Childhood’s End: Arthur C. Clarke’s Existential Pressure Cooker

Don’t know if this is an official image of the book. Just thought it worked well enough given how the story unfolds. No Copyright Intended.

I love writing stories. But let’s face it. It’s a grind.

So, to take a breather from said grind (I say as I work on my project for next month) I decided to do something familiar and really easy for me and that might prove fruitful for my blogs analytics. A good ol’ review post.

This time though, instead of a fun video game or a meaningful and optimistic anime, I’m talking about Arthur C. Clarke’s Childhood’s End. A novel that might feel a little cynical at times but handles it ideas with a kind of reverence. As if it’s a book meant to be a eulogy for the funeral of humanity.

MINOR SPOILERS AHEAD (and some good ol’ existential dread!)

EARTH AND THE OVERLORDS

Cover art for the paperback edition in 1972 by Dean Ellis.

The novel sees a race of extraterrestrials that we call the Overlords coming to Earth with, seemingly, benevolent intentions. But as history unfolds and humanity flourishes from the technological and societal innovations thanks to the Overlords’ intervention, we see that the aliens’ reasons for coming to Earth run much deeper than any sense of altruism or even pity. And in the end, the reader of this book is left with an uncomfortable, even unnerving, thought; that humankind just isn’t meant for the stars.

The book is separated into three parts. The first sees the arrival of the Overlords and how their presence has the political and economic state of Earth in shambles. The second shows humanity as an Overlord guided utopian society, with some still questioning the high price of paradise. And then the thematic threads and emotional pathos of the novel come together in the final act to see the pressure release in a melancholic flourish.

The pacing could be a little everywhere throughout the book. The second part in particular I felt was quite slow but gains some traction in it’s last few chapters. And it sets up everything that comes in the third part really well. Of which, I’ll talk about in a minute.

There isn’t really a lot to the first part. It’s more of a happy friendship story that near completely counters the last act. But the first part establishes something about the book that remains consistent quite literally until the last page; there’s some heart to this story. And I don’t mean to say that the first part isn’t good, I liked it a lot. I think it served as a good introduction to the rest of the novel. But in the grand scheme of the whole story, I feel as though elements of it don’t quite fit in so well. Nevertheless, each part of the story flows together really well. Which helps a lot with feeling immersed in this near biblical tale that asks a lot of hard questions that, in any other book, would be really hard to swallow.

I guess I should hit on the writing style for a beat. I liked it. Clarke writes in a clear and direct way while also making almost every word flow together so nicely that one understands everything he’s saying. And I did. The ideas were very clear. They’re the centerpiece of this whole jewel. They’re what Clarke is writing about and so it makes sense that he would write in a way that makes those ideas very clear and easy to understand. And I really like how he balances the nihilism at play in these ideas with some genuine heart and soul. The characters are by no means the deepest I’ve seen in any book, but I still cared about their endeavors and desires. They actually felt like living, honest people despite only a few of them having any drop of characterization. Clarke puts effort into making the reader care about the world here, and I certainly cared enough by the end for it to have impact.

That said, there are some supernatural aspects within the novel that play a huge part in the denouncement of the story. I was pretty mixed on those elements. The book was written at a time when Clarke believed in the supernatural. He came to accept the opposite later in life, but it is what it is. Maybe it’s not so off-putting to anyone else, to me it just struck me as odd and out of place in a story that is playing in a specific genre ballpark where scientific fact is almost always in the foreground. Still, he made it work. And it lent its own qualities to the pathos of the final act.

It’s also worth mentioning that, being a product of its time, there’s some dated depictions/interpretations of gender and race throughout the book. They were irksome, for sure. But they were tolerable as long as they weren’t the most prevalent thing about the story. Which they weren’t, thankfully.

STRANGE TIMES ARE COMING

Cover art for the 1990 edition by Stanislaw Fernandes. No Copyright Intended.

This is a solid book. After nearly a year of a reading slog it’s nice to finally read something with impact. With so much philosophical as well as emotional interest.

Now, what do I think of the ideas in this book? I love the very thought of what the Overlords turn out to be. There’s such a fun quality about it that also makes sense in a fringe type of way. As for the main messages: if humanity isn’t meant for the stars, then are we doomed to die with the Earth? And if we sacrifice so much for Utopia, is there a way we can retain what makes us human even when we have everything? I feel like the main ideas in this book are more multilayered than that, but I think those are the main points that Clarke hits on. The idea about being doomed to die with the Earth is open to interpretation (I have high hopes that we’ll make space our home). But utopia is always an interesting topic of conversation. Many in this day and age are wondering where the flying cars and cybernetic implants are. And while we’re still at it in terms of technology, we are very much living in the future right now. There may not necessarily be anything utopian about the world we live in now, but as we work hard for such a future, as we move forward with creating a better world for ourselves and those around us, it might be worth asking what we’re sacrificing along the way.

Despite the grim nature of this book, Clarkes leaves behind an optimistic message, a Yin for the overall Yang. I’d intended for my first read of his to be 2001: A Space Odyssey. But, somehow, Childhood’s End just felt like a safer bet in terms of my first exposure to Clarke’s work. And I don’t regret this read whatsoever. This might end up becoming a book I read over and over again just to grasp the concepts at play, make my own theories, and just get lost in this grim but hopeful tale that is truly one of many that cuts down to the basics of what it means to be a human being.

Elly Palmer

I feel a little sad. I can’t explain it. Something deep inside is welled up with melancholy. I feel like crying but I don’t even know why I want to cry. I just woke up and I’m feeling this way. I’ll probably feel better when I step outside and get some air. The floorboards feel cold and smooth under my feet, and there’s a faint humming sound coming from somewhere. I wonder if it’s the AC being weird again. It smells like cookies. That warm, sugary scent takes me back to baking with my grandmother in her musky old home. Adam must be making cookies by himself again. I should check on him. Strange, I don’t hear any birds. It’s Spring, they should be everywhere. But, again, it’s just black upon black outside our window.

Oh, and there goes the doorway monitor. I heard it ping for one of the Nurseoids. I have to check on Adam though, I don’t have time for one of their spiels! Oh well, no stopping it.

“Ms. Palmer. Please step away from the stairway. It is strictly prohibited for you to exit the forty-third floor.“

“Oh, it’s fine! I’m just checking on Adam. He’s making cookies!”

“Mr. Palmer is not in the facility at this time, Ms. Palmer. If you wanted to reach out to him, simply create a private message on the A2 interface. Which should be-“

“I know where the computer is, thank you. But I really need to check on Adam in case he hurts himself.”

“...loading...loading...loading...I have found your son. He is this way. Down the corridor.“

“But he’s downstairs. And the stairs are right here.”

“Adam Palmer's cookies turned out bad. So, now he is distraught and has retreated into his room.“

“Oh, poor Adam. Alright, let’s go.”

It doesn’t smell sweet and crisp anymore. It smells like bleach mixed with a creamy aroma. The walls aren’t…natural anymore. It’s not the colors or the texture of an oak wood house; the walls are dull, with plain, faded colors covering everything. And it’s cold. Cold.

Damned boy will never let me leave…

“Here we are, Ms. Palmer.“

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Please refrain from wandering anywhere else, Ms.Palmer. And remember that exiting the forty-third floor is strictly prohibited as detailed in the Residential Manual for Clarke's Elderly Care: Facility A2 in-”

“Thank you for your help, but I should check on Adam now.”

“You also have a history of---and---. If you experience another---Your security brace will notify us of-“

“Thank you very much for your help!”

Don’t look at it.

“I’m going to talk to Adam now. Do you mind going?”

“Of course! And don't forget to relax and enjoy yourself at Clarke's Elderly Care: Facility A2!“

And with that, it walks off. And It’s like my stomach is falling through a sharp edged crevasse, my heart is beating too fast and my breath is shallow. I taste…iron in my mouth? Is it the Nurseoid? The metal, cream-colored walls? The stack of bills with unfair demands? Just close your eyes and breathe…breathe…

“Mark?” I feel my eyes getting wet.

“Adam?” The cold thing around my wrist is too tight.

“What is this room?” I don’t recognize it.

This isn’t my boys room.

And I feel so tired.

And it won’t go away…

What is on my wrist?

Oh…that’s right. The black, slimy sheen and unnaturally large body make my stomach turn heavy and sour. I shiver as my skin crawls along itself and cold-water drips down my spine. It’s so tight around my wrist. And it no longer is cold. It’s been there long enough to feel warm around my skin. I don’t think it’s been anywhere other than my whole hand since I’ve been here.

It’s wrapped it’s mouth around my ring finger. It ate my wedding band…it ate everything that was ever dear to me. I can see my blood flowing through its veins. All coalescing at the center of its body. A large red dot. My blood.

I don’t think I can stand up anymore…

“Ms. Palmer? Have you experienced any depressive or extreme feelings of anxiety in the past three-hundred and thirty-six hours?“

Mark is lying next to me. It smells like home in our room; old furniture and a fresh green scent that makes me feel so warm and tender inside. I think the window is open, for a moment I can hear the singing of birds and the rush of cars. It’s kind of cool in here too, which doesn’t quite make sense with it being the middle of summer. I guess the AC is fixed. I want to coil my arm around Mark’s chest and pull him close to me. But I feel so…afraid to? He’s clearly here with me. But there’s a fog in my mind. It tells me that touching him won’t do anything for me. It’ll only make things worse. But I want to reach out to him so bad. He’s right there with me. He’s right there. But the birds are gone. They’re music was there for one second, and then gone the next. It still smells like my old home in here. But something is wrong about it. The sheets feel soft and cool against my skin, and they have just enough weight to feel like a dream. They shouldn’t be that way. I sink into the bed as if I were floating miles below the ocean. Our old bed was springy and stiff and was more like lying on rock-hewn ground with a single sheet cast over them. This bed shouldn’t be so nice, we don’t have that kind of luck.

He made it this way for a price.

Time to get up. I have to get out of this bed. Cyber-Ventures will be on the BrainNet by now and Adam is dying to watch the next episode. But the door won’t open. It won’t open. It won’t open to let me see Adam! I can’t see Adam! It won’t let me! It won’t open!

“Open, dammit!”

“Help! Help Me!”

I wanted to look around and find something that could help me get out of here. But…there are lights outside my window. Faint, glowing neon colors in a random assortment of shapes and sizes. Some are discernible to me. I think some of the lights are outlining a building? Or maybe a billboard? There are speckles of light that vary in brightness and flicker a bit, almost like stars. Another of the lights looks just enough like a person, I can see the head and shoulders, the arms and legs. It’s a very feminine shape, and it’s twirling around, moving almost salaciously. The colors make me feel sick. My stomach is growing sour, and I taste metal on my tongue.

I hate this city. I hate it here.

I force the blinds closed. I shun away the lights. I don’t want them here. They make me feel sick. Mark is gone. Except for where I got up, the whole bed is neatly arranged. The lights burst through my curtains and illuminate the walls, which are so plain and dully textured. The room is small, with a single table and chair at one corner. An entertainment interface is mounted on the wall. The door–

“Adam?”

He’s here. He’s standing in front of my door. But then he isn’t. What happened? Where’d he go?

“ADAM!”

“DON’T LEAVE ME!”

“Open this door!”

“Open This Door! LET ME OUT!”

As my throat burns with every scream and warm tears burst out of my eyes, I can’t help but notice it in my periphery. A large, black, metal brace with a circular center and a glowing red dot in the middle with an extension that wraps around my ring-finger.

Please don’t leave me here…

“Ms. Palmer? Please answer the question. Have you experienced any depressive or extreme feelings of anxiety in the past three-hundred and thirty-six hours?“

Cyber-Ventures is playing in the living room. Our decades old projector sits on the coffee table, illuminating the show in a flat, screen-like hologram. Adam sits on the couch, eyes fixed on the show. Cartoon voices and frenetic action engulf the living room, and the familiar sense of dread-but-also-joy flows through me. If only that show wasn’t such a loud and campy phantasmagoria of hyper-colored weirdos than maybe It’d be more tolerable to watch. But joy is joy, and Adam takes in a lot of it when, especially, sharing it with us.

He turns and smiles when he notices me walk in. It’s a bright smile full of mirth, and it’s pairing with his deep-brown eyes and light-colored hair make all the difference in our days.

I catch a warm and sugary scent in the air. I say with a pip in my voice; “Adam Palmer, did you make cookies again?”

“mmhm. Chocolate chip. I didn’t feel like doing anything cool. I just wanted to make chocolate chip cookies.”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with that.” I take a bite of a cookie. This one must’ve been freshly removed from the oven, the chewiest parts are warm and melt away on my tongue; sweetness invading my senses and taking me back to baking with my grandmother on holidays and Summer breaks.

“Adam, these are wonderful.” I down another cookie before giving him a big kiss on the cheek, leaving a smudge of chocolate and sugar on his face.

“MOOOM! GROOOOOSS!” He tries to wipe away the smudge with his shirt, but I catch his hands and tell him to get a paper towel for it. The both of us are laughing through it all when Mark comes down the stairs.

“Oooooh, smells amazing in here.” Mark’s kind and constantly wonderstruck eyes scan the room and locks onto Adam’s cookies.

I take a quick bite of my cookie and step in front of him. “Nah-Uh! Kisses first.”

“Eeewwww! Elly!” He says, laughing. And I can’t stop mine.

“You are unhinged, woman!” Mark fails to contain his smile.

Adam says I’m an evil cookie-smudger. Mark concurs, and after a bout of shaming me for being a cookie-smudger, to which I knelt down and feigned melodramatic pleas for forgiveness, Adam went back to his show and Mark and I quietly stole some kisses, and cookies, in the background.

“I like this morning.” Mark says. “Should we add it to our log of ‘best mornings.’ in the closet.”

“I guess we could,” I say. “But it’s not all that special compared to other mornings we’ve had. The long morning will always be my favorite.”

“Oh, yes! Married and living in a new house in a single day-“

“-And, as if we weren’t hopped up enough on every good feeling on planet Earth-“

“Well, that was one good feeling we were missing out on, actually.”

“True. But we flew through that bowl.”

“There really weren’t very many in there.”

“Yes there was! There was, like, twenty when we started and we used all of them.”

“No, no, no-“

“-yes, yes, yes-“

“-there was only ten. I bought a box of ten and we used them all because we’re weird.”

“Ain’t that a fact.” I say playfully. We detach from each other when he says it’s time for him to go to work in the basement. I’d already made him a few minutes late for his next writing session. So, morosely, I made him a few more minutes late. And then I let him go, gave Adam a kiss on his forehead, promising that I’d be back to watch the show in a little bit, and went upstairs to change.

I catch myself in the mirror before undressing. My hair is long and white. My skin is laggy and deeply wrinkled, and there are frighteningly dark circles under my eyes. Why? I’m only thirty-two. I shouldn’t look this aged. And why do I feel so tired? Like my entire body wants to shut down?

But wait…that morning was forty years ago. It really wasn’t all that different from most mornings we had. Yet, it stands out in my memory. One of many bright spots in a long line of darkness. As I long for those days again; long for endless cuddles and streaming with my son; as I long for Mark’s kind, curious eyes and his free-spirited warmth; everything in me sinks and disappears. Everything about me feels more alone than it has ever been as I lay restrained on the soft bed, the brace not feeling nearly as tight as the leather strap above it.

As far as I know; the only wrong thing I’ve done to deserve this was to exist…

“Ms. Palmer? Please answer the question. Have you experienced any depre--"

“Yes.”

“[Scribble, Scribble] Do you always, often, sometimes, or never lack spatial awareness, struggle with communication, and at times feel disoriented?“

“Is Adam around? I’d really like to see him.”

“Mr. Palmer is not within the facility. He's currently doing business in Tokyo, Japan.“

“Oh.”

“Ms. Palmer? Do you always, often, sometimes, or never lack spatial awareness, struggle with communication, and at times feel disoriented?“

“He just…left me behind…like I’m nothing…”

“Ms. Palmer? Do you need a tissue?“

“Ha! Look at me! How would I use a fucking tissue like this!”

“Ms. Palmer, please relax yourself. I am only trying to help you. Here at Clarke's Elderly Care: Facility A2, we strive to provide the best care possible for our seniors. You have a history of hallucinatory wandering and major outbursts of emotion, which has made you eligible for special treatment. Which is why you are here now. Shall we get back to-“

“I’m here now because he wants me to be here.”

“Ms. Palmer, shall we continue our session at a later time?“

“…”

“Ms. Palmer?“

“…”

“Ms. Palmer? Please answer the question. Shall we continue our session at a later time so you may rest?“

“Sorry dear. I spaced out. Yes we can do that.”

Please don’t leave me alone here.

“Very good, Ms. Palmer. I'll come back tomorrow morning and we'll continue our session so I can note any changes that may need to be changed about your prescriptions.“

“That sounds wonderful.”

Don’t go. Please.

“Rest well, Ms. Palmer. And I will see you tomorrow morning at five a.m.“

“Goodnight, dear.”

My smile feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. I don’t want to be here anymore. I wish I could see Adam. I want to see my son. I wish Mark were still here. I hate this place. This city. I never wanted anything to do with it. I wanted to stay as far away as possible, for my family and myself. But they just couldn’t leave us alone. Especially when Adam grew and got tired of our impoverished way of life. He rose up and left me behind. Left me alone in this hell. I hate him for that. I want to…I want to…I want to hate him, but I also don’t want to. I can’t hate my son. Even though he left me. He’s still my son. I’ll see him again. I will. I need to get this brace off of me. I need the next meal to have a knife. And then, I just need to breathe, stay calm, and my vitals won’t trigger it. I’m going to see my son again. I’ll wrap it up and take the elevator. There’ll be a lot of them, but I’ll be in disguise, and they only know me with the brace on. It’s all about the brace. The airport is two miles away in walking distance. Just walk on and keep walking until you get there. Then take the next flight to Japan. I’m going to see my son again…

Writing Update

Hello!

My next story is coming along really well. It’s turning out the way I always, kind of, wanted. I say kind of because I wanted to write something really weird and surreal for this story. I’m doing that to an extent, but reading some Murakami for references sake taught that some simplicity can go a long way for a story such as the one I’m writing. So I’ve had to accept that the nature of the story won’t exactly call for something as weird as I had imagined. That said, it’s still plenty weird and a little bit creepy. It’s coming out the way I think is best for it and that makes me really happy. Gonna have to keep writing to see what becomes of the ending, of which I have several ideas for and no idea which it’ll end up on yet.

The story comes out on Tuesday, June 6th. Expect a Sci-Fi fever trip through the mind of an isolated old woman living in a world that wants nothing to do with her.

Happy reading!

No Post Today…

I’m in a bit of a rut with my current story, which has been postponed to Tuesday morning, June 6th. I do want something for May and will have it out as soon as possible.

Thank you for all the attention I’ve been getting lately. I really want to put out quality writing on this blog and hope that a missed month is understandable to refine a story that I’m struggling to bring to cohesiveness.

Thank you, truly, and have a good week!

Sol the Space Serpent

Many centuries ago, before there was life on Earth to speak of, there was a creature, a serpent, named Sol.

Sol was a massive creature. A serpentine body as long as a range of mountains, and a hide thicker than stone. The color he wore was a deep, dark blue and had no wings, he didn’t need any, not like most draconic creatures of Earth’s ancient myths. There was no wind or gravity for him to ride on; just zero-gravity. He didn’t know where he got his name, who gave it to him, where it came from. All he knew was that it was his and his alone. The only thing of personal possession to him.

He drifted in the cold, endless expanse. Pinpricks of light stood out in the darkness around him, all of varying brightness and size. He wasn’t going anywhere specific. He didn’t have any direction at all. East, West, North, and South didn’t exist in his mind like it does in that of you humans. He only ever flew as far as the stars would take him, even to the very edge of the universe itself.

He had encountered life before, but he always made sure to stay off inhabited planets. He often found that if one creature encountered another that was unlike any either had seen, they would be feared and shunned. So, he never bothers with life. He just drifts.

Sol found himself in a mess of a galaxy. It had no core or definite shape; it was an amorphous cloud. Huge and, sometimes, seeming to be as endless as the others. But there is an end to this one, Sol always reminds himself. No galaxy is endless, only the universe–and Sol, it would seem.

He passed a yellow planet and maneuvered away from a star that was latching on to him, the pull of gravity beckoning him toward it. He resisted and continued on.

The star seemed young. It’s ready to live. And it’s ready to die.

Sol doesn’t know or remember how he came into existence, he just is. He never knew any other creatures like him, only himself. He recalls not really knowing what to do when he came into existence. He explored the universe trying to find an answer to his questions, and was met with only more confusion and, in extreme cases, aggression. After so many years, he’s come to terms with an undeniable reality: he’s alone. And, as far as he’s concerned, no planet will have him.

Is it my fate to feel this way…even to the end of eternity? He thought.

The notion of “fate” was one he pondered often as of late. Mind you, different species have different names for the concept. And the concept itself, depending on the species, is very different from the one you may understand. Sol acquired this notion on a more accommodating world, which, as is often the case, was at war with itself. And it stuck in his mind ever since.

Is it his fate to be this way forever? Can he choose it himself, or is it predetermined?

If I choose it myself, he concluded not for the first time. then this is how it is out of my own volition. If it is predetermined, then there is nothing that can be done. But I don’t know either, do I?

He became aware of himself after however long he spent in his reverie. Not for the first time, he found himself floating still. He never knew when he would stop moving, just that he did. Looking around, he ventured to guess he was nearing the edge of the galaxy.

Finally.

A nearby nebula glowed with luminous and vibrant colors. Between that and the young star, this was one of the better places to be in this vast space of darkness. He moved forward. Eager to leave this galaxy behind and drift through the next one.

All his life was about this drifting. He didn’t know what else to do.

But he could smell the water in the nebula, still feel the heat from the young star. He knew that if he wanted to…he could make something amazing with both. But then what? What would a planet of his own avail him? What if it’s not what he wanted it to be? What if that thing, that deep and mysterious thing he feels deep within his core that inspires so much despair whenever he thought of the element it demands, doesn’t go away?

Is this my fate? He thought, moving more slowly now.

One after another, and another, and another…He looked ahead in his current direction. Would he really go on? Would he really stop now? He’d been going on and on for so long. It’s not the first time he thought of doing it. But after so much time…why now?

“Why not now…?” He asked himself, shocked at hearing his own voice. It was low and damp, smooth but strong. He liked hearing it, though he never saw much reason to use it.

He became more aware of himself than he’d ever been…and he felt something stream down his face. That thing is back. Back to torment him with it’s army of elements!

Why will it not leave me be!

He looked ahead to the end of the galaxy, and the start of the next one. Then there would be the one after that. Then the one after that. Again, and again, and again…

Why not now? he thought.

He looked to the young star. It wasn’t as big as other stars he’d seen, perhaps a fair comparison to the size of your star, the “Sun” as you call it. His form was but a pinprick against it’s glowing presence. He flew close to it. Close enough to feel it’s heat against his skin but not so close as to be pulled in and torn to cinders. His position was, of course, too close for any sustainability. So he backed away, paying close attention to the temperature, the pull and push of gravity, and the electromagnetism of the star.

There’s a careful equilibrium to establish with planets. Too close to the star, and it’s a charred rock. Too far, and it is a frozen sphere. Sol backed further and further away from the star, keeping in mind everything he knows about planet sustainability. He backed away slowly, methodically detailing every little thing in his mind.

While it seemed utterly devoid of life, the neighboring yellow planet was sustainable enough to have a climate. So, Sol measured the yellow planet with his position and found what he was looking for at one-hundred and fifty-million kilometers.

Perfect. He thought and got to work.

He made note of the Spot relative to the stars and the nearby nebulae and set off to find something for land. He found a belt of rocks the size of planets themselves and pushed one toward his Spot.

Once he stablished its course, he zipped past it, past the star, past even the nebula, and found another belt much farther away.

The one he chose would meet the other asteroid too late. They’d collide too far from the Spot. So, he pushed this asteroid with everything in him, even when its course was set. He pushed for hours, exhausting his strength to ensure they would meet at just the right time. When he let it go, every muscle in his body was tense. They beat with pain, and his mind desired rest. But he moved forward. He zoomed past the asteroid to the nebulae.

He dove through it, sucking in the dust and gas. Coming out the other end, he glided back to the Spot, circled around it, and blew his lung-full of nebula into it. He moved fast, keeping the nebulae spherical in the Spot. He flew around faster and faster; A planet-sized ball of gas and dust encircled by a faint web of velocity. Sol could see the molecules taking shape, but they wouldn’t form a planet. They’d become another bright star. And while creating a new star was certainly an exciting notion to him at the time, it’s not what he was after. Besides, he suspected that nothing good could come of a new star coming into existence so close to another one.

And then, just in time, the asteroids came. Hurtling towards his Spot; the birthplace of his new refuge. He couldn’t leave the Sphere though. He had to keep going until just when the asteroids would collide. So, around and around, he went. Making giant laps around the Sphere in every direction. The asteroids careening towards the Spot, towards him, at an unconquerable pace.

They were close now. Sol could feel their shadow over him as starkly as he could feel the exhaustion in every sinew of his body. They loomed high and with an incomprehensible vastness.

Sol spun out of the Spot when gravity began to weigh on him with the proximity of the asteroids. He spun out, but they were too close. Miles behind him they collided. There was no sound, but he could feel it rippling throughout the emptiness. And the destruction was catching up with him, threatening to swallow him whole.

He didn’t look back. He kept moving forward. Going and going on and on to escape a fate he most certainly did not expect to be his.

Go. Go. He thought. Almost out of the asteroids wake. The stars were ahead of him, but they were partly blacked out by the rocks’ dark vastness. GO. GO. GO!

He zoomed out of the collisions wake and flew miles away to get a good look.

It was wondrous. Light beamed out of the splintered and floating rocks. The light grew brighter and brighter at an ominous degree.

Then, suddenly and violently, a shockwave burst from the center of the carnage and sent Sol spiraling away. He tried to get his balance but there wasn’t any stopping his trajectory. He was pulled into the barren planet with an appalling stench of iron and swamp. A stormy, sickly yellow sky overcast him as he landed roughly on the surface. He tried to stand. He had to see. He had to see what came of his effort. But every fiber of his being wasn’t willing. He tried to stand, but his limbs gave out immediately.

When he awoke, he felt weighed down. His limbs were tired, and the movement of certain tendons sparked searing pain. His mouth and nose were dry, and his eyes felt like they hadn’t closed in eons.

When he mustered the strength to lift his head, he saw that he had crashed near a lone, dead tree. Possibly the only one within miles in this region of the planet. The land around him glowed with a yellow as sickly as infected skin or bile. The sky was only a treacherous storm with an amber hue. It made Sol unsettled to the bone. And he longed to get off this planet.

He lifted himself up, stretched out every muscle in his body; never minding the pain; and flew with sour limbs through the storm and out of the planets reach.

The shockwave from the collision of the asteroids sent him quite a way, but he caught up to where he had been carried off.

There was no planet to speak of, just a giant of rock and dust. Sol could sense it though. Water, dirt, air. He could smell it all; he could taste the coolness of oceans and the dampness of soil. Something was, just, missing. It needed a core for it all to come together. He hoped that a core would form of it’s own volition, but the nature of this premature planet is too unstable. Whatever could come of this, it would take time.

Much, much time…He thought. And even then; there’s no guarantee that it would form into what I hope, what I expect it to be.

He had to find metal. Lots of it. He had to find enough ore to compliment the mess with layers of iron and rock. He had to bring it all together…

Iron…

He looked back to the sickly planet in the distance.

Iron!

He made his way to it, forcing himself through the push and pull of the windy storm’s dark interior. The crash of thunder sounded around him inside the storms apocalyptic expanse. And, just for a moment, he thought he might feel the blow of lightning. But, he made it out of the other end and zoomed towards the surface.

He sucked in a sharp gasp of air, morphing and twisting it deep inside, and shot it out as a luminous beam of light. It pierced the surface, sending rock and rubble flying every which way. He took another large inhalation and sent it all out to carve out a tunnel.

He entered the planet, still beaming his way to its deepest interior.

An explosion of dust and rubble sounded throughout the cavernous space, and Sol blew out of the hole he’d made. He righted himself in the air and looked on.

The chamber Sol found himself in contrasted the surface of the planet completely. The rock and minerals of the cavern were damp, jagged, and as many hung from the “ceiling” as they were formed from the floor of the cave. It was generally dark, but the space was alighted with multicolored, crystalline rocks that illuminated the cavern just enough for Sol to see where he was going.

He came down and landed on the grounds of the cave. Keeping his nose sharp for any indication of metallic ores.

After a few hours, he smelled an array of metallic scents beneath a deep ravine of water. The surface of the water glowed from the crystalline rocks, and Sol plunged himself into the ravine.

He descended down a tight corridor that got tighter the further he went. He was close to the ore, but he was blocked by a series of smoothed out, protruding rocks. He tried to fit himself past the obstacle, but he couldn’t get past. He dared not use the water to beam his way through, for it could damage the ore and splinter it into pieces. As he was pondering alternatives, he noticed a dark shape in the dimness of the space beyond.

What’s this? He thought. It’s moving…

The shape looked amorphous, it’s contours all out of proportion. It moved slowly. But, as if noticing him for the first time, the shape whipped around and sped up to Sol’s position. He backed away in time before the creature latched onto him with one of its tendrils. It had four, all attached to a worm-like body. Its eyes were white with shadowy, gray irises and its maw contained rows and rows of pointed teeth.

Sol backed away and swam to the surface. He emerged onto a rocky shore and took a moment to think.

That creature got in there somehow, didn’t it? There must be another way!

He searched the cavern for hours. How many exactly he could not tell. He searched relentlessly, never heeding how long he spent in there; he never had to during his time drifting among the stars, he saw no reason to do it in the cavern.

During his search, he did make note of several ore deposits. The crystalline rocks themselves could potentially heed something as well. They radiated a pungent scent of power that could make his planet unique from most others.

Eventually, he came to a large water fall that cascaded down a massive chamber. The ceiling was alighted with insectoids, and the crystals were larger and more numerous in the space. The falls provided for a great pool of water, which provided for a great cavernous lake. It was a beautiful area. But Sol only took it in for a number of seconds before having a compelling thought.

He dived into the pool beneath the falls. The crystals were smaller but greater in number within the pool. They provided more than enough light for Sol to spot a crevasse at the base of the rock forming the falls above. He drifted past the breaching water and went into the crevasse.

He followed a long, winding corridor. He swam for a long time, occasionally wondering if he was going the wrong way. But the corridor seemed to only have one way, so, he followed it to where he hoped it would lead. Every minute that passed made him more nervous though. It didn’t matter where he looked; for, at least he guessed, more than an hour there was only darkness in front and behind him. But eventually, there came light. A dim light ahead.

The crystals! He thought.

He came to an exit crevasse that opened into a long, deep, vertical space. The crystals illuminated the chasm, but up or down the light became more and more faint as it went on and on.

Sol smelled for the deposit. It was up.

He swam in the ore’s direction, keeping alert for the animal he encountered. He knew it was there. He could feel its eyes on him. It could move at any moment, so Sol remained at the ready.

The crystals grew fewer the further he went, so he knew he was getting close. He came upon a disfigured area of rock where the ravine was and reached the deposit. Looking around periodically, he chipped away at the rock; retaining the precious minerals that would complete the creation of his new home.

He swallowed as much as he could and started back for the crevasse. And that was when the creature made its move.

It leapt out from the rock walls around, having stalked up to him and remained in a steady crouch. That said, Sol never stopped being ready for it.

It lunged, and then Sol wormed his body around the creature, dodging its tendrils. He felt their pointed ends sink into his flesh at few points in his body. Blood leaked from the wounds and lay suspended in the water. But Sol wrapped himself around the creature and tightened, making sure to cover the areas of its body where it was sure to breathe. The creature thrashed and struggled in his grip. But he held tight and continued to squeeze. The few tendrils that weren’t in Sol’s grasp pierced his skin repeatedly. He held tight, though. Never minding the pain. His main concern was the minerals inside his body. If they stayed inside too long, they would become a part of him. They would dissolve into his blood, his heart, his mind. If he didn’t let the minerals go in time, he would die.

Tighter and tighter Sol wound around the menace; its roars dim in the deepness of the water. Sol squeezed until his muscles were too tight, he and the creature suspended stiffly in the space of the chasm. Then, it stopped moving at all. Its tendrils relaxed and floated helplessly. Sol unwound himself, his body feeling crisp and jagged from the effort, and got out of the chasm and back to the surface as fast as he could.

A few are starting to dissolve already… He thought. I need to leave this planet and I need to do it fast!

He emerged from the pool of water and cut through the planet to the surface. He flew to the sky. And was caught off guard by a strong gust of wind.

It hit him hard enough to send him reeling through the sky. But he managed to right himself and pushed against it, stationary in the air of a dead planet. When it lulled, he continued toward the storm. This one was stronger, though. More intense.

As soon as he entered, he was met with wind and lightning. The storm pushed and pulled him in every direction. It sent him flying through its mass and a lightning strike consigned him back to the surface of the planet.

When he next opened his eyes, he was in the middle of a large, fresh crater. His skin burned and his mind rang irritably. His mouth was dry, and he smelled burnt rock in the air around. He was in too much pain to move.

How long was I incapacitated?

He still felt the minerals in his body, but he was out of time. They were entering his bloodstream. He was going to die.

He spoke in hoarse whisper; “I…am not…dying like this…”

He moved. Getting onto his legs, all of which screamed in pain. His mind rattled like bells in the wind, distressing every corner of his psyche.

He stood and looked to the threatening sky, the menacing storm. And beyond both, the home awaiting his return. His house without a heart. His soul without a body.

“I AM NOT DYING LIKE THIS!”

He screamed at the storm. The sickness of the planet, its decay and peril, its warped hue and damnable climate, was a dark pocket around Sol’s being. It restrained him. Marooned him. And he screamed at it. He defied it. With all the energy he had left, he pushed himself into the air and back into the storm.

It quickly retaliated; wind and power whipping against his being in a desperate effort to halt him. Everything hurt, but he knew that it wouldn’t forever. First, he must escape, he must breathe life into his home. Only then he will let himself heal. He cut through the clouds, the crack of lightning and the sharpness of thunder. He defied the wind with everything he had within, and finally escaped the tempest.

The storm ravaged beneath where he hung in the air. But the true beauty of the planet lay bare around him. The yellow of the planet glowed with a heavenly transcendence. The “sun” was setting in the horizon of the bleak storm. The air was vibrant and crisp, the colors bright and sanguine, while also stricken and warm.

This is it. Sol thought. This is what I want my home to be.

He flew towards the star and back to his body. Back to his home.

He had to put a considerable amount of effort in making sure all of the minerals in his body were gone. He even shed his own blood and let it become a part of the premature planet.

Sol could see that the process was already in motion. He just had to make sure it would go in the right direction. Not an easy thing to do, mind you. One wrong move and it could all come undone. He had to guide the planets formation carefully and methodically.

Once he was rested and healed, Sol went about stripping the yellow planet of as many minerals as he could get away with. He flavored the planets ecology with the luminous crystals; he gathered water from the deepest caverns for safe measure; he flew around and around the planet at an impossibly great speed to ensure the process but careful about overdoing it.

For the next ten-thousand years, he worked. Bleeding his heart and soul into the development of his home. The dreadful thing inside was persistent. Its affect often turned his own mind against him. A swelling of sadness and anxiousness over what could become of his planet. One wrong slip, and it all falls apart. This terrified Sol, especially on the few times he narrowly avoided messing up the process. Beyond that, it plagued him with worries about what having his own planet would actually do for him. Would it truly alleviate the thing inside, or make it worse?

Only one way to find out. He told himself. So, on and on he went. Ten-thousand years of careful building and heart-wrenching anticipation, so he may finally be able to rest.

At that point, things had changed considerably. The interior of the yellow planet had become its new exterior. Sol observed it go from desolate to lively. Creatures that could only live within were now on the outside, with a magnanimous array of creatures never before seen. The star was older now but not without life in it. It still shined as if ready to live again and again. Sol often wished he shared the stars enthusiasm for life. Perhaps when his work was over.

Sol’s planet was coming together to become a vibrant and lush haven. The oceans were fewer than here on Earth, but they were nonetheless expansive and incredibly deep. Forests and vegetation glowed with a blue-like luminosity and shrouded the planet in a deeply colorful hue. Mountains and volcanoes could be found in so many unexpected places. It made Sol tingle with joy.

After centuries of drifting, and ten-thousand years of the hardest work Sol had done since he’d come into existence, he finally had a place to call his own.

What shall I name it? It’s a question he’d pondered for a long, long time. And with it, countless answers. It took time, but he settled on one he felt matched the planet well enough. Raaven. It is called Raaven. Yes.

He took to life on Raaven quicker than he’d thought. He relished the cool wind and novel rainfall. He would sink low into the ocean’s depths and sleep at the bottom for days. He walked through the gargantuan forests with trees taller than he and wider. He traversed every nook and cranny above and below Raaven’s surface. Snow brought snow-covered mountains, the beauty of which left a serenity in his chest. And joy filled him when rolling around the cold-topped mounts.

Everything about Raaven was what he’d wanted for a long time.

Until it no longer was.

Two-hundred years later, not even half the time it took for him to create the planet, Sol found the thing inside once again grow in intensity. Having his own planet was once exciting and fulfilling. But now, he’s drifting again…without even being in the expanse.

He flew through the skies, feeling the air he’d once relished. But now it just…was. It was a part of the planet, which was a part of him. His time on Raaven had only done so much before the thing returned with a vengeance. Though, it never really left; Sol’s joy only reduced it to a dull hum. But now it’s back. Back to torment him with a thousand longings. Sol didn’t know why he felt this way, what he could do to alleviate it.

If having a planet, a home of my own, isn’t the key to satisfying the thing inside, then what is?

He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know the answer. So, he flew. He slept. He waited. For what?

A permission to leave…? A reason to stay…?

He couldn’t confront the thing or the thoughts it spawned in his mind. He didn’t want to. Whatever answers he would gain from doing so were ones that, he was sure, wouldn’t be the ones he wanted to hear. So, he flew, slept, and waited until the right answer would come. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to drift again for centuries. The right answer was here somewhere. In the clouds perhaps? Or the mountains?

Sol didn’t know what to do. After many years of this reverie state, he was coming to accept that, maybe, Raaven was always meant to be no more than a bit of refreshment. Something different than what he’d done for millennia. It was time to go back into the expanse. To see more stars and planets.

I don’t want to go. But clearly, I can’t continue to stay. He thought. I suppose this is my fate…

The thought angered and confused him. He couldn’t accept it. The thing couldn’t accept it. He knew it to be right. And for the first time for as long as he can remember, he confronted it.

He set down in the middle of a rocky plain and paced. He knew what the thing was. He knew all along. He just couldn’t accept it because he resented it. He rejected the truth because it had rejected him. The thing was want. And what did he want?

Life…living, breathing life. Like me.

He laid down and let the truth consume him. A wave of melancholy crashed into his heart. It formed a dark pocket around his being. Warped and damnable. No amount of screaming would help him overcome this tempest. He didn’t know what would help him overcome it.

Leaving to go back to his drifting would only make it worse. And, clearly, staying wouldn’t do anything for him. In fact, Sol suspected that the longer he stayed the worse it would get. He couldn’t go to a populated planet. There was no species in the universe that would accept him. He didn’t know what to do other than to spend the moment, once again, in slumber. He’d thought hard and long, and then all he wanted to do was rest. So, rest he did.

Interestingly enough, it was around this time that the organisms hidden within the planet, right under Sol’s nose, were evolving into a new shape. Deep in the sea, a new organism that had been building on itself for years upon years was coming to the surface. Coming to live among the trees and the sky.

On this day, as Sol flew around the planet, ready but also not ready to leave, he saw something he hadn’t anticipated. On a small beach by a large cliffside, he saw a form emerging from the water.

What?

He flew to the beach. And what he saw was beyond his comprehension. A tiny, amphibious creature. It walked on fours and had a small, pointed tail. Its skin was smooth and viscous, colored in translucent shades of blue and gold. Its eyes were wide and innocent, made up by layers of brown. It looked at Sol curiously.

Interesting. Sol thought.

The thing, the tempest, swirled and twisted in ways that Sol didn’t know how to process. It was as if an entirely new star was being born in him. Rays of light spreading to every corner of his person. He felt the tempest there, but also the star. He was confused and scared. But he couldn’t deny the joy, the lightness in the pit of his being. The excitement. The hope.

Perhaps, he thought. I don’t have to drift anymore. Perhaps, I could stay. And watch. Learn. Live.

Many centuries ago, before there was life to speak of on Earth, there was Raaven. A distant planet where magic and nature were as inseparable as the eyes of lovers. Creatures great and small, intelligent and animal, thrived under this inseparability. And Sol the Space Serpent lived in wonder and joy in his thriving planet. His home.

The Angry Poltergeist

I came to a graveyard,

as an uncommon bard.

I sang songs for the dead,

to ease their miserable dread.

They dance away beneath the night sky,

as I let my macabre notes fly.

In the joy of my tune,

in the shade of my friends’ delight,

there arose a maddening shrite.

Two poltergeists in the midst of a plight.

One seemed young and frail,

but exuded a doggedness to prevail.

The other was weathered and terse,

but equally committed and all-together curt.

They bit and clawed, scratched and howled,

there was no end to the goons’ terrible growls.

I glared a nasty stare,

and took my lute and my friends to a better end.

We sang a melody so sweet,

that was flattened by a vile heat.

The poltergeists followed;

the frail one with comments so pointed and hollow,

the brute with curses that were hard to swallow.

The young one judged and mocked my friends and I,

and I felt a simmering rage in my mind.

The brute was supportive,

desiring to let us be.

But the young was having its fun,

and deflected with a scree.

Growing tired of their ire,

my friends and I once again moved away to sing like fire.

III

But there was no blaze in our lay anymore!

The poltergeists bore toxin in our core;

with their crazed determination to make miserable each other’s ways,

their toxicity sparked a rage within me that I struggled to cage.

My friends, so wise and kind, told me that we’ll sing again when the times are refined.

But who should come to worsen our state?

But the young, screechy poltergeist, come to fill her plate.

With words that sunk my heart, and jabs against our art, it made me fall apart.

I swung my lute and smashed it against her head most acute.

From my lips came a slate of malice and hate,

the storm of which I could not abate.

The terse poltergeist then came,

with fury in his eyes.

He grabbed me by the throat,

and the blood in my veins went cold.

To the rescue my friends came,

they soothed the angry poltergeist before my person was maimed.

The terse one shoved me to the ground,

and astounded me with a profound say:

“Never again raise your arm in anger, friend.

No good can come of bending to the will of fury.

Amend your faults, even to your nemeses.

For no good can come of letting your heart freeze in misery.”

The elder poltergeist left with the young one nursing her head,

she did not say another word as they went ahead.

Feeling so alone in my shame,

I rolled myself into a ball,

as to escape my friends’ gall.

And yet, to my side they came.

They lifted me to my feet,

with spectral smiles so sweet,

and they sang a song as they guided me along,

to the place that I belong.

The End

Featured

Hello! I’m Seth, and These Are My 10 Favorite Things

This was one of the first posts I ever wrote for this blog, but with the advent of a worldwide pandemic forcing me to shift my worldview since then, I think it’s fair to say that a rewrite is due. In this–I guess you could say–revised edition of my 10 favorite things, I’ll share a little about me as I am now. It’s always subject to change, give it ten years and I’ll be a completely different person from the one I am now. Which is a notion that I find to be as frightening as it is exciting; but that’s a ways off, here’s who I am now.

I Love Reading Books

I like to read a lot of books. Currently I’m reading The Compass of Character, a writing book by David Corbett; At The Mountains of Madness by H.P. Lovecraft; and Batman: Under The Red Hood, a collection of Batman comics that chronicles his fight against a new player in Gotham City. Where comic books factor into my reading life I’ll get into later, but I’ve been really enjoying Lovecraft’s dark, cosmic mysticism; and I’m learning quite a few storytelling tools from Corbett’s book about writing characters.

There may not have been much point in telling about what I’m reading now, since that will change later. But I thought it’d be fun to write them down anyway as sort of a time capsule paragraph to look back on years from now. I mean, that’s kind of what this post is, right? A time capsule to look back on years from now and see how much exactly has changed.

But let’s jump back on topic. I love reading because it really helps me to relax and I love learning all sorts of things from it. Fiction books are a vastly imaginative, thought-provoking, and stimulating form of storytelling. There are stinkers of course, but from the time that I read my first fantasy book I knew that this was something that I wanted to keep doing until the day I die. I don’t think I necessarily have a favorite book yet, but I’m always excited for what the world of literature has in store for me. There’s such a purity to words-on-a-page that never fails to captivate me. The use of words and an authors reliance on their reader’s proverbial Mind’s Eye to tell stories is, just, an enchanting thing and I love having my brain go on all kinds of adventures through the written word.

I primarily like to read Science-Fiction and Fantasy books. I like my brain to go on…I don’t want to say literal adventures, but I also don’t want to say figurative…let’s go with metaphorical. I like my brain to go on metaphorical adventures (feels right enough). But I also like Romance books, not the kinky Fifty-Shades of Grey shit that somehow got movie adaptations. I love the melty feeling in my chest from a good Romantic Comedy. Some genres and mediums I’d like to read more of would be Literary Fiction (Speculative and Literary Fiction deserve a place on everyone’s shelves!), Horror, Poetry, Essay Writing, Short-Stories, and Science.

(god I’m a nerd…!)

I Love Writing Stories

I’m a writer! It’s the career I’ve chosen to dedicate myself to. Thanks in no small part to my experiences with English courses in college, I’ve come to realize how powerfully the craft of writing influences lives and shapes minds. It’s a double-edged sword of course. Like many things in this world; writing is used for good as much as it is for ill-intent. That said, what it means to me goes above and beyond some people’s unjust reasons for using it. I want to do a lot of good with my writing, I want to tell stories that mean something to the other little nerd that sits on the couch, laptop in…lap, binge-watching Doctor-Who all day. I want my stories to be for that nerd what Doctor Who was for me. A crash course in the sheer power of storytelling, a revelation of just how big and beautiful the universe is, and adventure of all kinds.

I’ve written about five short-stories for this blog but there’s many more where that came from. I’ve also written a ton of screenplays for short films, all of which I hope to get made eventually. I love writing short-stories, but I don’t think it’s what I want to commit my career to, I actually want to write screenplays for film, TV, and/or animation. It’s not completely outside the realm of possibility for me to write a book or two, but given how much time and effort goes into writing and publishing a single novel, especially given my current lack of experience with a) writing a book, and b) the publishing industry in general, I might be better off building my game with short-stories. It’s a little hard though because I’m a bigger fan of the longer-form, tent-pole structures of storytelling, I like telling and experiencing a whole story rather than just a piece of it. Still, I’ll get there when I get there.

The stories that I like to write seem to be as varied as my reading tastes. I like to cover as many facets of the human experience as I can. Every layer of the human condition, I want to know and explore through writing and storytelling. Primarily through Sci-Fi and Fantasy, but also through many more genres and mediums. I love how writing can peel back the layers to show how dark and beautiful the human psyche can be. It’s truly amazing the worlds we can create and the things we can learn and achieve with just a pen and paper (or, as is often the case with me, a monitor and keyboard). Again, it’s a double-edged sword, and I’m sure that the reader of this had some negative writing expriences that may have shaped the way they think of it and people in general. But I believe that the potential for good that writing and storytelling has far surpasses any negative potential. Yes, I can always be surprised; but that in itself is a double-edged blade as well, and either way I sometimes find myself hungry for what both have to reveal about the human spirit.

I hope the cut of my jib so far hasn’t scared everyone away. All I hope for is that the reader will have a good understanding of who I am as a person while having a fun blogging experience. So…ye…

I Love Comic Books & Manga

Growing up in a family of predominantly pop culture nerds, it’s inevitable that I would develop a soft spot for the comic book medium, it’s in my veins after all. Reading any of the Marvel or DC heroes is a very familiar experience for me, I’ve always loved superhero stories’ aptitude for grounding these incredible characters in very human experiences. Spider-Man and Nightwing struggle to balance their responsibilities as people and as heroes, Batman and Wolverine consistently struggle to cope with the traumas of their past and present, Wonder Woman and Captain America try so hard to live up to the symbolisms they represent but sometimes come up short. It’s always interesting to see these characters’ values and identities picked apart to reveal something about human nature. In my experience, these character studies can be especially potent given that these are characters who’re supposed to be paragons of virtue, and the idea that even they struggle with very human things has always intrigued and excited me. They’re also, more often than not, really good popcorn entertainment. I’m not going to sit here and pretend that the MCU has some of the deepest storytelling of the century, because it really doesn’t. But between interesting character arcs and/or massively fun plotting, I believe that superhero stories has something to offer everyone. They’re not for everyone, definitely, but they’ve been for me since I was born. And I couldn’t be happier.

I do have some gripes. Certain things about the MCU are starting to get old for me, and so many concepts in the comic universes are now very tired and worn out. Both Marvel and DC are, also, just so big. Both are their own cities, with so many avenues and hidden treasures. It’s all far too much to keep up with. These days I only follow a select handful of characters that I’m a fan of. But even then it can be really difficult to be a Marvel and DC fan in these present times with a lot of politicizing from both writers, editors, and fans themselves (I feel like I’m going to get in a lot of trouble for saying these things). I still love reading comic books though. But’s a valid thing to also get into Manga, with how exhausting western comic books can be.

Recently I’ve been enjoying both the Anime and Manga series of Spy x Family. I’m not necessarily a stranger to Anime, but Manga is a realm I never knew even existed until a few years ago. Besides Spy x Family, I also read a standalone called I Had That Same Dream Again, a very literary Manga about a girl trying to find out what it means to be happy for a school project. While very different, I’ve much enjoyed both. I one day hope to get into other well-known ones; One Piece, Tokyo Ghoul, Chainsaw Man, Soul Eater, the list goes on! I don’t have a lot of experience yet, Spy x Family is my first Manga series, and an ongoing one at that. That said, I look forward to what the medium has to offer in the future. It’s very different from the hubbub of Marvel and DC comics, which makes me happy.

I Love Long Walks

Long walks are so peaceful. There’s a stark distinction between my life inside the walls of my home and outside of them. The inside, I’d say at least, is more vibrant than outside. But going out on a walk is such a transcendent experience because I can take a minute to relax, bounce thoughts and ideas around in my head, take in the beauty of the natural world, and, overall, take a nice step back from life in general. It’s a very nice break away from not just personal stuff but my own hobbies and goals. I can take a step back and think about what I want to get out of the day, what I want out of the week, the month, the year, the entirety of my natural life. Long walks is a very meditative thing, and despite living in a hyper-progressive, capitalist nation; mother nature manages a way to slip through the cracks. It’s always nice to walk among the small homes and greenery surrounding me.

Last year I read The Eye of The World, the first book in a hugely influential fantasy series called The Wheel of Time. I read it via paperback and an audio copy on Audible. When I listened to the audio, if it wasn’t in the car on my way to and back from work, it was on a nice, long walk through my neighborhood. And what a wonderful experience it was. Reading and listening to a book adds so much to the experience. For that alone, I’m so excited for the rest of the series.

Getting exercise while getting lost in the narration of a story was pure serenity. But I also like to listen to music. Having tunes play in my head while being active helps get my imagination fired up and generate new ideas. Podcasts are also fun while on a walk. I generally listen to Lore by Aaron Mahnke. Once upon a time, I listened to The Adventure Zone and My Brother, My Brother, and Me from the McElroy brothers, but then I discovered Critical Role, and now nerdy-ass voice-actors are ruining my life…in a good way.

I really love serene, long walks. I’d like to see if hiking would be a thing I could get into, but only time will tell. Meanwhile, if anyone’s having a hard day, I recommend grabbing some headphones or earpods or none of that and taking a step back by walking throughout the neighborhood. Take in the things worth noting about this place you call home and return to life rejuvenated. A nice walk is kinda like being on another world, and every time I come home after one, well, I guess I know what it’s like to be Bilbo returning to the Shire after his big adventure.

I Love Winter

It’s understandable why some people would detest Winter. In some places, it gets unbearably cold, my home of Idaho included. But even so, I love snow! I’m also more privy to colder temperatures than warm ones. The Summer time is probably the worst time for me, I just hate how balmy it gets here in Idaho. Most summers I can’t step out of the house without my skin melting off my bones. It’s the worst feeling ever. And sure, while cold and snow can be annoying, especially in when driving, I can take it better than heat because I just enjoy the cold. Ironically enough, being in the cold makes me feel kind of warm inside, I don’t know if it’s because coldness makes me more aware of my warm-blooded nature or something like that. But, whatever the case, I feel more comfortable when it’s cooler.

Of course, that’s not to say that I enjoy below zero temperatures. I’m not a psychopath, for pete’s sake. Between 30 to 70 is just fine (If I ever get married then I will admit that I pity the poor woman).

On the matter of snow—well, it’s my understanding that everything is just a little more beautiful under a shade of white. Snowfall is ethereal and mesmerizing. Some places in the world are just enchanting to look at when covered in snow. I love it in the day and night, when it envelopes the houses, and trees, and lawns, and cars, and everything in my neighborhood. I love it in the evening during town or city spaces. It makes the hubbub of such locations a bit more bearable, because at least everything around me is actually nice to look at now. I really love snow.

Even without snow I still like cold. I do love it when it’s sunny and bright, I just prefer a sunny and bright day with a cooler air around me. As opposed to a literal hell on Earth (god, if it goes over 100 this year then I have no idea what I’m going to do).

I Love Eastern & Western Animation

I don’t think I quite realized just how big animation was during my childhood. I loved watching the animated Marvel and DC cartoons growing up and I watched anime off and on. My favorite animated movies are probably Your Name. (which I made a review post of), Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, and Wreck-It Ralph.

Animation is a very unique form of storytelling. So much more can be got away with that live-action filmmaking probably wouldn’t allow. Granted, film is constantly evolving to allow so much more that wasn’t possible 50 years ago. But something about animation for Sci-Fi and Fantasy films just works. It makes sense that one of the best Spider-Man movies ever made is an animated one, the comic-book-y art of the film makes it feel more like a comic than most of the MCU movies. At that, the art style in Your Name. lends so much to its transcendent sense of beauty and, coupled with the movie’s emotional beats, makes a single image from the film hard to forget. Something about animation for these genres just makes sense. Animation has become one of the places for the most imaginative storytellers to craft modern-day myths and extravagant tales. It’s unfortunate that animation gets a lot of stigma from general audiences, but with the aforementioned movies having as much acclaim as they do; animation could just get the respect it needs and has rightfully earned.

That’s not to say that Sci-Fi/Fantasy films should only be animated, The Lord of The Rings trilogy is one of the greatest cinematic achievements of the century and it was all live-action filmmaking. Denis Villeneuve’s Dune was one of the biggest successes in 2021 and is still as gripping and immersive as the first time I saw it, and it isn’t even the complete story! And, of course, there’s the MCU, which does have its shortcomings; but it’s place in popular culture is indisputable and the mark its left on the American zeitgeist will be felt for decades to come.

There is a place for Sci-Fi and Fantasy storytelling beyond just animation, but because of the role the medium has played in my upbringing, and the boundless imaginative, artistic, and creative possibilities it carries, I always find myself excited for the next animated release and put many of the animated content available to me pretty high on my to-stream list.

I Love Movies & TV

I Mean…who doesn’t (not the meme, I mean about movies)? Movies and television are touchstones in many cultures around the world. We obsess all the time over the next film release. We talk endlessly about our favorite episodes of a beloved sitcom or serial drama. Visual storytelling is, by far, one of the most lucrative and in-demand art forms of the past century. It’s an art that I want to dedicate an entire career to.

I’ve spoken at length about my tastes in visual entertainment. So, what are some movies and TV shows I’m a fan of besides the ones previously mentioned?

One of my absolute favorite movies is Inception. Everything comes together so well in that movie. The plot is intricate, the ideas are interesting. While the main cast of characters aren’t the densest they are a lot of fun to follow and Cobb’s character arc might be one of the most compelling I’ve seen in a film. I could talk at length about what makes Inception so good to me, but that’s besides the point of this Block.

A favorite TV series? It only has one season but I really enjoyed Netflix’s Arcane and look forward to the next season. Honestly though, it’s pretty outside of the traditional mold (in fact I have no idea if it can even be classified as a TV show), but over the past couple of years I’ve been falling head-over-heals for the D&D live-stream series Critical Role. Basically, a group of famous Voice-over artists gather around a table to play Dungeons & Dragons. It’s a really fun time with a lot of laughter and tears from the watched and the watcher. The stories the cast share together around the table is unlike anything that any movie or traditional TV series could accomplish. The characters are layered, the worldbuilding is endlessly fascinating, and the interactions between the players are a joy to watch. It’s a lot to commit to as they’ve made mountains of content over 8 years and the episodes themselves range from 3 to 4 hours long. Even so, I get so much out of a single episode. These are natural-born storytellers who put so much heart into their work and I’ve steadily fallen in love with them and their stories. I just wish I was there to watch their first stream way back in 2015, it feels like I missed out on so much!

I Love Animals

Don’t judge me! Animals are freaking cool and hilarious!

And Cute!

I Love Interesting Conversation

I’m not great at conversation. I think I come off as a little stiff and a lot shy. I do my best, I laugh when it’s called for, I raise my brows when it’s appropriate, I swear when it’s okay to. Overall though, I’m no expert communicator. I was never really the conversational type, I’m more of a thinker; I deduce and theorize and pick apart ideas in my head. I pay attention to the details and figure out how they fit into the bigger picture. Juxtaposing that, I have a lot of sensitivities; I’m very intuitive about what other’s are feeling. Sometimes, I can’t think straight because I’m so concerned about what one is thinking and feeling about me. I don’t want to be rude or intrusive, so more often than not I don’t say anything. But when I do bring it out into the open I find myself in a conversation I’m not sure I wanted to have. A very classic case of social anxiety. I worry constantly that others are judging me negatively based on miniscule facts such as how I move, how I talk, where my eyes go–an especially difficult thing for me, I often worry that I’ll offend someone for just looking at them–and how my general presence makes them feel. I think people generally like me, I think I’m a likable enough person and all these worries, fears, and anxieties are almost always in my head (I’ve locked eyes with people who I think decided very quickly that they didn’t like me). I don’t think my people skills are the best they could be, though. I’m also not the biggest fan of people in general, they scare me as much as they delight me.

There’s always the rare instance though when I engage in conversation with someone I feel I’m on the same wavelength with. These interactions have been few and far between for me, the bulk of them having been with my therapist, but there have been times when I interacted with certain members of my family who share my interests. There have been very rare instances when I’ve had interesting conversation with someone who wasn’t immediate family. But even with these interactions, I still have the impulse to hold back, to restrain myself, out of discomfort. Having interesting or deep conversation with someone who isn’t my therapist or my father (who I’ve had plenty of interesting conversations with) makes me really uncomfortable because I don’t know them. There’s no pre-established connection that has been built and nurtured over time. I can’t reveal myself to someone I barely know because it makes me very uncomfortable. Which, I think, is valid. We should always be careful who we choose to be vulnerable with. But even if it’s with good friends, there is that undeniable restraint inside myself. My subconscious crudely hitting the panic button and telling me to abort when anything has barely even started.

I have problems…

I do like having interesting conversation with interesting people. The pessimist in me is very quick to say that everyone is awful and connecting with anyone will only lead to crippling heartache, so why bother? But even so, I’m aware that there’s no reward if there’s no risk. It’s just that the risk, that very specific fear of going outside the safe zone to earn something more fulfilling, is what keeps me confined to the safe zone.

Developments have occurred though, I have someone who is quickly and steadily becoming a good friend despite an age gap of almost 20 years. And there’s someone at my day-job that I’m thinking of taking a chance on. I never wanted or want a lot of friends, just a small circle to keep me grounded. A miniscule fellowship that I actually feel comfortable having interesting conversation with. People I can talk to about our ideas and stories, about our interests and passions, our experiences and dreams of life. I feel like achieving this small circle will be easier said than done…but maybe I’m exaggerating it. I’ll definitely be hurt, but maybe that’s okay. So long as I don’t die taking chances on people.

I Love Learning New Things

The above meme speaks to all of us in so many ways…

I like to think that I’m smart, that I know a lot of cool things. I like to imagine holding up to the smartest people in the world and having all kinds of amazing, eye-opening discussions with them. The truth of the matter is that I’m a terrible idiot. Well…I have a lot of emotional intelligence, as I said before; I’m very attuned to what people think and feel. But as far as IQ goes…I’m just not as smart as I’d like to be. Not because I want to be a theoretical physicist (god no), but because I want to apply these cool sciences to my writing. What kind of interesting stories could I tell if I was just a bit smarter, if I had just a little higher an IQ?

Another truth of the matter though is that learning is a life-long process. I’m never going to have all the answers because there’s just too many and we don’t have all of them yet (an argument could be made whether or not we should have all of them). But that doesn’t discourage me from learning what I can.

I don’t have Einstein level intelligence, but I am very smart when it comes to writing stories. I make the logical choices while also going with my gut when it comes to writing and storytelling. I love learning the intoxicatingly interesting nature of humanity, of what makes the world go round and the universe tick. I love learning new things to understand and/or write about because I just like knowing things. It’s a fundamental fact of humanity that we shun the unknown, we’re frightened by it and will take every chance to turn it away. Sometimes for the better, other times for the worse.

I like learning about myself. What makes me tick. What can I understand about myself that will help me to be the kind of person I want to be? On that note, what kind of person do I want to be? What kind of life do I want to live?

I hope this introspection isn’t scaring too many people away. Writing is easily the best way I can communicate myself. I love my voice when it’s words on a page or a screen, but when it’s out of my own mouth…well, let’s just say that I’m a pretty harsh critic.

It might be weird that one of my favorite things is learning in an age where everyone’s favorite things are what they can consume easily and substantially, whereas learning takes effort. We process information better when we write down a cool fact or watch an educational video multiple times. Doing such things takes effort, and much of society has become a low-effort culture. I’m guilty of taking the low-effort route as well, it’s not always a bad thing, but it can be if it becomes a force of habit than a catalyst for productivity.

This is all speaking pretty broadly. In essence, I’m smart but not that smart. I might be smart enough as a writer and storyteller to continue growing as such and such. But, I’m no social or intellectual genius. It’d be cool if I was, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m always up for learning more cool things about cool things. I’m also up for learning hard truths, because that’s often how one knows something is true. They know it’s true by how much it jolts their soul.

Sooooo…yeah.

Thanks for reading. Now that you know a little about me, I hope that helps to enjoy my blog a little bit more. Again, thank you, and see ya!

MIDNIGHT WAKE

+++10:00pm+++

The town was empty. There was the occasional walker; some alone or with someone. The someone was either a dog or a person, sometimes it was both. They drove past closed shops and open bars. People were coming and going in various directions, in and out of various structures. The night was spare of the usual culture. Too much fear. Far too much.

Brooker stole a glance at Wyatt not for the first time since their patrol. He was looking out the window with a neutral face. No discernable emotion escaped his rigidness, not for the past week. This scared Brooker more than it angered him. It seemed to him like there were two phases of time for Wyatt. The first phase was when they’d work the day, scouting their home for the wrong kind of people, then the nights at Wyatt’s house. Nights when he and his wife would cook up something truly savory while Brooker entertained the children with his own childlike fervor. His complaints of being too old for play did nothing do deter the children from their pretend game of little monsters versus big monster, or him for that matter. Then the meal came, then the laughter came, followed by playful threats of getting the big monster next time; which were followed by assurances from the big monster that he would be ready. Then came the time to part ways and sleep off the exhaustion of children with a smile. Then again, and again, and again. The joy of those times were always enough to make the sheer idea of stagnancy no huge concern.

Then there was the latter phase, this phase. The phase where Wyatt’s, and Brooker’s, joy faded to banality. The sudden shift in an acceptable way of life that always comes with the loss of something good.

Brooker was tired of his own discomfort keeping him from doing what needed to be done. At the next red light he turned his head and said; “You okay, Wy?” Brooker’s voice had the raspy quality of a man who had seen many years, but it was low and smooth, tinged with so much compassion for his friend.

The question brought Wyatt out of his reverie very suddenly. His head swerved quickly in Brooker’s direction, his face displaying the first signs of genuine emotion Brooker had seen in a long time; anger, maybe even rage; fear–longing.

The silence was nearly unbearable, it lasted for what felt to Brooker like hours. He sat and watched as his friends face twisted from one gut-wrenching expression to another. If it happened now, if it all erupted right then, Brooker was ready to take him to the nearest bar so they could help each other nurse their grief together. Maybe then things would go back to the way they were, maybe then the pain wouldn’t be so all-consuming.

Wyatt collected himself, and the worrisome apathy returned. “I’m fine.” He said in a near whisper. He turned his head back to the window, letting a cough escape his throat.

Brooker hesitated but turned his eyes back on the road. The light was green, though the car behind didn’t sound their horn. Most people wouldn’t dare honk at a police car, but he heard some horns angrily flaring further down the line. He pressed on the gas and the two continued their patrol. Like old times–but not just like them.

+++4 Weeks Ago: Tuesday+++

The morgue smelled clean. Brooker always thought that was a little ironic considering what lay inside the numbered brackets lining the walls. But the morgue truly smelled a zesty scent of clean. It also looked it, the square patterned floors and even the brackets themselves practically sparkled with polish. Walking in, he felt somewhat insulated in this space, which, again, felt ironic to him. It always seems like the cleanest spaces have something caustic about them.

He walked side-by-side with Jason, the coroner assigned to the examination. He was a handsome man with dark hair and a pronounced chin–because of course he does, Brooker thought–and deep brown eyes under bushy, black eyebrows. He wore an expensive looking tie tucked between his cloud-white, button-up shirt and smoothly trimmed black jacket. His polished black shoes sparkled with the same light shining down on the floor. The only thing he and Brooker seemed to share in attire was well-ironed trousers. One’s was black and the other’s brown, but he was willing to bet they share the same brand.

They were coming up to a corner that leads down the hallway where poor Amnesty would be when Krystal, the medical examiner, turned the corner and met them in the middle of the bracketed hallway.

“Hello again, Jason.” She said rousingly. Krystal’s golden blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail on the back of her head. She had wide, doughy eyes with sky blue irises, all behind large, black-rimmed glasses. She wore a lab coat as white as Jason’s button-up and blue jeans with a large hole in the right knee. She also had a white bow-tie with blood splatter designs in the collar of her own button-up. Brooker felt he knew everything he needed to know about this woman already.

“Krystal,” Jason said with a cheerful tone and a bright smile. “This is my friend Brooker. The patient we’re examining was his niece, so, if it’s alright with you, I felt he had a right to be here.”

“Oh! of course!” She said affectionately, looking to Brooker with glossy eyes. “I mean…you can handle a lot of blood, right?”

“Young lady, I’ve seen more blood in my lifetime than I care to admit. I’ll be fine.” Besides, this was his niece. He would see her, blood or no.

A minute later they walked through the doors of the examination room. A table sat beneath a large display of lights, and a petite form showed through the blue covers blanketing the table. Krystal got her materials together, and removed the blanket.

Fourteen. Only fourteen. A life barely lived.

Brooker always felt closer to his niece, Amnesty, than he ever did with his own brother. She was a smart one, and funny. She expressed interest in her uncles exploits as a police officer, not the kind that said she wanted to be one herself one day, but more of an intellectual fascination with how and why people do the things they do. She wanted to know the minds of criminals, of murderers and arsonists, killers and tyrants. She wanted to know people. Brooker felt a kinship with his niece partly because they shared that same intellectual interest, the biggest difference being that he wanted to protect against those minds, while she wanted to study them. Beyond that though, they were best friends. They laughed and cried at the same things, ached and hurt for and from the same aspects of life. He was happy to have a family member he could talk to. Not since his mother, a cop herself, had passed did he have that.

Now, her youthful face lay drained of color before his eyes. They began to burn the longer he looked, and at some point he had to turn away. He couldn’t stop a few rolling tears from escaping.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Brooker,” Krystal said, genuine compassion in her voice. “I…I lost a lot of people when I was younger. It messed me up for a long time before I figured things out. So…I know how painful this is. I don’t exactly know how it is for you, but…pain is universal.”

Brooker wiped the tears and turned to Krystal.

“What kind of sick son of a bitch kills a fourteen-year-old girl…” He said with a raspy, broken voice.

“Well, thing is, I don’t know if it was a human that did this.” Krystal said, and indicated different parts of Amnesty. “Her body is riddled with lacerations suggestive of bear or tiger claws, and whole chunks have been bitten off of her, most notably on her neck.” There was a huge, deep gash the size of a human fist in Amnesty’s neck. Krystal also indicated her torso, which was stapled shut after being prodded during the examination. “Whatever attacked took a huge bite out of her neck, cutting off her oxygen supply, and when she was no longer moving it tore into her torso and fed on all of the vital organs. Whatever did this couldn’t have been motivated by anger, envy, lust. This is inhuman. She was something’s dinner.”

“But,” Jason said. “The witness who found her said that a large man was hunched over her and…making ‘sucking’ noises, as if consuming something.”

“That’s where this gets disturbing,” Said Krystal. “Because this is very indicative of an animal attack than a human one.”

+++11:30pm+++

Brooker walked through the glass doors of the drug store and back to the car.

The patrol hadn’t turned up anything out of the ordinary, some speeding tickets, a jaywalker or two, even a drug bust at a park. Dumb kids. Not too long ago though Wyatt began coughing up a storm. Brooker got worried and looked up the nearest drug store to get some medicine.

Brooker suspects that he may have a cold, but Wyatt says he’s felt just fine all day. Well, bugs can come out of nowhere, so it’s better to be safe. Some Delsym 12-Hour and Ibuprofen should help until he sees a doctor.

Wyatt was hacking when Brooker got back inside the car. The sound was hard on Brookers nerves, he must have some kind of parasite.

He opened the Delsym and handed a piece to Wyatt. “Doing okay there, pal?” He asked.

“Apparently not…” Wyatt said hoarsely, plopping the medicine into his mouth and taking a swig of water. “I swear I felt fine until…’bout thrity minutes ago?”

“That’s when it started to get bad, yeah.” Brooker said, turning the key and driving back out into the night. With Wyatt how he is right now he’d call it in and take him home. The poor guy needs rest in so many ways.

+++4 Weeks Ago: Sunday+++

Ellen was concerned about Wyatt. She looked herself in the mirror while gliding her toothbrush across every cranny in her teeth as best she can. It was coming time to see the dentist again, so she wanted to make sure she was taking well care of them, even though she’s aware of how terribly she takes care of her teeth. Once every day, twice only three to two times a week, and that’s not even talking about flossing.

As she took care of her teeth, she thought about getting Wyatt set up for a doctor’s appointment. Her husband had been unusually tired all day, and he’s been coughing non-stop. He’s in bed right now, seemingly doing fine, but not long ago, when he’d been coughing, a concerning amount of warm, crimson red blood had splashed onto the kitchen table. He must’ve picked something up during their camping trip last week. This concerned Ellen rapidly, it was one thing to get a common cold, another to contract a native virus or parasite.

She finished brushing, the irony taste that was suddenly in the foamy toothpaste indicating she might’ve overdone it. She spit out the paste and fit herself under the sheets of her bed, Wyatt breathing evenly beside her. She would give their general doctor a call in the morning, and see if there’s anything in Wyatt’s body that shouldn’t be there. Until then though, she forced herself to calmness; taking slow, deep breaths in an effort to lull herself to sleep.

Hoarse, sharp, and worrisome fits of hacking forced her mind back to reality…

+++11:50pm+++

The coughs were so deep as to rattle Brooker’s bones. Blood was splayed all over the dash and the floor of the passenger seat. He took to the freeway, heading towards the hospital. Wyatt had started coughing and didn’t stop. He’d hoped that the medicine would help, but maybe they just made things worse? Brooker heard Wyatt beside him stop coughing and graduate to something worse; he heaved two–three times before vomiting a dangerous amount blood. The inside of the car had the stench of iron and death. Brooker’s heart thrummed uncontrollably, his fingers gripped the steering wheel as if letting go would mean sudden death for Wyatt.

“Hang In There Wy!” Brooker yelled, turning on the exit that takes him directly to the hospital.

Wyatt vomited more blood, and Brooker began to feel as if he’d spill his guts as well. He rolled down the window to let out the stench, hoping to avoid an even worse mess than what was occurring now. He stole a glance at Wyatt’s hunched form; it was hard to make out exact details in that late hour, but he heard moans and groans from Wyatt, like a wounded animal ready to die. Whatever was happening, Brooker wasn’t sure that Wyatt would survive it.

They were zipping past a large recreational park when Wyatt suddenly heaved a wild, desperate cry and started banging against the door with his shoulder.

“Wyatt Stop We’re Almost There!” Brooker screamed, pleaded.

He couldn’t stop him though, and it happened so fast. Wyatt detached his buckle and let it zip back into its station, then he unlocked the car door and opened it.

“WYATT!” Brooker screamed desperately. He saw Wyatt’s form vanish out the door frame and make a hard run into the park. He slowed down and parked against the curb, then he got out and called fiercely for Wyatt to stop.

Fifty. They were going fifty miles-per-hour. And he just jumped!

People were getting out of their cars in stunned silence and watching Wyatt run through the park towards the thickness of the trees that lay behind the park itself. The forest. Brooker took out his flashlight and ran after him.

How is he going so fast? Wyatt was already near the edge of the forest when Brooker took off after him. He ran and ran with as much speed as he could but he just couldn’t match Wyatt’s. He watched him disappear into the thick darkness of the trees. Dread and grief forced Brooker’s gut to the ground. He picked up his pace though and followed Wyatt into the forest, letting the light of his flashlight pave the way for him.

++++++

Through moonlight and the shadows of tall trees, a single bright light elongated through the shadows, carving a path for a man helplessly seeking out his lost friend. The sound of crickets lay beneath the shrills cries of the friends name. On any other night those cries would’ve attracted the attention of predators. But they were miles away; for good reason.

Brooker tripped once on a large vine jutting out of the ground but he got up and kept moving. He called Wyatt’s name frantically, desperate not to lose another one–not when he’d lost so much already. He was so deep into the forest he could only make out the lights of civilization faintly. The deeper he went the thicker the foliage became, the trees formed a ceiling of bramble and leaves so hard they blocked out the moonlight. Brooker only had the light in his hand to guide him, and the deep darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. He didn’t notice beneath his calling for Wyatt’s name, or the unrest in his mind and body, but even the crickets couldn’t stay with him for long.

The darkness and the trees were starting to become overwhelming. Brooker felt lost in this place, this hell of shadows and branches. He looked back to see how far he was from the park…and saw only blackness. The silence was the next thing he noticed; cold, empty silence that made his spine shake. He pressed forward though. Brooker was a natural boy-scout, he had the materials to get out with Wyatt in tow. This brought him some comfort, but he took out his gun and aimed it wherever his flashlight showed anyway.

Briefly he wondered what time it was, and concluded that it might’ve been…Twelve? Twelve-ten? But then he heard something, in what felt like years. An almost choking sound, breathy and rapid. Brooker followed it to a clearing, moonlight showed brightly without a thick ceiling of trees, and a large oak tree stood firm beneath the stars. It’s multiple arms were wide and muscly, branches and bramble spread around the clearing like the tree was a hand ready to take whoever crossed it’s path. Brooker’s flashlight settled on a spasming form just beneath the absorbing hand.

“Wyatt!” He called and ran to him. When Brooker reached him, the spasming had stopped, and he’d gone still. He checked for a pulse on his neck, his wrists, felt his chest for a heartbeat. He put his ear to his nose, trying to hear for any breathing. It was labored, and a pulse only came every ten or fifteen seconds. Not good signs, but there was still life in there somewhere.

An inhuman cry erupted from Wyatt’s throat, startling Brooker away and onto his back. He propped himself on his arms and saw dimly that Wyatt was on his hands and knees. He shone his light on Wyatt’s dirty, ragged form–and saw not just strings of blood pouring out from deep within his maw, but a translucent slime that blended with the crimson bands that all shined with the light of Brooker’s flashlight. Then he heaved, a brief spout of slime and blood that made Brooker’s stomach churn, and his jaw fractured, hanging loosely from his head. Wyatt’s neck bulged has he heaved more grotesquely, forcing something to come out. Or–something forcing it’s way out of him.

Wyatt sat up straight suddenly, his head aimed at the night sky. His mouth was being forced open wider and wider, bone cracked and flesh tore, tendons and sinew the only things keeping his head together as more slime-blood spilled out from the edges of his mouth, down his neck, soaking his shirt. The bone in his arms began to crack, flesh tore open and blood oozed and spilled to the ground as they elongated to an impossible length, and the fingers cracked, ripped, elongated into sharp, bony claws. His jaw was hanging to his chest, and the tears in his flesh went down to his neck. Brooker saw a slime-covered surface emerging out of Wyatt’s throat. Veins and organs showed through the clear-white form worming its way out of Wyatt’s maw. He made no sound, his eyes didn’t look like eyes anymore, they were white and lifeless. The closer it came to freedom, the more the outline of a mouth became visible, and when the thing reached its apex, a sharp-toothed, eyeless slug roared a piercing, sharp sound into the forest around. It stood on Wyatt’s legs…but they weren’t Wyatt’s legs anymore. The arms were so long, bone and muscle showed through the tears in flesh along the arms and in the clawed hands that were supposed to be fingers.

It looked around as if waiting for something, hissing and screeching, waiting and wanting.

Brooker was ready to run as much as he was ready to puke, his shock kept him on the ground. He felt nothing, save for the mounting dread in his chest.

“Wyatt…?” He managed a whisper.

The creature turned on him, aware of his presence.

It lunged at him, ignoring his screams as it bit into, tore out, ingested his esophagus–his stomach–his intestines–his muscles–his lungs–his heart…

+++Yesterday+++

Wyatt woke up groggy. He didn’t know if it was from the booze or the mountain of needless research done on serial killers. Any sane person would likely tell him that it was both, but at the same time sleep hasn’t exactly come easy these days. Not even before his family…

He grabbed the remote and streamed the news, the only thing he’d watch these days. Something. Anything. Where is this bastard?

Before he could get out the half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting in the fridge, a few knocks sounded on the door. He didn’t live in his house anymore, he rented an apartment downtown. He couldn’t bear to be in that house any longer, not with how empty it was. Part of the reason he moved also had to do with paranoia. What if the killer came back to finish what he started? After all, why Wyatt? Why let him live? What if that was him now, calmly rapping the door like a good neighbor? a considerate psychopath?

He walked slowly to the door, only opening it by an inch.

“Hey Wy. That you?” Brooker said, his familiar voice sending shockwaves through Wyatt’s heart. He hasn’t communicated with Brooker since they died. A part of Wyatt wanted to rekindle that connection, but what if it was too late? What if there was no hope for their friendship, especially with his family gone?

“Brooker?” Wyatt said shyly. “How’d you find me?”

“Called in some favors, pulled some strings.”

“The Commish’ gave you my address didn’t she.”

“Yeah…” Brooker said with a chuckle.

Wyatt lowered his eyes to the ground. He was feeling a lot of things but most of all he felt ashamed. Ashamed for not keeping in touch, for not getting his friends help rather than finding it under a bottle. For letting them die.

“I heard about your niece…I’m…so sorry…” Wyatt said softly. He always thought there needed to be a better word for losing someone than ‘sorry.’

“Yeah, well…you and I both have a personal stake in this.” Brooker said, his voice taking on a serious edge. “People are dying Wy. Viciously. I don’t have much but I know where he seems to strike most often. Here most of all, but also the edge of the city.”

Like the neighborhood he killed your family, Wyatt heard Brooker say but didn’t speak.

“What do you say, Wy? Let’s nail this bastard before any more family’s die. Just like old times?”

Wyatt turned to the TV. Nothing. If they did run a broadcast about the killer he must’ve missed it, or maybe they just haven’t run it yet. But he knew that, either way, there wouldn’t be anything new to report except new killings and crap evidence of who and where they are. For right now, it’s a showcase about a popular chef’s recipes. People are dying, his family is dead, and they’re talking about some popular chef…

No one was going to help him, no one except Brooker. And himself.

“Let’s do it.” Wyatt said, cold and low.

+++The End+++

I’d meant for this story to be posted sometime during Halloween, but by the time I finished the draft it was too late. Hope this was enjoyable regardless. Thanks for reading!

The Jump-Zone (Complete Story)

“So…That’s my story,” I said. “All I want is to spend the rest of my life with the woman I am endlessly in love with but–freaking–Baron Von Jump-Zone won’t even let me leave the place!”

“Have you maybe asked him to leave you alone?” Said the nine-year-old girl in front of me.

“Oh, I’ve tried! I’ve asked him multiple times in the past to stop flirting with May, to stop trying to get between us so he could have her for himself. He never really liked me, not even when I first started working here. His way of training new employees basically consists of “You’re doing it wrong!” and “I’m in charge here!” The only thing that made working in this place bearable was May. And when we began dating…” I made a conspiratorial gesture. “That’s when he really ramped up his assholery…” I trailed off, realizing I said “assholery” in front of a nine-year-old girl. I glanced at her apologetically.

“It’s okay. I hear worse at home.” She said.

That made me a little concerned, but, okay. I shrugged and said: “Fair enough. Well…yeah. After I started dating May he really took his jerkiness,” I caught a humorous smile on her face at that. “…to a whole new level. He’s pretty bad but, literally, he does not treat me the same way he treats the other workers. He’s a jealous, cynical, lonely, pompous, and, above all, jerky little dip head!”

The girl started to giggling hysterically. I was happy to make her laugh, it’s been a personal pleasure of mine since I was born, but I also didn’t really mean to? I don’t know, everything I’ve said about Patrick Crazy Survowski is true and more, but I never could help myself around children. To me, making people laugh is like hearing angels sing.

At that moment I had to cover my ears when a scream like that of a banshee sounded somewhere below the playground. Yes, I’m in a playground. An indoor one specifically, like the ones that are sometimes in a fast-food restaurant such as McDonald’s or Carl’s Jr. Only much bigger and much more crowded. And in a trampoline park.

Sounded like some kid was pitching a fit at the base of the playground, even the little girl covered her ears to escape the monstrous scream. Meanwhile, children of various ages swarmed through our netted box of colors. Thin, multicolored, punching-bag-esque blocks hung from the ceiling of the “room” that the children were gladly punching furiously or trying to climb to touch the top of the place. A cacophony of noise was all around, there was screaming, crying, laughing, shouting, and the air was pungent with the smell of sweaty skin and, what I believed to be, fart.

We uncovered our ears once the volume was at an acceptable rate, which, in this place, meant speaking at near shouting range.

“Damn it’s loud in here. Oh shit, I–no, shit…no! I…shit…”

This time she laughed. Really laughed. It was a warm, playful sound with the high pitch expected in someone her age. A tiny, ironic smile wormed it’s way around my face. Even when I wasn’t trying I could still make people laugh. But I wasn’t going to complain. Like I said; angles singing.

Her laugh faded into periodic giggles when she asked; “Why do you want to marry her?”

The question took me a little off guard, and I suddenly felt the weight of the ring in my pocket again. Of course, I want to do it because I’m in love with her. I want to keep her strength and spirit in my life. I want to keep her warm smile and loving hugs. She makes me feel like I can do anything, and I want that in every moment that I’m living. I also want to do it because I need to save what we have. Lately things have been…getting complicated. I don’t want to lose this, I can’t. The ring in my pocket is my saving grace.

That’s a lot for a kid to understand though, so, after a pause, I shrugged and said; “Because I love her.”

She seemed to dwell on that. Her eyes drifted downward and her head tilted to the side in a thoughtful way. She looked back up at me and asked; “What’s that like?”

Jeez…How does anyone explain it in words? Especially to a nine-year-old.

I took in a deep breath and blew it out through my lips, then said, smiling hesitantly; “You’ll learn when you’re older.”

She rolled her eyes and said; “My parents say that all the time!”

“Well…some things you–just–can’t understand until your older.”

“Why?”

“The heck if I know.”

A kid landed hard next to me at that moment and rolled into a square hole at the corner of the place, laughing the whole way. Another kid, his friend I assumed, chased after him by jumping into the hole. I picked an interesting place to have a conversation like this. Still, I didn’t have much other choice. At least, not one as comfortable as here (for all its flaws).

“Hey! Don’t do that! You hear me! No Rolling Down The Holes!” The voice came from the square hole and it carried through the rest of the place. I felt the little girl stiffen in fear next to me. It was a harsh voice in that tone, and it even made me feel intimidated. Then a shrill of fear coursed through my body; it did sound pretty close to Patrick’s voice, and if it was him then I was screwed.

A head poked through the hole. A head with wily red hair instead of pitch black. Round, goofy eyes instead of sharp. And his jaw couldn’t even cut through water, whereas Patrick’s would flat-out split an ocean in two.

No. As bad as it would’ve been if Patrick found me here, this was in some ways worse. This was Roddy Benstein; trampoline enthusiast and the ultimate suck-up.

“He’s Here!” He exclaimed when he saw me. Though he doesn’t have the chin, his voice could blow up a mansion if taken at the right frequency. It cut through the energetic noise of the park, even startling me, and I felt the girl flinch at my side. “I Found Him! He’s here…!” Roddy’s voice faded into the discordance as he disappeared back to where he came from, and I knew I needed to get the hell out of there.

“Time to go! Good talk kid!” I leapt up, clutching the ring-box in my pocket. It had a smooth, silky feel to it; which I found oddly comforting. Before I could get far, I felt an abrupt drag on the arm of my jacket.

“Hold on!” The girl said. “Go that way!”

She indicated the hole Roddy had peeked his head out from. I felt a mixture of confusion and frustration toward her and, in part, at myself for listening. I should be going! I don’t have time to listen to a kid!

“Look I appreciate it but I don’t have time for this! I have to–“

“IT’S A SHORT CUT!”

Things suddenly went quiet around us, her voice reverberating throughout the grounds. You’d think my ears would be used to being pierced by any kind of noise by this point. They’re not.

She cleared her throat. “Sorry, I get easily annoyed when someone doesn’t listen. It’s a short cut.”

“What?” I asked as the noise picked back up, the silence barely lasting a second, and dropped my palms from my ears.

“It’s a short cut! It’ll take you to the ground quicker!”

“Roddy…the red-haired guy…he came up that way! Wouldn’t the others too?”

“I’ll make a distraction!” She said with a sly smile. “Go, Go!”

She dashed away toward one of the side exits, taking her to another segment of the playground.

“What–Hey! You’re Not…” She’s gone.

Okay. Quick stock of my situation. I’m in an indoor trampoline park to ask my coworker girlfriend to marry me, but got chased into the kids playground by my psychotic and jealous manager. But now I’ve been found and I’m standing stiff as Patrick and his cronies come to get me and the little girl I’ve been conversing with for the past…however long it’s been, has just taken off to “distract” them.

What a day…

I quickly decided to roll with it and ran to the square hole. May has the closing shift, about four-a-clock to eleven-a-clock. My shift ended about an hour ago, at the least anyway. If that’s the case, depending on what traffic is like (usually pretty terrible) it should take her forty or fifty minutes to get here. Once I’m out of the playground, I’ll find another place to hide until she arrives at the park. Then I’ll pop the question and give Patrick a solid middle-finger as we walk off into the sunset together. First things first; hide. And, as risky as it is, I think I know a place to go for that. I approached the hole and jumped…

And got down to waist length before landing on the next segment of the tunnel.

Right, this is a kids playground.

I squatted down to my knees and pulled my upper body down through the hole to meet the rest of me. The next hole was directly in front of me and I squirmed toward it, letting myself slide down the tunnel like a slug sliming its way over some jagged rocks. Something that I didn’t consider is that, at an angle anyways, the slug probably wouldn’t slide over the rocks, it’d tumble down them. Once I slid into the next segment I instantly fell into the next one, and then the next one, and then the next one! On my way down I crashed into some kids making their way up the tunnel and we all fell to the base of the playground together. I untangled myself from them and then apologized several times as they started to climb up again, shooting me dirty looks and even flipping me off. I felt a little ashamed but also a little annoyed; I mean, what good parent allows their child to flip the bird to someone? I picked myself up, shrugging off the incident. I was in an entryway of the playground, two wiry walls extended before me with a netted ceiling and a cushiony, blue floor mat. I looked up and saw little else than faint outlines of children crisscrossing in a chaotic mess through cloth-lined surfaces.

“Okay,” I said, adjusting my jacket and shirt more comfortably. “Let’s get to the maze.”

The Jump-Zone was a massive, multi-sectioned indoor park with shades of various colors illuminated by ceiling lights. I could see the Battle-Pit just to the left of me and straight-on towards the other end of the park was the actual trampoline park; a series of raised platforms arranged in a Super Mario Bros mini-game way. I started for the left, towards the trampoline maze.

“Nathan…STOP!” An out-of-breath voice called out and startled me. A large woman wearing the traditional blue vest and orange t-shirt that most employees at the park wear stopped right in front of me, keeping me from moving any further. She hunched forward and grabbed her knees, panting furiously. I actually knew who this was, it was Jen! She gave me and May a Valentines box of condoms for our one year anniversary (we started dating on Valentines, and needless to say I don’t think any of us laughed so hard in our lives when she gave us that box).

“Jen? Are you okay?” I asked with genuine worry. She wasn’t one for a work out, she was easily the most easygoing and sensitive person I’d ever known. And I thought she was going to cough out her lungs she was panting so hard.

“No! Freaking Patrick…had me check this side of the…place…to see if you escaped…” A hard coughing fit kept her from saying any more.

“Where were you when he told you to do that?” I asked.

“AT THE ROCK CLIMBING WALL…”

“Are you kidding me!?”

“No. I tried to suggest someone else, but apparently everyone’s either searching the playground or taking care of a kid that broke her leg.”

A kid that broke her leg? Wait…

“And,” She continued. “Apparently, I could use the ‘exercise’.”

My jaw dropped. “What a prick!”

She nodded agreeably and said; “I saw you coming out of this entrance and booked it!”

“Come on, Jen, don’t do this. I just want to be with May.”

“I know, but what do you want me to do? I don’t do this, I get fired, and then I’ll have a mountain debt and bills to pay off.”

“Jennifer!” Roddy projected as he ran up to us. “Bring him to Patrick already!”

“You know what Benny,” I said, tired of this guy and tired of his boss. “You might as well have sex with the guy with how much you’re already sucking up to him!”

“Screw you, asshole! And Stop Calling Me BENNY!”

“Stop! Both of You!” Jen stepped slightly between us, not quite settling into the middle-man but nearing it. “You know what, Roddy? Why should I?”

“What do you mean why should you? Survowski–“

“Is a pretentious prick and the only thing that’s kept me here is Nate and May and Sylvie,” The last one was the cafeteria dishwasher. She’s pretty cool. “Since day one he has done nothing but shame me for my size and I’ve had to watch as he disrespected everyone around me with the same amount of sneer. And you absolutely suck up to him as it all happens! You’re a lousy bootlicker and a weasel! I’m going to help with that kid and then I’m going to go home and binge Bridgerton with a box of my favorite cupcakes!”

And with that, she made to leave. But not before turning to me and asking quietly; “Do you and May need more…y’know…”

“I mean…y-yes…?”

She winked and took off. There was energy and confidence in the way she strutted towards the medical center that somewhat eased my concerns over her supposed mountains of debt and bills. I’m pretty sure she had children too. Still, knowing Jen, she’d probably be fine. Though May will be sad to hear she left.

I watched her go, stunned and awed by her display. Then I slowly became aware of Roddy giving me the evil eye from my periphery. He raised his eyebrows and perked his lips at me in a mocking, ‘dare you to…’ way.

“Benstein! What’re you doing!?”

There it is. The voice of the devil himself. I turned to see a looming figure with stark black hair looking down at us from one of the upper levels of the playground. He was actually on his knees because the space was too small for his size. And I think he had to hunch down a little as his head seemed disproportionately close to his shoulders. I stifled a laugh but I don’t think I could contain the grin.

“Bring him to me!” Patrick commanded. “No! Actually, keep him there! I’m coming!”

No better cue to leave. While Roddy was distracted by the orders of his master, I booked it anywhere that wasn’t his or Patrick’s general vicinity.

“Nathaniel Cleaver, You get back here!” Roddy screamed from behind me.

I weaved through crowds of people, all of whom were eying me strangely as we ran past. It was probably a little odd to watch the employees of the place chase each other around like this. In fact, this probably won’t look good for the business. But I’m not stopping, and Patrick definitely isn’t going to stop either. So I continued to run, looking for any way to surpass Roddy. I ascended a ramp that led to a large obstacle course full of colored balls; obstacles (of course); and a ludicrous horde of children. I could perhaps lose him in the courses ball pit, but it doesn’t go very deep, and I don’t want to risk getting stomped on by an army of hellions.

When I looked to my left, I briefly paused where I was, which was, I think, about halfway across the ascended floor of the park. What I was thinking probably wouldn’t work, but either way it wouldn’t be good for Roddy since the pit of foamy squares surrounding the Battle-Pit were definitely deep enough. I ran to the railing and leaped over them Spider-Man style, then I gunned it for the Battle-Pit. I think Roddy jumped over the railing as well, not before yelling an obscenity at me of course, and then I heard his projective tone behind me bellow “OW! DAMMIT!” The urge to look back was hard to resist but I resisted, and either way I grinned a very satisfied grin.

The Battle-Pit is a fifteen-diameter pit filled with blocks of foam that come in shades of purple, blue, and black. That might be the first thing someone sees, the second would be the walkways meeting the edge of the pit that also act as supports for a thin, red beam. There’s enough foot-room on the beam that one could potentially stand on it without having to wave their arms for balance. A person trying to stand on it while avoiding being hit by their opponents advances, however, that’s a different story.

I ran up the walkway and slipped on the most well-fitting pieces of armor that I could, all while moving across the beam to the other side. Definitely not an easy thing to do, but I have surprisingly good balance. And it’s worth it; the war staffs look like they could knock a gorilla out cold. I grabbed one on the other side of the pit, a large, double-sided staff with red, matty surfaces on both ends. Still fitting into my armor (trying to put on safety gear while keeping balance on thin land was like trying to tend a relentless migraine), and turned to see Roddy all armored up and ready with his own weapon.

“You sure you want to play this game Cleaver?” Roddy asked condescendingly from the other side. “Everyone knows you stink at this. You couldn’t even beat Sylvie!”

“That’s not fair! Sylvie spends all day juggling dishes, the girl has the agility of a puma! She’s also…shockingly strong.”

Truth be told though I can’t beat anyone in the Battle-Pit for the life of me. But, as much as I’m going to try my damndest to best Roddy at this, either way I’ll still win.

I slipped on my helmet, which felt uncomfortably tight around my head, but I dealt with it and walked across the thin plank, stopping halfway. Roddy did likewise, shaking his head with a cocky smile. The jackass is almost as arrogant as Patrick.

We were about four metres from each other when he met me at the center of the plank. I could see in the background that some parents, as well as children and teens, were dumbfounded by the display. Some others seemed to be eagerly anticipating the show. We both took stances and I made the first strike towards his chest, lunging it forward like a javelin. He parried it to the side in one fluid motion with the bottom end of his weapon (technically there are no “ends” on these things, but I’ve gotta put it in a way that makes sense, right). When he fell back into stance, he instantly followed with a swing to my head. It was like my noggin got blasted by a gust of wind, and it caused me to lose a bit of balance. Roddy tried taking this opportunity and swung the other end of his weapon towards my back, likely hoping to topple me off into the sea of foam below. But I swung my leg in the opposite direction to get some leverage and kept my weapon in the air for balances sake. I pulled of the maneuver, Roddy’s weapon barely even grazing me, but when I had all two feet back on the plank I had to do some major stationary gymnastics to keep myself from falling over. I know that it’s just foam blocks beneath me, but I might as well have been staring down a chasm of horror. I nearly fell forward and I got a good look at the distance between me and the foam pit; it was high. Then, for one second, my gut dropped to my feet when I found myself having to find orientation so I don’t fall backwards. I hate falling into something backwards, I never know what to expect. I have eyes at the front of my head not back (though some back-of-head eyeballs would be pretty handy). I did manage to reorient myself, and I faced Roddy again with a determination that was fueled by both my pride and my fear that I would still be here when May came for work.

“Take him down, Benstein!” I heard Patrick’s crisp and deep voice from my right.

I glanced to see him leaning on the railing that surrounds the Battle-pit with two other cronies. I think one of them was Dennis, a lanky high-school kid that rotates between duties at the climbing wall, the playground, and the trampoline maze. And, to the other side of Patrick, was a petite girl with brown, flowy hair. Her features helped me to instantly recognize her as Sylvie, and I wondered what she was doing there. Then my heart dropped to the center of the Earth with the realization; that prickly bastard roped our sweet summer child into this mess!

Something crashed into the side of my face. the helmet assisted in blocking the impact, but I still found myself a little dazed and confused. Roddy had taken an opportunity to whack me while I was distracted.

“Give Up Cleaver!” Patrick yelled.

“Pay attention dumbass.” Roddy sneered at me.

“Just Fall Down And STAY Down!”

I’ve had it; “SCREW BOTH OF YOU!”

Yelling helped to clear my head, and as much as it pains me to give them credit, Roddy and Patrick also helped me to regain my focus. And once I did, I performed an epic triple spin where I lashed out at Roddy with my weapon every time I circled back to him. It’s a maneuver that’s meant to stun more than it is to completely outwit my opponent (and I totally didn’t make it up on the spot). It worked exceptionally well; Roddy tripped over and nearly fell off the beam. But by the grace that came from right out of nowhere, he latched on to the beam and hung for several seconds before pulling himself up and striking a balance on it again. His feet didn’t even graze a single block.

“Damn,” Roddy said. “That was actually good!”

“DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM YOU IDIOT!” Patrick chimed in.

Roddy went red and timid. These two really deserve each other.

On the plus side, Roddy’s weapon fell into the pit, so now I’ve got him at a disadvantage. A ball of light rose in my chest like the morning sun; my chances of winning this stupid thing for the first time ever have been higher than they ever have been before. This suck-up is mine!

I swung at his head for a little revenge topping my success, but he ducked down, maintaining balance, inched forward, shot himself up and kicked me flying onto my back, bouncing off the beam, and falling into the foam pit.

My world blacked out, with bobs of light peering through the cloud of black and purple and blue. The adrenaline rush from the days events still kept my blood flowing faster than a sports-car, but I also felt exhausted and a little winded from, once again, an utter defeat in the Battle-Pit (WHEN I WAS SO DAMN CLOSE!!). Overall, as much as I wanted to keep going, part of me welcomed the comfort of being swallowed up in this chasm of foam, their synthetic smell providing a strange sort of nostalgia.

“Go! Get Him Out!” The voice was slightly muffled but I still recognized it as Patrick’s. As much as my body pleaded for a break, I needed to move. Hopefully this brief period of relaxation will do me some kind of favor.

I I stole a glance above the line of foam and saw that Roddy was wading through it to find me. Patrick was standing on the edge of the pit, watching intently. I noted that Sylvie and Dennis stood a few feet behind him, one or both looking nervous and showing it by pacing or lacing and unlacing their fingers. I dropped my head down and began to Burrow under the foam. A neat little trick I learned as a kid was the uncanny ability to be anywhere I wanted in a ball pit. Granted, I was in a foam-block pit, which did require alternate movements that slowed me down a little, but it didn’t make too much of a difference.

I don’t think this part will be as fun from my perspective, since I mostly did a lot of mole-digging during this time, so I’m going to give my best approximation of what Roddy was thinking while swimming around the pit in search of what would be his eventual doom:

He felt pride from beating the one called Cleaver. The fool thought he could beat the best there is at Battle-Pit, but no one can beat Roddy KissAss at the game. Except for May Holland. And Dennis Jones. Maybe even Sylvie lucas. And of course Patrick Survowski would beat him, he’s the greatest there ever was! One day, he’ll be assistant manager. Maybe then Patrick will see his unfettered potential and be so blinded by it that he’ll immediately make him the head manager. Then he’ll continue to kiss his way up the ladder even further until he’s CEO of the world’s weirdest trampoline park. Surely no one will deny him if he tells his…”superiors” exactly what they want to hear. He cringed at the word. No one was more superior than Roddy The Absolute Greatest Bestest Superior Man In The Whole Wide World. He would get Cleaver and then his hero Crazy Survowski will give him the attention he deserves. However, Roddy LegHumper was too lost in his thoughts to see a disturbance among the foam blocks. Something beneath them was slithering toward him. A great danger that was about to eat him whole. When he finally focused after being told to by Master Survowski, he saw the motion of the blocks; he saw that something was coming toward him. Roddy became very scared, he wanted to go back to his master standing on the edge of the pit. He would protect him, he knew it. But Roddy BootLicker stood his ground and commanded the creature, who he suspected was the Cleaver, to halt. It didn’t. It kept moving apropos. He told it to stop, backing away as he did. But it kept coming. Master Survowski told him to go get it. To wrestle it to death. So Roddy stayed where he was and waited for the Cleaver to come to him. It came closer, and closer, and Closer, And Closer, AND CLOSER! Roddy screamed in terror…but nothing happened. Where did it go? Master Survowski commanded Roddy to pull himself together and find the creature so he could have it for dinner and mount it’s head on his wall. Roddy obeyed and tried to find where the creature went. He then felt something on his leg, a pair of hands. He screamed as he was dragged under the sea of foam, never to be seen again.

A minute later I emerged from the pit, elation filling my chest. Roddy won’t be slowed down for long, but I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t deliciously satisfying. I felt the grin on my face stretch up to my ears and puffs of giggling escape my throat. Roddy KissAss is no more.

“YOU!” A roar from the other side of the pit. Patrick locked his eyes on me and commanded the others to follow him as he began running around the Battle-Pit to me. Kiss-ass down, psycho manager next. I picked myself up and bolted for the Trampoline Maze. I jumped down the incline leading to the Battle-Pit, not minding the stairs for brevity’s sake. I landed a little harder than I expected, using both my hands to stabilize myself, but I immediately springed forward. The falter annoyed me, but I was perfectly ahead of Patrick enough for it not to be too much of a problem. I still managed to weave through crowds of people coming in and out of the cafeteria, a relatively small space with typical red tables and chairs lined up in several rows near the serving window.

The cafeteria has it’s own manager that despises Patrick for the same reasons that everyone else does. Which is why it boggles me that he somehow managed to wrap poor Sylvie into this chaos. The sense of warmth and familiarity from the times spent unwinding with my coworkers, with May, in the cafeteria came and went as I ran past it to an absurdly long line of people protruding out of a depression in the walls; the entrance to the maze.

The trampoline maze is exactly what the name suggests; a labyrinth of trampolines that either leads to the exit, or a dead end. Somewhere in the maze is a ball-pit with a pillar erecting from the center. I could hide in the pit or at the very top of the pillar, either way I have a good chance of escaping them, Roddy finding me in the play-place was just dumb-luck. I scooted past some kids and their parents waiting in line, ignoring their annoyed expressions, and high-tailed it to the entrance.

“Whoah! Hold on, bud!” The guy working at the maze entrance stopped me, he had dreadlocks hanging down to his elbows, a pointed nose, and deep blue eyes. They were kind eyes, though I noticed the annoyance in them. “If you want to get in your going to need to get in line.” I didn’t know his name, I knew he worked here, but not much beyond that.

“Look,” I said. “I work here, and Crazy Survowski is right behind me!”

“Survowski? Manager Survowski?” He careened his head out inquisitively, trying to get a lock on Patrick; who I knew was getting too close for comfort every second I wasted there. So while dreadlocks was distracted, I shoved past him and into the maze. I heard him calling out for me and then go suddenly silent when a new voice rang out:

“Come Back Here You Slippery Little Bastard!”

Yup, that’s Patrick.

The second I entered the maze I was flooded with neon colors that brightened up my shirt and distinctive features of my jacket and shoes. I almost tripped over myself before my brain could register that I was walking on trampolines now. I was able to recognize that and right myself before fumbling over. Once I got used to the environmental shift I started jumping to my destination, but Patrick and his cronies weren’t too far behind.

“You Can’t Run Forever Cleaver!” Patrick bellowed from behind me.

Without turning my head I gave him a double-handed middle-finger and tried to pick up the pace as best I could. Trampolines lined almost every portion of the mazes corridors, I tried using them to gain more momentum but instead ended up with my brain spinning around in my skull and bruised arms, which were doing a circus show around my body as I jumped and, later, ran through the maze. The kids in the maze eyed me and the others questioningly as I leapt, ran, and fumbled my way to the ball-pit.

I was running across trampolines, Patrick following suit, his lackies looking more tired than even me, when the corridor made a sharp turn to the right. When I reached the wall I leapt onto the trampoline against it and pushed myself forward. And then braced myself for the impact of my lanky body against the trampoline floor. Has anyone ever jumped on a trampoline and found themselves not only breathing heavily but soar and a bit bruised when they got off? Yeah, that was me in the maze.

Patrick then came charging up and leapt onto the wall, pushed off, and even did a front flip right over me and landed perfectly. Sorta; he had to squat down to catch himself from tasting the rubbery surface of the trampoline like I did. But regardless, he succeeded in both making me look like a chump and cutting me off from moving further.

He raised his hands triumphantly and looked at me in a way that made my gut quiver and my bones rattle. He’s got me.

Unless…

I sprung forward before he could do anything else and slid between his legs. The next thing he knew, I’m taking off down the corridor, laughing mischievously.

“You slippery TWIT!” I heard him bellow from behind.

I made another right turn that lead me to a diverging corridor, which, from my many adventures in the maze with May, I know is a dead-end. So I keep going. I followed the main corridor as it takes me left and then left again down a long way. I’m getting tired by now, but I still hear Patrick behind me. I risk a peak behind in time to see Dennis collapse to the floor and Patrick glance back to yell “Weak!” at him, not even stopping his pursuit. Sylvie’s still going strong, in fact, if she wanted to, I think she could catch me right now and this whole thing would be over and done with. If she wanted to.

My heart was pumping so fast and hard I could feel it in my chest, and the sweat on my back clung to the cloth of my shirt, but I continued forward. Making another left turn that, again, had a diverging corridor that just leads to a window overlooking the ball pit. I jumped past, turning left again, then right twice and making another left down another long one.

“What’re you going to do when we get there Cleaver?” Patrick mocks from behind. “Throw balls at us? Climb the pillar? Face it, you can’t get away from me so just STOP!”

I want to bite back but my breath is too shallow, my lungs are stretching themselves just to get oxygen in. I need to stop. But if I do now, I’m screwed. I have to be close, I think I am.

Left. Left again. Right…

And there it is. The entrance to the pit. Beyond the hole that leads into the pit was a rising, red pillar with distinctive shapes on it. The floor of the room was a big mass of color separated into round shapes that made up the whole surface. I could see other kids inside, splashing around in the balls and throwing them at friends.

“Don’t even think it Cleaver!” Patrick yelled behind me, a sense of warning behind his voice.

“Too late.” I whispered. I didn’t have the strength to yell. But I did have enough to leap and plunge myself into the pit.

My vision became a cloud of reds, yellows, greens, blues, and purples. My skin felt hot from the exertion but I could feel the balls rubbing against me, cooling me down and acting as a strange sort of bed to relax in. I breathed in the rubbery scent of the pit, letting myself; my exhaustion, my stress; fade into the balls. It felt good to finally be somewhere safe.

But it didn’t last. I felt a disturbance in the pit, which I immediately knew was Patrick and Sylvie. I faintly heard him barking orders at her, and I began moving towards the pillar. It was much easier to wade through a pit of plastic balls as opposed to foam triangles. Some people I’ve revealed my little talent to, including May, thought that it would work otherwise. But I guess I’m just more practiced in ball pits (I was in a LOT of them as a kid).

I swam in the direction of the pillar, at least I hoped I was swimming in the right direction, watching out for the kids already in the pit. But I must’ve made some sort of sign on the surface, a shift among balls or something, because I felt a strong and determined pair of hands wrap around my leg and pull me out from the comfort of the balls. I thrashed like a fish out of water, my stomach filled with dread and anger. I’ve been found.

I heard Patrick call out faintly; “I got him! Help Me!”

In all likelihood, he’s calling for Sylvie. When no other hands grab me I assume that no other help comes.

“Help me, dammit!” He growled, which probably only made Sylvie more nervous. Sylvie was always a shy one, it’s easy to guess that she was pretty sheltered. I can’t imagine what must have been racing through her head at the moment. Clearly it was all too much because I never felt any hands, and I assumed she locked up and just stood staring.

“Help Me You Useless Little SHIT!”

That sent my blood from a full boil to erupting.

I poured all my anger into one thrust of my left leg into his crotch. The force of his hands around my right leg suddenly vanished and it dropped back into the pit. I felt at ease with its liberation. I stood up out of the pit, the sea of balls coming up to my thighs, and saw Patrick buried under the them in an almost-fetal-position. The kids that were playing were either leaving or looking at us weirdly. I looked to Sylvie. Poor thing was on the verge of tears; her eyes were red and she was mushing her upper and lower lip together, clenching her jaw as hard as she could. Perhaps all to stop her lips from quivering, which, of course, was to no avail. I trudged through the pit over to her and brought her into a big hug. After a long moment, I pulled back and told her to return to the cafeteria.

“You know what?” I mused. “Actually, just go home. Go home and relax, okay?”

“I’ll ask Dan if that’s okay.” She said, nodding and with a shaky voice, then she waded towards the exit. She vanished around a corner of the corridor. There are two things that most employees of the Jump-Zone can agree on: Patrick’s an ass and all we have is each other.

I swerve around to Patrick, who seems to be starting to come back from having his Jimmies obliterated. Between standing in my way of being with May, how he’s treated me and everyone else in this cursed place, and calling Sylvie a ‘shit’. I’d had it.

I trudged to the pillar and climbed. Most of the kids went back to playing but I could feel their wariness on me. I climbed all the way to the top. I felt a little dizzy when I got there, every moment I spent moving I lost more and more energy. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone were to tell me that I was running on fumes. Lifting myself up the pillar felt like lifting an anvil; heavy and exhausting. But I made it, and when I did I looked down at Patrick.

“I’m gonna kill him…” I heard him whisper as he lifted himself out of the pit like a monster out of a swamp. “I’m gonna bury him alive and piss on his grave…”

“YOU FIRST JACKASS!” I cried from the top of the pillar. He turned his angry, deep eyes toward me. Then they sank with despair as he saw what was coming. I relished the look on his face before I jumped; off of the pillar and falling right on top of him.

One moment I was hanging free in the air, which was whooshing past my face and through my clothes. It was a moment of complete freedom that somehow made me feel more alive then I really was, the exhaustion wasn’t gone; it just didn’t matter anymore. Then I landed on top of Patrick. His weight gave out under me and we both sank beneath the sea of plastic. He was turning to get away, and I felt my forehead bash against the back of his, my hands grasped onto his shoulders and I felt my shoes scrape against the skin of his back. The second we were submerged I pushed away and swam as far from him as possible.

I emerged minutes later near the exit. My head felt like it’d been cracked against stone and a headache was beginning to form, and my ribs ached a little from bone colliding with bone. Aside from that I guess I was mostly fine. Just meet up with May, drop the question, and we’ll take a long nap together. Or, most likely, we’ll binge watch something; our way of celebrating special occasions is like watching a cat play with a toy; there’s nothing much to it but it’s fun for the ones involved.

The kids were staring, mouths agape. The pit was mostly empty then but the few that remained were dumbstruck. When I’d gotten to the edge of the exit, tired and getting hungry on top of everything, I reached into my pocket to feel the ring case. It felt good having it in my palm, my fingers wrapped around the velvet. It felt good knowing what this was all leading up to, and that all of this exhaustion will be worth it. I reached into my pocket…and felt nothing.

Then a burst of plastic balls behind me, and Patrick screaming with animalistic vigor. It was a sound that a caged lion or a cornered bear would make. An angry, desperate sound. And I swear I could feel my soul quivering as I turned toward him and stood paralyzed. He was mad.

Then he laughed. maniacal and sinister. I was completely put off by it, and more than a little terrified. Then he raised his hand, and in his palm was the case. He showed it off to me mockingly, like a school bully would to a kid whose toy he’d taken. He was showing it off to me like I was a lesser thing than him. Like he deserved May more than I ever did. Like she belongs to him. I was still plenty scared, but it was tampered by pure and simple anger. Anger, fear, frustration, hate. The perfect mix to send me flying towards him, screaming with utter ferocity; “GIVE THAT BACK YOU GODDAMN ASSHOLE!”

He clutched the case and darted back to the entrance. A kid had stood in his way but he knocked them down and pushed forward. I ignored them and followed down the corridor. By the time I’d reached the entranceway, though, and hoisted myself out of the pit, he was almost out of sight, which just sent the furnace inside me flaring to uncontrollable proportions and I launched myself forward to catch him. I stormed all the way out of the maze; pushing and shoving away anyone in my way. That asshole has my ring and he’s not going to get away with it! He’s not going to get away with taking away the most important thing to me!

I emerged out of the maze entrance to some annoyed people, the blue-eyed guy with dreadlocks in particular. He called me out and said I was in big trouble when he got off shift. Whatever, I had bigger things to worry about.

By this point the whole park was aware of the fiasco happening with the employees, and I swear I think there were fewer families in the place. The noise had become lighter, though still loud, and the people became more sparse, though still filling up the building. Maybe we’d reached a particularly slow hour, even though the specific day everything happened was usually exhaustingly busy. Whatever the case, Patrick was out there with my future-in-a-box. Through a hole in the crowd, I saw a familiar, brightly colored vest adorning an equally familiar stature; tall, graceful, intimidating. Clutching my teeth, I ran through the crowd, even knocking some people over. Which earned me some insults and mockery. A part of myself told me to just slow down, to just stop and think. But it was a faint sound beneath a wave of determination; the bad guy was making off with the thing that’ll save what I had with the most important person in the world to me.

Cutting through crowds, screaming out Patrick’s name and getting nothing in return, feeling the weight of my exhaustion in my eyes, in my gut; which felt like a burning building, flames licking up my intestines and turning my lungs into charcoal; picking up my feet even though my heels are sore and every pound of the sole of my shoe sent a wave of pain through my already aching mind. Feeling the longing in my chest for something as good as May, to just sit down with her and eat our favorite ice-cream while talking about our favorite things, things we’ve already talked about a million times but never seemed to get tired of.

exhaustion was hitting me on all sides; mentally, physically, emotionally. I saw Patrick enter the trampoline platforms before I fell over. Catching myself with my hands but feeling saliva fall over my lips and onto the floor directly in front of me.

Just a few moments…just a few moments of rest, that’s all I need.

“Hey. Are you okay!” A man’s concerned voice cut through the fog.

“Just…need…a minute…” I said groggily.

“Jeez, it’s that easy to get exhausted in this place, eh? Here drink up.”

I felt a gentle arm pull me up and a round hole dig into my lips. I leaned my head back and felt a cool, relaxing sensation spill into my mouth and down my throat. I felt it spread throughout my torso, filling in the holes left by my exhaustion. My hands clutched the bottle and I spilled and spilled the water down my gullet.

“Okay okay, take it easy,” said the man, easing my intake by holding the bottle.

“Sorry.” I said weakly after drinking the whole bottle.

“It’s fine, my wife has some more.” His voice had a sensitive pitch and he had a kind face. Of course, that could’ve just been what I wanted to see. A guardian angel come to pick me up and send me on my way. Still, he did help me, and when I felt good enough to get back to it I thanked him and tried to catch up to Patrick.

“Whoa! Hold on!” He said, holding my shoulder. “You still look terrible. What’s the rush?”

“I have to get to the Platforms to catch my psycho manager who stole the ring I bought for my girlfriend, who also works here.”

“Oh. Is that all?”

I gave him a wry look.

“I’m just kidding, I’m just kidding. If I can’t stop you I won’t. Go on and get that guy! AND CONGRATULATIONS!”

I was gone by the time he said “go on.”

A black-wire fence separates the Platforms from the rest of the park and it reaches from floor to ceiling. Beyond it are four levels of trampolines that have plastic balls scattered all over them (no, the plastic nightmare never ends, not in this place). Each level is higher than the last, creating a sort of intrigue towards what differentiates each one (nothing) and a desire in people, especially groups, to race towards the top. I entered through the large square gap in the fencing and looked around for Patrick. A ring of trampolines surrounds the platforms, sort of the appetizer before the main course, and, as expected, a cacophony of children, adults, even teens are moving disproportionately all around me. Screams and laughs and cheers and cries invade my senses. And that damn sweat/fart smell persists!

I started scanning around for Patrick when I entered. Towards the base of the first platform I saw the black velvet box that contained the ring. I rushed to it and picked it up. Empty.

I began to feel more panicked than I already was when I couldn’t see him anywhere. I looked up to the uppermost trampoline platform and felt a plastic ball nail me in the eye. I lurch backward and cover a palm around my eye. There isn’t any real pain, but the shock of it caught me off guard. Blinking, I look to see Patrick’s maniacal grin as he stands on the edge of the top-most level. As soon as we lock eyes he quickly disappears out of my view, into the center of the platform.

The bastard’s toying with me!

I dash to the first platform and jump onto it. The higher someone goes the higher the platforms are, so by the time I reached the top level I had to clutch onto the edge and strain myself upwards, swinging my legs over to complete the process (I’m sure you know which one I’m talking about). When I got up, I almost didn’t see him for a second, somehow there aren’t as many people on this as the bottom, but there were still plenty enough to have made seeing him a challenge. When I did, his grin went toothy, his eyes sparkled with mischief, and he raised his hand, the ring itself clutched between two fingers. My gut sank beneath the earth when he reeled his arm back and threw the ring out into the masses.

There’s no telling where it could’ve gone, no way to know if someone picked it up and took it or if it fell into the void beneath the trampolines through the plastic flaps surrounding the edges of them. No way to know if it joined together a different couple; if it got pawned or sold for a more outrageous price than I payed; or if it joined heaven knows how much garbage lying beneath the park’s surface of joy and laughter. There couldn’t be any way to know, because every impulse in my body sent me flying toward him with all the malice and anger that he’d spurred within me over the past few years. Every spiteful remark and act of jealousy he ever showed me I returned by ramming into him quarterback style over the top level’s edge and down to the surface.

We landed and I was immediately sent back into the air, the freedom of the experience tampered by the stress of possibly hurting myself. Damn it, what was I thinking? I bounced a few more times, feeling the bruises beginning to form in my arms and elbows and knees and legs. When I finally stopped I lifted myself up. My arms were weak and I was breathing faster and harder than my mind could register. I took deep, long breaths to calm myself down. A part of me wanted to get up and pound that crazy asshole to pieces, but the more rational part of me knew that I was barely holding on. I was exhausted; physically, mentally, and emotionally.

The ring’s gone. I failed. I failed May. And myself.

A crowd of people surrounded me. Some asked if I was okay, others seemed to scold me for jumping. “What were you thinking?” “Do you need me to call the hospital?” You could’ve hurt yourself!” “Does anything hurt?”

“I’m fine…I’m fine…” I managed in a hoarse tone. Then I heard a loud groan next to me, and someone call out; “This Guy’s Leg Is Broken!”

I got myself on my knees and looked to see Patrick a few meters away, clutching his leg close to his chest. It seemed to be disproportionate from his knee, and when he touched it he screamed in pain. The man next to him told him to ‘hang in there’ as he got out his phone, which seemed counterintuitive at that point, since I noticed several others already on their phones. This just became a lot more than a feud between two idiot employees.

Seeing the pain on his face, the misery…I don’t forgive him for what he’s done, not by a long shot. But we both took it too far, and I’m still feeling the consequences.

He didn’t deserve the punishment I inflicted.

My mind and body wanted nothing more than to relax. Even with the ring gone, even with everything I had planned, I just wanted sleep. But, reluctantly, and weakly, I got up, limped over to him, and kneeled next to his leg.

“Get away from me!” He snarled.

“I can help you, asshole.” I said.

“I don’t need your help!”

“Look! May is a medical student, we both know that. I can help you.”

I actually didn’t know if I could. It was true that May’s a medical student, but I was largely disinterested in all that. I did once ask though how to replace a dislocated joint. She then began to tell me the details of how to do so. I listened with passive interest, but some of what she told me was coming back to me at the moment. I just didn’t know if it was enough to actually help him. It’s not exactly like the movies, I can’t just re-place the bone and expect everything to be okay. He needs a hospital.

I kept a straight face and said; “I’m not doing this because I like you, especially not after what you just did. But…damn me to hell…I can’t just leave you like this.”

Patrick looked at me with utter contempt. But then he seemed to relax after a long moment. His eyes scanned my face and they went from maliceful to accepting, while still bearing a tinge of that characteristic scorn.

“Just don’t pull anything.” He said.

“Tempting, but then you probably wouldn’t have a leg.” I said, taking hold of his leg and moving it around to find the socket.

He grunted and writhed in pain as I moved it around, careful not to cause any more damage. When I found the correct place, I pushed it inward. An unsettling snap sounded from his leg, and he screamed out like a wounded animal. He pushed me off and examined his leg. Then he tried moving it, to which he winced, but it moved at his will. He got up with mine and the other man’s help. When he applied pressure, he grunted and recoiled his leg. He stuck with limping.

“He’s okay!” “This kid saved him!” “Why would he help him after tackling him in the first place?” These were of many voices that sounded out around me. A lot of people clapped and cheered, at which I cringed away from shyly. There were some who seemed to be baffled at everything that happened, which is fair. I could hardly believe it either. Most of my attention was on Patrick. He looked at me with caution, but there was…not really a softness, god forbid, but more like a curiousness. A wonder. Maybe gratitude, maybe pretention, who could tell with the guy.

Either way, police and ambulance were on their way. Whether either of us liked it or not, we were seeing the consequences of the day through together.

“Boss! Patrick!” A deep voice called from the entrance of the Platforms. It was the Kiss-ass, Roddy. “May’s here for her shift, she’s just getting out of her car!”

How the hell would he know that?

I looked to Patrick, who looked to me. I could feel my eyes as wide as his. I couldn’t tell if he was as torn as me though. I just helped him. That doesn’t make us friends, but does it at least mean we’re done with this whole charade.

I felt his muscly arm push me backward, and his presence disappeared as he sprinted out of the Platforms, dismaying everyone around. I took in the shock of the moment and it’s implications, and fury coursed throughout my body.

“You Freaking Asshole!” I bellowed.

I got up, brushed past the crowd, knocked Kiss-ass over, and followed him toward the front entrance of the Jump-Zone.

He was limping but pushing forward, like a wounded lion pushing all it’s might into a hard run. I couldn’t imagine how much pain he must’ve been in; I didn’t really care to know, though, because I wanted nothing more than to beat him to the lobby. We ran past the obstacle course, now with fewer kids. We ran past the Battle-Pit, which was now near empty; save for the two juveniles having a match on the beam. We ran past the cafeteria, which I only got a glimpse of since it’s built into the southern wall of the Zone, but I felt the warmth of joyful memories regardless. I ran past the giant gap serving as the park’s entrance-slash-exit. I stopped moving up the incline leading out of the park when I heard her voice, protestant and questioning. Crouching down beside the customer service desks, I listened.

“What are you talking about?” May asked furiously. When she was angry her voice took on a rougher texture, but it was still sweet and smooth like honey. It’s a sound I associated with all things good in the world.

“Don’t accept his proposal!” I heard Patrick say, once again taking the stance against me. Ass. “He’s not worth it, his arms and legs are too…gangly and…”

And…nothing. I could tell he was searching for words, which surprised the hell out of me. He always seemed to have a million perfectly condescending words for me in his head that he never hesitated to speak out.

“Okay, Patrick,” May said impatiently. “Just back up. Nate’s going to propose to me?”

That’s my cue.

The lobby was comparably mute to the park. The walls were painted in dark blue, the ceiling was white as snow, and the floor was soft and black with specks of color all over, though the specks were in a predictable pattern. I stood up and walked slowly towards her. No, I didn’t have a ring. But I had me. I think the reason why losing the ring, aside from Crazy Survowski being the one to cause it’s loss, was because I’d transferred all my hopes into it. I saw my future in the ring; a lovely, ethereal, transcendent future where all the happiness I ever could have hoped for was reflected to me in a polished surface. It’s gone though, but the hopes are still there. I was still there. The ring was just an item, a piece of tradition. It’s the person that she says yes to. No one piece of jewelry will sustain a love between two people, it’s far more complicated than that. I understood that enough to get up from my crouch and move my feet.

“He’s an idiot,” Patrick said, finding his disdainful footing. Ass. “He can’t get things done the same way I can. He can’t take care of you the same way I–”

“May?” I said softly, cutting Patrick off.

She turned to me with the face I associated with all things good in the world. Deep brown eyes and light skin with a dainty nose and thin lips, all framed by glowing gold hair that pairs beautifully with her voice.

“Nate?” She said questioningly. Nervously.

I wasn’t one to blame her, I was feeling about the same things she probably was.

I struggled to get any words out so I pulled off the band-aid and got down on one knee, hoping it would help.

She sucked in a deep, sharp breath and began twisting her hands around each other like she does when she’s anxious.

With the hard part done, I felt a little more comfortable getting the words out.

“May. You’re…” I coughed out a nervous laugh. So hard, yet so wonderful. “You’re so much of what I wish I was. Smart, kind, funny…”

“You’re plenty of those things too, Nate.” She whispered, eyes closed tight.

“Yeah well…not like you.” I continued when she opened her eyes. “You’ve given my life so much light, so much hope. Whether it’s a warm hug or a reassuring, albeit stubborn, conversation…” She smiled there, one more association. “You’ve done so much for me. And I can only hope to return the favor by being a good husband. May Holland, will you marry me?”

My heart was doing laps around my chest, and my gut felt like it was going to burst. The anticipation didn’t help with any of that. The words felt especially odd coming out of my mouth. Not in a good way or a bad way, just, a way. They leaked out of me like water out of a bucket, and made me feel happy, refreshed, less exhausted as the days events had left me. I watched her with hope and glee. She didn’t respond immediately, in fact, she looked torn, miserable.

“I…” She managed, voice cracking. “…no.” Tears came down her face without remorse. She said it so sure, so final. I didn’t want to believe it then, I couldn’t. But it was there; it was what she wanted.

“I’m sorry Nate,” she said with a strained voice. “It’s just…not like how it used to be between us. Maybe it’s my fault, maybe it’s yours. Maybe it’s no ones, I don’t know! I just know that…this isn’t what I want. And I have an opportunity for a life I’ve wanted for so long, one that you know I have worked so hard to get.”

The light inside turned into a dark cloud. All those hopes now raindrops carried away in a gust of wind. I felt my eyes burn and my breath turn shallow. My heart stopped doing laps, might’ve just stopped beating altogether, with the tightening of my chest. Worst of all; I felt lost. So lost. Alone. No boat or paddle to keep me afloat, I was being torn apart in a tidal wave with no hope of salvation.

“I’m so, so, sorry Nate.” She said, voice weak but carrying that finality, that sureness, which was tearing me to pieces. “But no.”

I couldn’t hear that word again. I got up to my feet and stormed past her, past Patrick, who just stood watching with no discernable expression, and to the doors. “Nate…” I heard her say softly, but she didn’t do anything else to stop me. Nothing else to indicate that she wanted any differently.

The police and ambulance were just arriving, but I couldn’t deal with any of that. Not now. I turned and walked hurriedly down the sidewalk, following it to the polar opposite side of the building.

The air was cool and soft, which felt nice but it didn’t help me much, especially since my eyes were full of tears by the time I got halfway around the complex, and the air made them feel like melting ice falling down my face. Clouds of pure white dotted the blue sky, and the leaves of trees reflected the sunlight. I couldn’t help but feel like I was sticking out, a black spot in a fertile field. It was a dumb, minor thought, but it carried its own weight. I continued following the sidewalk to my destination: a bench in front of a small ice-cream parlor that May and I frequented after shifts. I slumped onto it and cried like I was bleeding out. Like I was a little kid who’d lost an arm and a leg, who’d lost such important pieces of his future in a matter of seconds.

When I was done crying I just slumped against the bench, staring at the ceiling of the parlor. Everything was so still, save for the sounds of cars floating in the air. Birds chirped, people walked and talked, I saw one couple walk out of the shop and leave while talking in high spirits and loving grace.

I felt so alone in this. This hollowness. I didn’t know what I was going to do. So many of my hopes and dreams were flattened with one word. I didn’t know whether I should get up and go home, or stay and eat sad ice-cream, or go home with sad ice-cream. Each thought made me feel somehow disgusted. Each thought felt meaningless in the face of everything; what was the point of having ice-cream, sad or no, if May wasn’t going to be there to eat with me? What was the point of going home if May wasn’t going to be there to curl up with me as we searched for a new favorite show? God, what was the point?

I sat on the bench for what felt like eternity, ruminating and sinking further into that terrible hollowness. People came and went out of the parlor. I felt a little embarrassed just sitting there, what would people think about the glum young man sitting on the bench and not even having any ice-cream? Still, I also didn’t really care. I’m not typically one for caring about what others think of me, but even then it wasn’t enough for me to feel any energy to move. I had none. Would I ever again?

I didn’t know how many people were around, or even how much time had passed, before I heard footsteps on the pavement and a presence take a seat next to me on the bench. I looked over and was surprised, ashamed, and infuriated to see Patrick. He had on a black wool coat that, admittedly enough, paired well with his person. He didn’t look at me, but I could see the same shadow over his eyes that I felt over mine. The same indifference toward his posture that I felt in mine.

“She quit.” He said, tiredly, exhaustedly. “I don’t know where she’s going, if not back to your home…” Probably her parents. “Probably her parents. I don’t think they live far from here. Of course, you probably already knew that.” I did, but I was in no mood to argue.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’ve done. I didn’t really come here looking for it. Rest assured Cleaver, I still don’t think very highly of you. But…” He was silent for a long moment, struggling to get out what he wanted to say. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this drawn back, this vulnerable. “You’re the only I know within a ten mile radius who might know what I’m going through right now. So, please, don’t say anything. No snark, no condescension, nothing from you or me. Just silence.”

I could hear the sincerity in his voice. I don’t think very highly of him either…but I understood his take. So no, no snark, no condescension. Just silence as the both of us took in the sun, the sky, the trees, the birds, and the deep, massive holes in our hearts. Of all the people to help fill that hole, I never expected Crazy Survowski to be one of them. Despite himself being…himself, I think he truly loved her. Why? I’d never know. But I always operated under the assumption that it was for the same reasons as me; she was an image of all things good in the world. Corny? Maybe. It was true enough for me though, and it shattered us both when she suddenly let go of us for herself. I was angry at her choice at first, but I knew I couldn’t blame her. We all have our own paths to take. And, since then, I’ve known that no one person can ever fill another’s life with a century of meaning.

Things must’ve been cleared up with the cops and ambulance before he came to me, because we sat there for a long time, silently sharing in our sorrow. Indeed, at one point I noticed a brace surrounding his leg. I felt a little bad when I looked at it; crazy or no, he didn’t deserve it. I could’ve killed him. I’m glad I didn’t, and I took what I did as a wake up call to learn how to manage my emotions a little better. I’m still plenty snarky, and I can still lose it sometimes. But nothing like what I did to him ever happened again.

Eventually he left. I was dismayed at first. Stunned. Scared that I would sink back into that dark place I had been spending too much time in before he came. No lifeline to keep me afloat. But, I was actually fine. Somehow, he helped me. Patrick Crazy Survowski helped me from myself. I was still in that dark place, but a little sunshine pierced through the clouds, and I looked at the sunshine around me a little better than I did before.

I was still on the bench when the girl came. I also didn’t know how much time had passed then. I was still slumped. Still weighed down by grief. Patrick had lightened the load, but I felt a pain of sorrow everytime I thought of sad ice-cream and going home alone.

But then she came, It was the same girl I was talking to at the playground inside the Zone. The same one who had “distracted” the employees so I could get away. She took a seat next to me and smiled. Something flitted in my stomach at her expression, the tiniest sense of joy.

“Hi.” She said brightly.

“Hey,” I responded, some surprise in my voice, the first words I’d uttered in what must’ve been a couple hours in reality, but what felt to me like days. “What’re you doing here?” I asked.

“I asked my parents if I could see you before we left. I told them the story. They said you sound like a funny guy.”

“What about the leg?”

“Oh, that was part of the distraction.”

“I know kid, I’m being facetious. I mean, aren’t they mad about you faking it?”

“Oh! Heh, a little, yeah. But when I told them my story they seemed to understand.”

“At least enough to let you come see me.”

“Ha, yeah.”

We fell silent for a minute. She didn’t ask immediately, probably sensing that something was wrong. I appreciated her not prying, but the ice was broken enough that, after a minute, she asked; “Did she say yes?”

For a long minute I didn’t respond. Eventually though; “No. She didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

“…My parents say that a lot. They use it to explain most things. Why I grow, where babies come from, where my uncle went, why they fight so much.”

Silence.

“What’s your favorite TV show?” I asked after another minute.

She had a hard time answering, since there were “so many” but she settled on Paw Patrol and Spider-Man. We talked about our favorite shows until it was time for her to go. I was sad to see her leave, but I stood up a little straighter after that, the hole being filled in further. It still wasn’t enough to not make me cringe whenever I thought of ice-cream or being home alone. But, eventually, the sun started to go down, and I had to face the future at some point.

I never saw the girl or Patrick again. In fact, it didn’t occur to me until I was driving home that I never got the girl’s name, which tore me up a little, but I’d later accept it. And I never even knew what Patrick wanted to do with his life, I never knew the circumstances that made him the way he was. I accepted that too and moved on.

I never saw Sylvie, or Dennis, or Roddy Kiss-ass. I just know that Patrick had quit sometime after that day. I don’t know if the Zone is any better or worse than it was when I worked there, just that it’s still standing.

I never saw May again. But I knew she was going far, and after I’d accepted everything that happened, I only wished the best for her.

I eventually accepted myself, and when I did, I lived again. Not quite the same person, but also still the same guy I was while dating May. I could still cast snark like a wizard and I could still burrow like a badger under a sea of plastic balls. For the life of me though I still couldn’t beat anyone at any damn Battle-Pit.

The End.

The Jump-Zone Part 2

I picked myself up and bolted for the Trampoline Maze. I jumped down the incline leading to the Battle-Pit, not minding the stairs for brevity’s sake. I landed a little harder than I expected, using both my hands to stabilize myself, but I immediately springed forward. The falter annoyed me, but I was perfectly ahead of Patrick enough for it not to be too much of a problem. I still managed to weave through crowds of people coming in and out of the cafeteria, a relatively small space with typical red tables and chairs lined up in several rows near the serving window.