No Where To Hide But Maybe Someone To Seek (January 6, 2011)

For someone who’s about to be murdered I am quite calm and have my emotions in check. I suppose it’s the quiet before the storm, and it’s almost euphoric. My mind is open, my thoughts are clear, and I don’t feel an ounce of panic. Perhaps when the jig is up there’s no point to stress; after all death is only the beginning, right? Beginning of what? Who the fuck knows, and frankly, I’m not about to pussy out and let it happen. Not every death has a Hollywood ending, and knowing my luck, I’m gonna end up a deaf, mute and blind ghost, floating around aimlessly for all eternity. If only I could gain an advantage in this deadly game of hide-and-seek. 

As it goes now, my computer savvy opponent has the edge. I fucking read books and write. How the hell am I supposed to outsmart a madman with technology on his side? You’d believe with my peaceful, tranquil mind I could think outside the box and devise an utterly brilliant and genius plan; but my brain isn’t programmed for this reality. I’m a straight nerd who wants to live in an alternate world of dragons and unicorns and fucking pixy dust. In order to live I must find a world whose chaos makes sense to me, and where digital technology is obsolete. A place where I can sufficiently disguise myself and flip the tables on the bastard tracking me…

Well, lo and behold, this alternate world does exist, hidden beneath us on the flip side. In layman terms, it’s an upside down reality hidden below the deep trenches of the ocean, floating inconspicuously beneath the contemporary world. It’s a place of adventure, lifelong rivalries, crude lifestyles, and of course magic; essentially everything that compliments an 18^th century fiction epic.  Outwardly normal individuals are exaggerated into unrecognizable, highly exotic and to a certain degree, barbaric characters, and the environment is fraught with mystery and raw excitement.  It’s a place of the past. And despite its seemingly primitive attributes, this underworld is not made for the faint of heart. Timid souls or unbelievers or those too weak minded and wimpy for a life of survival are quickly weeded out and devoured whole, never to be heard from again. 

Considering this, I need to find a guide to cover my fragile-ass. I may be stubborn, strong-willed and smart with a flair for the dramatic, but brute strength and the ability to survive mortal combat are talents I seriously lack. Besides, how the hell am I going to travel safely, metamorphose into some badass yet inconspicuous character and kill whoever is hunting me in an unknown and uncharted world? Without a Jedi master or fucking Bruce Willis I’ll have my throat slit in a matter of seconds. Thank goodness I’m strange and awkward and attract special characters. I grin at this realization and turn to greet my good friend, the pirate…

And in that instant my heart is warmed and my strength is fortified. My pirate can certainly protect me and lead me unscathed into the dangers of the alternate world. He’s not too bad to look at either with his Jack Sparrow charm and rugged cowboy confidence.  I’ve got a legit, swashbuckling man’s man that can light the way and keep evil at bay. So without any further ado, I grab his hand and practically skip to the underworld portal, which is conveniently at a neighbor’s pool down the street.

 

At first glance the gateway to my new destiny appears just like any other pool; the chlorinated water sparkles in a light blue from the bright sun, and the waves from the light breeze gently lap against the concrete rim. Everything is as it should be in a normal world, but I know that hidden below the surface is a rabbit-hole of unlimited possibility. So with all the strength my 105 lb. body can muster, I dive into the pool’s deepest depths and watch in awe as my pirate unhinges a secret door to reveal a truly breathtaking underwater cavern. 

It takes me a moment to breath it all in and gather my wits about me to cross the gigantic threshold; the walls of which expand outward in hundreds of feet and have gargantuan stalactites spiraling down into the darkness, making me feel like I’m swimming into the giant jowls of a flesh-eating snake. But time is life, and in the next instant I begin my journey into the unknown with just the clothes on my back and my resolve to keep me sane. It’s the making of a truly epic adventure, but shit rolls down hill and I’m at the bottom of a very steep mountain…

When I finally emerge in the alternate reality I find myself balls-deep in the muck and grime of a filthy colonial port. I helplessly bob within the frothy water desperately trying to evade the waves of slime washing against my haggard faced. Because haggard I am. All my strength is gone. I’m exhausted and physically weak and literally am pulled from the ocean like a drowned rat and unceremoniously disposed of on the deck of my pirate’s small, yet noble, vessel. 

I guess the best strategy to survive is to head out to sea, which I’m all for, especially because my company has improved since the recent time-warp. Standing before me on the prow of the ship is my pirate, i.e., the essence of my once human friend who is now an awesomely massive, brown, hairy beast with sharp fangs and an abnormally long snout. Think of a werewolf and the Beast from Beauty and the Beast merged into one ferocious, unapologetic pirate. Thank goodness! I clearly need all the help I can get, and that’s not even the half of it.

I, sadly, did not fare so well with the whole transformation character thing. In fact, I didn’t transform at all. (And how the hell am I supposed too without knowing what the fuck to do?) Because I’m such a newbie, my real self and inferior-self ended up as two different entities, twins in fact. In other words, rather than morphing into some badass Zena the Warrior Bitch, I instead created a perfectly matching set of me’s. Let’s just hope that two of me can outsmart a crazed ax-murderer, because the blonde, white and endowed me’s clearly have no hope of appearing inconspicuous or blending in. But the charade is on and I must fake it like the best of ‘em and formulate some kind of 007 plan that will catch my pursuer off guard so I can off him. So naturally we split up and settle in for the inevitable.

My first half remains on deck with my guardian pirate, while my second self finds refuge in a cramped waiting station on the loading dock. And now all that’s left to do is wait; the unavoidable quiet before the storm of me being decapitated, bleed-out, strangled, shot, stabbed, etc. Or maybe not; maybe I will be victorious and prance over the dead body of my assailant.  But for now, half of me looks out over the prow of the vessel, her hair blowing in the cool wind with Jack the Beast Sparrow by her side, while the other half crouches in a dingy, smelly, tiny docking office.

Thankfully the wait to my potential end isn’t long, and the tense, empty moments before my death won’t be drawn out into hours of anxiety. Like clock-work my hunter appears as soon as my two selves settle into position, creeping slowly from the dock shadows onto the pirate vessel; his beady eyes intent on his next kill. There’s a thin film of sweat on his white bald head, and his black suit is stark against the bright afternoon, giving him an air of self-righteousness that curdles my blood. I don’t deserve to die! And why is it up to him if I should!? He’s nothing but a demonic, evil assassin with a heart of lead and a soul of coal. And frankly, he must be completely stupid if he thinks he can sneak up on me. Does he really I’d be so dumb to stare blindly toward the horizon without covering my backside? ...

BANG!!!!!!!!!

The gunshot echoes across the harbor, and I spin to face my killer and watch as the blood falls like a red curtain down his visage, soaking into the whites of his astonished eyes. He stares back at me, and I catch a hint of uncontrollable anger in the depths of his dying eyes, and I can’t help but feel elated as I watch his life slip away into the void of nothingness. Ha! The bastard was shot clean through, and as he finally crumbles to the ground my two selves face one another, both with a devilish smirk on their lips. My seagoing self was simply the bait, while my cleverly hidden self was the executioner.   We stand for a moment grinning at each other, and then my second self drops the smoking gun and turns toward the dock with a look of determination, and like a poetic Western we walk off into the horizon, hand-in-hand, to conquer what lies ahead. Because we’re definitely a beacon for trouble, or at least I am.

TO BE CONTINUED…

What a Big Mouth Can Do: Part 2 (Oct. 26, 2010)

Once again I find myself with a corridor of choices in front of me. Doors on each side mock me with their subtle invitations of, ‘he could be hiding in here.’ Damn it all to hell! There are simply too many choices and not enough time, and after my uncomfortable experience in the boys’ bathroom I’m afraid at what I might find. However, duty calls and I frantically begin to open doors and, just as I expected, I quickly become sickened at the scenes I stumble in to. Apparently, today is the day for pedophilia and sexual transgressions. The first door I open reveals a horrific scene of three men masturbating. Two of the fat bastards have their trousers around their ankles; their tiny dicks barely protrude past their flabby, jiggly stomachs, and the third is lying in a sexual simulator to better his moment of indulgent, masturbatory pleasure. The pure grotesqueness of the scene immediately destroys any sexual drive I possess, and I flee the room for both my sexual and mental stability; a moment longer would turn me into a barren, dry wasteland of sorts.

Moments later I reach the end of the hall, or rather, I dead-end at a massive set of stadium doors; doors to massive for my puny muscles to open. I’m disappointed, and annoyed, and really don’t want to go back down the disturbing and hell-ridden corridor, but what other choice do I have? Maybe I’ll get lucky and run into my dear comrade Amber and pry some new and useful information from her. So I flee, back down the hall of horrors and back toward the gym with the gathering students. As I near the gym doors, expecting them to be closed and unforgiving like every other entrance I’ve stumbled to, they miraculously open and spit out both the couch and Little Foot, aka, Brian. My time of redemption and revenge is here! I will not hold back! It’s balls to the walls, and I will destroy these back-stabbing bastards.

I rush at the both of them before they have time to react, death and fire burning brightly in my determined eyes, and I can feel the rage taking over all my senses; I know this will be an easy defeat. Brian is dressed like an attorney for Christ’s sake! His black suit, business tie, and leather brief case screams ‘pussy tax agent,’ and there is no way he can defend himself from my wild, untamed, and raw fury.

The moment of impact pulses through my limbs as we both crash into the ground, and although Brian scrambles to his feet with a surprising agility I immediately pacify the bastard with a quick and fierce grip on his manhood. It’s a beautiful moment. I am in control and I will make him feel as little and as pathetic as possible.
“Who’s the tough guy now!? Huh? What the hell you gonna do now? I’ve got you by the balls and all I have to do is give ‘em a twist, you lying, deceptive, son-of-a-bitch!”
His eyes are wild; threatening any man’s manhood will turn them into whimpering babies in an instant. I relish in his weakness, drinking in his defeat and becoming so intoxicated by its stench that I fail to remain conscious of my surroundings.

Suddenly, I’m side-swiped by an enraged Sarah, aka Ashley. Ashley was once a childhood friend of mine before drama and her estranged personality drove her out of the social circle. Anyway, she charges into me like the stubborn, strong, and self-possessed character she is, and I am thrown roughly to the ground. Although she lacks the three horns of her movie personality, the impact is jolting and shakes me to my very core. When I finally regain my senses the bitch is on top of me, mounting me like a rapist to keep me pinned down. I laugh. Stupid bitch thinks she is in control, but I know her weaknesses, and I take the opportunity to feed into her hidden intentions and expose her secret desires. I slowly begin to gyrate beneath her, thrusting up my hips and grabbing at her small titties, all the while crooning softly into her ear…
“Look at you sugar… not tired of being his bitch yet? You know he wants me more. Maybe if I’m in the mix he’ll want to fuck you too. Whatcha think? Gotta do me first. Let’s get it started. I’m already turned on. Pin me down and have your way with me…”

The ploy works. Offended and close to tears, Ashley jumps off me, and I am lifted to my feet by my forever loyal Amber. With my back-up in tow I approach the still cringing Brian and his side-kick, the fat coach. I remain calm and collected as Amber lays it all down. We will take this fight to the people. Both teams will present their intentions and future plans for the amusement park, and then, the employees and students will pick the winner. If I win, I stay in control and retain Brian on staff for his pure eye-candy appeal. If I lose, I leave for good, taking Amber with me.

Our good-byes are quick. We all have a lot of work to do. But I’m still in charge, and I give Brian a quick flick of the balls before I turn to go. The intent is crystal-clear; I’m still the boss and it’s a certainty I will win.

What a Big Mouth Can Do (Oct. 26, 2010)

I am walking with an intense feeling of purpose across an annoyingly extravagant, overly decorated, front yard; well, at least I’m trying to. The thick, tubular stalks of the ice plants that cover the ground hinder my fierce strut to a wobbly stagger, souring my mood while simultaneously, stubbing my toes and twisting my ankles. Who in their right mind would decorate a courtyard with such a nuisance and spend the time to coordinate the plant colors into huge green, beige, and light pink spirals!? I could give two shits if it looks pretty! I can’t get to where I want to go fast enough! Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it, but I continue to complain anyway as I haphazardly stagger across the ornate lawn.

Moments later, my inner rant is interrupted by loud shouts piercing my ear drums, and I turn to my right and come face to face with something even more annoyingly disruptive than the damn ice plants – immature, preteen, adolescents. A large group of junior high students, all of who are wearing those uncomfortable and extremely ugly P.E. uniforms with the shorts that ride-up and make the most hideous camel-toe, are practicing some goofy dance routine. Adding insult to injury are the childish, red umbrellas being used as props. The whole thing is just plain ridiculous! And the assholes don’t have a lick of talent. Their lack of discipline, with their loosy-goosy arms and miscounts, picks at my OCD and head over to have a word with their coach.

As I approach the heavy-set, middle-aged man I clearly see his own agitation and frustration at the asinine students and assume we will have a somewhat productive conversation on how to fix the problematic performance. Therefore, I am quite shocked when his countenance falls into a menacing grimace as I come closer; one that openly says, “I hate you bitch.” The tension between us thickens the air, and I feel suffocated by its deadly grip, but before I have a chance to react the fat bastard storms off, stomping his way through the rough terrain towards a large auditorium directly to his left. Enraged at his blatant disrespect, I chase after him but succumb to the uneven, tubular plants and collapse on all fours in mere moments. Rather than force myself to my feet like a normal human being, I being to crawl through the tough ice plants, which seem to get thicker and taller with every inch I cover.

Like an animal crawling through the underbrush, I continue my trek towards the auditorium and am struck by the seemingly comforting fact of being on all fours. It’s almost as if it’s my natural state of being; why? Am I some dirty whore used to being submissive and taken from behind? No, it’s something more animalistic and physical and somewhat primitive. I am clearly just not human. Specifically, I am a personification of one of my all-time favorite characters, Ducky (also called a Big Mouth), from The Land Before Time. And soon, as my dream unfolds, I discover that I am not the only fictional dinosaur.

In the meantime, I continue on my hands and knees until I reach a small out-cropping of young saplings; a tiny oasis within the sea of ice plants. A moments rest is all I need before continuing my chase, but I am interrupted by the presence of someone infiltrating my temporary sanctuary. Who this person is and why he’s in my space is a mystery, but he seems unthreatening enough, so I let him stay and God Bless America I did! He is a messenger, sent from who-knows-where, to tell me what the hell is going on and, why I’m reacting so intensely to the disrespectful coach.
The truth of the matter is this – the field, the auditorium, the tough ice plants, even the uncoordinated and pathetic pre-teen students, are all mine. I own it all. It is my park, built for the amusement of stupid adolescents everywhere; it is my nest-egg and financial security. Every employee, including the over-sized and incompetent coach, works for me, and, despite their shortcomings, I hired them with complete trust in their loyalties toward the enterprise I’m apparently running. Therefore, the shock of learning the coach’s betrayal plays across my face like a panic-stricken husband caught with his pants down and dick shoved inside a whore. So, I sit and listen, paralyzed in anger and dismay, as my messenger describes the elaborate plan to steal my property away and the weeks of preparation taken place under my nose. How could I have been so fucking clueless! Soon, I will be discarded like a piece of trash and become extinct in the business world; destroyed by betrayal. To top it all off, the fat bastard has organized a presentation in MY auditorium to inform all members of MY establishment on the changes to occur under his leadership and to rally them to his cause.

Anger flows through my blood at an alarming rate, reaching the tips of my fingers to the tips of my toes, and with every passing moment the emotion intensifies and itches to be freed to seek revenge. I’m quickly overwhelmed and consumed by rage, which launches me into a fervent sprint after the son-of-a-bitch coach and in mere moments I reach the auditorium doors, which are reminiscent of the stoic, yet failed, museum doors of Jurassic Park. How ironic that my park should also succumb to monumental collapse, and I in the guise of Ducky, a dinosaur.

Halfway up my journey on the entrance stairs I catch a glimpse of a true confidant and friend; an old co-worker from my days at the Hard Rock Café, Brian (name change). Following the premise of The Land Before Time, Brian has assumed the role of Little Foot, the trusted leader and advisor of the eclectic dinosaur gang, meaning I can trust in his help to regain control of my park. Relief washes through me as I slow to a walk to approach my valued ally, and I take a moment to let my mind wander and ponder the ironic intricacies of life that decided Brian should be Little Foot despite his publicly known large penis.

Sadly, my moment of relief and appreciation of Brian is cut short. As soon as I reach him I am met with immediate gut-wrenching, choked breath, tight chested, devastation, for I can clearly see it, gleaming from his unforgiving and cold eyes – betrayal. He too is in on plot against me, and I feel my innards spill from my cavity wall and entangle me in a vice-like grip of agony, despair, and overwhelming rage, inciting an immediate and emotional rampage. Fueled by the anger boiling up from my soul, I charge through the colossal museum doors to track down my soon-to-be-dead foes. I will kill them.

Unfortunately, my blind rage provides Little Foot with the perfect window to escape, and I find myself catching my breath in the little boys’ room. I guess I thought the kids could provide a clue on where to find Brian and the coach. So, despite the extreme awkwardness in approaching the young boys washing their hands, I “man-up” and ask where I can find my deceivers. They, of course, don’t know, and despite my disappointment, which urges me to probe them further, I can’t wait to get out and free myself from the feeling of pedophilia creeping over me. But, right before I turn to flee, the stall door in front of me opens to reveal a naked Mogli, standing in his full Disney glory with a panel of toilette paper covering his small cock. Assuming it’s no coincidence that this character appeared moments after I inquired about the fat coach and the endowed Little Foot, I wait for an answer, but the little bastard doesn’t say a damn thing! He just continues to stand there, seemingly petrified, making me feel like a disgusting creeper. I swear he was about to piss all over himself when our trance was abruptly broken by the loud bang of the neighboring stall door thrown open by the occupant; a large, fluffy, and stoic Grey Wolf. I watch in utter amazement as the majestic beast nonchalantly exits the bathroom and know this is a sign to follow and perhaps be lead to my deceivers.

The next moments find me running through the corridors of an indoor high school. Door after door fly by as I race toward the end of the hall, which finally dead-ends at my high school’s gymnasium where I see all the students gathering for some mandatory presentation. I know that the coach and Little Foot will make an appearance and rally for the students respect, and I dodge through the crowd intent on finding them before the assembly begins. However, the web of wires that cover the floor for the grandiose stereo and projection system slows my pace, and as I search for stable footing I run smack into Amber, a close childhood friend who is, coincidentally, the lighting and sound technician. A stroke of luck! She will know where the bastards ran off too because she is in charge. I quickly ascertain that everyone in the assembly will gather in the back hallways, and I run through the back door like a soldier bursting forth from a charge and ready to kill.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Big Brother is Watching: Part Two (September 30th)

My executioners are itching for the kill; their trigger fingers twitch with the anticipation of my death, but fate is against them. Descending from the sky with the speed, agility and tactfulness of a Bald Eagle, are three, fully loaded Black Hawk helicopters, better known as machines of destruction to the soldiers, but guardian angels to me. Spinning on their heels the government minions haphazardly fire in reaction, scorching my face with the burning exhaust of their flame-throwers. I duck from the heat and from the small missiles of rock blown back by the force of the weapons, feeling the sting of the tiny particles as they dash against my head and arms. Knowing my existence is being fought for I look up just in time to witness one of the helicopters spiral out of control and crash into the ditch in front of my small cave. Despite the danger of leaving my refuge, I scramble from my hold and fight through the thick clouds of debris to reach my fallen saviors. Two, tough, muscular, and hardy men crawl from the flame ridden wreckage toward natural protection of the hill I was hiding under, the third having been thrown from the machine before it hit the ground was already propped against the incline by the operation leader, or so I assumed by the natural, commanding air of the hardened man. All are distressed for their fallen comrade and the complete loss of one of the helicopters. Big Brother has a tight hold on all resources, including free men, making any tool of resistance a treasured item among the small group of insurgents. As the dust begins to settle and silence returns to the dry land, I realize I must be an extremely important commodity for these men to risk their lives for and therefore must have a specific purpose to fulfill on this God-forsaken hell hold. I only wish I knew what.

There is no time to think, a loud commotion breaks out from beyond the hill, startling all of us to attention. We quickly rush into the open and are met with the strangest sight. The strongest freedom fighter, a behemoth of a man with shoulder length curly grey/brown hair, has lifted the destroyed helicopter onto his shoulder and is attempting to carry the entire weight back to base. Naturally, Big Brother can’t have this debauchery happen because all residence must be squashed into complete oblivion. A small contingent of government soldiers open fire at the beast of a man with the intention to kill. The sound of the machine guns and the ricochet of bullets off the man and the broken metal are deafening to my ears and jars any kind of hope from my mind. But I do not know the strength of this singular being and he does not succumb to the barrage of bullets and continues to tramps along at a slow and tedious pace. Not programmed to lose, the government soldiers continue their volley of bullets and eventually the man falls to his knees, having had enough pieces of his body chipped away that his legs can no longer support both his weight and the weight of the helicopter. Bound about the hands and with the combined power of ten men, the beast is lead back to the containment blocks and is prepare for interrogation. I already know that this act will not be any kind of formal discussion but rather a vicious torture and I once again fear for the man’s life.

I follow closely behind, unhampered and in complete safety, for I am no longer the main objective, that target was removed the moment the freedom fighter was captured. Climbing atop the containment block for a clear view of the on-going torture, I see the massive man with limbs splayed like the fucking Di Vinci Vitruvian Man, with each arm and leg bound to the metal hinges of the block. Faced before a firing squad, the captive is mercilessly fired upon without any forewarning in an attempt to weaken his strength and resolve and hence turn him into a government puppet. However, his super-human power is indestructible and he just laughs and uses the brief intervals of silence as the soldiers reload to spit insults and obscenities at them. “You fuckin’ carcasses! I can’t be killed dumb fucks! There’s no way in hell you have enough bullets to destroy me! Want proof? Watch this you assholes!”

And with that, the whole torso of the man rotates to display a brand new panel, one that is untouched and unsoiled by the violence of Big Brother, with the previous panel being twisted into his body so as to rejuvenate and become whole once again. Realizing the futility of their objective, the government subordinates release the prisoner and I watch with censorious eyes as he, one of my angels, walks to horizon and out of sight, leaving me amidst the camp of my hunters. Thanks a lot douchbag. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

So I sit, perched on top the damn containment block, the site of my crash landing and hence the bane of my existence. I’m clearly wandering in circles and have yet to find my purpose or a safe haven; I am a lost soul in the utter expanse of the universe. Grumbling at my ill-luck and becoming more and more depressed, I sink into the black and lonely recesses of my mind and block out the world. As I close my eyes to welcome the darkness a rough, yet comforting voice, snaps me from my gloomy meditation and I look up to a young girl strolling toward me from the block’s edge. Dressed in aged and manly camouflage, the young girl is clearly a hardened rebel, but carries herself with an air of confidence and respectability. I know she will not leave me and will do everything in her power to keep me safe. Naturally, my immediate trust in her is immediately tested. After all, I haven’t been able to catch a break since the moment I set eyes on this fucking black hole of a planet.

Strolling along the edge of the embankment I previously hurled myself down are two single file lines of middle-aged men and women dressed like investment bankers. They appear harmless, boring even, but their threat is real and my companion stiffens at first sight of them and panic seizes her hardened features. I look at her quizzingly, confused at the issue at hand. “They are the Tracers,” she informs me before continuing, “they are the masterminds of the government; they implement all the laws; they are in charge. We are in serious trouble, they know we are here.” Fleeing is not an option; we will simply be hunted down as I was before. Our only chance of survival is to confuse Big Brother into thinking we are harmless, essentially useless beings that deserve no attention. We must become a waste of space. In an effort to hide my true identity we switch clothes and I struggle to adopt the mannerism of a man. Apparently, women are not allowed in public and my tits and ass physicality would be a dead give-away, so I must hide in the dirt and grime of a true soldiers clothing while she prepares to face the judge, jury and executioner of this world.

I slink back and watch as the eldest female, a woman of 50 with an air of superiority and haughtiness, splits from the parade and heads in our direction. This bitch means business. Ignoring my comrade, she focuses solely on my pathetic ass and orders me to follow. I take one last glance at the panic-stricken face of my would-be rescuer before climbing down the metal ladder to the dry and bleak land below.

I follow obediently as we travel through the dessert and dead forest. Before long we enter a clearing of pure beauty and comfort, a lush green oasis as it were, but better known as Big Brother’s base camp. However, nothing resembles a military or political power. Displayed before me is an expensive resort plush with green walkways, dolphin fountains, and white column buildings with floor to ceiling glass windows. Everywhere I turn I see stunning arrays of exotic flowers that dull my panic by their sheer beauty and heavenly aroma. Even the funeral home, normally a site of depression and agony, has a welcome and comforting atmosphere and I feel at ease as I walk through the open doors, too dazed to question why I’ve been lead here.

My dream state is short lived, being shattered by the husky and unemotional tone of the government leader. “I know who you are.” Simply stated and without any ceremony, but absolutely terrifying. If I’m supposed to do great things for the repressed people of this planet as I feel deep within me, what will become of me when Big Brother finds out? I’m in the middle of the government’s operation for Christ’s sake! I watch intently as the official flips through the pages of a thick bound book laid atop a gold and shimmering pedestal. Each sheet of paper is covered from top to bottom with names of the deceased, making me wonder my very existence. Finally, the woman stops, looks at me and simple asks, “Heather?”

“No. Lindsey.”

Clearly she is wrong. I am not dead. She does not who I am and quickly becomes disinterested and turns around to presumably lead me from the compound. My emotions, however, have spiked to a degree of uncontrollable curiosity and excitement; for I know that the bound book of death holds some secret to my purpose here. Once her head is turned I tear frantically at the book’s pages until I reach the end, where instead of listed names, I find journal entries, my journal entries in my handwriting. In that moment, I grasp the full importance and reality of my quote-on-quote ‘crash landing.’ Fleeing from the funeral parlor like a banshee from hell, I race through the beautiful oasis into the ugly forest beyond, tearing through its dead and rough branches with no concern to brutal battery they’re inflicting on my face and arms. My agenda is clear and I must find the government rebels. I am imperative to their success because I travelled through time and space to end up here; I am the key in overthrowing Big Brother. Fuck ya!

Big Brother is Watching (September 30th)

I am a space traveler. I am an excellent space traveler. So why the fuck is my craft spiraling out of control and I am desperately searching for a place to crash land on a planet I don’t even know? After many annoying gear shifts and jolts of jaw clenching turbulence, I successfully total my ship on a large containment crate and tumble from the cockpit like a crazy drunk driver stumbling from the wreckage of the 20 car pile-up she caused. Upon standing to survey my precarious situation, I am immediately annoyed. The land is dry and bleak; tumbleweeds roll across the open plains, propelled by the hot and suffocating air, brittle pine trees are clearly losing the struggle for nourishment as seen by the bed of dead needles under their empty branches, and every few moments the silence is broken by the sounds of tumbling rocks knocking against their neighbors as they careen off the embankments. I stand, fuming at the crappy region, when a cold chill slowly starts to creep over me, making my whole being shudder at its intensity. I am in grave danger. Despite its desolation, this planet should not be stumbled upon, for Big Brother is watching and outsiders are unwelcome; those found will be destroyed. SHIT!

So what the hell am I supposed to do!? I need to find a way off this god-forsaken planet before I am discovered. Too late. Advancing quickly through the ashen trees to the west is a squadron of government soldiers and their agenda is crystal clear – to decimate anyone and anything that does not belong. The big, burly, no-nonsense men lack any kind of emotion or individual thought, for they are powered by their masters’ will and can never stop or stray from their directive. I am fucked for I am no exception. I will be hunted to the ends of the world and I will be destroyed.

My reaction is instantaneous and instinctual. Propelled by the adrenalin pulsing through my veins, I leap from the crate and crash face first onto the hard-packed earth. Oblivious to the pain, I stagger to my feet and fight my way down the East embankment, catching my toes on rock edges and twisting my ankles on small pebbles blanketing the steep slope. Hoping I fled in time to escape detection I steal a quick glimpse over my shoulder and am immediately overwhelmed by a new wave of fear, for emerging through the trees is the government’s ultimate weapon of destruction, a sleek fighter jet. Aerodynamic, fast, and armed to the teeth with fire power, the machine becomes my new stalker; I have been spotted. I continue my stumbling sprint down the embankment and land on the bottom battered and bruised with my whole body scratched and torn from the hundreds of sharp rocks. As the adrenalin quickly fades I am faced with an unbearable sense of helplessness and despair. Fucking flight-or-fight instinct doesn’t provide any options when the initial reaction has run its course; I have nothing to fight with and nowhere to flee or hide. I am done for.

Thankfully, I am wrong and it appears fate has other plans for me. The moment I stagger to my feet they are pulled from under me and my body crashes violently to the ground and is callously dragged into a tiny underground drain. I feel as if I have been buried alive; the air is thick and heavily laced with dust and my limbs are pinned against the crude and course dirt walls. I breathe in sharp sporadic gasps; the force of the released air sends dust clouds spiraling in front of my face, blurring my vision; I am safe but still overcome with terror because I’m still being hunted.

How long my sanctuary will last is unknown; who or what brought me here is yet a greater mystery but, at the very least, I’m out of the open and somewhat hidden. As my breathing slows and my racing heart returns to its normal rhythm, I attempt to formulate my next plan of action because, clearly, I must keep moving to evade my pursuers. In my forced bondage of solitude I struggle to devise my escape route, but panic begins to set in; I have no fucking clue where I’ve been taken! Adding insult to injury, a giant black scorpion appears, like a dark omen predicting my death. The silent killer is intent on sharing my space with its impregnable evil and easily by-passes the wall of sand I made in hopes of blocking its entry. Scurrying to the end of the small enclosure, the venomous creature settles in as I struggle to find a way out.

Overwhelmed with fear I ignore every instinct telling me to stay put and stupidly peer out from the safety of the near invisible drainage opening. My detection is instantaneous. The moment my bright blonde hair catches the sunlight the reflecting gleam is spotted by the search party. I am such a fool! I desperately try to slink further back into my hole but am stopped by the presence of the scorpion – I am invading his home and will be punished if I infringe too far. Debating if I should make a run-for-it, I look up and am met by three sets of empty, glaring eyes.

Standing less than four feet away are three of the governments machine-like minions, each with a flame-thrower aimed at my panic stricken face. Goodbye universe.

NO! This is wrong! Deep within my being and scratching its way to the surface is an understanding that I am meant to do something great, something heroic even, that crashing on this planet wasn’t an accident but an act of fate. My fear is gone and is replaced by the overwhelming weight of guilt and tragic remorse. I have failed. The people of this severely repressed society will never be free. I feel empty, it’s as if my heart has been ripped out and my stomach punched in. At this point I welcome death so I close my eyes in surrender and await my painful, burning end.

But the end doesn’t come…

TO BE CONTINUED...

The Sight of Murder (September 19th, 2010)

Open Scene-Germany:

A quaint, picturesque mountain village comes into focus. It is a scene of pure peace and tranquility; the deep glacier lake glitters and sparkles, reflecting the light of the noon sun like a giant diamond. Patches of wooden cabins with thatched roofs sprinkle the encompassing mountains and valley floor and the town’s inhabitants gaily go about their daily business.

The quiet and stillness is broken by the deep and steady tone of the announcer who will narrate the current program running through my unconscious mind.

Announcer:

“At first glance, this small and private community, tucked away in the deep mountain forest and secluded from the bustling activities of modern Germany, would appear close to perfection and an ideal vacation getaway. However, beneath the natural beauty and stashed away in the deepest, darkest recesses of the town’s history is a secret so terrifying as to rival the atrocities of the Holocaust. An ancient evil, born from the depths of hell and arising from the bottom of the deep glacier lake torments the town, claiming numerous lives each year. Knowledge of survival is passed down from generation to generation and despite the danger, locals have learned to live comfortably with their demon. They now struggle to gain ownership of the surrounding region from the government, which, being the greedy, bastard, political machine it is, is asking for far too much money. Only the people of this community understand and can survive this ancient threat; it is the only way of life they know. Hence, it is their responsibility. They have earned the right to own the land with the numerous lives claimed each year by their tormentor, but now they need your help to battle against the ignorant, stupid and money-hungry German government.”

Intro to Demon Montage:

Scene zooms in from panorama of the lake and mountain range to a small dirt path running between neighboring houses. Being a popular pathway for villagers it hence doubles as a popular hunting ground for the neighboring demon. An elder woman, carrying her paper-bagged groceries, enters the scene, approaching from the end of the trail at a slow, cautious pace. Suddenly, a grotesque brown blur swoops down from amongst the towering pines, shooting like an arrow toward the feeble and aged woman. Her death appears imminent but like a trained soldier she ducks and rolls at the last moment and sprints to the nearest porch, squeezing her body between the door and screen. The same event with different villagers repeats in quick, successive scenes before abruptly ending with the death of an unsuspecting ground squirrel. The final image remains frozen as the scene blurs into black, the fierce red eyes of the demon pierce through the darkness, and viewers catch a glimpse into the raw, untamed and horrifying evil of the creature.

END SCENE: Commercial Break

END BREAK:

Production studio’s slate pops up—similar to the gold and block like appearance of 20th Century Fox’s slate but has the title of National Journal Studios. Image is immediately followed by a photograph of a bronze statue depicting the demon, giving viewers a sense of the ingrained history the creature holds in the community.

Resume Program:

An animated world map, depicting the shift of the continents from the beginning of time till now, remains on screen as the history of the German town and the evil it hides is briefly narrated.

Announcer:

“Billions of years ago dinosaurs and creatures unknown inhabited the land and the world’s continents were one large landmass; a super-continent essentially. At the southernmost tip was a region buried in ice; cold, frozen and near un-survivable but, from time to time, life would wonder in. The weak would quickly perish but the strong would fight back and in turn obtain preservation within the frozen environment. Such is the story with the German demon. Before the separation of the continents the creature was buried deep within the glacier ice and when the lake finally thawed in modern day Germany the evil was released.”
Map begins to fade as the announcer ends his narration and introduces the next scene—“In efforts to raise awareness to their plight, the city council enlisted the help of a national news station. The following clip is taken from the news broadcast.”

News Broadcast:

It is a bright and sunny day in the quaint mountain village. All seems well and as it should be. At the center of town community leaders and city council members gather for what appears to be a classic picnic; a celebration perhaps for community achievements. However, it quickly becomes evident that this is no ordinary picnic. A sense of purpose and strong determination permeates the air—the ingredients for a political rally. A vibrant, young news reporter with perky tits and bright blond hair takes center stage and ecstatically interviews a town elder to learn the reasons behind the present gathering.

Town Elder:

“It is of the upmost importance that the nation takes head of our crisis. Only WE can take control of the situation because it is OUR personal history. We have an intimate knowledge of the evil that stalks within our mists, but our quest to uncover the true nature of this creature is restricted by our borders. We must seize control of the surrounding region, specifically the outer rock formations, because we believe the demon takes refuge within the deep rock chasms rather than the glacier lake…”

Return to Rally:

Despite the gentleman’s intense passion for the rally’s cause, he is cut short by the approach of the town mayor. He is aged, wrinkly man; balding and hunched over but with the brilliant and sparkling blue eyes expected of all German purebreds. Taking little head of the beautiful reporter, the mayor leads his town into the surrounding pine grove and begins to ceremoniously plant acorns—“To achieve more protection from those blasphemous red eyes,” he quickly explains.

The scene begins to blur to black and the voice of the announcer returns to introduce the next chapter of the program.

Announcer:

“The challenge the old villagers face is a perilous one indeed, but a new and more dangerous evil brews within the dark alleys and towering sky rises of New York City.”

END SCENE: Commercial Break

END BREAK:

National Journal Studio slate appears followed by another photograph depicting a different bronze statue of the demon.

New York Capture Scene:

It’s late at night, all the bars and restaurants are finally closed and a young chef is quickly traversing the streets of downtown NY on his way home. He walks with a self-assurance and pompous air that any over- confident and egotistical young man would possess. He is a perfect, unsuspecting target for the grotesque demon hunting within the area. Suddenly, the young chef is snatched up and viciously slammed against the large dumpster at the other side of the ally. Instantly, all is hushed and still, and peering through the darkness are two, almond shaped and burning red-eyes. But there is something different in these eyes, something more unnatural and almost devious, as if the creature is harboring a dark secret. In a moment it all becomes clear—the demon is not hunting for nourishment but rather as a means of procreation. The evil has mutated, giving it the power to infect and transform its victims. In mere weeks, the once pompous chef will become a blood thirsty demon of the night. A new sense of terror is thus unleashed because anyone can be infected. It could even happen to me…

END SCENE- My Evil Side:

I am myself, wandering the streets of my childhood neighborhood and pondering what I would do if I became one of the lucky few to get infected and turn to the dark side. Who would I go after? Who deserves to die? Suddenly, the clouds part, a light bulb goes off in my head, and my plan comes together—I would seek and destroy my ex’s. After all, they were pathetic boys too immature and too timid to make a commitment to me but thought the trashy whores who bedded them right after my ending where good enough. I would kill them first, making their sluts suffer through the pain of losing someone before ending each bitch’s life with a quick swipe of my gnarled, razor sharp claw across their throats.

END PROGRAM

Apocalypse Now (Part 2) (August 11th, 2010)

My childhood home has always been and will always be my sanctuary, my stronghold and the foundation to my sanity. After the death-defying escape from the Great White shark and Killer whale it is only natural that I would find myself back home, gazing through the sliding glass door to the backyard beyond. Although the scene before me may appear desolate to most - a bland patio separated by a giant crack with a single weed growing in the small chasm - I am comforted by the space and overjoyed to be back. Adding to my happiness is the company of my brother and father who flank me on each side. At first glance all seems right with the world but slowly a feeling of annihilation creeps into our bubble of comfort and once again the certainty of our deaths is near. A giant earthquake will shatter the world apart and all will be lost in the dark void of the earth’s inner core- of this I am sure. Validating my fears is the appearance of a strange, old man who predicts the coming of an apocalyptic thunderstorm, essentially the beginning of the end. But this cannot be true, it is still and quiet outside, the sky is clear and blue…

The four of us walk outside to investigate and are immediately stifled by an unbearable wall of heat radiating from the cement floor. It’s as if the underworld is alive and struggling to break free of the constraints separating our two worlds and consequently ensuring our safety. We are paralyzed by the dread of this understanding and stand like a collection of idiots in the middle of the patio, too dumb and preoccupied with our fears to notice the dark and ominous storm clouds roll in…

In a brilliant flash and a tremendous clap of thunder, a bolt of lightning strikes the ground precisely on the long crack separating the patio and lights the hideous weed ablaze. Being fueled by the copious amount of gas building up underground, the weed continues to burn like a torch declaring the end of the world. The earth trembles and if something doesn’t happen soon the evil underneath will be unleashed and all will perish in its wake. Suddenly, the sky opens up, releasing a torrential downpour, extinguishing the flame. In mere moments, the storm blows over and we rush inside, leaving the black and crippled skeleton of the weed behind us…

I am met by relief and joy inside for once again I am safe within my sanctuary and my mom is back! Clear as day her exclamations sound from the kitchen, “I CAUGHT THEM! WE ARE SAVED!” Rushing to the kitchen I find my mom standing beside a towel laid on the ground between the cooking island and the stove. I lie on the make-shift mat and gaze on the linoleum, tiled floor at three small, circular shadows that appear to be floating underground. It doesn’t take me long to discern what I am looking at…

Our kitchen covers the ocean where the epic battle between the whale and shark took place. Far below us is the magical unicorn horn, which has the two beasts in its grip, holding them transfixed and conquered. We won! Relief once again washes over me but once again it is short live…

Suddenly, the shadows begin to grow and the two denoting the whale and shark materialize on the floor in the form of rocks. Curious, I pick one up and it now appears to be an ancient crustacean from the sea but the form is continuously changing as the object continues to grow. Soon I have two adorable aardvarks lying in front of me. I am immediately captivated by the eyes of the female; they are the eyes of my lil puppy Sarah, the love of my life. I am overjoyed, truly at peace and know with certainty that the world is no longer going to end.