A quick scene at the local airport...
-----------
"Last call for flight 536 with service to London."
The flight attendant put down the microphone. He took a last look around the gate in preparation for closing the door.
"Wait, wait – hold the door!"
The shout came from a young couple, racing hand in hand for the gate. The girl wore a sun dress, white cotton with a flowered print. Her hair was down, looking slightly tousled. The boy with her wore khaki pants, topped by an inexpensive golf shirt. They arrived at the gate slightly out of breath. The woman had a hand bag, the strap thrown over her head so it rested across her chest, but that was the only baggage either of them had. Neither of them could have been older than 20.
"You're lucky," the flight attendant said, "I was just about to close the door. May I have your boarding pass?"
The young woman looked at him, a pleading expression on her face. "Can we have just a moment? Please – I may never see him again."
Maybe it was the look in her eyes, or perhaps the imploring tone of her dainty British accent, but the flight attendant acquiesced.
"One minute."
The girl nodded in thanks, then turned to the young man. He took her by the hands. They stared at each other, seeming to drink each other in.
"Are you sure you have to go, Priscilla?"
"You know I do, Clark. Mother is very sick. There is no one else to care for her."
There was a moment of poignant silence. When the man finally spoke, his voice was on the edge of breaking.
"I don't know that I can go on without you."
The girl's eyes rimmed with tears.
"Oh, Clark. My heart breaks leaving you like this. I wish circumstances were different. I wish I could stay here in the warm safety of your arms. I wish I could promise to return. But…"
Clark placed a finger on her lips. The action broke the dam of her emotions and the tears fell freely.
"I understand, darling. You choose the better part. Just, please, never forget me."
"Oh, Clark - never. Never!"
He kissed her then, gently at first, then more passionately until flight attendant felt embarrassed watching them. He cleared his throat. They seemed to come back then, from the private place they had been. Both looked slightly out of sorts.
"Well, then," Clark said.
"Well, then," Priscilla said in response. "I guess this is goodbye."
An announcement came over the loudspeaker, then, interrupting them.
"Last call for flight 1134 to Rome, now boarding at gate B17."
Priscilla blinked. She turned to the flight attendant.
"Where is this flight's destination? " she asked.
"London," the attendant replied. The couple exchanged glances.
"Wrong flight," they said together. Their faces suddenly lit up in impish grins.
"Luciana," the man said. "We must away to gate B17. You'll miss your plane."
"Yes, Antonio," the girl replied, her British accent gone, replaced by something unmistakably Italian. She winked at the flight attendant. "My poor father is sure to perish without me."
The two took each other by the hand and raced off down the concourse. The flight attendant stood there for a moment, mouth open in disbelief. He considered, just for a moment, calling security. Then he shook his head. Young love…. He closed the door to the gangway, bolted the lock, and returned to the gate counter, his lips upturned in his own impish grin.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
"They Fight Crime!"
This is a story that comes from an idea generator on the website www.theyfightcrime.org. Here's what the generator gave me....
"He's a globe-trotting ninja vampire hunter. She's a cold-hearted streetsmart fairy princess with the power to see death. They fight crime!"
....and here's what I came up with:
* * * * *
She paused just out of the circle of light cast by the street lamp. It was dark tonight. Dark and wet. Those few individuals that had decided to brave the rain streaking in sheets from the gloomy sky walked briskly under their umbrellas, their eyes focused on the slippery pavement. One of these people passed Jehanna so closely that his briefcase brushed the soft suede of her trousers. It left a wet smear on the otherwise dry fabric.
Normally, Jehanna liked the rain. She liked the way the earth smelled when wet. The fresh loamy odor reminded her of her youth. But that was long ago, and in a city the size of Chicago, the heady scent of nature was overpowered by the fetid stench of human habitation.
She sighed and pulled the hood of her long coat tighter around her face. She would have preferred the heavy woolen cloaks of her homeland, but such clothing would have marked her as out of place here. She almost laughed at the thought. Had anyone actually stopped to study her in their mad dashings they would have noticed immediately that she was different, and not only because the raindrops stopped just shy of hitting her.
A car turned the corner and Jehanna caught her image reflected in the darkened window of a nearby store. Yes, she was different. It wasn't anything obvious about her. Her eyes tilted a tad too much. Her cheekbones were a touch too sharp. Her nose was just a bit too straight, her chin too pointed. All of these elements added up to a picture that was not quite human. If only they could see her ears.
Or her wings.
Her musings were interrupted by a sharp keening sound, well beyond the range of human hearing. It started off soft, but gradually increased in intensity until it practically pulsed in her head. Jehanna put a finger to the microphone attached to the collar of her blouse and spoke quickly.
"Jarius, it's happening. I'm standing near the corner of Wacker and Jackson. I'd estimate the action is taking place somewhere on Quincy."
There was no answer over her receiver. Not that she had expected one. Jarius wasn't much for conversation, especially when it was action that was required.
Jehanna was moving now herself, walking briskly to a nearby doorway. She stepped into the darkened space, glanced perfunctorily at the surrounding sidewalk and Transformed. Raindrops glistened momentarily with the reflected light of magic, then a small shape was winging its way to the northeast.
* * * * *
Jarius squatted on the roof of the apartment building, absolutely motionless. Passersby who looked up - as unlikely as that event would have been in the pouring rain - would have mistaken him for a gargoyle, an immovable stone statue left over from another time, set to watch over and protect the building's inhabitants. They wouldn't have been far from the truth.
As still as he was, behind his wrap-around Raybans, Jarius's eyes missed nothing. He saw the teen-ager slip out the ground floor widow across the way and escape in a friend's awaiting car. He saw the elderly couple, arm in arm, strolling down the sidewalk, looking for all the world as if they had just recently discovered love. He saw the pigeons descend on the remains of a hot dog bun, tossed carelessly out the window of a passing SUV. He saw the man in the Lexus park in the space vacated by the teenager's friend. He watched the man step from the vehicle, heedless of the effects of the rain on his Armani suit, and walk purposefully up the steps of the nearest building. The man took a key from his pocket and entered immediately.
Jarius was up and moving before the door completely closed. He took a step forward and dropped off the edge of the roof. He landed on the steps three stories below with a lightness that belied his size, and was sprinting across the street almost instantly. He didn't bother with the intercom system or the lock, choosing instead a more direct method of entry. One gloved fist shattered the window next to the door and turned the knob from the inside. He was stepping over the threshold when Jehanna's voice spoke to him through the receiver in his ear. He didn't bother to answer. He knew instinctively that he was in the right place, that the man he saw entering this building was the one they sought.
Five quick strides placed him before the door to the apartment. He grasped the knob and turned. The door was locked. Jarius gave the door slight push just above the knob. The lack of give confirmed to him that the dead bolt was also locked.
Jarius chafed at the delay. It had only been a minute since the man had entered, and only seconds since Jehanna's warning, but his instincts screamed at him that if he did not hurry he would fail in his mission. He stepped back, took a deep breath to center himself, and launched a sidekick at the door.
There was a large CRACK as the door flew open. Jarius stepped through the shattered frame and scanned the apartment.
The man was standing in the living room, straddling the limp body of a woman. Sanctius snapped from its scabbard as Jarius leaped forward, swinging for the kill.
The man moved so fast he was almost a blur. Sanctius swept through the empty space above the woman's body. Jarius spun instinctively, the holy blade carving an arc through the air designed to stop the inevitable counterattack.
The attack never came.
Jarius fixed the figure in the corner with a stare. The vampire's eyes glowed slightly red, but he otherwise showed no sign of aggression.
"Hold, Hunter. I did not do this."
"I find that hard to believe."
"It is the truth. Search the body."
Jarius glanced down at the woman who lay at his feet. Blood pooled thickly around the body. The source was easily identified - several stab wounds were in evidence in the woman's chest.
"The woman was like that when I entered. I was not involved. You have no jurisdiction here."
"You came here intending to feed," Jarius said. "That's makes it my jurisdiction." He raised Sanctius to the ready.
"Whatever intentions I may have had are irrelevant. By the Accords, I am innocent of any wrongdoing."
Blood and stones. Jarius wanted this vampire, wanted him badly, but the creature spoke the truth.
"Begone, then, vampire."
"What I came for is not here anyway, Hunter." It smiled, showing perfectly white human teeth. "Happy Hunting." With a blur, it was gone.
Jairus slid Sanctius back into its sheath. What did the creature come for? Jehanna's visions were never wrong. The vampire had intended violence here. It hadn't had time to search the apartment, so what it wanted must have once been on the person of the woman.
Jarius bent down and inspected the body. He found it almost immediately: a fine red line around her throat, evidence that a necklace had been torn from her before her murder. The body was fresh. Only one person could have done it - and he had what the vampire wanted.
"Jehanna, you need to find an old, black Cadillac Seville, some rusting on the hood. License plate IL- UL 2532. Find it now."
He was already moving out the door to the building as Jehanna's questioning reply came over the radio. He didn't bother to answer it.
* * * * *
Jehanna perched high on the railing of a fire escape watching the scene below. The old Seville was parked at one end of the alley, its teen aged occupants arguing over something. Jehanna couldn't hear the conversation from this distance, but it was evident things were getting heated.
A second car pulled into the opposite end of the alley, the light from its lamps fully illuminating the two kids. They stopped their arguing, forced to shield their eyes. Jehanna tried to identify the new vehicle. Was that a Lexus? She wasn't sure. She had never gotten the hang of identifying vehicles. Without license plate information she would never have found the Seville.
The driver of the Lexus killed the lights and got out of the car. The two boys followed suit.
"That you, Sanchez?"
"Shut up, you #*%@ fool! You want I should off you now?"
Jehanna saw the gun in Sanchez's hand. Evidently the boy did, too, as he stopped talking and held up his hands.
"You have the stuff, or not."
"We got it."
"Then hand it over before I get more pissed."
The keening started again. Where was Jarius? She was forbidden to intervene directly and someone was going to die by supernatural means in the next minute or two.
The second boy walked forward, a necklace with a charm dangling from his fist. He stopped six feet short of Sanchez.
"I...I want to see the reward first."
Sanchez chuckled. It was an oily sound. "You have guts, kid. I'll show you the reward."
Sanchez moved so fast he must have appeared as a blur to the kid.
He was a vampire!
The vampire held the kid around the throat with one hand and lifted him several inches off the ground.
"Your reward is a quick death."
A crossbow bolt embedded itself in the vampire's left breast. It staggered, glowing red eyes searching for its attacker.
Jarius sprinted from the shadows of the alley, Sanctius poised to strike. The vampire dropped the boy and attempted to defend itself, but the holy water coating the bolt was doing its job. The fiend was too slow. Sanctius sliced down, severing its head from its body. There was a flash of brilliant white light, and the vampire exploded into dust.
Jehanna smiled. Jarius always arrived in time.
A siren sounded close by as the boy attempted to get to his feet. Jarius promptly punched him in the face. He hit the ground hard.
Jehanna watched the first boy scramble back into his vehicle and flee the scene. She waited until he was gone before joining Jarius in the alley below.
"Why did you do that?" she asked, pointing to the unconscious kid.
"He killed his own mother tonight. All for this." Jarius retrieved the necklace from the boy's hand. "I'm not going to kill an innocent, but I'm not going to let him get away with murder either."
A reasonable explanation. "What do you think the vamp wanted with the necklace?"
"No clue, but we need to find out." Jarius sheathed Sanctius. "The cops will be here soon. We better be going."
Jehanna nodded. Without a second look at the boy she shimmered and flew out of sight.
"He's a globe-trotting ninja vampire hunter. She's a cold-hearted streetsmart fairy princess with the power to see death. They fight crime!"
....and here's what I came up with:
* * * * *
She paused just out of the circle of light cast by the street lamp. It was dark tonight. Dark and wet. Those few individuals that had decided to brave the rain streaking in sheets from the gloomy sky walked briskly under their umbrellas, their eyes focused on the slippery pavement. One of these people passed Jehanna so closely that his briefcase brushed the soft suede of her trousers. It left a wet smear on the otherwise dry fabric.
Normally, Jehanna liked the rain. She liked the way the earth smelled when wet. The fresh loamy odor reminded her of her youth. But that was long ago, and in a city the size of Chicago, the heady scent of nature was overpowered by the fetid stench of human habitation.
She sighed and pulled the hood of her long coat tighter around her face. She would have preferred the heavy woolen cloaks of her homeland, but such clothing would have marked her as out of place here. She almost laughed at the thought. Had anyone actually stopped to study her in their mad dashings they would have noticed immediately that she was different, and not only because the raindrops stopped just shy of hitting her.
A car turned the corner and Jehanna caught her image reflected in the darkened window of a nearby store. Yes, she was different. It wasn't anything obvious about her. Her eyes tilted a tad too much. Her cheekbones were a touch too sharp. Her nose was just a bit too straight, her chin too pointed. All of these elements added up to a picture that was not quite human. If only they could see her ears.
Or her wings.
Her musings were interrupted by a sharp keening sound, well beyond the range of human hearing. It started off soft, but gradually increased in intensity until it practically pulsed in her head. Jehanna put a finger to the microphone attached to the collar of her blouse and spoke quickly.
"Jarius, it's happening. I'm standing near the corner of Wacker and Jackson. I'd estimate the action is taking place somewhere on Quincy."
There was no answer over her receiver. Not that she had expected one. Jarius wasn't much for conversation, especially when it was action that was required.
Jehanna was moving now herself, walking briskly to a nearby doorway. She stepped into the darkened space, glanced perfunctorily at the surrounding sidewalk and Transformed. Raindrops glistened momentarily with the reflected light of magic, then a small shape was winging its way to the northeast.
* * * * *
Jarius squatted on the roof of the apartment building, absolutely motionless. Passersby who looked up - as unlikely as that event would have been in the pouring rain - would have mistaken him for a gargoyle, an immovable stone statue left over from another time, set to watch over and protect the building's inhabitants. They wouldn't have been far from the truth.
As still as he was, behind his wrap-around Raybans, Jarius's eyes missed nothing. He saw the teen-ager slip out the ground floor widow across the way and escape in a friend's awaiting car. He saw the elderly couple, arm in arm, strolling down the sidewalk, looking for all the world as if they had just recently discovered love. He saw the pigeons descend on the remains of a hot dog bun, tossed carelessly out the window of a passing SUV. He saw the man in the Lexus park in the space vacated by the teenager's friend. He watched the man step from the vehicle, heedless of the effects of the rain on his Armani suit, and walk purposefully up the steps of the nearest building. The man took a key from his pocket and entered immediately.
Jarius was up and moving before the door completely closed. He took a step forward and dropped off the edge of the roof. He landed on the steps three stories below with a lightness that belied his size, and was sprinting across the street almost instantly. He didn't bother with the intercom system or the lock, choosing instead a more direct method of entry. One gloved fist shattered the window next to the door and turned the knob from the inside. He was stepping over the threshold when Jehanna's voice spoke to him through the receiver in his ear. He didn't bother to answer. He knew instinctively that he was in the right place, that the man he saw entering this building was the one they sought.
Five quick strides placed him before the door to the apartment. He grasped the knob and turned. The door was locked. Jarius gave the door slight push just above the knob. The lack of give confirmed to him that the dead bolt was also locked.
Jarius chafed at the delay. It had only been a minute since the man had entered, and only seconds since Jehanna's warning, but his instincts screamed at him that if he did not hurry he would fail in his mission. He stepped back, took a deep breath to center himself, and launched a sidekick at the door.
There was a large CRACK as the door flew open. Jarius stepped through the shattered frame and scanned the apartment.
The man was standing in the living room, straddling the limp body of a woman. Sanctius snapped from its scabbard as Jarius leaped forward, swinging for the kill.
The man moved so fast he was almost a blur. Sanctius swept through the empty space above the woman's body. Jarius spun instinctively, the holy blade carving an arc through the air designed to stop the inevitable counterattack.
The attack never came.
Jarius fixed the figure in the corner with a stare. The vampire's eyes glowed slightly red, but he otherwise showed no sign of aggression.
"Hold, Hunter. I did not do this."
"I find that hard to believe."
"It is the truth. Search the body."
Jarius glanced down at the woman who lay at his feet. Blood pooled thickly around the body. The source was easily identified - several stab wounds were in evidence in the woman's chest.
"The woman was like that when I entered. I was not involved. You have no jurisdiction here."
"You came here intending to feed," Jarius said. "That's makes it my jurisdiction." He raised Sanctius to the ready.
"Whatever intentions I may have had are irrelevant. By the Accords, I am innocent of any wrongdoing."
Blood and stones. Jarius wanted this vampire, wanted him badly, but the creature spoke the truth.
"Begone, then, vampire."
"What I came for is not here anyway, Hunter." It smiled, showing perfectly white human teeth. "Happy Hunting." With a blur, it was gone.
Jairus slid Sanctius back into its sheath. What did the creature come for? Jehanna's visions were never wrong. The vampire had intended violence here. It hadn't had time to search the apartment, so what it wanted must have once been on the person of the woman.
Jarius bent down and inspected the body. He found it almost immediately: a fine red line around her throat, evidence that a necklace had been torn from her before her murder. The body was fresh. Only one person could have done it - and he had what the vampire wanted.
"Jehanna, you need to find an old, black Cadillac Seville, some rusting on the hood. License plate IL- UL 2532. Find it now."
He was already moving out the door to the building as Jehanna's questioning reply came over the radio. He didn't bother to answer it.
* * * * *
Jehanna perched high on the railing of a fire escape watching the scene below. The old Seville was parked at one end of the alley, its teen aged occupants arguing over something. Jehanna couldn't hear the conversation from this distance, but it was evident things were getting heated.
A second car pulled into the opposite end of the alley, the light from its lamps fully illuminating the two kids. They stopped their arguing, forced to shield their eyes. Jehanna tried to identify the new vehicle. Was that a Lexus? She wasn't sure. She had never gotten the hang of identifying vehicles. Without license plate information she would never have found the Seville.
The driver of the Lexus killed the lights and got out of the car. The two boys followed suit.
"That you, Sanchez?"
"Shut up, you #*%@ fool! You want I should off you now?"
Jehanna saw the gun in Sanchez's hand. Evidently the boy did, too, as he stopped talking and held up his hands.
"You have the stuff, or not."
"We got it."
"Then hand it over before I get more pissed."
The keening started again. Where was Jarius? She was forbidden to intervene directly and someone was going to die by supernatural means in the next minute or two.
The second boy walked forward, a necklace with a charm dangling from his fist. He stopped six feet short of Sanchez.
"I...I want to see the reward first."
Sanchez chuckled. It was an oily sound. "You have guts, kid. I'll show you the reward."
Sanchez moved so fast he must have appeared as a blur to the kid.
He was a vampire!
The vampire held the kid around the throat with one hand and lifted him several inches off the ground.
"Your reward is a quick death."
A crossbow bolt embedded itself in the vampire's left breast. It staggered, glowing red eyes searching for its attacker.
Jarius sprinted from the shadows of the alley, Sanctius poised to strike. The vampire dropped the boy and attempted to defend itself, but the holy water coating the bolt was doing its job. The fiend was too slow. Sanctius sliced down, severing its head from its body. There was a flash of brilliant white light, and the vampire exploded into dust.
Jehanna smiled. Jarius always arrived in time.
A siren sounded close by as the boy attempted to get to his feet. Jarius promptly punched him in the face. He hit the ground hard.
Jehanna watched the first boy scramble back into his vehicle and flee the scene. She waited until he was gone before joining Jarius in the alley below.
"Why did you do that?" she asked, pointing to the unconscious kid.
"He killed his own mother tonight. All for this." Jarius retrieved the necklace from the boy's hand. "I'm not going to kill an innocent, but I'm not going to let him get away with murder either."
A reasonable explanation. "What do you think the vamp wanted with the necklace?"
"No clue, but we need to find out." Jarius sheathed Sanctius. "The cops will be here soon. We better be going."
Jehanna nodded. Without a second look at the boy she shimmered and flew out of sight.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Ah, Good to Be Back
So, I decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this November. (www.nanowrimo.org) I spent most days that month writing towards the 50,000 word novel that was the goal. I fell short in the end, topping out at ~ 38,000 words. I missed a few days and then got sick at the very end of the month which wiped me out. Still, for me, writing 38,000 words in 30 days is a mind blowing achievement. I learned how to write 1000 words at a shot without editing - all within 20 minutes. This gives me hope I can actually complete a novel some day.
I may decide to post what I wrote here, but probably not. It's trash, pure and simple. But with some editing it could actually be novel worthy (and if I ever finish it.) For the meantime, I intend to go back to hammering out shorts for awhile to give myself a break. I promise to post more this week.
- Todd
I may decide to post what I wrote here, but probably not. It's trash, pure and simple. But with some editing it could actually be novel worthy (and if I ever finish it.) For the meantime, I intend to go back to hammering out shorts for awhile to give myself a break. I promise to post more this week.
- Todd
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
"Opposite Woes"
Anyone for poetry? This is silly....
------
"Opposite Woes"
"O, Dr. Day, there's something wrong!"
I told him with a yelp.
"Just tell me what it is," he said,
"I'll see if I can help."
"Well, it all started just lastweek,"
I told him with a frown.
"I made an effort to stand up;
Instead I sat back down."
"That's not so bad," the doctor said,
"Just dizziness I'm sure.
I have right here some medicine
that will affect a cure."
"If dizziness was all there was
I'll bet that would be true.
But there's still more that's going on
I need to share with you.
"I tried to fill my coffee cup
and tipped some from the spout
But, instead of filling up the mug
I found I'd poured it out!
"My shoes should go upon my feet -
they end up on my head.
I sleep upon my table and
I breakfast on my bed.
"I know that I'm right-handed;
I've been so all my life,
but recently I use my left,
At least, so says my wife.
"I'm drinking from the toilet and
I'm peeing in the sink.
My eyes are always open, while
my mouth's begun to blink!
"And if all that is not enough
To prove to you my plight,
I'd swear the Cubs have won the pennant
-
and that CAN'T be right!"
"So, left is right and right is wrong.
That's quite a list of ills.
I don't think I can solve this case
By giving you some pills.
"Let's see," Doc said, "I think I know
Some tests that we can run.
With those results we then will see
If something can be done."
And so they ran a CAT scan
With an MRI or two.
They tested both my ears, my mouth,
My bed and sink and shoe.
When all the tests were finished
The results were analyzed.
Then Dr. Day sat down with me
And shared the big surprise.
"We've figured out your opposites.
Our reasoning is clear.
Do you remember last week, the
Procedure you had here?
"It was a simple surgery;
We just removed your brain.
Once it was out we washed it
And returned it back again.
"But, sadly, a mistake was made,"
said Doc Day with a frown.
"For though your brain was clean,
We put it back in upside down."
------
"Opposite Woes"
"O, Dr. Day, there's something wrong!"
I told him with a yelp.
"Just tell me what it is," he said,
"I'll see if I can help."
"Well, it all started just lastweek,"
I told him with a frown.
"I made an effort to stand up;
Instead I sat back down."
"That's not so bad," the doctor said,
"Just dizziness I'm sure.
I have right here some medicine
that will affect a cure."
"If dizziness was all there was
I'll bet that would be true.
But there's still more that's going on
I need to share with you.
"I tried to fill my coffee cup
and tipped some from the spout
But, instead of filling up the mug
I found I'd poured it out!
"My shoes should go upon my feet -
they end up on my head.
I sleep upon my table and
I breakfast on my bed.
"I know that I'm right-handed;
I've been so all my life,
but recently I use my left,
At least, so says my wife.
"I'm drinking from the toilet and
I'm peeing in the sink.
My eyes are always open, while
my mouth's begun to blink!
"And if all that is not enough
To prove to you my plight,
I'd swear the Cubs have won the pennant
-
and that CAN'T be right!"
"So, left is right and right is wrong.
That's quite a list of ills.
I don't think I can solve this case
By giving you some pills.
"Let's see," Doc said, "I think I know
Some tests that we can run.
With those results we then will see
If something can be done."
And so they ran a CAT scan
With an MRI or two.
They tested both my ears, my mouth,
My bed and sink and shoe.
When all the tests were finished
The results were analyzed.
Then Dr. Day sat down with me
And shared the big surprise.
"We've figured out your opposites.
Our reasoning is clear.
Do you remember last week, the
Procedure you had here?
"It was a simple surgery;
We just removed your brain.
Once it was out we washed it
And returned it back again.
"But, sadly, a mistake was made,"
said Doc Day with a frown.
"For though your brain was clean,
We put it back in upside down."
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
"Helping Hand"
This story is a combination of two challenges, one to write a story using a journal entry format, and another to tell about what you would do if you suddenly received discovered you had super powers.
-----
Journal of Corporal Joshua Rogers, US Army
August 15, 2009
We inspected another site today. Officially we found no evidence of weapons of mass destruction. Unofficially...well, that's a different story. The bunker we uncovered had definitely been used as a lab of some sort. The chem sniffers reported blanks, but the rad guys said they detected low levels of some kind of radiation. They tested all of us pretty thoroughly afterward and pronounced us clean. Some of us think the radiation proves Saddam was doing some kind of nuclear research, but the tech wizzes say that since certain lab equipment uses radioactive sources, it's impossible to tell from the faint traces we got what the actual source of the radiation is.
On an unrelated note, I got stung by a scorpion today. Couldn't believe it. I reached down to take off my boots and wham!, it hit me in the hand. Thing had been clinging to my pants and I hadn't noticed it. Tiny little bugger. Doc Johannsen said it wasn't dangerous and shouldn't hurt much more than a bee sting.
August 16
Had a terrible headache today. A couple of times my vision blurred a bit; I definitely felt some eye strain. Thought it might be a reaction from the scorpion sting, but the Doc checked me again and said it wasn't. Gave me some ibuprofen and send me back on duty. Weird.
August 17
Headache is much worse today. Can hardly see straight to write this. Doc put me on medical leave for observation. I'm having problems with my hands - they aren't always responding when I try to move them. Took me several tries to write this. Gonna lie down and rest.
August 19
Somehow I lost a day. Doc says I spent most of yesterday in a delirious state; no fever, but I drifted in and out of consciousness, though I can't remember it. When I was conscious, Doc says I flailed my arms about. He had to tie them down. The headache is gone now and I can write this without problem. Doc wants to keep me for a couple of days for observation.
August 20
Maybe I'm crazy, but I swear this actually happened. I'm sitting in bed, reading a book when I decide I want a glass of water. I reach over for the glass and take a drink - then I see the glass, just floating there in front of me. I can feel the glass in my hand, but both my hands are still holding the book open. I jump out of bed and "throw" the glass away from me. It flies across the room and lands on an empty bunk. I'm freaking out. The nurse comes in, asking what's wrong. I tell him it was nothing. I dozed off and jerked awake because of a bad dream. He looks at me funny, but leaves. I sit down and try to figure out what happened. I can't. All I know is, I FELT the glass in my hand. I moved it to my mouth and took a drink. All while holding on to the book with both hands! I begin to think about the possibility of radioactive scorpions and begin to wonder. I've read Spiderman. It couldn't be real, could it?
I decide to experiment. I sit cross-legged on the bed and put the book in front of me. Here goes. I reach out my left hand for the book. No problem. I try with the right hand. No problem. I put both hands firmly on my knees and force them to stay there. Then I reach for the book. Nothing happens. I feel stupid. Spiderman, indeed. But something happened with the water glass. It did! I try again. Reaching....reaching.... I FEEL my hand, my HAND, close around the book. I glance at my knees. My left and right hands are still there. But I still feel the book in my hand. In fact, I can feel three hands. My head starts to ache, right between my eyes. I ignore it and bring my right hand forward. The book starts to tremble; my third hand is loosing its grasp. My right hand grabs for the book. For the briefest instant I can feel both hands touching, then my head begins to throb, and the third hand goes away. I'm extremely tired right now. I'll try more tomorrow.
August 21
I tried using my third hand on and off today, always careful not to let anyone catch me. I'm not sure what's going on with me, but I've heard stories about some of the research done at DARPA. I have no intention being shuffled off there to be some guinea pig for the Army's Dr. Frankenstein. I'm keeping this to myself.
My control got better throughout the day, and I noticed that the headaches decreased in like proportion. Here's what I've learned.
The third hand is real, yet it isn't. I can pick things up with it, and feel them as though they are in my physical hands, but the third hand feels no pain in and of itself. I can actually touch it with my other two hands, but to objects other than those I am actively trying to hold or my own body, the hand is non-corporeal.
The third hand is about as strong as one of my regular hands. I find I can lift things I would normally be able to lift, while things that are too heavy remain too heavy. The hand extends as far out from my body as my normal hands do, too. This is useful, naturally, but I wish I could reach farther. That would have some really great applications. Maybe it's just a mental block?
August 22
Doc released me today. He can't find anything wrong with me and I certainly haven't told him about hand number three. In fact, I don't intend to tell anyone. Ever.
August 25
My range has increased quite a bit. I can now reach things out to about ten feet. This has allowed me to initiate a few practical jokes I'd never have been able to orchestrate before. The best has got to be got to be goosing Sergeant Brandt as she walked past O'Reilly in the mess hall. Wow did she lay into him. Gave him additional sentry duty for a week. This so totally pays him back for the camel dung in my bunk. As an aside, Sergeant Brandt has a very firm ass.
August 28
We're going on extended patrol today. I've never been comfortable with these. The potential for ambush in the area we're heading to is low, but was an area of extreme violence in the past. I hate seeing people living in fear like these people do. Especially the children.
September 5
This is Dr. Albert Johannsen, with the Army Medical Department. It isn't standard protocol for me to write in a patient's journal, but given the circumstances, I feel it is appropriate. This certainly isn't going in my official report. Maybe Corporal Rogers' family will find it useful.
I find Corporal Roger under my care due to what officially is "an accident in the field." A land mine detonated close to the corporal, causing damage to his central nervous system. The corporal is in a coma I doubt he will ever come out of.
The report is unclear as to how exactly the land mine detonated. Witnesses state Corporal Rogers made an attempt to prevent an Iraqi child from entering an area known to be seeded with land mines. He ran towards the child, waving him away. The child did not respond. The mine seems to have malfunctioned and detonated approximately ten feet from the corporal. The child was five feet from the blast, but remained unhurt. Not so for Corporal Rogers.
That's the official report. What it doesn't cover are the strange little oddities than remain unexplained. No shrapnel from the blast was found more than inches away from the mine. Corporal Rogers has no physical marks on his body - nothing that should have caused his vegetative state. No cause could be determined for the mine to have detonated.
Having discovered Corporal Rogers' journal, I believe I have a possible answer to these questions; not an answer that can ever be offered up officially, but one which nonetheless fits the circumstances. If we take as fact what Corporal Rogers reported in his journal, this is what I believe to have occurred.
Corporal Rogers saw the child moving toward the mine field and moved to intercept. As he approached, he saw the mine and realized he would not make it to the child in time. Using his "third hand" he covered the mine. (Given his increase in range it makes sense that his area of effect could have grown in like measure allowing him to cover the entire surface of the mine even though the mine itself would have been larger than his hand.) In his haste, his third hand detonated the explosive. Corporal Rogers made sure the third hand stayed corporeal and used it to contain the blast. The amount of effort needed for this must have been monumental. The effect, while not affecting him or the child physically, surely fed back into his brain (much as he became mentally fatigued from exercising the hand, only orders of magnitude more intense.) It is this mental feedback which has caused the corporal's coma, rather than any physical trauma.
I cannot know if this theory is correct, just as I cannot predict whether this "psychic trauma" will ever heal. What I do know is that Corporal Rogers is a hero. A child lives because of his selfless action. God bless you, Corporal. God bless you.
-----
Journal of Corporal Joshua Rogers, US Army
August 15, 2009
We inspected another site today. Officially we found no evidence of weapons of mass destruction. Unofficially...well, that's a different story. The bunker we uncovered had definitely been used as a lab of some sort. The chem sniffers reported blanks, but the rad guys said they detected low levels of some kind of radiation. They tested all of us pretty thoroughly afterward and pronounced us clean. Some of us think the radiation proves Saddam was doing some kind of nuclear research, but the tech wizzes say that since certain lab equipment uses radioactive sources, it's impossible to tell from the faint traces we got what the actual source of the radiation is.
On an unrelated note, I got stung by a scorpion today. Couldn't believe it. I reached down to take off my boots and wham!, it hit me in the hand. Thing had been clinging to my pants and I hadn't noticed it. Tiny little bugger. Doc Johannsen said it wasn't dangerous and shouldn't hurt much more than a bee sting.
August 16
Had a terrible headache today. A couple of times my vision blurred a bit; I definitely felt some eye strain. Thought it might be a reaction from the scorpion sting, but the Doc checked me again and said it wasn't. Gave me some ibuprofen and send me back on duty. Weird.
August 17
Headache is much worse today. Can hardly see straight to write this. Doc put me on medical leave for observation. I'm having problems with my hands - they aren't always responding when I try to move them. Took me several tries to write this. Gonna lie down and rest.
August 19
Somehow I lost a day. Doc says I spent most of yesterday in a delirious state; no fever, but I drifted in and out of consciousness, though I can't remember it. When I was conscious, Doc says I flailed my arms about. He had to tie them down. The headache is gone now and I can write this without problem. Doc wants to keep me for a couple of days for observation.
August 20
Maybe I'm crazy, but I swear this actually happened. I'm sitting in bed, reading a book when I decide I want a glass of water. I reach over for the glass and take a drink - then I see the glass, just floating there in front of me. I can feel the glass in my hand, but both my hands are still holding the book open. I jump out of bed and "throw" the glass away from me. It flies across the room and lands on an empty bunk. I'm freaking out. The nurse comes in, asking what's wrong. I tell him it was nothing. I dozed off and jerked awake because of a bad dream. He looks at me funny, but leaves. I sit down and try to figure out what happened. I can't. All I know is, I FELT the glass in my hand. I moved it to my mouth and took a drink. All while holding on to the book with both hands! I begin to think about the possibility of radioactive scorpions and begin to wonder. I've read Spiderman. It couldn't be real, could it?
I decide to experiment. I sit cross-legged on the bed and put the book in front of me. Here goes. I reach out my left hand for the book. No problem. I try with the right hand. No problem. I put both hands firmly on my knees and force them to stay there. Then I reach for the book. Nothing happens. I feel stupid. Spiderman, indeed. But something happened with the water glass. It did! I try again. Reaching....reaching.... I FEEL my hand, my HAND, close around the book. I glance at my knees. My left and right hands are still there. But I still feel the book in my hand. In fact, I can feel three hands. My head starts to ache, right between my eyes. I ignore it and bring my right hand forward. The book starts to tremble; my third hand is loosing its grasp. My right hand grabs for the book. For the briefest instant I can feel both hands touching, then my head begins to throb, and the third hand goes away. I'm extremely tired right now. I'll try more tomorrow.
August 21
I tried using my third hand on and off today, always careful not to let anyone catch me. I'm not sure what's going on with me, but I've heard stories about some of the research done at DARPA. I have no intention being shuffled off there to be some guinea pig for the Army's Dr. Frankenstein. I'm keeping this to myself.
My control got better throughout the day, and I noticed that the headaches decreased in like proportion. Here's what I've learned.
The third hand is real, yet it isn't. I can pick things up with it, and feel them as though they are in my physical hands, but the third hand feels no pain in and of itself. I can actually touch it with my other two hands, but to objects other than those I am actively trying to hold or my own body, the hand is non-corporeal.
The third hand is about as strong as one of my regular hands. I find I can lift things I would normally be able to lift, while things that are too heavy remain too heavy. The hand extends as far out from my body as my normal hands do, too. This is useful, naturally, but I wish I could reach farther. That would have some really great applications. Maybe it's just a mental block?
August 22
Doc released me today. He can't find anything wrong with me and I certainly haven't told him about hand number three. In fact, I don't intend to tell anyone. Ever.
August 25
My range has increased quite a bit. I can now reach things out to about ten feet. This has allowed me to initiate a few practical jokes I'd never have been able to orchestrate before. The best has got to be got to be goosing Sergeant Brandt as she walked past O'Reilly in the mess hall. Wow did she lay into him. Gave him additional sentry duty for a week. This so totally pays him back for the camel dung in my bunk. As an aside, Sergeant Brandt has a very firm ass.
August 28
We're going on extended patrol today. I've never been comfortable with these. The potential for ambush in the area we're heading to is low, but was an area of extreme violence in the past. I hate seeing people living in fear like these people do. Especially the children.
September 5
This is Dr. Albert Johannsen, with the Army Medical Department. It isn't standard protocol for me to write in a patient's journal, but given the circumstances, I feel it is appropriate. This certainly isn't going in my official report. Maybe Corporal Rogers' family will find it useful.
I find Corporal Roger under my care due to what officially is "an accident in the field." A land mine detonated close to the corporal, causing damage to his central nervous system. The corporal is in a coma I doubt he will ever come out of.
The report is unclear as to how exactly the land mine detonated. Witnesses state Corporal Rogers made an attempt to prevent an Iraqi child from entering an area known to be seeded with land mines. He ran towards the child, waving him away. The child did not respond. The mine seems to have malfunctioned and detonated approximately ten feet from the corporal. The child was five feet from the blast, but remained unhurt. Not so for Corporal Rogers.
That's the official report. What it doesn't cover are the strange little oddities than remain unexplained. No shrapnel from the blast was found more than inches away from the mine. Corporal Rogers has no physical marks on his body - nothing that should have caused his vegetative state. No cause could be determined for the mine to have detonated.
Having discovered Corporal Rogers' journal, I believe I have a possible answer to these questions; not an answer that can ever be offered up officially, but one which nonetheless fits the circumstances. If we take as fact what Corporal Rogers reported in his journal, this is what I believe to have occurred.
Corporal Rogers saw the child moving toward the mine field and moved to intercept. As he approached, he saw the mine and realized he would not make it to the child in time. Using his "third hand" he covered the mine. (Given his increase in range it makes sense that his area of effect could have grown in like measure allowing him to cover the entire surface of the mine even though the mine itself would have been larger than his hand.) In his haste, his third hand detonated the explosive. Corporal Rogers made sure the third hand stayed corporeal and used it to contain the blast. The amount of effort needed for this must have been monumental. The effect, while not affecting him or the child physically, surely fed back into his brain (much as he became mentally fatigued from exercising the hand, only orders of magnitude more intense.) It is this mental feedback which has caused the corporal's coma, rather than any physical trauma.
I cannot know if this theory is correct, just as I cannot predict whether this "psychic trauma" will ever heal. What I do know is that Corporal Rogers is a hero. A child lives because of his selfless action. God bless you, Corporal. God bless you.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
"Dark and Misty"
BANG!
Moira jumped as the unexpected explosion occurred just a yard from her feet.
"Joshua, you're a complete nimrod!" She looked for her brother, but the darkness of the wood made it difficult to see him.
Her brother cackled, his voice indicated he was moving away from her. The little git should know better than to toss firecrackers in the park. The rangers would throw them out if they got caught, and they didn't want that. Moira couldn't stomach another relocation in the dark.
She moved farther down the path, away from the continuing hooting of her brother. What were they doing here? Why couldn't she just have a normal life? The question was a frequent one. As long as she could remember her family had moved from place to place, never staying in any one spot for long. As a child, it had been exciting, all the moving around. As a thirteen year old with a budding interest in boys it was less than satisfactory. She had tried talking to her Dad about it, but he just didn't understand. It was like the whole period thing; he recognized it was happening but didn't want to discuss it. Joshua was even worse. Her ten year old brother was like an evil Tasmanian devil, blowing through in a whirlwind and leaving things completely messed up in his wake. Moira was nothing like either of them. They loved the outdoors; she liked the comfort of four solid walls. They craved adventure; she wanted structure. They were really nothing alike. They didn't even look alike. Moira's dark complexion, black hair and brown eyes contrasted sharply with the blond-haired blue-eyed look her father and brother shared. Sometimes she couldn't even believe they were related.
Her dad said she was a lot like her mom, both in looks and temperament. Moira sighed. She wished she had known her. Her mom had died when she was five. She had some memories of her, but they were faded and blurry. She didn't even have a picture. Those had all been destroyed in the fire that claimed her mom's life and destined her family to live in the wild. Moira cursed God for that, taking away her mom and her structured life in one blow.
Moira wiped the wetness from her eyes. Though she couldn't remember her she missed her mom a lot these days. How much easier would it have been if her mom had been around to talk to. She would have had someone with the same interests, someone who she could relate to. Someone who would understand.
She stepped from the woods, just now realizing that the path she was following ended at the beach. Moonlight flowed over the waters of Lake Superior. Rolling bundles of mist kissed the lake's surface, giving it a surreal effect - as if the lake were alive. She walked to the edge of the water, staring into the shifting morass of mist. A styrofoam cup floated out into view, seeming to appear as if from nowhere. It bobbed up and down on the minute waves of the lake, then vanished once more into the fog, as if it never was.
How very much like me, she thought. In and out of obscurity. No permanence. No anchor.
"What are you doing there?"
Moira spun. A flashlight hit her in the face. She threw up an arm in front of her eyes.
"Oops, sorry about that."
The light lowered. It took a second for her eyes to adjust. When they did she saw a woman about twenty feet from her standing next to a wooden notice board. She wore an official looking uniform complete with brimmed hat and the aforementioned flashlight. A park ranger. Moira relaxed. Her father and brother didn't like the rangers, but Moira didn't mind them so much. They represented structure. She could respect that, while at the same time hoping this one hadn't noticed Joshua's stunt with the firecracker.
"The beach is closed for the night, young lady."
"Sorry, ma'am." Moira always said "sir" and "ma'am" when speaking to adults. Her father had taught her it helped to gain their trust. "I was just walking about from the campground and didn't realize I would end up here."
"What's the name?" the ranger asked.
"Moira Jones."
The ranger pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and ran her finger down it.
"Yeah, I got you right here. Site number two. Still, beach is not part of the campground, so I'm going to have to ask you to head back to your site."
"Yes, ma'am."
Moira walked up from the beach. She chose to head toward the ranger, rather than back to the path. This was the first adult woman she had had the opportunity to speak with privately in quite some time, and while she had no illusions there would be an in depth discussion, the possibility for any conversation with a female was too strong to pass up.
She noticed a stack of papers at the ranger's feet.
"What're those, ma'am?"
"Hm? Oh, notices. I get a stack from the state every so often. Supposed to post them around the park. They don't last long out here in the weather, but it's part of the job, so..."
"Can I help you hang them up?"
The ranger looked at her. Maybe it was the desperate look Moira was sure was in her eyes, but she nodded.
"Sure. Can always use a hand."
She handed Moira half the stack.
"Two pins in each page at the top corners and one in the middle at the bottom. Take the old ones down first and toss them in the trash. You take that side."
Moira tore down the old notices on he half, then picked up the stack of new papers. She flipped through them. There was a new copy of the beach rules, an advert for park activities the next month, and other assorted items of little interest. It was the missing person page that caught her eye. She pulled it to the front of the stack and started reading.
Missing, Viviana Vasquez, Sex: Female, Race: Hispanic, Hair: Black, Eyes: Brown, Date of Birth: 6/4/1996, Last Seen: 8/12/2001."
Wow, this girl had been missing for eight years. That was a long time to be away from your family. She looked at the picture on the left. It showed a young girl, about five years old, with long hair done up in pigtails. She was smiling. There was a second picture - one of those that had been computer adjusted for age. She looked at it - and promptly gasped. The page fell from her fingers. That was impossible.
"What's the matter, dear?" The ranger touched her shoulder, concern evident on her face. Moira pointed to the notice.
"It's me!"
Moira jumped as the unexpected explosion occurred just a yard from her feet.
"Joshua, you're a complete nimrod!" She looked for her brother, but the darkness of the wood made it difficult to see him.
Her brother cackled, his voice indicated he was moving away from her. The little git should know better than to toss firecrackers in the park. The rangers would throw them out if they got caught, and they didn't want that. Moira couldn't stomach another relocation in the dark.
She moved farther down the path, away from the continuing hooting of her brother. What were they doing here? Why couldn't she just have a normal life? The question was a frequent one. As long as she could remember her family had moved from place to place, never staying in any one spot for long. As a child, it had been exciting, all the moving around. As a thirteen year old with a budding interest in boys it was less than satisfactory. She had tried talking to her Dad about it, but he just didn't understand. It was like the whole period thing; he recognized it was happening but didn't want to discuss it. Joshua was even worse. Her ten year old brother was like an evil Tasmanian devil, blowing through in a whirlwind and leaving things completely messed up in his wake. Moira was nothing like either of them. They loved the outdoors; she liked the comfort of four solid walls. They craved adventure; she wanted structure. They were really nothing alike. They didn't even look alike. Moira's dark complexion, black hair and brown eyes contrasted sharply with the blond-haired blue-eyed look her father and brother shared. Sometimes she couldn't even believe they were related.
Her dad said she was a lot like her mom, both in looks and temperament. Moira sighed. She wished she had known her. Her mom had died when she was five. She had some memories of her, but they were faded and blurry. She didn't even have a picture. Those had all been destroyed in the fire that claimed her mom's life and destined her family to live in the wild. Moira cursed God for that, taking away her mom and her structured life in one blow.
Moira wiped the wetness from her eyes. Though she couldn't remember her she missed her mom a lot these days. How much easier would it have been if her mom had been around to talk to. She would have had someone with the same interests, someone who she could relate to. Someone who would understand.
She stepped from the woods, just now realizing that the path she was following ended at the beach. Moonlight flowed over the waters of Lake Superior. Rolling bundles of mist kissed the lake's surface, giving it a surreal effect - as if the lake were alive. She walked to the edge of the water, staring into the shifting morass of mist. A styrofoam cup floated out into view, seeming to appear as if from nowhere. It bobbed up and down on the minute waves of the lake, then vanished once more into the fog, as if it never was.
How very much like me, she thought. In and out of obscurity. No permanence. No anchor.
"What are you doing there?"
Moira spun. A flashlight hit her in the face. She threw up an arm in front of her eyes.
"Oops, sorry about that."
The light lowered. It took a second for her eyes to adjust. When they did she saw a woman about twenty feet from her standing next to a wooden notice board. She wore an official looking uniform complete with brimmed hat and the aforementioned flashlight. A park ranger. Moira relaxed. Her father and brother didn't like the rangers, but Moira didn't mind them so much. They represented structure. She could respect that, while at the same time hoping this one hadn't noticed Joshua's stunt with the firecracker.
"The beach is closed for the night, young lady."
"Sorry, ma'am." Moira always said "sir" and "ma'am" when speaking to adults. Her father had taught her it helped to gain their trust. "I was just walking about from the campground and didn't realize I would end up here."
"What's the name?" the ranger asked.
"Moira Jones."
The ranger pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and ran her finger down it.
"Yeah, I got you right here. Site number two. Still, beach is not part of the campground, so I'm going to have to ask you to head back to your site."
"Yes, ma'am."
Moira walked up from the beach. She chose to head toward the ranger, rather than back to the path. This was the first adult woman she had had the opportunity to speak with privately in quite some time, and while she had no illusions there would be an in depth discussion, the possibility for any conversation with a female was too strong to pass up.
She noticed a stack of papers at the ranger's feet.
"What're those, ma'am?"
"Hm? Oh, notices. I get a stack from the state every so often. Supposed to post them around the park. They don't last long out here in the weather, but it's part of the job, so..."
"Can I help you hang them up?"
The ranger looked at her. Maybe it was the desperate look Moira was sure was in her eyes, but she nodded.
"Sure. Can always use a hand."
She handed Moira half the stack.
"Two pins in each page at the top corners and one in the middle at the bottom. Take the old ones down first and toss them in the trash. You take that side."
Moira tore down the old notices on he half, then picked up the stack of new papers. She flipped through them. There was a new copy of the beach rules, an advert for park activities the next month, and other assorted items of little interest. It was the missing person page that caught her eye. She pulled it to the front of the stack and started reading.
Missing, Viviana Vasquez, Sex: Female, Race: Hispanic, Hair: Black, Eyes: Brown, Date of Birth: 6/4/1996, Last Seen: 8/12/2001."
Wow, this girl had been missing for eight years. That was a long time to be away from your family. She looked at the picture on the left. It showed a young girl, about five years old, with long hair done up in pigtails. She was smiling. There was a second picture - one of those that had been computer adjusted for age. She looked at it - and promptly gasped. The page fell from her fingers. That was impossible.
"What's the matter, dear?" The ranger touched her shoulder, concern evident on her face. Moira pointed to the notice.
"It's me!"
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
"Best Halloween Ever"
I usually hate Halloween.
Don't get me wrong. I like the costumes, I like the candy, I like the generally spooky atmosphere. It's my parents who have soured me on the holiday. See, Mom and Dad think when you reach a certain age (twelve years) you are too old to trick or treat. Instead of being allowed hit the streets in the hunt for candy I was relegated to standing at the door and filling the sacks of my friends. It was more than a little humiliating.
This year I had high hopes things would be different. This year my parents had consented to allow me to attend a party on Halloween night. I would finally be out from under their noses. Trick or treating, here I come.
Didn't work out that way. Somewhere between twelve and sixteen while I was stuck catering to the lucky candy seekers, my friends had moved past trick or treating and discovered the "joys" of binge drinking. I had expected a fun evening of goofing around in costumes while filling my pillowcase; instead I ended up the babysitter to a bunch of sloshed idiots. Don't get me wrong. The ninnies are still my friends, but they know I don't drink and inviting me to a party where the sole purpose is to consume - just so I can be the official "cop watcher" - was cold. No one even brought candy.
It was a sucky night - and not of the vampiric nature.
When Jackson puked all over my Zorro cape I knew it was time to go. I left the party on foot. (You think my parents would let me drive on Halloween? Visions of me running down cute little ghosts and goblins were more than they could handle.) It was only a couple of blocks to my house - another reason my parents had been willing to let me attend) - so I didn't have long before I got home and had to explain to my parents why I smelled like vomit and where all my trick or treating candy had disappeared to.
I decided to cut through the neighboring cul-de-sac rather than take the main streets. The cops were out in droves tonight, and while curfew wouldn't official start for twenty more minutes, I didn't want to have to explain to them why my cape smelled like vomit either if one of them stopped to "chat."
Lightning flashed across the sky. It seemed the air wasn't just heavy as a result of my mood. Rain was coming. Wouldn't that just be the perfect end to my night, getting soaked on the way home? Why not strike me with lightning, too?
Another lightning bolt flashed. The accompanying thunderclap was loud. It echoed through the cul-de-sac. I quickened my pace. It wasn't that the threat of rain and lightning scared me...okay it was. I was miserable and home was just a block and a half away.
I ran across the street toward the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. I often cut through Mr. Cotter's lawn on my way home from Jackson's. It saved me a good five minutes of travel time which was especially useful when I was late. Mr. Cotter sometimes yelled at me as I passed, but he was an older guy who lived alone and couldn't have chased me if he wanted to. It was a small price to pay to avoid a lecture at home.
Another lightning flash/thunder clap heralded the opening of the heavens. It was an instantaneous downpour. One moment there was nothing, the next the rain was falling so heavily I had a hard time seeing where I was going. The rain was cold and the drops were large. Their impact began to sting. No way....
My fears were realized as small white pellets began to collect on the pavement. Hail. There was no way I was running home in this.
I made a beeline up Mr. Cotter's driveway and onto his porch. The overhang wasn't large, but it did provide some shelter from the hail, which was rapidly increasing in size. A jack-o-lantern sitting on the edge of the porch was getting pummeled. I would share its fate if the wind shifted.
I made a quick decision. Mr. Cotter may not like me much, but I would rather share an uncomfortable moment in his foyer than spend any more time out in this. I had raised a hand to knock when I noticed the door was already open.
"Mr. Cotter?" There was no answer. Hailstones the size of golf balls were careening off the concrete into my legs. I had no time to wait for a response.
"Mr. Cotter, I'm coming in."
I stepped into the foyer of Mr. Cotter's home and promptly forgot about the hailstorm. Mr. Cotter was sprawled out on the floor. He looked unconscious. A large plastic bowl lay nearby, candy scattered across the tile.
"Mr. Cotter!"
I squatted next to him and shook his shoulder. There was no response. For a moment I panicked. Then training from four years in boy scouts popped into my mind. I checked to see if he was breathing. He wasn't, and there was no pulse. I immediately started CPR. One, two, three, four five...the cadence of the chest compressions filled my mind. How many was I supposed to do? I hit thirty and then gave him a quick two breaths. Again. One, two, three, four, five....
I don't know how long I worked, but my arms began to ache from the strain. Come on, where was the pulse? I ended another set of compressions and breaths then checked again. To my very great relief I felt a pulse. It was weak, but it was there! And he had started breathing again.
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed 911. The operator answered quickly. I told her what had happened. When she asked for the address I paused. Address?
My eyes fell on an open tube of pills not far from one of Mr. Cotter's outstretched hands. I snatched it off the floor and read the address to woman on the phone. She said an ambulance would be there momentarily and to stay on the phone to monitor his progress. As I waited for the ambulance I read the information on the pill bottle. Nitroglycerin tablets. I had heard about those. Weren't they used to help prevent heart attacks?
The ambulance arrived moments later and took over. They took the pill bottle and confirmed my suspicion. It looked like a heart attack. I had most likely saved Mr. Cotter's life.
As I walked home a little later, the hailstorm now past, I reflected on the evening. How differently Halloween had turned out than expected. Gone was the displeasure over a lousy party. Gone was the disappointment of the lack of trick or treating. How trivial that all seemed now.
I walked into my house a few moments later. Mom met me at the door.
"Oh, thank goodness. I was worried you'd been caught in the hailstorm."
"I was, but I'm fine, Mom."
She didn't look convinced, when but a quick visual check showed no evidence of swelling or bruises she relaxed.
"How was the party."
"The party stunk."
"Really? That's too bad. I know how much you were looking forward to it. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I think I can honestly say this has been the best Halloween ever."
Don't get me wrong. I like the costumes, I like the candy, I like the generally spooky atmosphere. It's my parents who have soured me on the holiday. See, Mom and Dad think when you reach a certain age (twelve years) you are too old to trick or treat. Instead of being allowed hit the streets in the hunt for candy I was relegated to standing at the door and filling the sacks of my friends. It was more than a little humiliating.
This year I had high hopes things would be different. This year my parents had consented to allow me to attend a party on Halloween night. I would finally be out from under their noses. Trick or treating, here I come.
Didn't work out that way. Somewhere between twelve and sixteen while I was stuck catering to the lucky candy seekers, my friends had moved past trick or treating and discovered the "joys" of binge drinking. I had expected a fun evening of goofing around in costumes while filling my pillowcase; instead I ended up the babysitter to a bunch of sloshed idiots. Don't get me wrong. The ninnies are still my friends, but they know I don't drink and inviting me to a party where the sole purpose is to consume - just so I can be the official "cop watcher" - was cold. No one even brought candy.
It was a sucky night - and not of the vampiric nature.
When Jackson puked all over my Zorro cape I knew it was time to go. I left the party on foot. (You think my parents would let me drive on Halloween? Visions of me running down cute little ghosts and goblins were more than they could handle.) It was only a couple of blocks to my house - another reason my parents had been willing to let me attend) - so I didn't have long before I got home and had to explain to my parents why I smelled like vomit and where all my trick or treating candy had disappeared to.
I decided to cut through the neighboring cul-de-sac rather than take the main streets. The cops were out in droves tonight, and while curfew wouldn't official start for twenty more minutes, I didn't want to have to explain to them why my cape smelled like vomit either if one of them stopped to "chat."
Lightning flashed across the sky. It seemed the air wasn't just heavy as a result of my mood. Rain was coming. Wouldn't that just be the perfect end to my night, getting soaked on the way home? Why not strike me with lightning, too?
Another lightning bolt flashed. The accompanying thunderclap was loud. It echoed through the cul-de-sac. I quickened my pace. It wasn't that the threat of rain and lightning scared me...okay it was. I was miserable and home was just a block and a half away.
I ran across the street toward the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. I often cut through Mr. Cotter's lawn on my way home from Jackson's. It saved me a good five minutes of travel time which was especially useful when I was late. Mr. Cotter sometimes yelled at me as I passed, but he was an older guy who lived alone and couldn't have chased me if he wanted to. It was a small price to pay to avoid a lecture at home.
Another lightning flash/thunder clap heralded the opening of the heavens. It was an instantaneous downpour. One moment there was nothing, the next the rain was falling so heavily I had a hard time seeing where I was going. The rain was cold and the drops were large. Their impact began to sting. No way....
My fears were realized as small white pellets began to collect on the pavement. Hail. There was no way I was running home in this.
I made a beeline up Mr. Cotter's driveway and onto his porch. The overhang wasn't large, but it did provide some shelter from the hail, which was rapidly increasing in size. A jack-o-lantern sitting on the edge of the porch was getting pummeled. I would share its fate if the wind shifted.
I made a quick decision. Mr. Cotter may not like me much, but I would rather share an uncomfortable moment in his foyer than spend any more time out in this. I had raised a hand to knock when I noticed the door was already open.
"Mr. Cotter?" There was no answer. Hailstones the size of golf balls were careening off the concrete into my legs. I had no time to wait for a response.
"Mr. Cotter, I'm coming in."
I stepped into the foyer of Mr. Cotter's home and promptly forgot about the hailstorm. Mr. Cotter was sprawled out on the floor. He looked unconscious. A large plastic bowl lay nearby, candy scattered across the tile.
"Mr. Cotter!"
I squatted next to him and shook his shoulder. There was no response. For a moment I panicked. Then training from four years in boy scouts popped into my mind. I checked to see if he was breathing. He wasn't, and there was no pulse. I immediately started CPR. One, two, three, four five...the cadence of the chest compressions filled my mind. How many was I supposed to do? I hit thirty and then gave him a quick two breaths. Again. One, two, three, four, five....
I don't know how long I worked, but my arms began to ache from the strain. Come on, where was the pulse? I ended another set of compressions and breaths then checked again. To my very great relief I felt a pulse. It was weak, but it was there! And he had started breathing again.
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed 911. The operator answered quickly. I told her what had happened. When she asked for the address I paused. Address?
My eyes fell on an open tube of pills not far from one of Mr. Cotter's outstretched hands. I snatched it off the floor and read the address to woman on the phone. She said an ambulance would be there momentarily and to stay on the phone to monitor his progress. As I waited for the ambulance I read the information on the pill bottle. Nitroglycerin tablets. I had heard about those. Weren't they used to help prevent heart attacks?
The ambulance arrived moments later and took over. They took the pill bottle and confirmed my suspicion. It looked like a heart attack. I had most likely saved Mr. Cotter's life.
As I walked home a little later, the hailstorm now past, I reflected on the evening. How differently Halloween had turned out than expected. Gone was the displeasure over a lousy party. Gone was the disappointment of the lack of trick or treating. How trivial that all seemed now.
I walked into my house a few moments later. Mom met me at the door.
"Oh, thank goodness. I was worried you'd been caught in the hailstorm."
"I was, but I'm fine, Mom."
She didn't look convinced, when but a quick visual check showed no evidence of swelling or bruises she relaxed.
"How was the party."
"The party stunk."
"Really? That's too bad. I know how much you were looking forward to it. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I think I can honestly say this has been the best Halloween ever."
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