Valentine's Day 2009

I know this is a little late, but I figured if anyone still occasionally checks this blog, I could give them a little something for Valentine's. Obviously, I'm running late with it as usual. Will this be a story? A poem? I honestly have no idea. I'm just going to sort of start writing and see what happens.

-The Drewcifer

Story:

Once upon a time. Does anyone ever really put some serious thought into that phrase? It's so ubiquitous, used at the beginning of so many fairy tales. But what does it really mean? I know it's not a complete sentence. But as beginnings go, I guess it's not all that bad. If you look at it, it's basically saying "What comes after this phrase happened at a time." And I guess that's good, but shouldn't you know that anything that happens happens at a time? Sorry, I got distracted and started ranting. Anyway.

Once upon a time,

there was a boy. And the boy found himself without companions. For you see, this was before anyone else existed, but after Time had already begun, for as we have already said, it was upon a time.

So once upon a time, there was the Boy. And the Boy looked for his mother, the Moon. He cried skyward for many nights. And though he could see the Moon, she would not answer his calls. She could not come down and comfort him. And this made the Boy sad, and his lonliness grew.

So once upon a time, the Boy couldn't find his mother. So the Boy looked for his father, the Sun. And once again, the Boy found his parent easily. And once again, he cried out to the heavens. And, to his dismay, he was once more left without answer. Once more denied the comforting embrace, this time of this father. And the Boy experienced a saddness that cannot be described, only felt. And the Boy thought that perhaps the Sun and the Moon did not love him any longer. 

But that is not the truth of the story.

Once upon a time,

the Moon and the Sun were one. And from that, the Boy was born. And for a time, the Boy and the Moon and the Sun were together, and they were happy. But, inevitably, it came time for the Sun and the Moon to take their places in the sky. And they bid the Boy farewell, telling him they would watch him, and that they would always love him. And so the Boy was sent to the Earth, so that the Moon and the Sun could watch over him. And for a time, things were good. Not as good as they had been when the family had been together, but tolerable. The Boy would see his father during the day, and his mother at night. But soon the lonliness began to swell within the Boy. And the Moon and the Sun looked down and heard him crying out for them and they were saddened. 

So once upon a time, while the Boy was moping with head downcast, the Moon began to appear in the day sky, to conferr with her husband. And they found that they had missed each other dearly, so their visits did not cease after the trouble had passed. But that is another story. They spoke and wondered and felt keenly their son's pain, for they missed him as much as he missed them. And so the Moon and the Sun spoke to Time and to Dream.

Once upon a time,

there was a girl. And the girl was lonely and without companions. This too happened after Time had begun, for it was upon a time. But only barely.

Because once,

Time and Dream met and found each other pleasing. And from their union was born the Girl, who was prophecy and mystery. And with the arrival of their progeny, Time began and Dream created.

So once upon a time, the Girl knew she could never feel again the embrace of her parents. But she dreamed each night, falling into her mother's arms. And she moved at all times through the substance of her father. And she was happy enough. But dreams and grains of sand can only be companions for so long.

So once upon a time, the Sun and the Moon were worried for their Boy, who was born of the two great lights in the sky. He was knowledge and curiousity. Just as the Girl, born of invisible forces, was all things concealed, so too was the Boy, born of forces illuminating, all things revealed. And the Sun and the Moon spoke to Time and to Dream.

So once upon a time, the four of them decided that perhaps their children should meet, so as not to be lonely any more.

So once upon a Time, buoyed up and carried by a Dream, the Girl found herself on Earth, opposite a crying Boy.

Once upon a time, the Girl asked "Why are you crying?" And the Boy stopped crying. "I was crying because I was afraid that my mother and father do not love me any more. They watch over me, but they cannot speak to me, nor comfort me in their arms when I am frightened or lonely."

Once upon a time, the Girl comforted him, saying: "Do not be sad, Boy. I too have been left by my parents. Like yours, they still love me, but they cannot touch me. But I know that our parents love us, still." And the Boy, once upon a time, asked how the Girl could know this.

"Because your mother and father saw that you were lonely and my mother and father saw that I was lonely. So the four of them sent me to you, that we might both find an end to our loneliness," she said, once upon a time.

And so it was.

I'm Ready!

Saturday I was genuinely useful as one of the only veterans who decided to show up for dinner shift. It felt surprisingly awesome to clean a jillion things.

I kind of feel like just writing something beautiful, so I'm gonna try it.

-The Drewcifer

Writey:

By the time you read this, I'll no longer love you.

Falling in love is easy for me. Falling out is even easier.

To know nothing but uncertainty is my apparent destiny. Oscillation and indecision are my anchors, my grounds. And yet don't think I'm unhappy. I'm not. My life is good, though too much of my time is spent worrying about it ending. Cessation scares me as much as continuation. Eternity fills my eyes with tears, my stomach with bile, and my heart with a longing for my parents.

Sometimes you just want someone to hug you and say it's going to be okay, even though you know they're lying.

Sometimes I think the loneliness is what gets to me. When I've got someone there beside me, it's easier to cope with Infinity. Lady Ifni's a cruel bitch to those who try to ken her.

But I'm not unhappy. I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I'm a genuinely happy person. I don't think that makes it to the page as much as it should. I don't cry after breakups because I'm bad at being sad.

By the time you're gone, I'll love you again. Chasing what I can't have. It's a common curse.

My words are my only chance. They're the only way I can keep living and my continual resistance to them, to learning to use them, to flailing away at something else, does a disservice to everything I am or ever will be. The scientist in me will have to get his fill from elective courses, Scientific American, Science, and Nature. I just don't see any other way.

I've come to a strange compulsion that if I go to Japan someday, everything will be okay. Funnily enough, from what I understand that's exactly the way a lot of Japanese kids and adolescents feel about America. Intellectually, I know it's not a realistic expectation, but god damn it, I'm gonna try.

My parents teach. My Aunt teaches. My Uncle teaches. My cousins teach. My Great-Aunt taught. My Grandfather taught. Teaching is in my blood.

"And all I taste is blood between my teeth."

-Andrew

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Now playing: Jack's Mannequin - I'm Ready
via FoxyTunes

Sweet Death

This story is dedicated to Kyle A. DeJute.
-The Drewcifer

Story:

A sweet death. That was the most she could do for him at this point. A sick sense of nostalgia washed over Amelia as she shushed her dying lover. Gently, oh so gently. Finger pressed silently to her lips, she drew the razor blade across his throat.

She shuddered at a remembered feeling as his remaining life leaked from his neck. Guilt, mingled with arousal, mixed with more guilt caused by the arousal. Another shudder as she relived all the times she'd done this before. All the men and women she had truly loved during their last moments on this Earth.

Amelia stood and closed her eyes as she sucked on her blood-soaked fingers. She shook with silent pleasure as the taste filled her, savoring the fear, pain, and relief imparted to the blood by those precious final beats of the heart.

When she opened her eyes, she nearly gagged. Amelia was back asleep, only Alison Meyers was here to deal with the current situation

Before her lay a man, mutilated from the waist down. The skin and, when possible, muscle had been meticulously peeled back and used to pin him to the ground with steel stakes, spread-eagle. Great care had been taken to ensure no major blood vessels had been breached. While his torso was untouched, his arms had undergone a treatment similar to his legs. They too were filleted and staked down.

Trees to provide shade, care to avoid unnecessary blood loss. Whoever had done this clearly meant for this man to suffer for a long time. Until Amelia had intervened.

Alison wasn’t sure where Amelia came from, or when exactly she became aware that she, Alison, was two women. It had been a gradual thing. All she knew was that Amelia knew how to find people They were torturing and free them. Invariably, Amelia loved them, kissed them goodnight, and sent Alison back out to deal with the real world.

Alison got out her notebook and recorded the position, method of torture, location, and so on. She concluded her entry with Amelia’s method of dispatch. That was how the two of them worked. Amelia found them and freed them. Alison observed and looked for clues.

The scariest thing, reflected Alison as she made the long walk home in the fading afternoon sun, was the feeling she got that They were watching her. That They knew how she and Amelia were interfering with Their plans. And They didn’t like it either. How long would They let her continue? How long before They would strip her flesh and leave her to die?

Alison shook her head to clear the thought. She allowed mundanity to distract her. What would she have for dinner? Something vegetarian. No meat after what she’d just seen.

Alison walked into her apartment, flicked on the lights, and made her way into the kitchenette. After the first few times Amelia had come out, she had learned that forcing herself back into normalcy as soon as possible was key to staying sane.

Alison retrieved some carrots and celery from the fridge and laid them out flat on the cutting board. As she reached for the knife rack, she noticed one of the knives was missing from its place. Odd. She must’ve put it in the washer or something. No matter, she had what she needed for now.

She chopped up the carrots and celery, tossed them in a bowl with some grapes and lettuce, and called the whole thing a salad. Feeling no need to impress, her salad became a finger food as she sat on the sofa and turned on the news. Alison never knew how long she’d been Amelia. Memories only crossed over from the time Amelia found one of Their victims until she put Alison back in charge, never the actual search process.

She watched the news with half-interest, munching on her salad. Already the ghastly memory was starting to fade.

The newswoman’s face changed to a more serious expression for her next segment.

“In other news, police are still searching for Albert Craig, a local man who has been missing for three days. Craig, 27, was reported missing Tuesday. . .” And so on. The report continued, and a picture of the man was shown.

Alison was utterly unsurprised to find that the man in question was, in fact, the very same man Amelia had freed from Them only a few hours ago.

That meant she’d probably been gone for a little less than three days herself. Amelia was uncannily prompt about knowing when a victim had been taken.

She glanced at her page-a-day calendar to confirm.

Five days. She’d been Amelia for almost five days. Before he even went missing.

No. Please. No.

Dread seized Alison, like ice through her heart. She stood on unsteady legs and made her way to the counter, where she'd placed her purse when she came in.

No. Please.

Slowly, she reached into her purse, already knowing what she’d find.

There it was; the missing knife. A long, thin, sharp blade: A fillet knife. And it was caked with dried blood.

Oh God no.

Please.

No.

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.

Seriously?

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.

Story for Morgan

This one is for Morgan. She's a friend of mine whom I love very dearly. Okay, here's to hoping it doesn't suck.
-The Drewcifer

Melissa splashed cold water on her face and looked up to view herself in the mirror. Pull it together, Mel. You're gonna be fine. She tried on a smile, but it looked somewhat strained an awkward on her face at the moment, so she decided to go back to a more neutral expression. It's just a boy. Just a date. Calm down. Consciously, she slowed her breathing and kept that constant until her heart rate settled down to a much more normal range.
Much better, she thought, a smile coming unbidden to her face. When natural and smooth, it looked fantastic on her. Don't force the smile, she said to herself. But don't hold it back either. Okay. Good advice from me to me.
Melissa exited the bathroom and set about getting herself for this evening. Her date was arriving in half an hour and she wanted to look good.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, her date's face told her that she had succeeded in her efforts earlier. Damn, she thought. Judging from that expression, must be lookin' fine.
Her date stuttered for a second after she opened the door. And who wouldn't? It was a slinky black dress, showing not a small amount of cleavage. Bright blue eyes looked out at him, framed by beautiful, wavy red hair.
Finally, he found his voice. "Um," he coughed. "So, are you ready to go?"
Melissa grinned. "Absolutely."
As they walked to the car, the boy knew that this was one girl he was going to be glad to be seen with tonight.

Let's Have a Break from Narcom, Shall We?

Okay, so yeah. I've had this kinda romance-novel type scene in my head since early last semester. It comes back to me every time a girl I care about talks about how she's chasing a boy who doesn't even seem to care about her. I've resisted putting it into words, but I think I need to. As I write this, Christian Rap is blasting in my ears. Blame TobyMac for anything strange that happens in this little snippet. Also, these names are pretty much meaningless. Any gender-appropriate name can be substituted for another. The names are not the important part of this.

"It's not fair!" exclaimed Bethany. There were tears in her eyes, her head rested on Mark's chest. It was a warm spring night and her tears were hot as they bled through his shirt after escaping her eyes. Awkwardly, he moved a hand up to stroke her hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"Why? Why?" she continued, sniffing to mark her punctuation. "I mean, no matter how much I tried, I wasn't good enough for him. All he could do was compare me to that tramp, even when we were dating."

Mark thought for a moment. Apprehension gripped him down to the very bone. Was he really about to speak his mind to this girl? It seemed so, because his mouth was moving before his brain could say "Hey, wait! The committee does not have a quorum, we can't even vote yet!"

But speaking he was, and the words flowed out before he could even think of what he was saying. "Maybe the problem is this. You've been focused on someone who can't stop talking about how beautiful his ex is. Someone who can't stop thinking about what he had long enough to see what he has. What you need is not someone who compares you to someone else, but someone who doesn't just think, but knows that you are the most precious and beautiful person he's ever seen."

Suddenly, both of them became very aware of the manner in which they were standing. Bethany had pressed herself into Mark. Mark, in turn, had his arms around Bethany, for his embrace had always comforted her. She looked up into his eyes, astonished. After three and a half seconds that seemed like three and a half eternities, she spoke to him in a whisper.

"Know anyone like that, Mark?"
"I might," he replied, equally soft in tone.

And then they kissed.

And that was that.

Jesse and Brigit

Jesse Rasnick and Brigit O'Riely. They're quite the characters. Their story is also part of something much, much bigger. Maybe you'll see more of them from time to time. They don't usually have many problems, but no one has a perfect relationship.

Jesse slammed the phone down. Damn that girl! How on Earth could she do that? Make him feel so happy and so. . .so angry all at the same time? It wasn't really Brigit's fault, he reasoned. But somehow, that didn't make him feel any better.
He kept mentally replaying the night in his head, like his relationship was some sort of morbid sporting event.
"I know you wanted to see me tonight, but it doesn't look like it's going to happen, I'm sorry Brigit. You know I'd rather be with you."
He heard her sigh through the phone. "I know. I know it's not your fault, Jesse. That doesn't mean that I have to like it. Are you sure you can't cancel?"
"Look, this is the last time Blake's gonna be on this continent for a good three months. You have to understand that I need to go to his sending-off party!"
"I guess I just don't get why you don't want to take me with you." Another sigh. Damn! Brigit was not making this any easier on him. The real reason he couldn't take her with him was simply this: Blake hated Brigit. He had no idea why, but he'd come to terms with that. But he couldn't very well tell his girlfriend that one of his closest friends couldn't stand her. That would not be good.
Instead he went with "It's an invitation only thing. There's limited space and it was pretty clear that no one was allowed to bring a 'Plus One,' including me. I think it's silly, but I'm not the one headed to New Zealand. When I am, you'll be there for sure." Actually Blake's words had been something along the lines of "That fucking bitch better not show up at my party." He'd taken the hint.
After wrapping it up with Brigit, he'd gone to the party. Everything had gone great until right near the end. He'd left his phone on the table and it rang. Jesse hadn't been around, Blake had. He'd seen it was Brigit, answered, and really layed into her. Jesse hadn't even found out until he got home and Brigit called him at his house, sobbing hysterically and truly hurt from the things Blake had said. The more Jesse tried to console her, the more inconsolabe she became. Hurt gave way to frustration, gave way to anger. Both of them had angrily said goodnight and hung up. Which brought him to now.
Jesse knew they'd make it through this, but the thing that was really upsetting him was how Blake had acted. He had been a bit tipsy, but that was no excuse for the way he'd treated Brigit. He hadn't told her this, but when Blake got back to America, Jesse fully intended to punch him.