A Purple Future

person-girl-garden-young

A young man, roughly the age of fifteen, left the front door of his home and wandered away.  A dark cloud followed him around while his face held an intense expression of doom.  So much darkness.  Blackness.  Blacker than black.

“My soul is black.” muttered the teenager as he stumped his way down the street.  “There is little left to salvage my darkened soul, so why even bother?”

His pace did not change as he passed house after house but his demeanor grew more downtrodden.  It was from the corner of his eye that he noticed a shadow following him.  He stopped and turned and a little girl, maybe the age of nine, smiled back at him.

“Hi!” she waved at him.

“Stand back little girl.  For I am evil and there is nothing anyone can do about it.” he muttered as he continued on his way.

She hurried to catch up to him and tried to take his hand.  He pulled away and hurried his pace.  She caught up to him and yanked with a preternatural strength and he was forced to heel.  He brushed her hand away and glared at her.

“Do you like colors?” she asked as she twirled back and forth.

He gestured angrily at his outfit that was all black.  “No.”

She threw her hands up in the air, “Come on!  Everyone likes colors!”

“Not me.”  He tried to back away from her but she was persistent.  His shoulders slumped.

With a silly grin painted across her face, she asked,  “If you had to choose one color that would be yours forever, what would it be?”

“Black.  Black as night.  Black as the blackest black.”

“Black is not a color!” she pouted.  “Pick a color!  I have lots!”

It was only then that he noticed that the inside of her little jacket was painted like a rainbow but the colors seemed alive.

‘What can I do to make this little girl leave me alone?’ he thought to himself. “Fine.” he said to her.  “Purple then. Purple so dark it borders on black.”

“Purple it is!” she cried in delight.  She pulled a strip of purple from the inside of her coat and tossed it to him.

“This is lavender, not purple!” he cried as he tried to keep the color from falling to the ground.

“Purple!” she shouted in joy as she pirouetted in place.  “See?  I’ve brightened your day!  Happy day to you!”

She ran over and gave him a hug.  He had to admit that he did actually feel better.  Maybe everything wasn’t as dark and gloomy as he had initially thought.  Suddenly she pushed him and he fell through the open manhole.  His head smashed against the concrete.  He lay there unmoving as the neighborhood flotsam soaked into his clothes and hair.

“Purple is yours forever!” the little girl cheered.  “Forever, forever, forever… “

Advertisements

Remembering

skull-1401665_1280

The moon shone down upon the tops of the ragged trees in this broken forest.  The moonlight helped but it was little trouble to track his prey.  He could smell him.  His human stink permeated the very air.  The demon’s laughter shook loudly against the foliage.

He strode toward the man who just stood there and waited with a cane in his hand.  The man who had a ring of thirteen bars tattooed around his neck.  The man who had an odd little monkey perched on his shoulder.

“I will crush you little man!  I will wear your bones as a necklace!” the demon cried with relish.

A note from a stringed instrument came back to him in response. The man slowly strummed on a ukulele and sang… sang a very old song.

“What is this?” shouted the demon.  He slowly came to a standstill in the small meadow.  Moonlight beat at his skin.  “Why do I know this?  Why do I feel sadness?  Why do I feel… remorse?”

The man continued to sing that ancient song as he swung the ukulele to his back. He limped his way into the meadow and took his measure in front of the demon.  The moonlight glinted off of the sword blade as it slid its way out of the cane.

“I’m sorry.” said the man as the blade slipped into the demon’s heart.

The demon transformed back into the man he once was.  The rage in his eyes changed to fear, then regret.  “You are the hunter?” escaped his lips as he toppled to the wet grass.

“Another one bites the dust!” the little monkey chittered in amusement from the hunter’s shoulder.

Shafted

elevator-926058_1280

Elevators.

There was something about elevators that bothered her.  She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.  It wasn’t fear that it would get stuck and she might starve to death.  It wasn’t fear that it would fall and she would die a horrible death.  So what was it about elevators that concerned her?

It was just a machine driven pulleys and ropes.  True, it was a containment device but then so was a car or a room for that matter.  This one just moved in a vertical manner.

She glanced over the surface of the one that she was in.  The one that had set dread in the center of her chest.  It had finger smudged metal paneling and a filthy drop ceiling.  There was smut ground into the corners and the square of carpet underneath felt moist.  The smell of strong perfume and old cigarettes was only slightly off putting.

So what was it about elevators?

She was just trying to get to floor 23 but the elevator doors opened on floor 9.  A single man in a slightly disheveled suit stepped in and pushed the button for floor 26.  He leaned against the back wall and she could feel his eyes all over her.  She could just make out the smirk painted across his lips as he folded his arms.

This other passenger, this man, began talking at her, “Twenty third floor, huh?  Looking to get hired, is that it?”  He sidled right up behind her, “You’re pretty enough.  I could probably help you with that.”

She could feel his breath on the back of her neck.  Her mouth slowly curled into a frown but understanding lit up in her mind.  That’s right, it’s not elevators.  It’s being trapped in a small room with assholes that bothered her.

And assholes were everywhere.

Totally Tanked

gold-1022229_1280

Being a fish is hard.  Being a fish that lives in a tank is even more difficult.  You look out at the weird wide world and it doesn’t make any sense to your fish brain.

Sure, there can be a riot of colors and you can’t quite figure out what you’re looking at but is that really any different than living in the coastal reefs?

The hardest part is coming to the realization that you’re trapped.  It seems like you should be able to go on forever but then you run into that clear barrier.  And that barrier is almost in all directions except up.

Once you make that distinction, it all kind of goes downhill from there.  Food magically arrives at a pretty consistent time every day.  Consistent enough that it gets dull.

So you try exploring.  The little plants are fun to play in but even they lose their mystique over time.  And there are only so many times you can swim through the castle.

That leaves you with attempting to have a conversation with Bubbles the Diver.  But that guy is like a broken record. And what the heck does he eat that makes him so gassy?

Lessons in Writing

ball-pen-on-top-of-elegant-notebook

I have finally gotten around to writing my first novel called The Matilda.  Writing a novel has been one of those things that I have wanted to do since I was a wee kid.

Now, to be honest, I have written plenty of stories throughout my life.  I even wrote a probably the longest thing I had ever written prior to this book back when I was 12.  I worked hard at it and was incredibly proud of it.  My grandfather was one of the first to read it and he laughed and laughed.  I don’t think I had ever seen him laugh so hard before in my life.

Now he wasn’t laughing because of spelling mistakes, grammar or any of the other things that I would have expected.  No, he laughed because of how it was written.  He got an entirely different meaning from the words than what I had intended.  I was a bit heart broken in response.

It was quite the learning lesson.  I bucked up and went back to reread it with what he had told me on the top of my mind.  And where I had thought I had written the greatest adventure story, I found to my dismay that I had written quite the brutal and strange comedy.

But, you know what?  I actually enjoyed my story that much more.  With a simple change in how to interpret the wording, I had two stories for the price of writing one.  I reread it many years later and it was a weak tale, adventure or comedy wise, but the lesson stayed with me.  Sadly, this story was lost to time.

Understanding these nuances helped immensely in my writing of scripts for short films and short fiction.  And it continued to help me in writing my very first full length novel, The Matilda.

I’ll talk more about that journey in later posts.

Sights Unseen

 

photogen_3212Had the shutters been closed, he might never have seen what it.  He cowered back into the corner and tripped over the lamp.  Why had he looked, he admonished himself. What had made him do it?  He could have kept watching television and remained blissfully ignorant but curiosity had gotten the better of him.

“Curse my foolishness!” he cried.

But there was  no one there to listen.  He had successfully extricated himself from society and had come to enjoy the silence.  There was no differing of opinion, no one pushing him to be a better person.  Best of all, he wasn’t responsible for anything outside of himself.

It had gotten to a point that he no longer knew day from night or even which day it was.  Never mind the week or the month.  He wasn’t entirely sure he knew what year it was.  But he had gone to the window and looked out.  And what had been seen could not be unseen.

“God I hate parades.”

(image courtesy of Photogen.com)

Sub Roar

late-stage-1431752_1920

The apocalypse had finally come.  The surface of the planet was now ruled by the rotting zombie horde and there seemed to be no hope of rescue for those still struggling to live above.

But under the water, the story was completely different.  Submarines continued to circle the earth in their hermetically sealed containers.

The crews of these boats remained unaffected by the virus.

But not so for the creatures beneath the waves…

“Sir!  Whale sighted off starboard bow!” the radar technician shouted.

The Captain looked up, “Is there sign of sluffing?”

“Decomposition is in process, Captain.”

“Range?”

“One thousand meters.”

The Captain turned to his crew, “Helm to starboard!  Weapons Officer!  When in range, launch tubes one and two.  Straddle that beast!”

‘Sir, yes sir’ echoed loudly in the COC.  The dull thump of the tubes firing came shortly after.

“We have a hit, sir.  Two hits!” exclaimed the radar technician in excitement.

“Good work men.  Good work.” the Captain responded.

Yes, the surface was lost but not the world beneath the waves.  It may take a very long time, but by God they would win!