Monday, April 30, 2007

I'm all kinds of ironic

I have a new writing playlist called "Iris Wynter." Naturally, the first thing I wrote with it playing had nothing to do with Iris. The beginning of this story was inspired by a picture from DeviantArt. Linky
-The Drewcifer

Vikingman 4:03 Rodrigo y Gabriela
PPA 4:14 Rodrigo y Gabriela
Love Addict 2:52 Family Force 5
Replace Me 3:34 Family Force 5
Silas Denver [Dead or Alive Bounties Mix] 1:52 Andrew Blatt
Tank! 3:29 Seatbelts
Mountain of God 3:54 Third Day
Satori 5:04 Rodrigo y Gabriela
Masked Madman 4:43 Andrew Blatt
Furious 4:03 Z-Trip
Lose Urself 3:10 Family Force 5
Bright Lights 3:54 Matchbox Twenty
Kremlin Dusk 5:13 Utada Hikaru
About Face 2:51 Z-Trip
Take Two Copies 4:24 Z-Trip
Fun With Strums 2:03 Andrew Blatt
Broken (Featuring Amy Lee) 4:18 Seether & Amy Lee
Softer 1:24 Andrew Blatt
Orion 7:44 Rodrigo y Gabriela
Necromancer 2:15 Andrew Blatt
Daisy 4:18 Switchfoot
Diablo Rojo 4:56 Rodrigo y Gabriela
Session 2:24 Linkin Park
Kyur4 Th Ich (Chairman Hahn) 2:32 Linkin Park
3rd Gear 3:52 Z-Trip
Stop the Future 2:06 Epoxies
Follow the Leader 2:18 Andrew Blatt
Silas Denver [Reno Gun Control Mix] 1:16 Andrew Blatt
Stairway to Heaven 4:44 Rodrigo y Gabriela
Juan Loco 3:27 Rodrigo y Gabriela
Cure for the Itch 2:37 Linkin Park
Tamacun 3:25 Rodrigo y Gabriela
Ixtapa 5:14 Rodrigo y Gabriela
Suddenly 3:35 Superchick
Instabilities 0:21 Andrew Blatt


Sweat ran down my face and into my eyes as a I ran, footfalls clattering loudly on the wooden planks of the bridge. My breathing was growing ragged, phlegm was starting to block my airways. My legs were alternating between feeling like fire and just plain not feeling. I'd never been this exhausted in my life. But if I stopped, I'd die.

It's funny how well that can motivate you.

I didn't have time to even glance over my shoulder, but I didn't need to. The sound of footsteps behind me was still audible over my own, and I could tell that if something didn't change, and soon, they'd catch up to me.

My eyes darted around, but my head stayed immobile. The river wasn't very far below me, but I was too tired to swim now. It might have been feasible before I'd gone with running, but I was pretty much landbound now. I'd rolled the dice on that one. Time would tell if it came up eleven or snake eyes. Right now it was feeling like the latter.

Still, I could feel something tugging at me, urging me to just follow the bridge. That little voice in my head had saved me many times before this so I wasn't about to start ignoring it.

The bridge curved up ahead, disapearing into trees. I ignored the fact that I couldn't see, breathe, or even run properly and pushed harder. Something told me that if could make it around that bend, I'd be okay.

My company wasn't slowing down either. That fear of death was working wonders for my stamina, but I still wondered what was driving my pursuer.

I rounded the curve and found the energy for one last sprint. I emerged from trees to find myself staring at a graveyard.


I stepped onto a grave and turned. Apparently my little boost had actually allowed me to actually pull a bit further ahead. My attacker came into view, pushing through the trees. He was obviously surprised that I had chosen to stop; so much so that he actually stopped for a split second. Then, of course, he smirked. They always smirk.

"So, you finally decided to stop running. That will make things easier." As he gloated, I got a good look at the man who had been chasing me. He was unlike what I was used to dealing with. Normally I get threatened and chased by the suit-and-shades type. Nameless agents of a nameless agency, that sort of shit. This guy was something new. White polo shirt and nice slacks. Looked like he should be golfing, not chasing innocent young men.

Okay, so maybe I'm not as innocent as I like to pretend, but certainly killing me is a bit much.

The man continued with his little speech. "You've caused my master quite a bit of headache, Stephen Absolom. I don't know what it is you do, or how you do it, but I do know that Lambda wants you dead. And what Lambda wants, he gets."

So far, not so scary. The guy looked like he'd have a hard time roughing up a seventh grader. That's when the air around him got all fucked up. Darklike, shades of red and black surrounded his body. Suddenly there it wasn't a dude in a polo shirt standing in front of me. No, it was what looked like a genuine, grade-A demon standing there.

He had the whole look down. Burning red eyes, body looking like it was made of shadow. Huge wings of fire and darkness sprouting from his back, the whole shebang.

But he had made two fatal mistakes. The first was that he let me catch my breath. My lack of concern must have been pretty apparent on my face, because he actually commented on it.

"What are you smirking about? You've killed six of our people already. I'm not just going to kill you. I'm going to make you suffer. You have nothing to smile about."

Right about then I allowed myself a full-fledged smirk. I felt I deserved it. He was right. I'd killed every man that Lambda had sent after me so far. And that was why none of them knew how I'd killed them.

The second mistake he had made was letting me catch my breath in a graveyard.

Now it was my turn to make the weird shit happen. Tendrils of black energy flowed from the grave to my fingers. Dark lines traced themselves in my eyes until my eyes were completely black. Thick fog began to creep into the area and dark clouds blotted out the sun. The only light came from the fires of my oppoent's wings and aura.

I spoke to this poor, doomed man. "Lambda still doesn't know the source of my power, and you're not going to tell him. But you're going to find out right before you die."

Translucent black tentacles sprouted from the ground beneath him, snaking their way up his body and binding his wings and limbs. The look of terror on his face, even in that demonic form, was unmistakable.

I spoke to him for the last time. "I draw power from the bones of the dead." I allowed the full meaning and implication of my words to sink in before I squeezed the life out of him. Afterwards, when he reverted back to a normal human shape, I beat him over the head a few times and buried him. Just to be sure.

Yeah. I'm not as innocent as I like to pretend.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Is dead. But, as we know from Slaughterhouse-Five, he continues to be alive throughout time. However, from our limited and human perception of 4th dimensional movement, his personal time line has ended.

Kurt Vonnegut, Junior is a man I respect as an author, as an Indiana native, and as a person. His works, of which I have not read nearly enough, have astounded and troubled me, in the best way possible. I'm not even sure what to write concerning this. I suppose I can just sum it up in his words.

So it goes.

My talent. . .

. . .is nothing to write home about. I've discovered the ability to imply sex very effectively without overtly mentioning it. Check it!

Cynthia sighed. “That was incredible.”

Arthur smiled to himself. “I’m not sure I believe you. I mean, isn’t that what a woman’s supposed to say?”

Cynthia stuck out her tongue at him and giggled. “Don’t let those other girls who lie ruin my reputation.” She put on her best innocent face. “I’m just an honest soul, you know that.”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to laugh. “Well I can’t really argue with that.” He paused for a moment, then “I’m glad I met you.”

“Yeah, I am too.”

The newlyweds fell asleep, exhausted, holding each other closely.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007


I wrote something and I'm going to post it.

What's that, jaded and cynical ex-reader? You don't believe me?

Well I did. It's not very long though.

What do you mean you bet it's not very good either? Well, yeah, I guess you're right.

Whatever. Writing:

Not like this, thought Timothy. Please don’t let it end like this.

His breathing was labored and it was becoming painful to draw breath, but he kept running. What choice did he have? To stop was to die. And he was beginning to suspect that running was just delaying the inevitable.

He heard footsteps behind him, getting louder, closer, despite his desperate attempts to escape.

Finally, his body could not continue. Adrenaline can only carry one so far. He turned, somewhat vindicated in his own mind by the fact that he would at least face his death as it came.

John Brighton had been on the force for several years now, but crime scenes like this still made him feel a little queasy. Maybe that was a good thing. He figured if the victims he encountered ever went from being people to just corpses, it was time for him to find another line of work.