through with us."

"What? Forget the family. It's everyone for themselves."

Mitchie turned to face his friend, he was soaked head to toe.

"Come on, we gotta help them, they're clearly clueless."

Don shook his head, "do what you want, but I'm leaving."

Don splashed past his friend. Mitchie watched him as he went. He couldn't blame him, nor would he try to stop him. He had his own problems to worry about now. He looked around, water rising, treading as best he could. Suddenly he remembered a compartment he'd seen, in a broom closet. It was a way out for all of them.

"Follow me," he called out to the family. They did just that trailing him as he went. In the closet he managed to grab hold of a rope to pull open a trap door. Through it was a tight, but workable pathway out to the surface. He moved as fast as he could with the family crawling behind him. At last they emerged out into game room. From there they all made their way to the lifeboats.

Mitchie tried to hop onto one but was kicked back.

"Oh no you don't," one of the attendants rebuffed him.

"Please," the little girl cried, "he saved our lives."

"What?" the attendant returned. "Alright, fine, just get on quick."

Mitchie and the family boarded. He had no idea what the week ahead had in store for him. Appearances on talk shows and the news. Treated to a lifestyle he never could have dreamed of before. Mitchie was about to become the world's most famous rat.

Questions Quincy

2013-04-19T11:09:00.000-05:00

Questions, queries, and qualifiers...

Quincy was done with them. Now was the time for retirement. Oh sure, in the 20 years he'd served, he'd accrued a lifetime of memories, but it was the right time to step down. He had no illusions that he'd truly be missed. There would be no Goodbye Mr. Chips moments. No calling his name down the halls. He would hang his hat up and someone else would put it on. With deep breath, he entered the room for his last day.

"Welcome everyone to Trivia Night here at the Spuds and Bud's Pub," the words streaming through the aged PA system that served every other day for karaoke, "It a sad night as this is our esteemed trivia experts final run. Now please welcome to the stage one last time, Quizmaster, Quincy!"

Perry Pressing

2013-04-18T10:59:00.000-05:00

Perry was an unusual paper boy with a sweet and quirky nature. He was not paid to run a route, he did so on his own. More unusual was that he did not deliver current newspapers. Perry you see, liked to collect old papers at garage sales, and off of ebay, then randomly deliver them to the neighbors. Most of the neighborhood thought it was funny. No one really seemed to mind, and a few of the older neighbors actually enjoyed it. Certainly none of them had complained to his parents who were willing to indulge a little creative eccentricity. People had even begun donating old papers from all over to his odd little cause.

One rainy afternoon Perry was making his rounds. He was down to the last two houses. Mr Wilson, he knew, for some reason enjoyed the Chicago papers in particular, and Perry liked to please his customers. He'd just the other day gotten a copy of an August 17, 1974 Tribune. Smiling he slung it onto the front doorstep, before continuing on his way.

Mr. Wilson hearing the thump went to retrieve his paper. Seeing Perry off in the distance, he hollered at him a friendly thank you, which Perry happily returned as he rode on. Inside Mr. Wilson settled down to his paper. As he scanned it, he noticed the date and lead story. All the blood rushed from his head. If anyone had seen him at that moment they would have called an ambulance. After the initial shock he was up and pacing around.

Things had to be weighed out... That's all, he thought to himself.

The one condition Perry's parents had was limiting his route to once a week. That was to make sure he wouldn't become an annoyance to everyone. As Perry pulled up to Mr. Wilson's house the following week, something seemed different. The garbage can had never been taken in from the week before, and the mailbox was so full it couldn't close properly. He decided to knock on the door and check on his older neighbor. Outside was easily a week's worth of papers. Current last week, but not anymore. Perry's favorite kind.

He knocked on the door and after receiving no answer, knocked again. Perry made his way around to a window on the side where the curtains hadn't been drawn and peered in. There on the ground he could just see the foot of Mr. Wilson. He bolted back to the door of the house and finding it unlocked entered. What greeted him was something no kid should have to see. Perry instantly turned and fled screaming.

Behind him in the house lay Mr. Wilson's lifeless body in a pool of blood. Beside him was a gun and the copy of the Tribune Perry had delivered. On it, above a story of a murdered girl, scrawled out in big letters were the words, "I'm sorry". For a man who had lived with what he'd done for decades, it wasn't old news, it was ever pressing.

Opening Ophelia

2013-04-17T11:14:00.002-05:00

Opening day was quickly approaching and Lea's parents couldn't be more thrilled. As excited as they were to see her perform they would be even happier to have the play over with. At first they had been thrilled when their wallflower daughter got a big part. Now in high school it was nice to see her coming out of her shell. But shortly after her first rehearsal things had changed.

Lea was more and more becoming drawn into the role. She was playing Ophelia, which had first appealed to her simply because she had been named after the character. As the weeks went on, her method actor mentality, began to twist her. Dinners were spent with her staying in role. Needless to say it was more than tiring.

The curtain drew back and the play commenced. All the kids were wonderful in it but everyone's eyes were drawn to Ophelia when she was on stage. Her performance was breathtaking. Well worth every bit of time Lea had put into it.

After the final curtain lowered all the cast came out to take a bow. Everyone was there, except for Lea. They searched around back stage but she was not to be found. No one had seen her leave. Over the next 24 hours the high of the play turned to mystery as people searched for the young actress. No one knew just how immersed she had become in the part. Did not realize how easy it is to drown in a role. There on the stage, beneath the branch of a prop tree, sat a painted and oddly wet river of water on the stage. The only reminder of what can happen when one truly disappears into the madness of Ophelia.

Nothing Nothing

2013-04-16T11:06:00.000-05:00

Nothing.

The aliens stood over the ruins of a world ravaged and destroyed. All at once terrified and excited to stand where no one had stood for hundreds -possibly thousands of years. The aliens, small grey creatures with large heads, communicated not through speech but through telepathy. Broken up into teams, they searched for any clues to the civilization now gone. A buzzing suddenly filled the minds of all the parties alerting them to a discovery.

All parties converged at the foot of a stone deliberately set into place among the rubble. The last actions of the last person alive. Carved upon it: symbols, words, images the aliens are unable to decipher. A prophecy unbeknownst to them, written by the dying hand of a man who has watched everything he loved be destroyed. My last words before the end. These words. These words, and then, nothing.

M-O-O-N More

2013-04-15T11:00:00.003-05:00

"M-o-o-n, that spells, no more expletive deleted Stephen King movies."

Christmas time, but Mike and Jerry had decided not to visit family this go round since both had to be to work the day after. On Jerry's suggestion, they had spent the weekend seeing how many Stephen King films they could watch before one of them cracked. Mike, it seemed was on the verge of snapping.

"Did you just say expletive deleted?" Jerry asked.

Mike shifted around, "I've been swearing too much lately. I'm trying to ween myself off."

"Is this because of Jessica?" Jerry spoke through the widest of grins.

"I overheard her saying she thought cursing was a crutch for people with poor vocabularies."

"Bananas and strawberry short cake," Jerry replied. Only he didn't actually use those words. What Jerry said is not fit to be printed.

Both Jerry and Mike laughed.

"Ah... So, you really ready to stop watching? There's still the Langoliers..."

Mike stood debating internally.

"'That dog won't bark'" he finally quoted before giving in, "Alright, one more."

Looks Lois

2013-04-13T12:25:00.000-05:00

"Looks like he's not coming back," Jimmy stated. He was looking at the familiar red and blue outfit Perry held in his hand. Above them a gaping hole in the ceiling of the apartment was still dropping pieces of insulation where something had shot through.

"Why do you say that?" Perry asked.

Jimmy handed him a letter he'd found on the floor under pieces of the ceiling. Perry began reading and knew his young photographer was right.

Dear Clark,

We both know things haven't been working out between us. We've grown so distant lately and I feel if we continue on, in a couple years we won't even know who we are anymore. Though I never intended to do anything like this to you, the fact is I've been seeing someone. It's your friend Bruce. We were both lonely, and well... It happened. I hope that one day you can forgive us. I still care deeply about you.

Love,
Lois

Katherine Kremes

2013-04-12T12:18:00.000-05:00

"Katherine Hepburn?"
"Nah, nah, nah... The other one."
"Audrey Hepburn?"
"She the one what was in that Pig-mailin' film?"
"I thought that was Babe."
"Babe Hepburn?"
"Nah, Babe the pig. Talked, saved that spider Charlotte."
"Mmm... You mean Wilbur."
"Wilbur? Wilbur was a talking horse."
"No Mr. Ed was the talking horse, Wilbur was the guy he talked to."
"So what's that got to do with Audrey Hepburn?"
"Don't you mean Katherine?"
"Depends. What was the question again?"
"...I don't remember."
"Me neither."
"Excuse me, but I remember what the question was."
"Oh yeah, what was it?"
"I wanted to know about the donuts..."
"That's right, I completely forgot. Nope, sorry, we're out of the Krispy Kremes.

Just Jeremiah

2013-04-11T11:59:00.000-05:00

"Just you wait," the monster hissed at him. Cold, slit snake eyes, were sunk deep in the leathery skin of the creature. They followed carefully the movements of the 7 year old boy with "yellow hair".

"Just you wait, man-child, I'll be back. next time I won't be so easy to defeat."

Jeremiah glared at the creature in front of him. He was soaked in sweat and covered in dirt after the epic battle they'd just had. In one hand he held a stick that had served him well as a sword to fend off the darkness.

"I'll be ready for you," he assured the monster.

With a last hiss the evil creature disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Jeremiah having just saved the world, wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth. Pride in every step, he strode over to his older brother Jamie's clubhouse and knocked on the door.

A head peaked up and looked through the window.

"Anyone important?" one of the boys huddled around a stack of magazines asked.

"Hell no," answered Jamie and sat back down, ignoring his brother, "It's just Jeremiah.

I Imagination

2013-04-10T11:42:00.000-05:00

"'I heart Tom Delaney'? Isn't he that weird kid in Mr. Field's class?" Mary asked. She was sitting on a bench outside the baseball diamond at their school. Her best friend Anna, was beside her, drawing on the inside cover of her notebook.

"He's not weird, he's..." Anna trailed off failing to find a good adjective.

"He's weird," her friend finished for her.

"Clever," Anna corrected.

"He's always disappearing. There one minute sitting in the back of class and then suddenly he's gone. Never says anything either. Half a semester and not word out of him. You have to admit that's a bit odd."

"He'll speak when he's ready to," she defended, not even looking up from her sketch.

The bell rang and Mary got up to leave. She looked at her friend who seemed content to stay. Mary shrugged and headed off. A minute later Tom Delaney materialized beside Anna.

"Odd?" he inquired of her.

"Don't worry about Mary, she doesn't understand the burden to create."

Anna ran her hand through his hair and looked lovingly into his eyes.

"Soon," she whispered to him, "soon you'll be more than just my imagination."

Heaven Home

2013-04-09T11:21:00.000-05:00

"Heaven help you Mr. Harley, you're a hard man."

The last words he heard before the earth was evacuated. Everyone was gone now. Left for greener pastures in a neighboring solar system. Not Mr. Harley though. When the rockets were boarding, he stood firm on his position. He would not leave.

Mr. Harley tried to live as normal a life as he could over the next few months. Everything was left running and the world continued to hum with electricity. Silence wasn't the problem. The problem was time. What does one do when they know it's running out? How do you amuse yourself with only a few days to live?

He looked up into the sky. The sun was huge and looming. Wouldn't be long now before the atmosphere caught fire. Mr. Harley would be long gone before the earth actually crashed into the sun.

"Heaven help you," he'd said. But Mr. Harley knew there was no hope. He'd made a decision, one he'd have to live, and die with. Because no matter what, he was home.

God Gone

2013-04-08T10:47:00.000-05:00

God looked over his creation and realized he'd made a mistake: Gary Williams of Perkins Colorado. Best start over, he thought, and next time, no Gary. God waved his hand and turned back to his drawing board. In an instant everything and everyone was gone.

Forgive Forever

2013-04-06T12:45:00.000-05:00

"Forgive me?"

He held out a bouquet of flowers for her to take. He was 17, new to love, and using his father's moves.

"Course I do."

She flung her arms around him. She was 17, with hearts dotting her eyes, and so sure of everything.

"You know you're the only girl for me, right?"

"And you're the only boy for me."

They held each other's hands as they exited the house. Outside, the rubble and destruction was a reminder that they were in fact the last two people alive on earth. He took her over to one of the few trees left standing in the area. Taking out a pocket knife he carved their names into a tree with a simple message, 'together, forever'.

Everything Eternal

2013-04-05T11:42:00.002-05:00

Everything started out as planned. The kids were crammed into the mini van with all the usual crap we'd need for a picnic at the beach. I even had one of those stupid, giant umbrellas to block out the sun. Wife's idea naturally. Personally I've always felt the point of going to the beach is to get some sun.

We were about half way there, traveling down the quiet, road less taken. Wifey and I had argued about which route to take to the beach earlier that day. She wanted the highway. I didn't cause I knew she just wanted to stop off in some of the shops along the way. Last time we went the beach, she darn near cut our time in half because of her shopping exploits. The route I chose was full of sweet, little, picturesque roads. The kind that poets call "windswept" and other like romantic drivel. We were on such a road when my wife spotted him by the wayside. His car was smoking like he'd been grilling pork on the engine.

"Tom, let's pull over and see if we can help."

My wife. Not that I'm not the kind of guy to help a fella out, but when your car looks like a brush fire claimed it, there's nothing you can do except get a tow truck. Nevertheless I pulled over. Anything's better than a "discussion" at two in the morning. Always at two for some stupid reason.

"Hey, bud, need some help?" I hollered at him.

I'll say this for the guy, he was grateful. As I walked over to his vehicle, he was beaming at me. The biggest smile you've ever seen on his face.

"What seems to be the problem?" I asked.

"Have a look for yourself," he said, and gestured towards the engine.

A quick glance and I knew something was terribly wrong. For instance, there wasn't an engine.

"What the hell?" Not so much a question really.

"More like purgatory," he laughed.

I began backing away from him only to find that it was like wading through waist deep mud.

"Do you have any idea, how long I've been waiting for someone to pick me up?" he asked, and then continued without waiting for my answer, "At least 20 years I should think. The guy I stopped to help, had been here for 30 years himself."

"What are you talking about?" I was on the ground now, trying to crawl away, but there was no way to get free. I was tied to my spot.

"Don't worry about your family. I'll take good care of them. They won't even know you're gone."

I screamed some choice obscenities at him, but those were the last words I heard from him. As I watched he got into the mini van. My wife, didn't notice anything as she watched him get in. With no hesitation she leaned over and kissed him. I couldn't quite believe what I was seeing.

That was ten years ago. I can't really tell you anything about this spot. Just that I'm stuck here, with on a short leash around a busted down old coup. Once or twice a day a car passes by but no one stops. I'm sure one day I'll be free. I'll take over some poor suckers life the way mine was taken from me. And this circle of hell will continue on. The prison term may be temporary, but I know for certain this place is eternal.

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1970-01-01T00:00:00-08:00

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